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"O Sister, tired with fruitless chase
Of shadows still receding,
I come to seek a resting-place:
! my feet are bleeding.
"Oh, I am come in search of rest, Counsel and aid to borrow,
And to a sister's faithful breast
Confide my secret sorrow.
"The youth for whom each blushing flower
In varied wreath I braided,
Ungrateful, owns no more my power,
"To him my sweetest lays I sung, When oft the world had grieved him : No longer now can charm my tongue;
He tells me I've deceived him.
"But, Fancy, if thy lyre were lent,
And cestus, to my keeping—
say, what rosy innocent
Within thine arms is sleeping?
"How still the little slumberer lies,
Sweet dreams his rest beguiling!
I wish he would unclose his
And gaze upon me smiling.
"One kiss!"-" Nay," Fancy cried; "refrain,
Lest you the urchin waken,
And then he'll spread his wings again,
And ne'er can be o'ertaken.
"I found him, tired with insect chase, Beneath a rose-tree lying:
All faded was his cherub face;
So pale, I thought him dying.
"I held him to my pitying breast,
For could I then but take him?
And, Hope, thou must not wake him.”
"I will not: cease thy vain alarm.
One kiss he will not feel it
One kiss the slumberer will not harm,
He wakes, he wakes! he spreads his wings;
And while for flight preparing,
Alas! see how the dart he flings
The breast of Hope is tearing.
'Twas Love! Too late the truth she found.
And is he then departed?
None but the hand that dealt the wound,
Can heal the broken-hearted.
Why, thy meteor-flame pursuing,
Why Love's embers still renewing,
The cup of sweet delirious pain
Was mingled: then what wishes vain,
Restless passions fired my brain,
And swell'd my heart!
Yet, how sweet
The Siren music to my ear!
Is it death indeed to hear?
Oh, once more the sounds so dear,
—Hasten, bind me to the mast!
Urge the lingering vessel past,
Lest the charmer's song at last
No more, no more thy melting strain
Can reach my ear; and Love in vain
Lights her bright watch-star. See! the main, With angry swell,