Sweet lily of the dale, The theme of ev'ry song! O'er all the youthful throng; Still bright as morning dawn her lovely face ap pear: Of life the balm, She bears the palm; No pleasure can I taste, But pour the mournful strain; My tedious hours I waste, In sorrow, grief, and pain;— For you, dear lovely maid, refuse to ease my care! Opprest with woes, My life I close Dear Fanny blooming fair! Slow Neath shall seek the hills, And leave th' extended main,, Its hoarse resounding rills The towering Beacon + gain, Tho' high o'er rolling clouds its lofty peak it rear, A river in Glamorganshire. A lofty mountain in Brecknockshire, so named. Whene'er I rové, Beneath those polar skies, Wrapt in eternal snow ;→ Tho tempests round me rav'd, and shook the frigid air; Tho' Phoebus' noontide ray Should parch the burning ground ; Tho' sick'ning nature droop 'mid scorching de serts bare ; My song should be Of love and thee, Thou balmy Zephyr mild, Breathe on the hawthorn pales That decks the flow'ry vale And then each tender sigh, perfum'd with incense bear (Those sighs that prove To Fanny blooming fair. In softest whispers, speak Her Poet's anxious pain : That faithful heart must break, For soon, without one smile to chase my deep despair, The yew-tree's gloom Must shade my tomb Dear Fanny blooming fair! SONG. I danc'd with Harriet at the fair But why I prais'd her, sweet one, know, The tresses negligently flow, About the cheeks of Anne. One evening in the passion week, To find out where she ran; But if I prais'd them, sweet one, know, The black eyes sparkle, burn, and glow, Louisa's lips in kisses meet, Like a twin-cherry, ripe, and sweet; To charm the gaze of man; Yet if I praise them, sweet one, know, Lips, breath and bosom I can show All blent in mistress Anne. ODE FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAEZ. I have felt the sweet tortures of love, I have ransack'd the world thro' each part; And at length have selected my fair; From each bosom, she steals every heart, But her name-ask me not to declare. Her light footsteps, wherever she go, No later than yesterday night, From her mouth, with which none can com pare, I heard words of transcendant delight Yet those words-ask me not to declare. |