I will not court thy fickle love;

Soon shall our fates and fortunes sever;
Far from thy scorn will I remove,

And smiling, sigh-' Adieu for ever!'
Give to the sordid fiends thy days,

Still trust that they will act sincerely,
And, when the specious mask decays,
Lament the heart-that lov'd thee dearly!

For time will swiftly journey on,

And age, with sickness, haste to meet thee;
Friends prove deceitful, wantons shun —

When they no more with smiles can cheat thce.
Then wilt thou seek, in vain, to find

A faithful heart, that beats sincerely;
A passion-centering in the mind,

Which, scorning interest, lov'd thee dearly!

When in the grave my woes shall sleep,
No soothing dream will bless thy slumber;
For thou wilt often wake to weep,
And, in despair, my sorrows number:
My shade will haunt thy aching eyes,

My voice, in whispers, tell thee clearly,

How cold, at last, that bosom lies,

Which lov'd thee long-and lov'd thee dearly!

STANZAS,

WRITTEN BETWEEN DOVER AND CALAIS, JULY, 1792, INSCRIBED

ΤΟ

BOUNDING Billow, cease thy motion,

Bear me not so swiftly o'er;

Cease thy roarings, foamy Ocean.;

I will tempt thy rage no more,

Ah! within my bosom beating,
Varying passions wildly reign;
Love, with proud Resentment meeting,
Throbs, by turns, with joy and pain.

Joy, that far from foes I wander, Where their arts can reach no more! Pain, that woman's heart grows fonder When her dream of bliss is o'er.

Far I go, where Fate shall lead me,
Far across the restless deep,

Where no stranger's ear shall heed me,
Where no eye for me shall weep.

Proud has been my fatal passion,
Proud my injur'd heart shall be;
For each thought, each inclination,
Still shall prove me-worthy thee!

Not one sigh shall tell my story;
Not one tear my cheek shall stain;
Silent grief shall be my glory;
Grief, that stoops not to complain!

Yet, ere far from all I treasur'd,
********, ere I bid adieu;
Ere my days of pain are measur'd,
Take the song that's still thy due.

I have lov'd thee-dearly lov'd thee,
Through an age of worldly woe!
How ungrateful have I prov'd thee,
Let my mournful exile show!

Ten long years of anxious sorrow,
Hour by hour, I counted o'er;
Looking forward, till to-morrow,
Every day I lov'd thee more!

Wealth and splendor could not charm me,
Rank possess'd no lure for me;

Nor could threats or fears alarm me;

Save the fear of losing Thee!

When the storms of Fortune press'd thee,
I have wept to see thee weep;
When relentless cares distress'd thee,
I have lull'd those cares to sleep.

Think, when all the world forsook thee,
When with grief thy soul was prest,
How to these fond arms I took thee-
How I clasp'd thee to my breast!

Often hast thou smiling told me,
'Wealth and pow'r were trifling toys,
When thou fondly didst enfold nie,
Rich in Love's luxuriant joys!'

Fare thee well, ungrateful Rover-
Welcome Gallia's hostile shore !
Now the breezes waft me over
Now we part-to meet no more.

ELEGY.

YES, DELIA! long as beats this trembling heart,
Those scenes, those hours shall sweet remembrance bring,
In which as yet had cold Regret no part,

But we were gay, and cheerful as the Spring.

Those scenes, those hours in pensive song shall live,-
When our true hearts the purest offerings made;
When much we lov'd our secret thoughts to give,
As friendship prompted in some silent shade.

The flowery wreaths which then thy fingers wove,

Still all their perfume, all their bloom retain ; The tender tales which then our hearts could move, Now warm to pleasure, and now wake to pain!

Fancy, be still! restrain thy wanton pride,

For thy gay moments shall return no more: Hush'd are the winds, and calm the azure tide; And, lo! the bark has reach'd its destin'd shore.

Yet thou didst oft in wildest vision stray,
And pouredst oft a sweet delusive strain;
Soft Passion listen'd to the fairy lay,

Nor could believe that all thy dreams were vain.

And, while to distant climes and future hours
Young credulous Hope in flowery bands you led,
To his rapt eye exhausted all your pow'rs,
His unsuspicious soul those pow'rs obey'd.

And oft with thee, he fascinated rov'd

Gay fragrant meads and myrtle bowers among : Delia can tell how much thy power he prov'd; For she, too, listen'd to the syren song.

But, ah! soft Passion must awake no more;
So reason bids, and so does fate ordain:

Yet will the Muse that wayward fate deplore,
And yet lament that Fancy's dreams were vain!

SONNET.

BREATHE Soft, ye Gales! along the vernal plain,
More solemn notes awake my gentle Lyre;

For, did not Beauty ask a different Strain?
A theme far different of the Muse require?

Fair though she be ; though each impassion'd heart,
Powerless, submit to her superior charms;

She bids-and I forego the pleasing part,
To sing of beauty, and of love's alarms.

Be to her Virtue, then, my song address'd,

Here, let the Muse her strength, her sweetness prove; And sure she is with every virtue bless'd,

Which heightens beauty, and increases love! As shines the blushing rose, midst dews of morn, So does SEMIRA's mind her form adorn.

HANNAH.

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF HER WHO IS DEAD TO ME.

AT fond sixteen, my roving heart
Was pierc'd by Love's delightful dart:
Keen transport throbb'd in every vein-
I never felt so sweet a pain!

Where circling woods embower'd the glade,
I met the dear romantic Maid:

I stole her hand-it shrunk-but, no!
I would not let my captive go.

With all the fervency of youth,
While passion told the tale of truth,
I mark'd my HANNAH's downcast eye:
"Twas kind, but beautifully shy.

Not with a warmer, purer ray,
The sun enamour'd woo's young May;
Nor May with softer maiden grace
Turns from the sun her blushing face.