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Young Zephyr his fresh Aowers profusely throws,
We'll tinge with livelier hues thy cheek; And, haply, from the nectar-breathing Rose
Extract a blush for Love!
As late each flower that sweetest blows
I pluck'd, the Garden's pride!
Within the petals of a Rose
A sleeping Love I spied.
Around his brows a beamy wreath
Of many a lucent hue ;
All purple glow'd his cheek beneath,
Inebriate with dew.
I softly seiz'd th' unguarded Power,
Nor scar'd his balmy rest;
And plac'd him, cag'd within the flower,
On spotless Sara's breast.
But when unweeting of the guile
Awoke the pris'ner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile
And stamp'd his fairy feet.
Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight
Subdued th' impatient boy !
He gaz'd! he thrill'd with deep delight !
Then clapp'd his wings for joy.
And oh! he cried—“Of magic kind
What charms this Throne endear! Some other Love let Venus find
I'll fix my empire here."
One kiss, dear Maid! I said and sigh’d-
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss ?
Can danger lurk within a kiss ?
Yon viewless Wand'rer of the vale,
The Spirit of the Western Gale,
At Morning's break, at Evening's close
Inhales the sweetness of the Rose,
And hovers o'er th' uninjur'd Bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigor to the Zephyr's wing
Her nectar-breathing Kisses fling;
And He the glitter of the Dew
Scatters on the Rose's hue.
Bashful lo! she bends her head,
And darts a blush of deeper Red !
Too well those lovely lips disclose
The Triumphs of the op'ning Rose :
O fair! O gråceful! bid them prove
As passive to the breath of Love.
In tender accents, faint and low,
Well-pleas'd I hear the whisper'd “No!
The whisper'd “No"--how little meant !
Sweet Falsehood, that endears Consent !
For on those lovely lips the while
Dawns the soft relenting smile,
And tempts with feign'd dissuasion coy
The gentle violence of Joy.
ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT.
Poor little Foal of an oppressed Race!
I love the languid Patience of thy face:
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy ragged Coat, and pat thy head.'
But what thy dulled Spirits hath dismay'd,
That never thou dost sport along the glade ?
And (most unlike the nature of things yourg)
That earth-ward still thy moveless head is hung?
Do thy prophetic Fears anticipate,
Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate ?
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches
“Which patient Merit of the Unworthy takes ?”
Or is thy sad heart thrillid with filial pain
To see thy wretched Mother's shorten'd Chain ?
And truly, very piteous is her Lot
Chain'd to a Log within a narrow spot
Where the close-eaten Grass is scarcly seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting Green!
Poor Ass! thy Master should have learnt to shew
Pity—best taught by fellowship of Woe!
For much I fear me, that he lives, like thee,
Half-famish'd in a land of Luxury!
How askingly it's footsteps hither bend ?
It seems to say, “And have I then one Friend ?”.
Innocent Foal! thou poor despis’d Forlorn!
I hail thee Brother-spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell
Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell,
Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his Bride,
And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!
How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,
And frisk about as Lamb or Kitten gay!
Yea! and more musically sweet to me
Thy dissonant harsh Bray of Joy would be,
Than warbled Melodies that sooth to rest
The aching of pale Fashion's vacant breast !
Tell me, on what holy ground
May Domestic Peace be found ?
Halcyon Daughter of the skies,
Far on fearful wings she flies,
From the pomp of sceptred State,
From the Rebel's noisy hate.
In a cottag'd vale She dwells
List’ning to the Sabbath bells !
Still around her steps are seen
Spotless Honour's meeker mien,
Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
Sorrow smiling through her tears,
And conscious of the past employ
Memory, bosom-spring of joy.
When Youth his fairy reign began
Ere Sorrow had proclaimed me man;
While Peace the present hour beguild,
And all the lovely Prospect smil'd:
Then, Mary! ’mid my lightsome glee
I heav'd the painless Sigh for thee.
And when, along the waves of woe,
My harass'd Heart was doom'd to know
The frantic Burst of Outrage keen,
And the slow Pang that gnaws unseen ;
Then shipwreck'd on Life's stormy sea
I heav'd an anguish'd Sigh for thee!
But soon Reflection's power imprest
A stiller sadness on my breast;
And sickly Hope with waning eye
Was well content to droop and die :
I yielded to the stern decree,
Yet heav'd a languid Sigh for thee!
And tho’in distant climes to roam,
A wanderer from my native home,
I fain would sooth the sense of Care
And lull to sleep the Joys, that were!
Thy Image may not banish'd be-
Still, Mary! still I sigh for thee.