Come then-ere yet the morning ray
Has drunk the dew that gems your crest,
And drawn your balmiest sweets away;
O come, and grace my Anna's breast.

Ye droop, fond flowers! But did ye know
What worth, what goodness there reside,
Your cups with liveliest tints would glow,
And spread their leaves with conscious pride.

For there has liberal nature join'd
Her riches to the store of art,
And added to the virtuous mind,
The soft, the sympathizing heart.

Come then-ere yet the morning ray

Has drunk the dew that gems your crest, And drawn your balmiest sweets away;

O come, and grace my Anna's breast.

O! I should think, that fragrant bed
Might I but hope with you to share,-
Years of anxiety repaid,

By one short hour of transport there.

More blest than me, thus shall ye live
Your little day; and when ye die,
Sweet flowers! the grateful muse shall give
A verse; the sorrowing maid a sigh.

While I, alas! no distant date,

Mix with the dust from whence I came, Without a friend to weep my fate,

Without a stone to tell my name.

IV. Gifford. Esq.

VERSES

WRITTEN TWO YEARS AFTER THE PRECEDING.

I

WISH I was where Anna lies; For I am sick of ling'ring here; And ev'ry hour affection cries,

Go, and partake her humble bier.

I wish I could! for when she died

I lost my all; and life has prov'd Since that sad hour, a dreary void, A waste unlovely, and unlov'd.

But who, when I am turn'd to clay,
Shall duly to her grave repair,

And pluck the ragged moss away,

And weeds that have " no business there?"

And who, with pious hand, shall bring

The flowers she cherish'd, snow-drops cold,

And violets that unheeded spring,

To scatter o'er her hallow'd mould?

And who, while memory loves to dwell
Upon her name for ever dear,
Shall feel his heart with passion swell,
And pour the bitter, silent tear?

I did it; and would fate allow,

Should visit still, should still deploreBut health and strength have left me now, And I, alas! can weep no more.

Take then, sweet maid! this simple strain,
The last I offer at thy shrine;

Thy grave must then undeck'd remain,
And all thy mem'ry fade with mine.

And can thy soft persuasive look,

Thy voice, that might with music vie,
Thy air, that every gazer took,
Thy matchless eloquence of eye,

Thy spirits, innocent as good,

Thy courage, by no ills dismay'd,

Thy patience, by no wrongs subdu'd,
Thy gay good-humour-can they "fade?"

Ibid.

THE SUMMER FADES,

I

SEE the tints of Summer fade,
And see them fade without a sigh;

For dear to me is Autumn's glade,
And dearer still her ev'ning sky.

Forth, when the splendours of the day
No longer sate the gazing mind,
I wander where from lonely spray
The last note lingers on the wind.

And sweet it is, through coppice near, To catch the sun's departing gleam, While ev'ry breeze to fancy's ear, Conveys a soft celestial theme.

Oh, at such hour! when tumult wild Disturbs no more the tranquil frame; When ev'ry thought of earth beguil❜d, Feels all of passion but the name;

Oft with Myrtilla have I trod

The scene to contemplation giv'n, And as we press'd the dew-bright sod, Look'd upward to a brighter heav'n!

The mild moon dwelling on her cheek, Seem'd with her breast to sympathize, And language more than earth could speak, Shone in her soft retiring eyes.

And will these hours return no more?
And are those days for ever past?
They are-but Autumn can restore
Such scenes of bliss, as, while they last,

May bid remembrance cease to tell

Of what we know: and when gone by, These coming hours shall fondly dwell Where mem'ry holds her fonder tie.

And, though to Autumn's latest sheaf
I still must give the pensive sigh,
Yet I can see her falling leaf
Submissive to a ruder sky.

For Winter, in his arm of might,
Bears many a social hope to me;
And much I love his longest night,
His longest night of friendly glee.

No brighter moments have I known,
Than those which Winter can bestow,
When friendship draws her circling zone :
'Mid lakes of ice and fields of snow.