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FAREWELL TO THE MUSE.
ENCHANTRESS, farewell, who so oft has decoy'd me, At the close of the evening, through woodlands to roam, Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me,
Seek out the wild scenes he was quitting, for home. Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild speaking, The language alternate of rapture and woe;
Oh! none but some lover whose heart-strings are breaking, The pang that I feel at our parting can know.
Each joy thou could'st double, and when there came sorrow, Or pale disappointment to darken my way,
What voice was like thine that could sing of to-morrow,
'Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to-day! But when friends drop around us in life's weary waning, The grief, Queen of numbers, thou can'st not assuage: Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remaining, The languor of pain, and the chillness of age.
'Twas thou that once taught me in accents bewailing,
THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW.
THIS world is all a fleeting show,
For man's illusion given;
The smiles of Joy, the tears of Woe,
There's nothing true but Heaven!
And false the light on Glory's plume,
And Love and Hope, and Beauty's bloom,
There's nothing bright but Heaven!
Poor wanderers of a stormy day,
From wave to wave we're driven,
And Fancy's flash and Reason's ray
ODE TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN.
SLAVE of the dark and dirty mine,
So bright, whom I have bought so dear!
The jackall's shriek bursts on mine ear,
By Chericul's dark wandering streams,
Where loves of youth and friendship smiled, Uncurs'd by thee, vile yellow slave!
Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade! The perish'd bliss of youth's first prime, That once so bright on fancy play'd,
Revives no more in after time.
Far from my sacred natal clime, I haste to an untimely grave;
The daring thoughts, that soar'd sublime, Are sunk in Ocean's southern wave.
Slave of the mine! thy yellow light
A gentle vision comes by night,
My lonely widow'd heart to cheer;
That once were guiding stars to mine;
Her fond heart throbs with many a fear!-
I cannot bear to see thee shine.
For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave,
I crossed the tedious ocean-wave,
The cold wind of the stranger blew Chill on my withered heart-the grave
Dark and untimely met my view; And all for thee, vile yellow slave!
Ha! com'st thou now so late to mock
Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn;
THOU ART, OH GOD!
THOU art, oh God! the life and light
When Day, with farewell beam, delays
Thro' golden vistas into heaven;
When Night, with wings of starry gloom,
When youthful Spring around us breathes,
IT IS THE HOUR
IT IS THE HOUR when from the boughs
Seem sweet in every whispered word;
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And on the leaf a browner hue;
And in the Heaven that clear obscure,
That follows the decline of day
As twilight melts beneath the moon away.