[!-- RULE4 24 --] EDITHA.
| Breathing the violet-scented gale, Near to a river's limpid source, Which, through a wide-extended vale, Wound slowly on its sleeping course, Attended by a youthful pair, With rubied lip and roving eye, Oft would fair Editha repair, And let her children wander nigh. There pleas'd behold their footsteps turn, To each new object in their way, Their ringlets glittering in the sun, Their faces careless, blythe, and gay. Once, when they drest their flaxen hair, With flow'rets wild of various hue, And with a proud, exulting air, To their delighted parent drew: "Ah! thus may every day arise! And pleasure thus your hearts, pervade!" The widow'd mother fondly cries, "Before the youthful blossoms fade. "My sighs are all dispers'd in air, Resign'd to fate, I weep no more, Your welfare now is all my care, Yet am I constant as before. "The world, because a vermil bloom, Tinges my yet unfading cheek, Says I forget my William's tomb, A new and earthly love to seek. "Because I join the social train, With lip that wears a kindred smile; And a gay sonnet's lively strain, Does oft the lonely hour beguile: "Because no longer now I mourn, With sweeping robes of sable hue; No more I clasp the marble urn, Or vainly bid the world adieu. "Ah! ill my secret soul they know, Where my lost hero still remains, Where memory makes my bosom glow, And binds me still in closer chains. "Whoe'er hath seen my William's form, Heighten'd with every martial grace, The ever-varying, unknown charm, Which beam'd in his expressive face; "Or heard his fine ideas try, In Fancy's fairy garb to teach, While the sweet language of his eye, Excell'd the eloquence of speech, "Could ne'er suppose my faith would fail, Or aught again this heart enslave; That absence would o'er love prevail, Or hope be bounded by the grave. "Could all but I his merit know? His wit and talents see? And is his name by all below Remember'd, but by me? "No, ne'er will I the memory lose, Though from my sight thy form is flown, Of tenderness for other's woes, And noble firmness in thy own. "No slavish fear thy soul deprest, Of Death, or his attendant train; For in thy pure and spotless breast, The fear of heav'n did only reign. "Thus, when the still-unsated waves Spread o'er thy head their whelming arms, When horrid darkness reign'd around, And lightnings flash'd their dire alarms, [13]"When, wing'd with death, each moment flew, And blood the foaming ocean stain'd, Thy courage cool, consistent, true, Its native energy maintain'd. "And when the fatal moment came, The bullet enter'd in thy side, Only thy spirit's beauteous frame, Its prisoner flying, droop'd and died. "This is it that consoles my mind, Which to my love aspiring flies, And makes me hope, in future days, To hail my William in the skies. "Should tears from my pale eyelids steal, I teach my children's how to flow, And make their little bosoms feel, Before their time, the touch, of woe. "I will not weep! the world shall see That I a nobler tribute pay; More grateful both to heaven and thee, By guiding them in virtue's way." Embracing then her fondest cares, She cast her raptur'd eyes above, And breath'd to heav'n emphatic pray'rs, Of mingled reverence and love. APRIL 15, 1795. |
[!-- Note Anchor 13 --]13: I know not if I have expressed myself with much clearness here, but I meant to describe a sea-fight as concisely as possible.
[!-- RULE4 25 --] TO M.I.
| Light breezes dance along the air, The sky in smiles is drest, And heav'ns pure vault, serene and fair, Pourtrays the cheerful breast. Each object on this moving ball Assumes a lovely hue; So fair good-humour brightens all That comes within her view. Her presence glads the youthful train, Reanimates the gay, And, round her, by the couch of pain, The light-wing'd graces play. Her winning mein and prompt reply, Can sullen pride appease; And the sweet arching of her eye E'en apathy must please. To you, with whom the damsel dwells A voluntary guest, To you, Maria, memory tells, This tribute is addrest. The feeble strains that I bequeath, With melody o'erpay; And let thy lov'd piano breathe A sweet responsive lay. Although the mellow sounds will rise, So distant from my ear, The charmer Fancy, when she tries, Can make them present here. Can paint thee, as with raptur'd bend, You hail the powers of song; When the light fingers quick descend, And fly the notes along: Feel the soft chord of sadness meet, An echo in the soul, And waking joy the strains repeat, When Mirth's-quick measures roll. This "mistress of the powerful spell," Can every joy impart; And ah! you doubtless know too well How she can wring the heart. She rules me with despotic reign, As now I say adieu; And makes me feel a sort of pain, As if I spoke to you. FEB. 14, 1797. |
[!-- RULE4 26 --] WRITTEN IN
ZIMMERMANN'S SOLITUDE.
|
Hail, melancholy sage! whose thoughtful eye, Shrunk from the mere spectator's careless gaze, And, in retirement sought the social smile, The heart-endearing aspect, and the voice Of soothing tenderness, which Friendship breathes, And which sounds far more grateful to the ear, Than the soft notes of distant flute at eve, Stealing across the waters: Zimmermann! Thou draw'st not Solitude as others do, With folded arms, with pensive, nun-like air, And tearful eye, averted from mankind. No! warm, benign, and cheerful, she appears The friend of Health, of Piety, and Peace; The kind Samaritan that heals our woes, The nurse of Science, and, of future fame The gentle harbinger: her meek abode Is that dear home, which still the virtuous heart, E'en in the witching maze of Pleasure's dance, In wild Ambition's dream, regards with love, And hopes, with fond security, to pass The evening of a long-protracted day, Serenely joyful, there. |