Sighing, I view that cypress waist, Spreading thy toils with hands divine, See at thy feet no vulgar slave, SIR W. JONES. ROSY HANNAH. A spring, o'erhung with many a flower, The grey sand dancing in its bed, Embank'd beneath a hawthorn bower, Sent forth its waters near my head: A rosy lass approach'd my view: I caught her blue eye's modest beam: The stranger nodded “ How d'ye do!" And leap'd across the infant stream. The water, heedless, pass'd away : Nor moss elastic, flow'rs though sweet, I met her where the dark woods wave, Our plighted vows to heaven are flown; And rosy Hannah is my own. BLOOMFIELD. MY BEAUTIFUL MARY. (A BALLAD.) OH, couldst thou but love me, I would bear thee away To a far summer isle, Where soft music and love Should our moments beguile, Where the gentlest of gales From the sighs of the rose ;Where the sun, never sets O'er the still, heaveless main, But the sweetest of flow'rs Weep for him again. Oh, there would I build thee And there would we worship That star shouldst thou be, Could only love me! THE LILAC. H. MUNROE. O were my love yon lilac fair, When weary'd on my little wing; How I would mourn, when it was torn By autumn wild! and winter rude! And I would sing on wanton wing, When youthful May its bloom renew'd. BURNS. CANZONET. LOVE and Joy one April day, And though his pinions buoy'd him on the wave; And though he pray'd and wept, Love would not save, But frowning turn'd away- he found a wat'ry grave! Still the bark is sailing on, And Love steers her all alone; Mournful sits the cruel boy, Weeping for the death of Joy, Whose phantom sometimes flits around the mast, Recalling all the brightness of the past. to stay, He spreads his rainbow wings and flies away. CROFT. |