For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LINES.

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.