THE LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS. ON HER BIRTH-DAY. IF any white-wing'd Power above The day when thou wert born, my love— I laugh'd (till taught by thee) when told That ripen'd life's dull ore to gold, My mind had lovely shapes portray'd; I gazed, and felt upon my lips The unfinish'd accents hang: One moment's bliss, one burning kiss, To rapture changed each pang. And though as swift as lightning's flash Not all the waves of time shall wash Their memory from my view. But duly shall my raptured song, SONG. Он, how hard it is to find And sing, Woe's me-Woe's me? Love's a boundless burning waste, Suspense's thorns, Suspicion's stings; That's sweet-ev'n when we sigh 'Woe's me!` ADELGITHA. THE ordeal's fatal trumpet sounded, She wept, deliver'd from her danger; For he is in a foreign far land Whose arms should now have set me free; For him that's dead, or false to me." Nay! say not that his faith is tainted!". It was indeed her own true knight! LINES ON RECEIVING A SEAL WITH THE CAMPBELL MARRIAGE. THIS wax returns not back more fair We are not friends of yesterday ; But poets' fancies are a little Disposed to heat and cool, (they say,)By turns impressible and brittle. Well! should its frailty e'er condemn What transcripts of my weal and woe In reason's calm or passion's shock! What scenes of life's yet curtain'd stage Whose stamp awaits th' unwritten page, Yet wheresoe'er my pen I lift To date the epistolary sheet, The blest occasion of the gift Shall make its recollection sweet; Sent when the star that rules your fates Hath reach'd its influence most benign When every heart congratulates, And none more cordially than mine. So speed my song-mark'd with the crest That erst the advent'rous Norman wore, Who won the Lady of the West The daughter of Macaillan Mor. Crest of my sires! whose blood it seal'd With glory in the strife of swords, Ne'er may the scroll that bears it yield Degenerate thoughts or faithless words! Yet little might I prize the stone, From whence, a scattered leaf, I'm blown |