Like shooting stars, athwart the gloom By winds and floods, now seen, now lost; A dimmer flash, a fainter roar; -At length they saw, they heard no more. There are to whom that ship was dear, When these the voice of Rumour hear, But never cease to ache; Still doom'd, in sad suspense, to bear THE SEQUEL. MONTGOMERY. HE sought his Sire from shore to shore, Deep, deep beneath the rolling main: Son of the brave! no longer weep; Thy father's course pursue; Full in his wake of glory steer, His compass guides thee through; TO DELIA. SHERIDAN. DRIED be that tear, my gentlest love! Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear; Dost ask how long my vows shall stay, 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! UNCOUTH is this moss cover'd grotto of stone, As late I, in secret, her confidence sought; And did she confess her resentment to you? Methinks now each bough, as you're waving it, tries * 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 Or least they unheeded should fall at her feet, So may'st thou, green willow, for ages thus toss 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; Ah! tis not to say what will bring to the mind 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, TO MARY IN HEAVEN. BURNS. THOU lingering star, with lessening ray, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn.— |