Leaned on her elbow, watching Time, whose course, Eventful, should supply her with a theme.° * * * * * 161 TO THE NIGHTINGALE WHICH THE AUTHOR HEARD SING ON NEWYEAR'S DAY WHENCE is it, that amazed I hear The melody of May? And why, since thousands would be proud 5 Of such a favor shown, Am I selected from the crowd, To witness it alone? Singest thou, sweet Philomel, to me, Have practised in the groves like thee, Or singest thou rather under force Of some divine command, Thrice welcome, then! for many a long 10 15 As thou to-day, put forth my song But thee no wintry skies can harm, TO MARY° THE twentieth year is well nigh past,° Ah, would that this might be the last! Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see them daily weaker grow; My Mary! 5 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, Thy needles, once a shining store,° For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil But well thou playdest the housewife's part, Have wound themselves about this heart, My Mary! 20 Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language uttered in a dream; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary! Thy silver locks once auburn bright, For could I view nor them nor thee, Partakers of thy sad decline, Such feebleness of limbs thou provest, My Mary! 35 My Mary! 40 And still to love, though prest with ill, And should my future lot be cast My Mary! THE CASTAWAY° OBSCUREST night involved the sky, No braver chief could Albion boast He loved them both, but both in vain, Not long beneath the whelming brine, Nor soon he felt his strength decline, But waged with death a lasting strife, He shouted; nor his friends had failed That, pitiless, perforce, They left their outcast mate behind, Some succor yet they could afford; The cask, the coop, the floated cord, But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh. He long survives, who lives an hour |