But swifter than the frighted dove,
Fled the gay morning of my love ;-
Ah! that so bright a morn, so soon
Should vanish in so dark a noon!

The Angel of Affliction rose,
And in his train a thousand woes ;
He pour'd his vial on my head,
And all the heaven of rapture fled.

Yet, in the glory of my pride,

I stood-and all his wrath defied;

I stood-though whirlwinds shook my brain, And lightnings cleft my soul in twain,

I shunn'd my Nymph; yet knew not why
I durst not meet her gentle eye:

I shunn'd her-for I could not bear
To marry her to my despair.

Yet, sick at heart with hope delay'd,
Oft the dear image of that Maid
Glanc'd, like the rainbow, o'er my mind,
And promis'd happiness behind.

The storm blew o'er, and in my breast
The halcyon Peace rebuilt her nest;
The storm blew o'er, and clear and mild
The sea of youth and pleasure smil'd.

"Twas on the morning of that day,
When Phoebus marries rosy May,
I sought once more the charming spot
Where bloom'd the thorn by Hannah's cot.

O! as I cross'd the neighbouring plain,
I liv'd my wooing days again;
And Fancy sketch'd my future life-
My home, my children, and my wife.

I saw the village steeple rise;

My soul sprang, sparkling, in mine eyes;
The rural bells rang sweet and clear,

My fond heart listen'd in mine ear.

I reach'd the hamlet;-all was gay;
I love a rustic holiday!

I met a Wedding-stept aside;
O, God!-my Hannah was the Bride!

There is a grief that cannot feel;

It leaves a wound that will not heal!

My heart grew cold--it felt not then! When shall it cease to feel again?

TO *********

IF from that hour the dewy Morn's bright eyes
On earth first ope, till dull night's spectred-noon-
When, with slow solemn march, the vestal Moon,
And marshall'd band of stars, descend the skies,
Musing to stray, and with repeated sighs,

That speak a heart with saddest woe in tune, To crave of pitying Heaven alone this boonThat with fresh bliss for thee each morn may rise!

If those thou lov'st, to hold than life more dearTo place their image in my heart next thine;

If when thy mild, thy angel-voice I hear, On the soft sounds to dwell-O Maid divine!Might claim one tender sigh, one pitying tear; The pitying tear, the tender sigh were mine.

EFFECTS OF LOVE.

ERE LAURA met my ravish'd view,

My cheek confess'd health's roseate bloom;
My soul nor love nor sorrow knew—

How beauty's power hath chang'd my doom!

'Mid lonely glades, with tear-fraught eyes,
Wandering, I mourn my secret pain;
The passing breeze, with lengthen'd sighs,
In pity murmurs to my strain.

Now, lull'd by Hope's elysian smile,
My fears in silent slumber rest;
Now dreams that every thought beguile,
Serenely soothing, cheer my breast.

But ah! too soon my grief returns -
Again tumultuous passions rise;
Again my tortur'd bosom burns;
And all the dear illusion flies !

Aн, me! in vain wild wood, or noiseless dell,
Or frowning steep, with weary feet I trace,
Hopeful, thou sweet Enchantress, to erase
From my sad heart thy firm-enwoven spell.
Vain hope, indeed! for Memory too well

Hath treasur'd up each charm of thy fair face,
Thy matchless mind, thy form's transcendent grace;
And loves, all else forgot, on them to dwell!
Each blooming flower in silence speaks of thee;
I hear thy voice in each melodious sound;
And as I stray, each lovely form I see,

Thine swift recalls with brighter beauty crown'd!
Alas! what then remains for wretched me,
But still to love-though Fate hath sternly frown'd.

THE FALSE ONE'S PLEASURE.

YES, false one, triumph in my woes,

And joy these flowing tears to view!
How just, to wound that heart's repose
That gladly would have bled for you!

Yet, poor the pleasure thou hast gain'd,
And very soon will it be o'er;

That bosom, where thou long hast reign'd,
Shall fondly throb for thee no more.

Nor vainly think my tears, my sighs,
Love's still-unvanquish'd pow'r proclaim:
Each drop, that trickles from my eyes,
But helps to quench his dying flame.

ΤΟ

'Twas not the quick and dazzling glance, That fires and overpowers the soul,

And wraps it in delirious trance,

That bow'd me to thy sweet controul:

No! 'twas from eyes of heavenly blue,
A languid, tender, timid ray,
Stealing through lids of darkest hue,
That won me from myself away.

'Twas not the firm, commanding voice,
Whose rapid eloquence o'erflows,

And seems at homage to rejoice,
That rous'd my breast from dull repose.

No! 'twas the soft and melting tones,
Like nectar dropping from thy tongue,
By which my heart thy empire owns ;-
Its very chord to Passion strung..

And while that winning voice I hear,
And while those beaming eyes I see,
Than light, or life, to me more dear,
My bosom's sovereign thou must be!

TO MY RIVAL.

TELL me, poor Rival! tell me why,
The fruitless hopeless chase pursuing,
To LELIA's presence still you fly,

By many a pray'r her favour wooing?

Dost thou not mark how deaf an ear
She turns to all thy soft advances?
Dost thou not mark, what looks severe
On thee my Lelia often glances?

In vain her face and form you praise;
No praise of thine, believe me, charms her;
For, firm against each artful phrase,

My ever-present image arms her!

Each gem that Earth's dark caves contain
Did Fate permit thy hand to proffer,

My Lelia still would mine remain,
And proudly spurn thy dazzling offer!

No! never shalt thou triumph o'er

Her heart, for me with passion glowing!

One smile of mine she prizes more
Than boundless wealth of thy bestowing.

What madness in thy soul would dwell!
How the detested sight would wound thee!

To see with bliss her bosom swell,

As fond she clasps her arms around me :