To a LOCK of HAIR.

Relick of her whom most of all I love,
Why ever thus my bitterest grief renew?
Why when a secret joy my soul would prove,
Must grateful memory sicken at thy view?
Yet thou and I, dear relick, will not part,
For I will ever wear thee next my heart.

How oft revert my thoughts to that past day,
When gazing on the charms of her I loved,
With hand I bore my spoil away,

eager

As o'er her neck the auburn ringlets roved;
In memory of that day we will not part,
For I will ever wear thee next my heart.

How fondly have I gazed on thee, when woe Has waked the throbbing tumult in my breast; And loath were I thy presence to forego,

Tho' that loved presence robb'd me of my rest. No, dear memento, no, we will not part, For I will ever wear thee next my heart.

M

Past are those hours of unembitter'd mirth,
When pleasure hasten'd at the close of day,
To where the circle round the wintry hearth

Met cheerfully to talk dull time away.
Alas! I thought not then so soon to part,
Pleasure had fill'd too full my dreaming heart.

And dare I prize thee, when another's fame
In me repos'd reproaches every glance!
And dare I prize thee, when the secret flame
That preys upon my reason, may perchance
Blaze into madness?-sure we ought to part!
Thou feedest the fierce fire that wastes my heart.

Yet when old age shall blunt the sting of care,

my

When stoic wisdom shall have steel'd breast, When cold indifference shall annul despair,

And mellow sorrow to reflective rest,

Yet even in death we will not know to part,
For in the grave I'll wear thee next my heart.

1794.

H. W. B.

The TEMPEST.

The Tempest has darken'd the face of the skies,
The winds whistle wildly across the waste plain,
The Fiends of the whirlwind terrific arise,

And mingle the clouds with the white-foaming main.

All dark is the night and all gloomy the shore,
Save when the red lightnings the ether divide,
Then follows the thunder with loud sounding roar
And echoes in concert the billowy tide.

But tho' now all is murky and shaded with gloom,
Hope the soother soft whispers the tempests shall cease;
Then Nature again in her beauty shall bloom,

And enamoured embrace the fair sweet-smiling Peace.

For the bright-blushing morning all rosy with light
Shall convey on her wings the Creator of Day,
He shall drive all the tempests and terrors of night,
And Nature enlivened again shall be gay.

Then the warblers of Spring shall attune the soft lay, And again the bright flowret shall blush in the dale On the breast of the ocean the Zephyr shall play, And the sun-beam shall sleep on the hill and the dal

If the tempests of Nature so soon sink to rest,
If her once faded beauties so soon glow again,
Shall Man be for ever by tempests oppress'd,

By the tempests of passion, of sorrow, and pain?

Ah no! for his passions and sorrows shall cease

When the troublesome fever of life shall be o’er ; In the night of the grave he shall slumber in peace, And passion and sorrow shall vex him no more.

And shall not this night and its long dismal gloom,
Like the night of the tempest again pass away;
Yes! the dust of the earth in bright beauty shall bloom
And rise to the morning of heavenly day!

D. 1796.