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SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS.
Sun of the sleepless ! melancholy star !
TO A NIGHTINGALE.
The woodman lifts towards thee his thoughtful eye,
Thou fairy amorist ! in the forest singing,
How sweetly wild is thy melodious strain!
Varied in accents, tremulously flinging
Fragments of wonder on my dizzy brain.
Descends upon me, even as a dream;
Each magic note of thy impassioned theme.
Of yon old oak, whose flower-embroidered trunk Rests on a soft mat where the harebells lie,
Its spreading roots 'neath mossy herbage sunk? Minstrel of heaven ! is that thy leafy bower,
Where, like the queen of beauty, thou dost shade Thy gentle self in this voluptuous hour,
As in a veil of innocence arrayed ?The feathered choir to rest their wings have made A favourite haunt near thee, and mute, and fond, They listen, scattered in the boughs beyond. Hush! 'tis the mountain echoes that descend To wander thro' the trees !--they softly blend With every pause an answer so divine, They emulate, sweet bird ! that gentle song of thine.Children of air ! prolong the flowery tale,
Fill every bough, touch every living leaf, Let soft persuasive melody prevail,
That every heart, forgetful of its grief,
Like mine, exulting for an hour may be,
THE VASSAL'S LAMENT FOR THE FALLEN
“ Here, (at Brereton, in Cheshire,) is one thing incredibly strange,
but attested, as I myself have heard, by many persons, and commonly believed. Before any heir of this family dies, there are seen, in a lake adjoining, the bodies of trees swimming on the water for several days.”
Yes! I have seen the ancient oak
On the dark deep water cast,
Or the rush of the sweeping blast;
I saw it fall, as falls a chief
By an arrow in the fight;
At the crashing of its might!
And the startled deer to their coverts flew, And the spray of the lake as a fountain's dew.
'Tis fallen! but think thou not I
weep For the forest's pride o’erthrown ; An old man's tears lie far too deep
To be poured for this alone!
A youthful head, with its shining hair,
And its bright quick-flashing eye-
Too fair a thing to die !
He bounded by me as I gazed
Alone on the fatal sign,
His joyous glance to mine!
He must, he must ! in' that deep dell,
By that dark water's side,
'Tis known that ne'er a proud tree fell,
But an heir of his father died ; And he-there's laughter in his eye, Joy in his voice-yet he must die!
I've borne him in these arms, that now
Are nerveless and unstrung ;
The dust untimely flung ?
The noble boy !-how proudly sprung
The falcon from his hand ! It seemed like youth to see
Say not 'tis vain -I tell thee, some
Are warned by a meteor's light,
Or a voice on the winds by night;