WHAT Sound of woe from yonder grove
Floats mournful on the dying gale? Like echo to the plaintive dove,
Responsive thro' the winding vale.
Each chaster love and milder grace
There weep round gentle JESSY's tomb,
There join to consecrate the place,
And teach the flowers more lasting bloom.
Though now, an undecaying flow'r,
She decks the bright celestial shore,
And past the final painful hour,
She suffers grief and care no more!
Yet oft shall pity's melting tear
Bedew the turf where JESSY lies
And often shall her fate severe
Dissolve in woe the brightest eyes.
The virgin choir shall there resort,
And there with sad remembrance tell,
How thro' malicious cruel sport
She envy's early victim fell.
Though formed in beauty's softest mould,
No pride her spotless bosom knew ;
As years increasing onward roll'd,
Her gentle mind more timid grew.
Unknown to her each trivial art,
Which callous, hollow breasts conceal; Sway'd by the feelings of her heart, That artless heart was form'd to feel;
With pure and faithful love to glow,
To cherish friendship's sacred tie,
To melt away in virtuous woe,
Or throb with tenderest sympathy.
Unskill'd in envy's treacherous ways,
How could she guard against its power?
DEEPLY INTERESTED IN THE SUBJECT OF THE
"But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
AWAK'd to thought, matur'd by age,
No more those sportive toys engage,
That wont in Fancy's jocund hours
To frolic thro' the festal bowers.
To memory dear, tho' far remov'd,
Oh say, what title most approv'd
Shall greet thee in the wonted lay
That hails once more this happy day*.
* This poem was written on an anniversary, when the Author usually sent a poetical offering to her friend.
Then with complacent smile attend
While my true heart salutes thee friend;
What nobler boon have I to give?
What worthier gift canst thou receive?
Indifference proud, and cold disdain,
Avert the scornful brow in vain,
While with exulting glance I view
The chosen band that ranks with you:
Those friends that led my earliest youth
Along the peaceful paths of truth,
Who fir'd with Virtue's charins divine,
Oft mingled sympathies with mine;
Or those who in maturer years
Awak'd at once my hopes and fears,
While anxious fondness sketch'd their way
From thought's dim dawn to mental day;
And moulded soft with patient art
And tender care, the yielding heart,
But since we feel that all is vain,
Since purest pleasures end in pain,
Since all that dazzles, charms, endears,
Eludes our grasp,-or, seen thro' tears,
In dim perspective fades away,
What power shall animate the lay?
What Muse awake the plausive strain,
my bosom glow again!
Gay fleeting visions rob'd in light,
That cheer'd my soul and charm'd my sight;
Elysian flowers, whose fragrant breath
Perfum'd with sweets the bed of death,
The solemn thrill, the magic fire,
Wak'd by the soul-commanding lyre,
Adieu !—no more my haunts invade,
Nor come to cruel memory's aid,
For what can fancy now bestow
But darker shades to blacken woe?
Ah! why did flowers Elysian bloom,
Since cropt to wither in the tomb.
Then let us in the festive bow'r
Escape from cruel memory's pow'r ;
The board where social friendship smiles,
A while the woes of life beguiles.
In vain, for see the forms deplor'd
Like angels hover o'er the board,
And seem, with softly-melting eye,
To look compassion ere they fly.
Say, generous youth *, whose brow serene,
Benignant smile and open mien,
With candour beaming in thine eyes,
Bespoke the soul without disguise;
* A very near relation of the Author, who died in his 16th
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