In joy I've sigh'd to think thy flight Would soon subside from swift to slow; Thy cloud could overcast the light, But could not add a night to woe; For then, however drear and dark, To prove thee-not Eternity. One scene even thou canst not deform; When future wanderers bear the storm Which we shall sleep too sound to heed: And I can smile to think how weak Thine efforts shortly shall be shown, When all the vengeance thou canst wreak Must fall upon-a nameless stone. TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG. 1. AH! Love was never yet without Which rends my heart with ceaseless sigh, While day and night roll darkling by. 2. Without one friend to hear my woe, I faint, I die beneath the blow. That Love had arrows, well I knew ; Alas! I find them poison'd too. 3. Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net, Which Love around your haunts hath set; Or circled by his fatal fire, Your hearts shall burn, your hopes expire. 4. A bird of free and careless wing Was I, through many a smiling spring; I burn, and feebly flutter there. 5. Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain, Can neither feel nor pity pain, The cold repulse, the look askance, The lightning of Love's angry glance. 6. In flattering dreams I deem'd thee mine; 7. My light of life! ah, tell me why My bird of love! my beauteous mate! And art thou changed, and canst thou hate? 8. Mine eyes like wintry streams o'erflow: What wretch with me would barter woe? My bird! relent: one note could give A charm, to bid thy lover live. 9. My curdling blood, my madd'ning brain, In silent anguish I sustain; And still thy heart, without partaking One pang, exults-while mine is breaking. 10. Pour me the poison; fear not thou! Thou canst not murder more than now: I've lived to curse my natal day, And Love, that thus can lingering slay. 11. My wounded soul, my bleeding breast, Alas! too late, I dearly know, That joy is harbinger of woe. A SONG. 1. THOU art not false, but thou art fickle, The tears that thou hast forced to trickle Are doubly bitter from that thought: "Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest, Too well thou lov'st-too soon thou leavest. 2. The wholly false the heart despises, Whose love is as sincere as sweet,— 3. To dream of joy and wake to sorrow |