TO EMMA.
“To all the council that we two have shar’d,
“The sister vows, the hours that we have spent,
“When we have chid the hasty footed time
“For parting us:——Oh! and is all forgot?”
Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Yes! ’tis too true—forgotten all
The hallow’d joys of friendship’s shrine;
Insensate to her gentle call,
The heart that own’d her power divine.
The bright illusive hopes that charm’d
My soul—all glide in clouds away;
No more this heart with rapture warm’d,
Shall bless the beam of rising day.
Nor dewy eve, nor Cynthia’s light,
Reflected on the gliding wave,
Nor spring’s sweet buds, nor flow’rets bright,
With glowing hues, can pleasure give.
The lonely heart no pleasure knows,
Pleasure can never be my lot;
To Emma still my heart will turn,
And fondly ask, “Is all forgot.”
The sister vows, the swift-wing’d hours,
Illum’d by friendship’s brightest beam;
When fancy cull’d her fairest flowers,
And Emma ever was my theme.
Are all forgot!——oblivion throws
Her dusky shade o’er pleasures flown;
But sad remembrance lifts the veil,
To view the scenes of rapture gone.
Yet Emma, dear ungrateful maid,
Though thou art fickle, I am not:
Nor till I sink in death’s dark shade,
Shall Emma’s image be forgot.
CLARA.
Pearl-Street, Sept. 1, 1796.
For the New-York Weekly Magazine.