Then why did he wander, and leave me behind?-
Inconstant and fickle, as ocean or wind!
Indeed it was cruel to cause me to mourn :-
Why-why should my parents forbid his return?
But softly!-His promise he'll never forget,
When he bade me farewel in the garden so sweet-
Yes yes! he'll return, and he'll crown me his queen,
With a garland of myrtle and jessamine green.
O, dear! I'm so pale that you know me not now;
The roses are faded that wav'd on my brow,
While the lily alone on my cheek is display'd,
And my heart sinks adown with its sorrows o'erweigh'd!
But ah! I forgot! Did you ask me my name?
I've chang'd it-Tis LOVELY- -now call me the same.
Poor LOVELY!Mind that, in the moment of glee,
And check your gay pastimes to think upon me!
Yet when shall I see your sweet faces again ?-
Your LOVELY will shortly be rid of her pain;
Again the carnation shall bloom on her cheek;
The ringlet shall play on her shoulder so sleek;
The blue-bell shall flourish afresh in her eye,
Which tears of young rapture shall amply supply;
And, though her fond bosom now flutters and burns,
You'll all wish her joy when her lover returns!
WHEN Nature bursts the gelid spell,
Prepar'd in Winter's polar dell,
Where shades unblest for ever moan
Around the tyrant's ice-pil'd throne,
To the pure spirit of the Spring
I ope the portals of the skies,
While, from her sun-illumin'd wing
She waves the gales of Paradise ;
Her beaming eye, of azure hue,
Shines thro' the dim receding storm,
While clouds, fill'd with ambrosial dew,
Serenely float around her form!
My breath expands the new-sprung flowers
That scent the breeze in myrtle bowers,
As wide I spread my guardian wing
To shield the infancy of Spring.
In blushing wreaths, for Nature's brow, The olive and the rose I weave;
While, on each zephyr-shaken bough, The moon beam lights the tears of eve.
I guide thro' the etherial maze, From spheres of pure eternal light,
Yon star, whose trembling lustre plays Thro' the dim shadowy form of night.
I hover o'er the twilight dell,
Near Contemplation's mossy cell,
To pour upon the rising winds
The hymns that charm seraphic minds.
When Genius sheds her kindling beam,
To wake the ardent soul of fire,
I aid the young enthusiast's dream, Lur'd from above by Fancy's lyre. While Hope for him unfolds her bower, My warblings fill the blest abode;
Pure as the transports of the hour, When infant spirits hail their God.
I guard the hallow'd turf-built dome,
The cottager's sequester'd home;
Where pure Religion holds her reign,
Nor dreams of Superstition's chain.
When grateful vespers float on high,
Rais'd o'er the altar of the Even,
I smite my harp in ecstasy,
To hear on earth the songs of heaven.
When artless bosoms own the fire,
That burns on rapt Devotion's shrine,
I list, while Mercy's golden lyre
Awakes the energies divine.
Borne on the pinions of the gale,
That breath'd delight thro' Eden's vale,
I watch'd at eve the sacred grove,
Far from my seraph throne above:
But when the reign of terror came,
Shrieking I fled the scenes below,
While Nature, thro' her mighty frame, Trembled in convulsive woe.
And when the erring wanderers fled O'er many a tempest-shaken hill,
I pour'd my wild notes o'er their head, They smil'd and thought it Eden still.
But now, while storm-vext surges roar,
And dash their proud heads on the shore,
As ruthless demons madly tear
The chaplet from the ripening year;
From earth I wing my rapid flight
O'er Ruin's time-defying tower,
To bask in silver rays of light,
O'ershaded by some lunar bower.
And there I sweep the trembling string,
Responsive to the songs sublime,
My kindred spirits love to sing,
Soothing the aged breast of Time.
FROM THE FRENCH OF FLORIAN,
XIMENA is melted in tears;
Sad and silent the beautiful stands;
Her lord must away to the wars,
The danger his presence demands.
Ximena she dar'd not oppose;
His duty, she knew, was his guide→
Yet 'twas early the lover to lose,
Who so lately had call'd her his bride.
Her anguish she strove to constrain,
But her anguish it would have its way,
And thus it broke forth in a vein
Of the truest and wildest dismay.
"Oh! why was I nobly descended?
"And why am I nobly allied?
"The peasant, by wars unoffended,
"Is a stranger to fear and to pride.
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