For all your raptur'd paths my feet have trod,
For all your scenes, for which I've blest your
I love ye—and when this sad life shall cease,
Oh! may I press your verdant sod in peace;
Then shall I grateful lay me down to rest,
Amid those scenes, with which my life was blest:
And what, tho' o'er my grave no music swell,
Nor solemn organ wake my native dell;
The flowret's bell shall whisper sorrow's tone,
And winds and zephyrs wake their melancholy moan.
WHEN my young Life was bright, and in its spring,
And Hope sung sweet, as holy spirits sing;
When joy was rapture, earth was all but heaven,
Ere sage experience its cold facts had given;
When all was pure, and beautiful, and true,
Like my fond heart, that then no worldly wisdom knew:
Then, when pure joys and rosy hours were mine,
I first beheld those charms I thought divine;
And sought my heart's first fond wish to fulfil,
Louisa's heart to gain, and win her pure good will.
I rov'd beside the chiming-crystal rill,
O'er smiling field, and dew-bespangled hill;
Thro' shady grove, and moss-besprinkled dell,
O'er thistle-crowned rock, and 'side the river's swell.
In these sad wanderings penn'd I this fond lay :-
"Oh! beauteous maid! while thro' these scenes I stray,
I think, I only think of thy sweet charms,
And sigh to clasp thee in my loving arïns ;
Long have I lov'd--long have I sigh'd for thee,
Long hast thou been my soul's idolatry:
Nature, whose beauties all around are spread,
Have ceas'd to charm, and all to me seems dead;
One only image fills my troubl'd breast,
Thine is that image, purest, sweetest, best :
I love thee dearest, and I sigh for love,
Love! such as thy pure heart alone can prove :-
Give me, ye gods! to fill my lov'd one's heart,
Then with all earthly good I freely part,
And at Misfortune's frown, Love's votary ne'er shall start!"
Thus to the maid I wrote, and in the grove,
I thought upon the answer of my Love;
I pictur'd to myself the scornful lip
Where sweeter nectar dwells, than mortals sip-
The ominous frown, that shades her snowy brow,
The flashing eye that beams with pride e'en now;
The words that soon would make my fond heart sad,
Which once was joyous, woeless, heedless, glad.
While thoughts like these, rush'd swiftly thro' my breast,
A distant footstep on the dry leaves prest;
The rustling sound caught quick my anxious ear,
I gazed, and lo! my lov'd Louise was near.
With faltering tongue, I tried to speak her name,
I told my love in words that scarcely came;
But well the bright, the beautiful, the young,
Caught the dull accents from the stammering tongue;
Constru'd their meaning, and by her dark eye,
Declar'd her bliss, and my blest destiny.
Days, months, and years, roll'd on of bliss and joy,
Without one starting tear, or waking sigh;
Our love still warm, such love as angels know,
Too fair a plant and pure, to bloom below.
Oft would we meet beside a gurgling stream,
And rove along, while love was all our theme;
Sweet, exquisite words, fond lovers only use,
Woke on the silent air, like falling dews :
Vows were exchang'd, and kisses sweetly given,
Faith all unbroken-oh! those hours were heaven!
Oft would we rove, thro' many a shady grove,
And listen to the sweetly murmuring dove,
And Philomela singing strains of love :
Oft would we watch the sun's last setting rays,
Gilding the clouds, till shone the living blaze;
Inhal'd the pure, sweet, balmy breath of eve,
Emblem-that scene-of life, our fond hearts did believe.
Oft too we met, at sweet Aurora's dawn,
And rov'd along the dew-be-spangled lawn;
Watch'd Phebus rising from the eastern main,
Dappling the sky, and spangling all the plain;
Inhal'd the perfume of the morning air,
And pluck'd sweet flowers, to braid my lov'd one's hair.
And we have rov'd beneath the silvery moon
To watch the stars-heaven's flowers-in beauty bloom;
And wake soft music in the fond love-bowers,
Or with sweet converse, guile the passing hours.
At noon of night I met her in a grove—
Once, only once, when parted from my Love
By cruel friends-when e'en the stars on high,
Shed not one ray to cheer the midnight sky;
She fondly vow'd to be for ever mine—
"If e'er I break this vow, may wrath divine,
Pour all its vials on this head of mine :”–
She said I rais'd her from the dewy ground,
And in my fond embrace my Love was bound.
We parted, "soon," she said, "to meet again ;"
We parted, mingling tears, and sighs of pain."
A week elaps'd-again in all her pride,
I saw Louise-but lo! another's Bride!
THE HERMIT AND THE TRAVELLER.
ON a lone hill, a lonely hermit lived,
In a rude cave, beside a mountain stream; Where trees umbrageous shade its ragged sides, And thro' them shone the glimmering taper's beam. Fruit was his food, by yon wild trees supplied,
And roots that grew deep in the earthy ground; His thirst was quench'd by the clear crystal wave, Leaves were his bed, but thinly strewn around. Lone at the midnight hour a traveller came,
To beg a shelter in his rude retreat ;
Where far from cities he bewilder'd stray'd,
Led by the beam that lur'd his wandering feet.
The hermit then at his devotions bent,
The stranger stood and heard his holy prayer;
At length he ceas'd-the traveller entered in,
The hermit welcom'd to his homely fare.
From the rude feast with grateful heart he rose,
And round the faggot-fire that blazéd high,
They sat and listen'd to the pattering rain,
And started as the whistling winds pass'd by. In silence both thought of far happier days,
And sigh'd o'er thoughts that cross'd each pensive breast,
At length the hermit saw a quivering tear,
Flow down the pale deep cheek of his young guest. He sooth'd his anguish, and he bade him tell,
The tale of woe, that pierc'd his bleeding heart,
66 Long, dark and rude, are the stern winter nights,
And there is time ere we to rest depart :
And ere Aurora streaks the ruddy sky,
I'll tell a tale will surely heave thy breast
With piteous sighs, and draw thy quivering tears,"
He said—and gathering tears convey'd the rest.
The stranger bow'd, and thus his tale began
"I came from where Italia lifts her head,
Iberia's shores I seek in search of peace;
My Father, Mother, all my friends are dead!
I had two Sisters once, two Brothers brave,
A lov'd one too, who oft this bosom prest,
With dark black eye, and flowing raven hair,
With heavenly brow, and silvery-sea-foam breast.
I lov'd them all, but ah! the blast of death,
Swept o'er our land, and took them all save one,
And she my Love! but left like a pure beam
Which glitters bright awhile, before 'tis gone.
So did she still in angel-beauty bloom,
To comfort my sad heart, and cheer my way,
But ah! the crimson flush of health soon fled,
And soon her seraph-soul, she breath'd away.
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