TO A LADY. With Falkner's "Shipwreck." АH! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams, Nor yet while gazing in sublimer mood Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed strew'd, Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he sings, "Cling to the shrowds!" In vain! The breakers roarDeath shrieks! With two alone of all his clan, Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore, No classic roamer, but a ship-wreck'd man! Say then, what muse inspir'd these genial strains, And lit his spirit to so bright a flame ? The elevating thought of suffer'd pains, Which gentle hearts shall mourn; but chief, the name Which Love makes Substance! Hence to thee I send, O dear as long as life and memory last! I send with deep regards of heart and head, Sweet maid, for friendship form'd! this work to thee: And thou, the while thou can'st not choose but shed A tear for FALKNER, wilt remember ME! TO A YOUNG LADY. On her Recovery from a Fever. WHY need I say, Louisa dear! How glad I am to see you here, A lovely convalescent; Risen from the bed of pain, and fear, And feverish heat incessant. The sunny Showers, the dappled Sky, The little Birds that warble high, Their vernal loves commencing, Will better welcome you than I, With their sweet influencing. Believe me, while in bed you lay, You made us grow devouter! Besides, what vex'd us worse, we knew, They have no need of such as you In the place where you were going: This World has angels all too few, And Heaven is overflowing! SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL. Written in Germany. IF I had but two little wings, And were a little feathery bird, To you I'd fly, my dear! But thoughts like these are idle things, But in my sleep to you I fly : I'm always with you in my sleep; The world is all one's own. But then one wakes, and where am I? Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids: For though my sleep be gone, Yet, while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids, And still dreams on. |