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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 but of 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 Fanny my humble monition refuse,
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,
As tears of my sorrow entrusted to you.
Or, lest 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-covered seat,
I'll pay thee each drop in a genuine tear.
So may'st thou, green Willow, for ages thus toss
Thy branches so lank, o'er this 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 Fanny still give you her charms
Each evening, and sometimes the whole evening long; Then, Grotto, be proud to support her white arms,
And, Willow, wave all thy green tops to her song,
MINE be a cot beside the hill,
The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch,
Around my ivy'd porch shall spring
The village-church, among the trees,
merry peals shall swell the breeze,
THIS LIFE IS ALT, CHEQUER'D.
THIS life is all chequer'd with pleasures and woes,
That chase one another like waves of the deep, Each billow, as brightly or darkly it flows,
Reflecting our eyes, as they sparkle or weep. So closely our whims on our miseries tread,
That the laugh is awak’d, ere the tear can be dried; And as fast as the rain-drop of Pity is shed,
The goose-plumage of Folly can turn it aside. But pledge me the cup—if existence would cloy,
With hearts ever happy, and heads ever wise, Be ours the light grief, that is sister to joy,
And the short brilliant folly, that flashes and dies !
When Hylas was sent with his urn to the fount,
Thro’ fields full of sun-shine, with heart full of play, Light rambled the boy over meadow and mount,
And neglected his task for the flowers on the way.
The fountain, that runs by philosophy's shrine,
And left their light urns all as empty as mine!
Her flowerets together, if Wisdom can see
From her fountain divine, 'tis sufficient for me.
WAKEN lords and ladies-gay,
Hounds are in their couples yelling, ;! Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily, mingle they,
Waken lords and ladies gay,
Waken lords and ladies gay,
Louder, louder chaunt the lay,
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.
OH! the days are gone, when beauty bright
My heart's chain wove;
Was love, still love!
And days may come,
Of milder, calmer beam,
As love's young dream!
As love's young dream.
Tho' the bard to purer fame may soar,
When wild youth's past;
To smile at last;