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Or the CIRCASSIAN LOVE- CHANT.
At midnight by the stream I rov'd
And the shadow of a star
But the rock shone brighter far,
mind Depart; for Lewti is not kind.
I saw a cloud of palest hue,
Onward to the moon it pass'd.
Till it reach'd the moon at last;
Then the cloud was wholly bright,
And with such joy I find my Lewti; And even so my pale wan cheek
Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty! Nay, treach'rous image! leave my mind, If Lewti never will be kind.
The little cloud-it floats away,
Away it goes-away so soon!
Away it passes from the moon.
Ever fading more and more, To joyless regions of the sky.
And now 'tis whiter than before, As white as my poor cheek will be,
When, Lewti! on my couch I lie, A dying man for love of thee. Nay, treach'rous image! leave my mind And yet thou didst not look unkind !
I saw a vapour in the sky,
Thin, and white, and very high. I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud
Perhaps the breezes that can fly
Now below, and now above,
Of lady fair-that died for love;
heedless feet from under Slip the crumbling banks for ever; Like echoes to a distant thunder,
They plunge into the gentle river.
Your movements to some heavenly tune! beauteous birds ! 'tis such a pleasure
To see you move beneath the moon,
I know the place where Lewti lies, When silent night has clos'd her eyes It is a breezy jasmin bower,
The nightingale sings o'er her head; Had I the enviable power
To creep unseen with noiseless tread, Then should I view her bosom white Heaving lovely to the sight, As these two swans together heave On the gently-swelling wave. O that she saw me in a dream,
And dreamt that I had died for care ! All pale and wasted I would seem,
Yet fair withal, as spirits are. I'd die indeed, if I might see Her bosom heave, and heave for me! Sootbe, gentle image! soothe my mind! To-morrow Lewti may be kind.
The CHILD of SORROW's TALE.
Deny, but do not taunt a maid
Who never scorn with scorn repays ; Proud man, though now I ask your aid
Mine once, alas ! were happier days. But Sorrow mark'd me for her own
Before I told my twentieth year Yet when my friends began to frown,
I but reproach'd them withA TEAR.
I ne'er could frame the harsh reply,
The look unkind by feeling fear'd, E'en when I met disdain's cold
eye, E’en when I cruel language heard. I've seen my friend, my earliest friend, Refuse
tale of woe to hear ; Yet still unwilling to offend,
All my remembrance was-A TEAK.