Oh! to forget her!—Young.
| Oh! give me that oblivious draught That comes from Lethe's silent shore! And when the charming cup is quaff'd, I may forget—and love no more. Forget? Forget? And can it be? And is there aught beneath the sun Can wean my constant heart from thee, Thou lovely and beloved one? Ah no! Remembrance cannot choose But hold thy precious image fast; And Time, whatever else I lose, Shall spare me that—till all is past. Long nights of sorrow may elapse When all the stars of joy are set; This heart may bend—may break perhaps— But never, never can forget. |
MONOS.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
THE TRUE FOUNDATION.
| Quisquis volet perennem Cautus ponere sedem, &c. Boet. Lib, II, Met. 4. |
| Say, wouldst thou build a lasting seat, Secure from Fortune's rage; A quiet and a safe retreat, To rest thy weary age? Set not thy house upon the sand, By ocean's sounding shore; Vain Pleasure's palace cannot stand When tempests rise and roar. Nor yet upon the mountain's side Command thy tower to rise: How oft the airy hall of Pride Calls lightning from the skies! But build upon the solid rock, In that sweet vale of green Where the Good Shepherd feeds his flock, And wait life's closing scene. |