Ye light fleeting spirits, that glide o'er the steep,
Oh, would ye but waft me across the wild deep!
There fearless I'd mix in the battle's loud roar,
I'd die with my Connel, and leave him no more.
MATILDA.
Ye dark rugged rocks, that recline o'er the deep,
Ye breezes, that sigh o'er the main,
Here shelter me under your cliffs while I weep,
And cease while ye hear me complain.
For distant, alas! from my dear native shore,
And far from each friend now I be;
And wide is the merciless ocean that roars
Between my Matilda and me.
How blest were the times when together we stray'd,
While Phœbe shone silent above,
Or lean'd by the border of Cartha's green side,
And talk'd the whole evening of love!
Around us all nature lay wrapt up in peace,
Nor noise could our pleasures annoy,
Save Cartha's hoarse brawling, convey'd by the breeze,
That soothed us to love and to joy.
If haply some youth had his passion express'd,
And praised the bright charms of her face,
What horrors unceasing revolved though my breast,
While, sighing, I stole from the place!
For where is the eye that could view her alone,
The ear that could list to her strain,
Nor wish the adorable nymph for his own,
Nor double the pangs I sustain?
Thou moon, that now brighten'st those regions above,
How oft hast thou witness'd my bliss,
While breathing my tender expressions of love,
I seal'd each kind vow with a kiss!