I will not court thy fickle love; Soon shall our fates and fortunes sever; And smiling, sigh-' Adieu for ever!' Still trust that they will act sincerely, For time will swiftly journey on, And age, with sickness, haste to meet thee; When they no more with smiles can cheat thce. A faithful heart, that beats sincerely; Which, scorning interest, lov'd thee dearly! When in the grave my woes shall sleep, My voice, in whispers, tell thee clearly, How cold, at last, that bosom lies, Which lov'd thee long-and lov'd thee dearly! STANZAS, WRITTEN BETWEEN DOVER AND CALAIS, JULY, 1792, INSCRIBED ΤΟ BOUNDING Billow, cease thy motion, Bear me not so swiftly o'er; Cease thy roarings, foamy Ocean.; I will tempt thy rage no more, Ah! within my bosom beating, Joy, that far from foes I wander, Where their arts can reach no more! Pain, that woman's heart grows fonder When her dream of bliss is o'er. Far I go, where Fate shall lead me, Where no stranger's ear shall heed me, Proud has been my fatal passion, Not one sigh shall tell my story; Yet, ere far from all I treasur'd, I have lov'd thee-dearly lov'd thee, Ten long years of anxious sorrow, Wealth and splendor could not charm me, Nor could threats or fears alarm me; Save the fear of losing Thee! When the storms of Fortune press'd thee, Think, when all the world forsook thee, Often hast thou smiling told me, Fare thee well, ungrateful Rover- ELEGY. YES, DELIA! long as beats this trembling heart, But we were gay, and cheerful as the Spring. Those scenes, those hours in pensive song shall live,- The flowery wreaths which then thy fingers wove, Still all their perfume, all their bloom retain ; The tender tales which then our hearts could move, Now warm to pleasure, and now wake to pain! Fancy, be still! restrain thy wanton pride, For thy gay moments shall return no more: Hush'd are the winds, and calm the azure tide; And, lo! the bark has reach'd its destin'd shore. Yet thou didst oft in wildest vision stray, Nor could believe that all thy dreams were vain. And, while to distant climes and future hours And oft with thee, he fascinated rov'd Gay fragrant meads and myrtle bowers among : Delia can tell how much thy power he prov'd; For she, too, listen'd to the syren song. But, ah! soft Passion must awake no more; Yet will the Muse that wayward fate deplore, SONNET. BREATHE Soft, ye Gales! along the vernal plain, For, did not Beauty ask a different Strain? Fair though she be ; though each impassion'd heart, She bids-and I forego the pleasing part, Be to her Virtue, then, my song address'd, Here, let the Muse her strength, her sweetness prove; And sure she is with every virtue bless'd, Which heightens beauty, and increases love! As shines the blushing rose, midst dews of morn, So does SEMIRA's mind her form adorn. HANNAH. SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF HER WHO IS DEAD TO ME. AT fond sixteen, my roving heart Where circling woods embower'd the glade, I stole her hand-it shrunk-but, no! With all the fervency of youth, Not with a warmer, purer ray, |