Poems

Front matter

BY

LAURA SOPHIA TEMPLE.

LONDON:

Recollection

What though thou com'st in sombre hues array'd, What though thou reign'st in sadness and in shade, Thou bring'st more peace to this deserted breast Than op'ning Morn in all her splendors drest, When first she blushes o'er the eastern sky, And makes each flow'r disclose its richest dye, Wakens the mantling beauties of the Spring, And bids Œolian gales their freshness bring; When mimic Echo hastens from her cave, And sun-beams dance upon the briny wave; While rosy health trips lightly o'er the hills And with her balmy breath each sweet distils. —What gladness can their smiles to me impart? What can they offer to a bankrupt heart? What But the spectres of my happier hours! The faded hues of pleasure's fairest flow'rs:

Gay, laughing train! that once I call'd my own, But now, alas! for ever, ever flown. O pale Remembrance! how thy eager eye Darts o'er the past with keen rapidity! Why dost thou speak of days for ever o'er, Why image joys thou never canst restore? Why dost thou spread thy tints so fresh and true, Then hold the well-known portrait to my view? With cruel care each vanish'd charm recal, And then remind me that I've lost them all? Let the lov'd moments in oblivion rest. Oh! cease to tell me that I once was blest.— Soft lunar hour! congenial to my soul, It loves the sweetness of thy mild controul; It loves the music of the murm'ring stream, It loves the trembling light of Cynthia's beam;

Listens in silent sadness to the blast That seems like it to mourn the pleasing past. Gladly I view the dark and slumb'rous deep, Oblivion there her empire seems to keep; Methinks she calls the wretched to invite To end their sorrows in eternal night: Say 'tis no crime, when tempests round them rave To seek the refuge of the silent grave. Hold! let me check the mad, the impious thought, And recollect those truths that Virtue taught. Oh! let me turn and view her beamy form Still sweetly smiling midst each earthly storm; Upwards she points, and bids me. seek for bliss In those fair realms where all is happiness: Where no dark cloud meridian brightness hides, Where the soul's stream for ever smoothly glides;

Where youthful Hope's gay banners are display'd And bloomy flowers arise that shall not fade. But e'er my foot the blissful summit gains She bids me bear the ills that Heav'n ordains.

Still point then Mem'ry thy envenom'd dart, Still hold thy empire o'er my writhing heart; Shew to my view the bliss for ever flown Wither'd by envious Fate as soon as blown, Let me again behold the 'witching smile That once could ev'ry pain and grief beguile, Then paint the radiance Hope around her threw, Spread the rich dreams creative Fancy drew, When she all sanguine check'd the boding sigh, And deck'd with ev'ry blessing gay Futurity. Then bring again that melancholy hour When Fate's bright sky began at length to low'r,

When the fine chords which sympathy had twin'd That soul to. soul with force all-pow'rful bind, Were rudely snap'd, and o'er the sadden'd green The lov'd, regretted form; no more was seen. Yes, Recollection! I will bear thy sting, Will view the blasted buds of life's fair Spring; With thee I'll muse o'er ev'ry tender tie, That graces, soothes, and dignifies humanity. With thee I'll wander o'er that vernal scene Where Peace presided once, the smiling Queen. There let me view the mind's serene repose, And each soft solace that from friendship flows; Let me retrace each elegant delight, Each airy bound of Fancy's wildest flight; View the lov'd partner of my life's gay dawn Glowing in all the pride of beauty's morn,

The mantling cheek suffuc'd with health's rich die, And pleasure beaming in the speaking eye. Bright orbs! the mirrors of that spotless breast, There were thy noble energies express'd; There Genius threw around her dazzl'ing ray, There gaily danc'd Wit's wild and sportive play; While awful Virtue shed her chast'ned beam, And Modesty and Wisdom reign'd supreme. Where are they now?—in Death's cold slumber seal'd, The fatal sentence cannot be repeal'd; Fled is that fancy which the Muses fir'd, For ever mute that tongue with Heav'n inspir'd; Chill'd the fair hand that to our raptur'd eyes Bade all Creation's brightest 'charms arise; Whose liquid cadence, once so soft and clear, Stole sweetly trembling on the ravish'd ear;

Bade the rapt mind past happiness retrace; And threw o'er grief a melancholy grace; Or, when it louder swept the chords, whose art Could rouse some ardour in the coldest heart. Fair Star! thou'rt gone to gild a distant shore, On me, alas! thy radiance smiles no more. Around I gaze, how chang'd all Nature's face! How dark that world which thou hast ceas'd to grace! To me how dark! tho' still the vernal scene Wears, as before, its softest, gentlest mien. But where that varying charm whose magic pow'r Could dress in social smiles the wintry hour, Lend to the cheek of care joy's mantling hue, And bid life's waning taper blaze anew? O beauty, sweetness, ev'ry grace combin'd That charms the eye, or captivates the mind!

What—what shall fill the void which thou hast left! What can Creation boast of thee bereft? As tho' that gen'rous Orb whose glad'ning ray Calls into life the slumb'ring sweets of May, Bids the gay birds their melody resume, And wide expands fair Summer's living bloom, No longer smil'd around, but in his stead Dark desolation all its influence spread, Soon at whose with'ring touch the landscape fades, Spring's warbling train no more frequent the shades; All Nature feels an universal blight, Veil'd are her graces in eternal night. But oh bright lamp of day, thou reign'st secure, Nought can thy lustre quench, thy rays obscure, And when at eve thy glories drink the wave And gently sink to rest in Ocean's cave,

We know thou'lt rise again, each laughing flow'r That pours its fragrance on the morning hour Lifts its fair head, and waits thy gay return, Not long thy absence does the garden mourn. But when shall Hope, soft promiser of rest, Dawn on the frowning midnight of this breast, When shew again the future to my sight Glitt'ring with rainbow visions of delight; When, when shall Fate's black wave no longer roll, What ray shall thaw this-winter of the Soul? Is there a Spring, by pitying Heav'n design'd To renovate the verdure of the Mind? Yes; it shall bloom again, a dawn shall break,— Hope's warbling notes once more my Soul shall wake; The shades of night shall quickly fade away, And on my sight shall burst a radiant day,

These eyes shall open on a smiling shore Where Fate's rude Wind shall lift its wing no more.

To my First Friend

tpp|TO MY FIRST FRIEND.| {cblock} <> {sm}"Yet Hope was once my parasite, {sm}"And flattered, and revelled, and ruined." <>

Thou ask'st, my Friend, why starts th' unbidden tear,

Why from its prison bursts the labouring sigh,

Why the shrunk leaf that speaks the faded year,

Is gazed on with a cold indiff'rent eye?

When o'er my features steals the gloom of thought,

Thou wond'rest where my vagrant fancies stray,

Oh! seek not information dearly bought,

Seek not to cloud thy bosom's orient day.

|end=stanza

Ah! let me gaze upon that seraph smile Whose sunshine still can warm this desert breast; Still let those accents spread their magic wile That sweetly oft have lull'd my woes to rest.

Pour on my fainting soul thy melting notes, Softer than Spring's lone minstrel can bestow; While thro' the list'ning air thy cadence floats, The sigh shall cease, the tears forget to flow.

Still let me pause, and catch that liquid glance, Feel on my hectic cheek the musky breath, Still lock'd in fancy's rich and melting trance, No longer mourn o'er friendship's early death.

Have I not thee my erring steps to guide, Have I not thee to smile my griefs away? Thee in whose bosom flows Truth's mantling tide, Whose proud mind blazes in eternal day.

What hand shall sketch the outline of that mind, What pencil dare its excellence to trace, What touch so bold, what colours so refin'd As suits the drap'ry of each awful grace?

Friend! Parent! Guardian of my virgin fame! The beaming Orb that lights my dubious way! When will thy tongue my passions fail to tame, Thy conqu'ring virtues cease to urge their sway?

Let others sound the praise of trait'rous Love, Let others weave the light fantastic dream, To loftier regions shall my fancy rove, My artless lyre shall beast a nobler theme.

Accept the verse, O Pilot of my life! Let not thy polish'd taste disdain the song; 'Twill sooth this fev'rish frame's rebellious strife, And bid soft peace in silence steal along.

Or let me muse o'er Nature's vanish'd bloom, And try the balm retirement can impart; I feel, I feel my spirit pant for room, The world weighs heavy on my bankrupt heart.

A barren World, where coward Guilt resides, Whose pois'nous whisper blasts the blush of youth, Where sick'ning want from all, its mis'ry hides, Where Falshood lurks beneath the veil of Truth.

Soft as the argent whiteness of the Morn Doth Love's gay smile the dazzling sight arrest, But soon by Reason's hand the mask is torn, And all the deep deception stands confest.—

Yet hold! One Star in Life's dark sky remains, Nor yet to me is all its bloom defac'd, For thou majestic, still while tumult reigns Smil'st in proud grandeur midst Creation's waste.

Summer, a Pastoral

I gaze with delight on thy features so bland, Yet watch their expanse with a sigh, For ah! I remember that Winter's cold hand Will doom all their graces to die.

Yet why should reflection's imbittering pow'r The charms of the present impair, And why should the bloom of the bright-passing hour Grow pale at the frown of despair?

The broad Sun that rises from Ocean's dark breast To pour o'er the landscape his rays, At the call of grey Evening retires to his rest, And hides in her mantle his blaze.

Yet who would forego his all-glorious embrace At the thought that those glories must sink, Tho' the dull hand of Night will arrest his bright race. Shall we scruple his noontide to drink?

And view the soft tints of each dew-sprinkled flower That scents the light wings of the gale, We mourn that their beauties can last but an hour, Yet fail not their musk to inhale.

Then hence ev'ry foe to my bosom's repose, And welcome the breezes of Morn, I'll gather with transport the Summer's fair rose, Nor fear that it harbours a thorn.

The Search after Love

I gaze on the warm-beaming light, Of Beauty's all-conquering eye; I gaze,—but the frenzying sight Ne'er wakes in my bosom a sigh.

I muse on the murdering smile Of youth's deep and varying rose, But vainly it strives to beguile, Or ruin my reason's repose:

And vain are the efforts of wit To make me experience a smart; My brain for a moment is smit, But I find not a sting in my heart.

Lines written on seeing a Lark ascending to a great height, one fine morning in Summer

Flutt'ring, wheeling, wildly bounding, O'er the hills my song resounding, All the ties of earth I'd sever Wide with thee to roam for ever.

But should Mem'ry, faithless rover, O'er the low world sometimes hover, Should I catch her deeply musing All the chequer'd past perusing,

She should cease her idle gazing; Ev'ry thought of life erasing, She should Hope's light pinion borrow, And forsake a scene of sorrow.

ppoem| start=stanza| {it} Bird of Morn! mow blithe ascending, With the breeze thy wild note blending; Bird! I long with thee to wander, High in air to gaze and ponder.

The Hindoo Lover's address to the Evening Breeze

Flutt'ring around it tell thy tend'rest tale, And win it from its mate the Nightingale. And now thy silken pinions wide expand, For Abra's mantling bow'r is near at hand. Oh! when thou see'st the Maid my wishes seek, With spicy whispers fan her damask cheek, Pant in the ringlets of her ebon hair, And court the laughing loves that frolic there; Breathe on those crimson lips whose honey'd store The wretched Amurath must taste no more; Sport in the liquid heaven of her eye, And o'er her neck of marble softly sigh; Then waft, oh! waft the melody of song, Let some sad cadence gently steal along,

Bid the lone Night-bird all his griefs relate, And tell her that he sings of Am'rath's fate; Tell her like me he mourns a faithless love, Like me his thoughts to vanish'd pleasures rove, Like me he shuns the Morn's etherial dies, Like me to Evening's tender scene he flies. Go, lovely Messenger, these words repeat Ere this deserted heart has ceas'd to beat. "From these deep shades, where slumb'ring silence reigns, The victim of thy perfidy complains, Where are thy vows, perfidious, whither fled? Think not to veil from Heav'n thy guilty head; Those broken vows are register'd on high, Swift to the awful throne of God they fly, There in the inky page of Fate they dwell, There the dark catalogue of crimes they swell.

And hast thou then forgot that smiling hour When first this bosom own'd thy beauty's pow'r? When as I gaz'd, a warm luxuriant glow Of thy soft cheek would tinge th' inflamed snow? How seem'd with love to move thy talking eye! How shiver'd thro' my frame thy smother'd sigh! Hope fondly whisper'd that thy heart was mine, And silence seem'd that rapture to refine. When summer sun-beams danc'd along the vale, And music trembled in each breathing gale, Oft would I rove"where pines their shadow threw, Where tawny dates, and spicy citrons grew, There in the twilight of the curtain'd boughs, Where verdrous Nature kept a deep repose, There would burst forth my wild untutor'd lays, And laughing Echo warbled Abra's praise.

Say, did the Spring one od'rous bud disclose That Am'rath fail'd to gather for his Rose? Did not th' anemony's resplendent hue, Did not the violet with eyes so blue, Did not the myrtle's sweet and blushing face; With studious care thy flowing tresses grace? When Winter chas'd the azure from the sky, And loud rebellious whirlwinds hurried by, Did not the costly.aloe blaze around, And velvet carpets paint the chequer'd ground? Thy tissued caftan shone with vivid dies, And di'monds strove to emulate thine eyes. Oh! hours of transport! never to return! Oh lamp of bliss! that ne'er again shall burn! This shipwreck'd heart has heard your parting knell, Long have I bade your melting charms farewell.

Light of these eyes, art thou for ever gone? Are all the dimpled smiles of pleasure flown? Then let the tempest rave, red lightning glare, Let loose the haggard demons of despair; Fall, fall ye rains, ye'll cool this scorching breast, And soothe a panting soul by grief oppress'd. But hark! I hear the battle's distant roar; Let me then haste and think of thee no more. See, Honour calls, her laurel wreath she shakes, And all my soul from passion's dream awakes. False one, adieu! to distant shores I fly, To snatch a wreath of death—or victory."

On hearing the sound of Music at a Distance

All nature awakens to mirth and delight, Young Hope spreads her visions to dazzle the sight; Alas! the delights that please others I spurn, And image the joys that will never return.

When beauty and elegance court my applause, My mind an invidious comparison draws; No sweetness or grace in their smiles I discern When I think of those smiles that will never return.

When I view ev'ry eye beaming joy and content, While with keen throbs of anguish my bosom is rent, With mad'ning sensations I feel my heart burn, And I sigh for that peace which can never return.

Cease Mem'ry thy torturing empire to hold, Nor shew to my view those dear moments of gold, Oh! let me the page of forgetfulness learn, And Joy and Contentment again may return.

Stanzas supposed to have been written by Mary, Queen of Scots, during her confinement

But quickly fades the mantling glow, And leaves me to the gloom of wee; For not my wishes to supply Does Summer ope her lustrous eye.

O! hither haste, thou nectar'd gale, Now flutt'ring through the distant vale! Ah no! it scorns the prison-gloom; And seeks the Woodland's bursting bloom; 'Tis not for me that breezes sigh, Or Summer opes her lustrous eye.

Still, still the hectic cheek shall burn, And ask in vain for health's return; Whilst Mem'ry, foe to Mis'ry's child, On life's rich core shall riot wild.

Long have I bade farewell to Joy, And Summer's full and lustrous eye.

Still o'er this mind surcharg'd with woe, The fever'd gale of Thought shall blow; 'Till death's cold hand shall chill its rage, And cancel Mem'ry's blotted page; Then o'er the green-turf where I lie, Summer may pour her lustrous eye.

Arabian Song

And lovely the roses, in woodlands retiring, That shed through the foliage their modest perfume, Yet poor are their odours, and vain their aspiring To rival the rose of my Amoret's bloom.

And thou blazing Sun! with thy beauties so finish'd, That o'er the blue heavens thy chariot dost roll, Methinks that e'en thy glorious rays seem diminish'd, Put out by the fires of my Amoret's Soul.

At the sight of a beautiful but frail Fair One

Was it for this that Nature hung The rose of Summer on thy cheek, For this she all the glories flung, That in thy glance so gaily speak;

For this she woke the nectar'd sigh That lives upon thy glowing lips, In whose voluptuous, rich supply The God of Joy his pinion dips?

No, no! She meant that angel-smile To sweetly soothe, and chastely bless; She meant that eye-beam's witching wile To shine with virtuous tenderness.

Yes, she design'd its liquid fire To light a pure and guiltless flame, She meant it not to feed desire Or beckon on to vice and shame.

And once thy lucent form did shew Of Modesty the veiling grace, And once the Noon of Love did glow O'er all thy soft ingenuous face.

Methinks I image some fond Youth Musing o'er all thy virgin charms, And praying that thy stedfast truth, May bless his proud protecting arms,

I hear him free th' imprison'd sigh, I view his deep effusive gaze, Mark in his cheek, the hectic dye That o'er its polish'd surface strays.

Now—on his steps the spoiler steals The rosy bands of Love to sever; They snap—and Fate his sentence seals, His eyes are clos'd—Oh God! for ever,

And thou—neglected—wretched thing, Where dost thou hide thy guilty head? Alas! thou feel'st the scorpion's sting, Long has thy gay seducer fled.

Ah! 'tis in vain thy grief to hide Beneath the garish veil of aft; Through all the gilding coats of pride I see the wreck'd and canker'd heart.

Then lay aside each mad'ning spell, Each spell that 'wilders to betray, Or soon will sound the hollow knell That calls th' affrighted soul away.

With what proud rapture should I greet The modest, warm, repenting tear! For trust me, love! 'twould look more meet Than all thy airs, and tinsel gear.

Could I but hail the lovely guest, Might I its lustre once survey, Oh! I would take thee to my breast In spight of all the world should say.

Yes! I would lull thy woes to rest, Would heal the heart by sorrow riv'n, Would clasp thee to a Sister's breast, And hope thy sins were all forgiv'n.

The Last Adieu

tpp|THE LAST ADIEU.|

<> {sm}"And Death with Nature's noblest works at strife, {sm}"Quench'd the fair star that smil'd upon his life. <>

Now the hollow dram resounding,

Fired each valiant Soldier's breast,

High the youthful spirits bounding,

Future hours in conquest drest.

Brightly beam'd the eye of Morning,

Gaily smil'd the face of Spring's;

Balmy sweets the sense delighted

Borne on Zephyr's trembling wing.

|end=stanza

Hark! to the Cymbal's brazen clangour! Hark to the Trumpet's shrill reply! Each brave heart shakes off its languor, Proudly the crimson banners fly.

Now a cadence softly warbles, 'Tis the Flute's melodious sound; Now the measure loudly swelling, Flings its awful thunder round.

See! the gallant band advances, Glitt'ring sabres brandish'd high; Hope in ev'ry bosom dances, Courage speaks in ev'ry eye.

But who is he that slowly follows? Mark the grief that fades his form! In each wan feature passion struggles, Passion's wild tumultuous storm.

View his glances quickly shifted, View the mis'ry they express; Now to Heav'n his eyes are lifted, Now cast down in mute distress.

To him-are lost Hope's Siren-accents, Harsh are those spirit-waking strains; On his lorn mind no morning opens, There a night of sadness reigns.

But Honour's pow'rful voice prevailing, Breaks the spell that Fancy wove; Tow'ring Fame at distance hailing, Drowns the timid voice of Love.

Now his footsteps fondly linger, Mark! oh mark the soul-fraught gaze! He views the fair departing lustre, The last, last glimpse of beauty's rays.

So the lost wretch, whom Fate pursuing Exiles from the light of day, Once more the lovely landscape viewing, Dwells on each charm, then hastes away.

Thus did he seek the beauteous vision, And thus each well-known grace explore, Catch the soft day-break of those glances Whose brightness he must view no more.

Ah! ne'er again on him they rested! Those liquid suns have ceas'd to roll; Of all their sparkling pow'r divested, No more they fire the raptur'd soul.

Pale is the cheek of polish'd texture, Where once the rose of Summer smil'd; And those sweet lips where Love resided, Are of their honey'd store beguil'd.

Cold is that breast, of Heav'n the dwelling, Which once with noblest feelings glow'd, No more with soft compassion swelling, No more of Truth the pure abode.

Beneath the turf now pow'rless lying Those limbs where Grace its magic spread; Of Death she tastes the leaden slumber, While bleak winds whistle o'er her head.

The Inconstant

Or catch the light wings of the wind, That make in the grove such a rumpas, Go ask how they dare unconfin'd, Blow from each diff'rent point of the compass.

Yesterday

Alas! it cries, 'Can these compare With those dear hours unbrown'd by Care; Can that gay Sun, whose fervid glow, But makes my pulses throb with woe, Vie with the beauteous Sun of Yesterday?

When Hope's illusive smiles are o'er; And Peace withdraws her balmy store. How Fancy plies her busy loom, To beckon back the vanish'd bloom, That mantled on the cheek of Yesterday?

When Lovers breathe the warm adieu, And quit the haunts where passion grew How Mem'ry then the past explores, And ev'ry touching grace adores That play'd around the brow of Yesterday!

And my lorn heart too feels thy pow'r, The present sweets thou turn'st to sour; E'en I review Time's ruffled stream, And often catch a vivid gleam. That bids me weep the flight of Yesterday.

To-Morrow

When dire Misfortune's nipping wind Sweeps o'er the sad and shrinking mind; Hope spreads her shield to ward the blow, And chasing ev'ry spright of woe, Whispers gay tidings of To-morrow.

Behold yon trembling hectic form, Bowing to Fate; relentless storm, E'en while Death's angel hovers near, And ready waits th' expecting bier, Hope gilds with smiles the coming Morrow.

Oh thou! that sleepest in the tomb How did we watch thy dying bloom How did we trace thy setting Sun, Yet never dream its race was run! Hope cried 'twill rise again To-morrow.

And rise it did—in Heav'n's bright sky, Its glorious blaze will never die, And Hope, too, whispers in my breast, (For Hope's soft whisp'rings seldom rest,) That I shall view its rays To-morrow.

Solitary Musings

Mute she surveys the humble sod That wraps a form, how fondly cherish'd! She hears the voice that Mem'ry loves, She views the Rose so early perish'd.

Pure Tenant of the realms of light! Dost thou e'er quit thy airy slumbers To mark the sigh, the bitter tear, The dreary hours affliction numbers: The Hope that yet will faintly throb, The trembling hope of joy to-morrow, The swelling rage of passion's storm The black and billowy clouds of sorrow?

The fears that look to worlds unknown, The glances back to days of pleasure,

When joy lit up the golden hours And wishes danc'd to boundless measure, Or far remov'd from darkling cares, No longer toss'd on Life's wide ocean, Has Memory her tablets broke And blotted out each past emotion?

Dost thou nor view the tearful eye, Gazing sad on dim futurity, Or mark the wretch whose joyless fate, Rushes on to vast Eternity? Oh! I will think thou hov'rest near, Still round thy mortal orbit treading, To watch o'er those who feebly grope; Around thy Sainted influence spreading.

The Victim of Seduction

Rough blew the wind around her shiv'ring form, Lost were her sighs amid the rattling storm; Uncover'd was her bosom, once so fair, Now the cold residence of dark dispair. Loose down her back her matted tresses lay, Those lovely locks once deck'd in colours gay; Damp were her temples with the dews of death, And slowly drawn her thick and struggling breath, Life's quiv'ring taper hastens to an end; On Death she calls—to her a welcome friend. I mark'd the closing of her stormy day, I saw her ling'ring graces steal away, Heard the last accents tremble on her lips, While Nature sigh'd at beauty's dire eclipse. Oh lovely rose! once fairer than the Morn, Gay as the mead that Spring's green hands adorn;

Sweet as the western gale that gently flows, Kissing the budding fragrance as he goes; Pure as the gems that deck the primrose-vale, Soft as the warbling of the nightingale! Awhile thy graces brightly glow, but soon The envious night comes o'er thy beauty's noon. Now low in earth those charms neglected lie That once so fir'd the world's admiring eye.

Where is thy lightning, Oh avenging Power! Whose piercing glance beheld that midnight hour, Who heard'st her fault'ring prayer, her parting sigh, Who saw life's mantling hues untimely fly! Why breathes the wretch that cropt this opening flow'r? Why does the sun on him its radiance pour? Why smiles his gay career of love and mirth While Mary's faded form lies low in earth?

Fresh as the blush that tints the morning sky Did Mary's charms first catch his' trait'rous eye; Soon did he captive hold her willing soul, Soon o'er her breast the soft delirium stole; How could she doubt his fond insidious smile? How &ace the doublings of each artful wile? Ah! could she dream that heart would truth disown That fondly swore to love, but her alone? Oft in his eye the tear would seem to swell, Oft from his lips truth's modest accents fell; Why did not frowning Heav'n with instant death Wither the lip, and close the treach'rous breath? For this thy Fame's fair Sun was sunk in Night, For this thy virtues felt an early blight; For this thou met'st the world's proud mockery, And bitter language of the taunting eye!

This robb'd thy polish'd cheek of Summer's bloom, And sunk thy youth's fair honours to the tomb; Blasted the promise of thy graceful form, And gave thy beauties to the midnight storm. But oh! thou false-one! justice will arrive; O'er wreck of worlds thy treach'ry will survive; See where it burns on Heav'n's wide chronicle, See where thy vows the flaming pages fill! Tho' Pleasure hail thee with her laughing eyes, Soon will thy crimes in direful judgment rise. E'en now when frolic joys thy steps attend, While sparkling energies their transports lend, Does not fell Conscience with its sting advance, And give the future to thy shudd'ring glance? At dead of night thy Mary's form appears, Her thrilling voice thy startled fancy hears;

Oft in the moon's pale gleam her spectre glides; Among the billowy clouds she swiftly rides; Majestic frowning midst the raving storm, Thou hear'st her voice, thou view'st her angel-form: Soon shall life's idle visions fade away, And on thy soul will burst the Judgment-day.

Dreams of the Morning

Yes! She shall come upon her golden wing, And o'er my senses all her magic fling, Shall with her wand recal the bloom of joy, And chase the starting tear of agony. Steal o'er my soul, ye thoughts of other hours, Lead me, fair Hope, through all your living bow'rs: Till with sweet langour ev'ry sense opprest, I sink, unconscious, in eternal rest,— And now, e'en now, I feel your witching pow'r, Gone are the dark-mists of the present hour, E'en as the vapours on some mountain's side Whose murky shadows all the landscape hide, When Night's inshrouding curtains fade away, Melt and disperse before the beam of day.

What sounds are those that trembling in the wind Flash such delight athwart my darken'd mind?

Oh! well I know thee, wild, enchanting strain! Return sweet notes and bless mine ear again. Fly, lovely cadence, through the woodlands fly, And wrap my soul in dreams of melody. Yes! 'tis the smiling song of other days, Wild o'er the breezy hill its sweetness strays, It speaks of blessings lost, of moments dear, And weeping Mem'ry lends her wond'ring ear.— Oh! the fair hand that once awoke the song, Chaining in rapture mute the list'ning throng! Oh grace of form! Oh Virtue's bloomy dress! Oh, all that waits upon the steps of loveliness! Fair beam! whose dawning glories sunk so soon! Swift roll'd the dark cloud o'er thy blazing Noon: By Fate's rude wing the angry blast was hurl'd, Fled was the beam to light a purer world!

But Fancy's hand shall each lost charm survey, (Ye envious clouds of fate,—away—away—) Fancy shall make the lamp of Love to burn, Shall bid the smile of yesterday return. Creative pow'r! whose soft persuasive tongue Tells of the dawn of Hope, when Joy was young, When rapture trembled in the tearless eye, And tenderness alone awoke the sigh. Oh, ye bright orbs! the heralds of her soul, Whose sparkling warmth on me no more must roll, For whom these eyes o'er all creation stray, But vainly seek to catch one kindling ray! What tho' Death's Angel spreads his sable wings, And o'er your dazzling day his darkness flings, What tho', for ever veil'd from mortal sight, Quench'd are your liquid fires in endless night,