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There dost thou glide from fair to fair,
Still simpering on with eager haste, As flies along the gay parterre,
That taint the flowers they scarcely taste.
But what nymph will prize the flame
Which seems, as marshy vapours move, To flit along from dame to dame,
An ignis-fatuus gleam of love?
What friend for thee, howe'er inclined,
Will deign to own a kindred care ? Who will debase his manly mind,
For friendship every fool may share ?
In time forbear; amidst the throng
No more so base a thing be seen ;. No more so idly pass along:
Be something, any thing, but-mean.
WELL! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too; For still my heart regards thy weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do.
Thy husband's blest—and 'twill impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot: But let them pass-Oh! how my heart
Would hate him, if he loved thee not !
When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break; But when th' unconscious infant smiled,
I kiss'd it, for its mother's sake.
I kissd it, and repress’d my sighs
Its father in its face to see; But then it had its mother's eyes,
And they were all to love and me.
Mary, adieu! I must away:
While thou art blest I'll not repine ; But near thee I can never stay;
My heart would soon again be thine.
I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride
Had quench'd at length my boyish flame; Nor knew, till seated by thy side,
My heart in all, save hope, the same.
Yet was I calm : I knew the time
My breast would thrill before thy look; But now to tremble were å crime
We met, and not a nerve was shook.
I saw thee gaze upon my face,
Yet meet with no confusion there: One only feeling could'st thou trace;
The sullen calmness of despair.
9. Away! away! my early dream
Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream ?
My foolish heart be still, or break.
FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
In moments to delight devoted,
My life!" with tend'rest tone, you cry;
If youth could neither fade nor die.
Ah! then repeat those accents never ;
Which, like my love, exists for ever.
IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND.
When from the heart where Sorrow sits,
Her dusky shadow mounts too high, And o'er the changing aspect flits,
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye; Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink :
My thoughts their dungeon know too well; Back to my breast the wanderers shrink,
And droop within their silent cell.