Thy song has taught my heart to feel
Those soothing thoughts of heavenly love,
Which o'er the sainted spirits steal
When listening to the spheres above!
When, tired of life and misery,
I wish to sigh my latest breath,
Oh, Emma! I will fly to thee,
And thou shalt sing me into death.
And if along thy lip and cheek
That smile of heavenly softness play,
Which,—ah! forgive a mind that's weak,—
So oft has stolen my mind away.
Thou'lt seem an angel of the sky,
That comes to charm me into bliss:
I'll gaze and die—Who would not die,
If death were half so sweet as this?
SONG.
ON THE BIRTHDAY OF MRS. ——.
WRITTEN IN IRELAND. 1799.
Of all my happiest hours of joy,
And even I have had my measure,
When hearts were full, and every eye
Hath kindled with the light of pleasure,
An hour like this I ne'er was given,
So full of friendship's purest blisses;
Young Love himself looks down from heaven,
To smile on such a day as this is.
Then come, my friends, this hour improve,
Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever;
And may the birth of her we love
Be thus with joy remembered ever!
Oh! banish every thought to-night,
Which could disturb our soul's communion;
Abandoned thus to dear delight,
We'll even for once forget the Union!
On that let statesmen try their powers,
And tremble o'er the rights they'd die for;
The union of the soul be ours,
And every union else we sigh for.
Then come, my friends, etc.
In every eye around I mark
The feelings of the heart o'er-flowing;
From every soul I catch the spark
Of sympathy, in friendship glowing.
Oh! could such moments ever fly;
Oh! that we ne'er were doomed to lose 'em;
And all as bright as Charlotte's eye,
And all as pure as Charlotte's bosom.
Then come, my friends, etc.