And can thy wayward bosom mourn, When Nature wakes the vernal scene;

When every Dryad lends her shade,

For thine and contemplation's aid.

See! from thy haunts the stormy North
His surly blasts leads far away;
Each blossom of the teeming earth,

The glories of the op'ning day;

The promise of the coming year,

All, all, sweet bird, for thee appear.

For thee, Aurora steeps in dews

The new-born flow'rets of the dale;

For thee, with lib'ral hand, she strews
Her fragrance on the western gale;
And rifles all the sweets of morn,
To deck her fav'rite's mossy thorn.

Hark! while thy sad strain seems to tell Some mournful tale of luckless love, On each soft note's ecstatic swell,

In silence hang the warbling grove ; And ev'n the fowler loves to spare

The Poet of the midnight air.

O! if a friend's untimely tomb

Bid all that tide of sorrow flow;

Alas! ev'n there, thy wretched doom
Is mercy to my weight of woe;

For pain now past, thy bosom sighs;
Mine, present always,-never flies.

Thee, bounteous Nature blooms to cheer, And beauty smiles, thy woes to still;

To nature, love, and pity dear,

Well mayst thou yield thy load of ill,

To beings, as forlorn as I,

Denied the freedom of a tear,

The rapture of a single sigh."

THE NEREID.

FROM GRESSET.

DEEP in thy ruby-colour'd cave,

Hear, Nereid of the sacred main !

And, from the Ocean's stormy wave,
To these fair fields return again.

Blows there among thy emerald bowers
A gale like this, that, fluttering still,
Attendant on the month of flowers,
Breathes on this green and sunny hill?

What tho' along thy foamy verge

The Halcyon skims her downy breast; And, cradled on the murmuring surge

The west-wind rocks her sea-weed nest:

Thou hear'st not in thy crystal cell

The morning anthem of the year;

The music of thy spiral shell,

The wild waves deafen, sobbing drear!

O to these bowers, the bowers of Spring,
The shades of Nature, holy gloom!

While Heaven's soft dews at twilight fling
On grass and flower their living bloom,
Climena, from thy pearly caves
Return, and hail the Sun of day,

Nor for the roar of tossing waves
Resign the music of the May.