صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

Hers are the pangs of wounded pride,

Of blasted hope, of wither'd joy,
The flattering veil is rent aside,

The flame of love buros to destroy.

In vain does memory renew

The hours once tinged in transports' dye;
The sad reverse soon starts to view,

And turns the past to agony.
E'en time itself despairs to cure
Those

every feeling due :
Ungenerous youth ! thy boast how poor,

To win a heart-and break it too!

pangs to

No cold approach, no alter'd mien,

That just would make suspicion start;
No
pause

the dire extremes between;
He made me blest, and broke my heart.
From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn,

Neglected, and neglecting all,
Friendless, forsaken and forlorn,

The tears I shed must ever fall ! *

Miss C.

* An uncommon vein of pathetic tenderness runs through this piece, and strongly excites the sympathetic feelings.

IF

le

F ever thou didst joy to bind
Two hearts in equal passion join'd,
O son of Venus! hear me now,
And bid FLORELLA bless my vow.

If any bliss reserved for me
Thou in the leaves of Fate shouldst see,
If any white propitious hour
Pregnant with hoarded joys in store ;

Now, now the mighty treasure give,
In her for whom alone I live;
In sterling love pay all the sum,
And I'll absolve the fates to come.

,

In all the pride of full-blown charms
Yield her, relenting, to my arms ;
Her bosom touch with soft desires,
And let her feel what she inspires.

But, Cupid, if thine aid be vain
The dear reluctant maid to gain,
If still with cold averted eyes
She dash my hopes, and scorn my sighs ;

O grant

O grant ('tis all I ask of thee)
That I no more may change than she;
But still with duteous zeal love on,
When every gleam of hope is gone.

Leave me then alone to languish,
Think not time can heal my anguish,
Pity the woes which I endure,
But never, never grant a cure.

MRS. BARBAULD.

As

s near a weeping spring reclined, The beauteous ARAMINTA pined,

And mourn'd a false ungrateful youth; While dying echoes caught the sound, And spread the soft complaints around

Of broken ows and alter'd truth ;

An aged shepherd heard her moan,
And thus in pity's kindest tone

Address'd the lost despairing maid :
“ Cease, cease, unhappy fair, to grieve;
For sounds, tho' sweet, can ne'er relieve

A breaking heart by love betray'd.

“ Why shouldst thou waste such precious showers, , That fall like dew on wither'd flowers,

But dying passïon ne'er restored ?
In beauty's empire is no mean,
And woman, either slave or queen,

Is quickly scorn'd when not adored.

46 Those liquid pearls from either eye,
Which might an eastern empire buy,

Unvalued here and fruitless fall;
No art the season can renew
When love was young, and Damon true,

No tears a wandering heart recall.

« Cease, cease to grieve, thy tears are vain,
Should those fair orbs in drops of rain

Vie with a weeping southern sky;
For hearts o'ercome with love and grief
All nature yields but one relief :
Die, hapless ARAMINTA, die."

'MRS. BARBAULD.

Au stay! ah turn ! ah whither would you fly,

Too charming, too relentless maid ? I follow not to conquer, but to die ;

You of the fearful are afraid.

In vain I call; for she, like fleeting air,

When prest by some tempestuous wind, Flies swifter from the voice of my despair, Nor casts one pitying look behind. *

CONGREVE.

SWEET maid, I hear thy frequent sigh,
And mourn to see thy languid eye ;
For well I know these symptoms provo
Thy heart a prey to secret love.
But tho’ so hard a fate be thine,
Think not thy grief can equal mine.
Hope may thy vanish'd bloom restore :
I sigh for him who lives no more.

* In Rowe's “ Fair Penitent."

H

The

« السابقةمتابعة »