Sidebilder
PDF
ePub

Like shooting stars, athwart the gloom
The merchant-sails were sped;
Yet oft, before its midnight doom,
They mark'd the high mast head
Of that devoted vessel, tost

By winds and floods, now seen, now lost;
While every gun-fire spread

A dimmer flash, a fainter roar;

-At length they saw, they heard no more.

There are to whom that ship was dear,
For love and kindred's sake;

When these the voice of Rumour hear,
Their inmost heart shall quake,
Shall doubt, and fear, and wish, and grieve,
Believe, and long to unbelieve,

But never cease to ache;

Still doom'd, in sad suspense, to bear
The hope that keeps alive despair.

THE SEQUEL.

MONTGOMERY.

HE sought his Sire from shore to shore,
He sought him day by day;
The prow he track'd was seen no more,
Breasting the ocean-spray;
Yet, as the winds his voyage sped,
He sail'd above his father's head,
Unconscious were it lay,

Deep, deep beneath the rolling main:
-He sought his Sire; he sought in vain.

Son of the brave! no longer weep;
Still, with affection true,
Along the wild disastrous deep,

Thy father's course pursue;

Full in his wake of glory steer,
His spirit prompts thy bold career,

His compass guides thee through;
So, while thy thunders awe the sea,
Britain shall find thy Sire in thee.

TO DELIA.

SHERIDAN.

DRIED be that tear, my gentlest love!
Be hush'd that struggling sigh,
Not season's day, nor fate shall prove
More fix'd, more true than I!

Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear;
Cease boding doubt, cease anxious fear.

Dost ask how long my vows shall stay,
When all that's new is past?-
How long, my Delia! can I say
How long my life will last?-
Dried be that tear, be hush'd that sigh,
At least I'll love thee till I die.

And does that thought affect thee too, The thought of Sylvio's death; That he who only breathes for you Must yield that faithful breath? Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear, Nor let us lose our heaven while here!

[graphic][merged small][merged small]

UNCOUTH is this moss cover'd grotto of stone,
And damp is the shade of this dew-dripping tree,
Yet I this rude grotto with rapture will own,
And willow thy damps are refreshing to me.
For this is the grotto where Delia reclin'd,

As late I, in secret, her confidence sought;
And this is the tree kept her safe from the wind,
As blushing she heard the grave lesson I taught.
Then tell me, thou grotto of moss-cover'd stone,
And tell me, thou willow, with leaves dripping dew,
Did Delia seem vex'd when Horatio was gone;

And did she confess her resentment to you?

Methinks now each bough, as you're waving it, tries
To whisper a cause for the sorrow I feel:
To hint how she frown'd, when I dar'd to advise;
And sigh'd when she saw that I did it with zeal.

* Mr. Sheridan meeting Miss Linly (late Mrs. Sheridan) at the entrance of a Grotto in the vicinity of Bath, took the liberty of offering her some advice, with which apprehending she was dis pleased, he left the following lines in the grotto next day.

True, true, silly leaves, so she did I allow :

She frown'd, but no rage in her looks, could I see: She frown'd, but reflection, had clouded her brow: She sigh'd, but perhaps 'twas in pity to me. Then wave thy leaves brisker, thou willow of woe, I tell thee, no rage in her looks could I see: I cannot, I will not believe it was so ;

She was not, she could not, be angry

with me.

For well did she know that my heart meant no

wrong;

It sunk at the thought of hut giving her pain;

But trusted its task to a faultering tongue,

Which err'd from the feelings it could not explain. Yet oh! if indeed I've offended the maid,

If Delia my humble monition refuse;

Sweet willow, the next time she visits thy shade
Fan gently her bosom, and plead my excuse.
And thou, stony grot, in thy arch may'st preserve
Two lingering drops of the night-fallen dew;
And just let them full at her feet, and they'll serve
As tears of my sorrow, intrusted to you.

Or least they unheeded should fall at her feet,
Let them fall on her bosom of snow, and I swear,
The next time I visit thy moss-cover'd seat,
I'll pay thee each drop with a genuine tear.

So may'st thou, green willow, for ages thus toss
Thy branches so lank, o'er the slow winding

stream:

And thou, stony grotto, retain all thy moss,

While yet there's a poet, to make thee his theme. Nay more may my Delia still give you her charms Each evening; and sometimes the whole evening long:

Then, grotto, be proud to support her white arms! Then, willow, wave all thy green tops to her song!

REMEMBRANCE.

DARWIN.

WHEN the soft tear steals silently down from the

eye,

Take no note of its course, nor detect the low sigh;
From some spring of soft sorrow its origin flows,
Some teuder remembrance that weeps as it goes.

Ah! tis not to say what will bring to the mind
The joys that are fled, and the friends left behind;
A tune, or a song, or the time of the year,
Strikes the key of reflection and moans on the ear.

Thro' the gay scenes of youth the remembrance

strays,

Till memory steps back on past pleasures to gaze: Fleeting shades now they seem that glide silent away, The remains of past hours, and the Ghost of each

day.

Let the tear then drop silent, nor mark the full eye,
The soul's secret off'ring no mortal should spy;
Few souls are prepar'd for a rite so divine,
When the feelings alone sacrifice to the shrine.

TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

BURNS.

THOU lingering star, with lessening ray,
That lov'st to greet the early morn,

Again thou usher'st in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn.—

« ForrigeFortsett »