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 adv.ce, with which apprehending she was displeased, 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 but 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 fall 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
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.

eye,

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.

Oh Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget;

Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love! Eternity will not efface

Those records pure of transport past; Thy image at our last embrace

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore,
O'erhung with wild woods thick'ning green,
The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar,
Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene;
The flowers sprung wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon the glowing West
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care;
Time, but the impression deeper makes
As streams their channels deeper wear!
My Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?
See'st thou thy lover, lowly laid ?

Hear'st thou the sighs that read his breast?

ELIZA.

OPIE.

THINK not while gayer

swains invite

Thy feet, dear girl, to pleasure's bow'rs'

My faded form shall meet thy sight,

And cloud Eliza's smiling hours.

Thou art the world's delighted guest,
And all the young admire is thine,
Then I'll not wound thy gentle breast,
By numb'ring o'er the wounds of mine.
I will not say how well, how long,
This faithful heart has sigh'd for thee;
But leave, the happier swains among,
Content, if thou contented be.

Eliza, should misfortune's wand,
Bid all thy youth's gay visions fly,
From thy soft cheek the rose command,
And force the lustre from thine eye.

Then, thoughtless of my own distress,
I'll haste thy comforter to prove,
Eliza shall my friendship bless,
Although, alas! she scorns my love.

PILGRIM'S FAREWELL.

ROBINSON.

O'ER deserts untrodden, o'er moss-cover'd hills
I have wander'd forlorn and alone;

My tears I have mingled with slow winding rills,
And the vallies have echoed my groan!-

I have seen the wau moon from her silver veil peep,
As the rose from her cloud-dappled bed;

I have heard the dread hurricane yell midst the deep, As the lightnings play'd over my head!

When the tempest subsided, I saw the faint dawn O'er the eastern hill meekly appear;

While each King-cup that droop'd on the dew-shining

lawn

From its golden lids dropp'd a soft tear.