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Breathes in a visionary world, and weares
A web of bliss-scarce falser than deceives
The reasoning heart: of sing and weeps, and now
Entwines a sea-weed garland for her brow,
And says it is a marriage wreath. Meanwhile
Her calm varue look will dawn into a sinile,
As something met her eye none else should sce:
She folds her hands, and bends imploringly
To sue its stay ;--with wilder gesture turns,
And elasps her bead and cries. It burns!'
Then shakes as if her heart were ice. ..
.......... Not long
The soul, the frame, could brook such bitter wrong;
Beside her lover's that distracted head
Rests cold and calun--the grave their bridal bed.



O'ER the lofty swelling mountain

O'er the dancing summer fountain By the towering forest wavingBy the brook, the willows laving, Wafung od'rous airs along, We pour the mellow-breathing sonk.

Little wanton, winged rovers,
Oft we tend the walks of lovers;
Witness thoughts with passion glowing,
Souls-with tenderness o'erflowing,
Vows-that fainting on the tongue,
Mingle with our breezy song.
oft we fan the flame that shes
O'er the maiden's cheek in blushes;
Softly to her swain revealing
All the luxury of feeling,
In her boson-though so strong-
Gentle as our airy song.
Oft we in our sportive duty
Kiss the dimpling cheek of beauty,
And on soft etherial winglets
Wanton in her sunny ringlets
Breathing, as we dance along,
Liquid notes of rapt'rous song.
When Care's ever-rising bubble
Clouds the wanderer's soul with trouble,
We-sweet Pleasure's viewless minions-
Fan his brow with balmy pinions,
Chasing sorrow's shades along,
With our spirit-soothing song.
While the sweets of eve diffusing,
Ost we meet the poet musing,
Mark his eye sublimely glancing,
With erratic thought entrancing,
Catching inspiration strong,
From our soul-enchanting song.
Oft we waft the pious whispers
of the saint's low-breathing vespers,
Sighs of love, and tears of sorrow,
For our sweetest strains we borrow,
Bearing on our wings along,
All the ecstasy of song.
Heatington, 1818.

J. L. W.

FROM where the young East

of the rosy breast, Flings open her gates to the God of day,

To the couch of his rest

In the crimson west
We Genii of Ocean extend our sway.

O'er the far-dashing tide

That's rolling wide,
And frantickly foaming, so free and wild,

Our power can assuage

The whirlpool's rage,
Or sink the dread reef by Danger piled.

Where the sun's chasten'd blaze

Darts emerald rays
To the fathomless depths of the ocean ware ;

We bind our green hair

With the gem most rare,
Or softly recline in the coral cave.

Or when Hesper is bright

On the brow of night, And sheds her mild beam thro' the darkling glooms;

We weave the soft song,

The still shore along,
Or danee round a true lover's watery tomb.

When zephyrs repose,

And their winglets close, While o'er the wide surface deep stillness reigns;

We invisibly rise

Unto mortal eyes,
And warble the mellow ocean strains.

Then lightly around

To the silver sound,
The mermaids in dance the long hours employ,

While loveliness speaks

In their dimpling ckeeks, Impressed by the finger of jocund joy.

When our mystical rites,

On moonlight nights,
Call forth the deep voice of the chorded shell,

We in choruses strong

Chant the sacred song,
The watery Deity's power to tell.

The old hoary god,

Who controls the flood, There's nought can withstand his power and might;

Save Olympian Jove,

Who rolls above
The thunder-clad terrors of tenfold night.

When tempests invade

Wrapt in awful shade-
Illumin'd alone by the lightning's glare;

All peaceful and calm,

And secure from harm,
Are our diamond palaces rising fair.

And often we weep,

As the periloos deep,
The mariner hero closes o'er ;

Then laying the brave

In a jasper grave,
On night's silent breezes his requiem pouze
Headington, 1818.



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