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THE REVERIE. COME, dusky shadows of the night,
Companions of the midnight hour; Sleep binds his fillet o'er my brow,
And Silence guards the lonely bower; Ah, come! this restless mind engage,
Soothe it with retrospective bliss, Recall the joys of early life,
And all the present gloom dismiss. Give me one golden minute back
Of those when prosperous fortune smiled, When friendship smooth'd each passing care,
And pleasure's witching voice beguiled: Call back those dreams of fond romance,
That lull'd me with their specious name, With faith’s firm pledge, with honour's vow,
Love's soft deceit and transient flame. Dreary and toilsome is the path
When life's aerial schemes are flown, When kind illusions cheat no more,
And sober Reason claims her own: Burns then the ardent patriot's fire?
Avails the stoic's boasted aid ? Alas! hear godlike Brutus mourn
How "Virtue's self was but a shade The world's wide desert I survey
With fainting step and cheerless breast;
I taste no bliss, I feel no rest;
Nor Hope's gay visions cheer my eye,
Oh, save me from reality! MARIA RIDDELL, ELEGIAC STANZAS*.
Why, Damon, with the forward day,
What winds arise, what rains descend ;
When thou before that year shalt end? What do thy noontide walks avail, To clear the leaf, and pick the snail; Then wantonly to death decree An insect of more use than thee ?
Thou and the worm are brother kind,
As low, as earthly, and as blind ! Vain wretch ! canst thou expect to see The downy peach make court to thee? Or that thy sense shall ever meet The bean flower's deep-embosom'd sweet,
Exhaling with the evening blast ?
Thy evenings then will all be pass'd.
Nor one-of all thy plants that grow,
* Written at Hampstead, by Dr. Sewell, a few weeks before his death.
WHAT piercing shriek, what cry of wild affright
I saw in Fancy's vivid colours warm, Even now again I see the much loved form: I heard once more the warblings of that tongue, Ah! who could fly them while the siren sung! Her cheek's warm glow, her sigh but half re
press'd, Her eyes' soft lustre seeming love confess'd:
* With minute drops from off the eaves. Il Penseroso,
False fleeting slumber! why my tears renew? So lovely once she smiled, and not more true.
Is there no dream which ceases to beguile ? No sleep which wears not a delusive smile? No lasting slumber of unfeign'd repose? No couch on which the tear-drop never flows? Cease, cease, perturbed spirit, to repine; There is that couch, that sleep will soon be thine.
E. SMEDLEY, JUN,
STANZAS TO A CANDLE.
Thou glimmering taper! by whose feeble ray
In thoughtful solitude the night I waste !
That equal to oblivion both we haste!
Touch'd by my hand, thy swift reviving light
With new gain'd force again is taught to glow! So, rising from surrounding troubles bright,
My conscious soul begins herself to know : And, from the ills of life emerging forth, Learns the just standard of her native worth.
But see in mists thy fading lustre veild,
Around thy head the dusky vapours play; So, by opposing fortune's clouds conceal'd,
In vain to force a passage I essay: While round me,gathering thick, they daily spread, And, living, I am number'd with the dead!
But now thy flame diminish'd quick subsides,
Too sure a presage that thy date is run; Alike I feel my life's decreasing tides;
Soon will like thine my transient blaze be gone! Instructive emblem! how our fates agree! I haste to darkness, and resemble thee.
WRITTEN AT BATH DURING SICKNESS.
When I lie musing on my bed alone,
And listen to the wintry waterfall* ;
(Moments of sunshine and of joy) recall; Though the long night is dark and damp around,
And no still star hangs out its friendly flame; And the winds sweep the sash with sullen sound,
And freezing palsy creeps o’er all my frame; I catch consoling phantasies that spring
From the thick gloom, and as the night airs beat They touch my heart, like the wild wires + that
ring In mournful modulations, strange and sweet. Was it the voice of thee, my buried friend ?
Was it the whisper'd vow of faithful love? Do I in ****** green shades thy steps attend,
And hear the high pines murmur thus above? * The fall of the river, heard from the Parade. + The Æolian harp.