TO MARY. I. WELL! thou art happy, and I feel 2. Thy husband's blest-and 'twill impart Some pangs to view his happier lot: But let them pass-Oh! how my heart Would hate him, if he loved thee not! 3. When late I saw thy favourite child, 4. I kissed it, and repressed my sighs 5. Mary, adieu! I must away : While thou art blest I'll not repine; But near thee I can never stay; **** 6. I deemed that time, I deemed that pride My heart in all, save hope, the same. 7. Yet was I calm: I knew the time My breast would thrill before thy look; 8. I saw thee gaze upon my face, Yet meet with no confusion there : One only feeling could'st thou trace; The sullen calmness of despair. 9. Away! away! my early dream Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream? My foolish heart be still, or break. EUTHANASIA. I. WHEN 2. No band of friends or heirs be there, 3. But silent let me sink to Earth, With no officious mourners near: I would not mar one hour of mirth, Nor startle friendship with a fear. 4. Yet Love, if Love in such an hour In her who lives and him who dies. 5. 'Twere sweet, my Psyche! to the last Thy features still serene to see : Forgetful of its struggles past, E'en Pain itself should smile on thee. 6. But vain the wish-for Beauty still Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath ; And woman's tears, produced at will, Deceive in life, unman in death. 7. Then lonely be my latest hour, 8. ·་ Ay, but to die, and go, » alas! Where all have gone, and all must go! To be the nothing that I was Ere born to life and living woe! 9. Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, « O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros « Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit. >> I. GRAY'S Poemata. THERE's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay ; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past. 2. Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness, Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess : The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. 3. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down ; It cannot feel for other's woes, it dare not dream its own; That heavy chill bas frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And tho' the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears. |