It cannot be that love like that which fills My soul for them, should be bestowed in vain, When but the fear that they forget me, chills Each pulse and feeling—as the wintry rain Chills earth and air, which yet may glow again In summer's beams—but what can joy restore To bosoms upon which that blight has lain? From such e'en hope departs, and can return no more.
For them I would have done—but let me not Such thoughts recall—could service e'er repay The blessings their companionship has wrought?— With them too swiftly passed the time away, On pleasure's wings—weeks dwindled to a day, And days to moments—such the charm they cast O'er every scene, and such their gentle sway, Making each glad hour seem still brighter than the last.
To them I turned, as Iran's tameless race Toward their refulgent God looked till the last, And died still gazing on his radiant face;— Alas! the spring-time of my year is past— From them afar my line of life is cast, And I must wander now like one that's lost— A helmless bark, blown wide by every blast, And without hope or joy, on life's rude surges toss'd.
Oh no, it cannot be that grief like this Should be reserved to blight my coming years— That moments of such almost perfect bliss Should be succeeded by an age of tears— Revive, then, hope, and put to flight my fears; I'll meet the future with undaunted eye, Trusting thy light, that now my pathway cheers, Gilding its onward course, as sunset gilds the sky.
THE FALLS OF NIAGARA.
[Translated from the Italian.] [R]
BY SAMUEL L. MITCHELL.—1796.
Borne to the rocky bed's extremest brow, The flood leaps headlong, nor a moment waits;— To join the whirlpool deep and vast below, The saltless ocean hurries through the straits.
Hoarse roars the broken wave; and upward driv'n, Dashes in air;—dissolving vapours press'd Confound the troubled elements with heav'n:— Earth quakes beneath;—heart trembles in the breast.