128

LUCY ASHTON, TO RAVENSWOOD.

THEY tell me, thou art faithless grown,

In yon far foreign land;

That soon another Bride will own

Thy now apostate hand.

And, tauntingly, they chaplets twine,

Of the sad willow-bough;

And say the doleful gift is thine,

To wreathe my faded brow.

They press me with a Stranger's suit-
They urge a Stranger's claim ;-

But though my tongue and lips are mute,
My heart is still the same—

As when we dared our troth to plight,

Within yon leafy shade,

Whose murm'ring fountain dancing bright,

Responsive music made.

And when my nerves are all unstrung,
My heart oppress'd and sore,

I hide myself those bowers among,
And live our meetings o'er.

I muse upon thy bearing proud-
Thy dark and flashing eye,—

Nor can I think thy soul has bow'd

To such deep treachery!

Where I with thee have rov'd-there beams

A glory o'er the place,

And, like remember'd, happy dreams,

Thy presence there I trace.

Lull'd by that softly whisp'ring rill,
In thine ancestral bowers;

I oft forget that thorns will still
Lurk 'mid the sweetest flowers.

Ill-omen'd was our meeting there-
Ill-omen'd was the love,

A Parent's blessing may not share,

Nor sanction from above.

But nought can change this trusting heart,

To thee how fully given!

And doom'd on Earth to live apart,

Yet may we meet in Heaven!

130

INVOCATION TO THE SPIRIT OF HEALTH.

Written May 10th, 1832,

After a long and dangerous illness, and while still labouring under the pressure of indisposition.

SPIRIT of Health!-thy presence I invoke

Long has thy calm been absent from my mind; Crush'd 'neath the weight of Sickness' iron. yoke, Long has my languid frame for thy sweet influence pin'd!

On softest couches, thou dost not abide

Pillows of down are seldom pressed by theeIn curtain'd chambers, have I vainly sigh'd, -Still dost thou shun my sad society!

Where shall I find thee?-I have drain'd the bow!
Of Medicine oft, to woo thy soft return;

Yet still thy peace is absent from my soul,

-Still do my veins with Fever's hectic burn!

Fruitless for me, unfolds the letter'd page,
Once source of purest pleasure unalloy'd ;
The tale of Fancy-or the lesson sage-

Unheeded now their relish all destroy'd.

The fairy forms, 'twas happiness to see,
The childish mirth, it once was joy to hear;
Now yield no soft maternal bliss to me,

But startle oft, th' acute, the morbid ear.

Spirit of Health! return-I pray return !-
Long has thy calm been absent from my mind;
My heart is sad-my veins with fever burn-

Long has my languid frame for thy sweet influence pin'd!

Afar I see thee!-'mid the blush of Morn,
Guiding the Lab'rer on his early way;
Or, 'neath the shelter of yon aged Thorn,
Watching the Cotter's childrens' artless play!

I would pursue thee to the thymy hill!
-Full well I know thou lov'st its breezy air;
But o'er my limbs, is Languor's 'numbing chill,
-Ah! no, I cannot yet pursue thee there!

Spirit of Health! I worship thee in vain!-
At my Creator's throne, I bow the knee:-
Oh! if it be Thy will, may Grief-may Pain-
A patient, humble victim find in me!

Yet if Thy gracious Providence incline,

To hear the prayer my trembling pen pourtrays; Oh God! may all my future days be thine,

And may new Health give strength to hymn Thy praise!

Spirit of Health !—it may not be my fate

Below, to share thy bliss to wear thy bloom; But Faith, with eager confidence elate,

Points to thy joys in worlds beyond the Tomb!