"O! gods, my friend beloved give again health's blessings,
Faded are her cheeks now, dull her once bright eye,
In her heart no pleasure,--killed by cruel sickness,
As by heat flowers.
"But if your hard laws should bid her quit existence,
Grant then my sad prayer, with her let me too die,"--
Laura, be tranquil! thy friend thou'lt see reviving
Like spring's sweet roses.
THE STORM.
BY DERJAVIN.
As my bark in restless ocean
Mounts its rough and foaming hills,
Whilst its waves in dark commotion
Pass me, hope my bosom fills.
Who, when warring clouds are gleaming,
Quenches the destructive spark?
Say what hand, where safety's beaming,
Guides through rocks my little bark?
Thou Creator! all o'erseeing,
In this scene preserv'st me dread,
Thou, without whose word decreeing
Not a hair falls from my head.
Thou in life hast doubly blest me,
All my soul to thee's revealed,
Thou amongst the great hast placed me,
Be midst them my guide and shield!
TO MY HEART.
Why, poor heart, so ceaseless languish?
Why with such distresses smart?
Nought alleviates thy anguish,
What afflicts thee so, poor heart?
Heart, I comprehend not wrongly,
Thou a captive art confest,
Near Eliza thou beat'st strongly
As thou'dst leap into her breast.