The lover far from home;
When shall I, on your breast,.
Ye kindly muses, rest,
And cease at length to roam?
1800.* ——— FOUND.
ONCE through the forest
Alone I went;
To seek for nothing
My thoughts were bent.
I saw i' the shadow
A flower stand there
As stars it glisten'd,
As eyes 'twas fair.
I sought to pluck it,—