Him who lured thee and forsook, Oft I watched with angry gaze, Fearful saw his pleading look, Anxious heard his fervid phrase. Soft the glances of the youth, Soft his speech, and soft his sigh; Loathing thy polluted lot, Hie thee, Maiden, hie thee hence ! Seek thy weeping Mother's cot, With a wiser innocence. Thou hast known deceit and folly, With a musing melancholy Inly armed, go, Maiden! go. Mother sage of self-dominion, Mute the sky-lark and forlorn, While she moults the firstling plumes, That had skimmed the tender corn, Soon with renovated wing Shall she dare a loftier flight, Upward to the day-star spring, And embathe in heavenly light. LINES COMPOSED IN A CONCERT N ROOM. ́OR cold, nor stern, my soul! yet I detest Heaves the proud harlot her distended breast These feel not Music's genuine power, nor deign Hark! the deep buzz of vanity and hate! Scornful, yet envious, with self-torturing sneer My lady eyes some maid of humbler state, While the pert captain, or the primmer priest, Prattles accordant scandal in her ear. O give me, from this heartless scene released, Or lies the purple evening on the bay Unheard, unseen, behind the alder-trees, On whose trim seat doth Edmund stretch at ease, And while the lazy boat sways to and fro, Breathes in his flute sad airs, so wild and slow, That his own cheek is wet with quiet tears. But O, dear Anne! when midnight wind careers, And the gust pelting on the out-house shed Makes the cock shrilly on the rain storm crow, To hear thee sing some ballad full of woe, Ballad of ship-wrecked sailor floating dead, Whom his own true-love buried in the sands! Thee, gentle woman, for thy voice re-measures Whatever tones and melancholy pleasures The things of Nature utter; birds or trees Or moan of ocean-gale in weedy caves, Or where the stiff grass mid the heath-plant waves, Murmur and music thin of sudden breeze. T THE KEEPSAKE. HE tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil, The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field, Show summer gone, ere come. The foxglove tall Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust, Or when it bends beneath the up-springing lark, Or mountain-finch alighting. And the rose (In vain the darling of successful love) Stands, like some boasted beauty of past years, The thorns remaining, and the flowers all gone. Nor can I find, amid my lonely walk By rivulet, or spring, or wet road-side, That blue and bright-eyed floweret of the brook, Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget-me-not!1 And, more beloved than they, her auburn hair. In the cool morning twilight, early waked In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool. 1 One of the names (and meriting to be the only one) of the Myosotis Scorpioides Palustris, a flower from six to twelve inches high, with blue blossom and bright yellow eye. It has the same name over the whole Empire of Germany (Vergissmein nicht) and, I believe, in Denmark and Sweden. A TO A LADY. WITH FALCONER'S " SHIPWRECK." H! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams, In arched groves, the youthful poet's choice; Nor while half-listening, mid delicious dreams, To harp and song from lady's hand and voice; Nor yet while gazing in sublimer mood Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he sings, And sings for thee, sweet friend! Hark, Pity, hark! Now mounts, now totters on the tempest's wings, Now groans, and shivers the replunging bark! 66 Cling to the shrouds!" In vain! The breakers roar Death shrieks! With two alone of all his clan Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore, No classic roamer, but a ship-wrecked man! Say then, what muse inspired these genial strains, And lit his spirit to so bright a flame? The elevating thought of suffered pains, [name Which gentle hearts shall mourn; but chief, the Of gratitude! remembrances of friend, Or absent or no more! shades of the Past, Which Love makes substance! Hence to thee I send, O dear as long as life and memory last! |