98

EGERIA TO HER LOVER.

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart
Which found no mortal resting-place so fair
As thine ideal breast; whate'er thou art
Or wert, a young Aurora of the air,

The nympholepsy of some fond despair;

Or it might be, a beauty of the earth,

Who found a more than common votary there
Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth,

Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.
CHILDE HAROLD, CANTO IV. v.

WITHIN my silver fountain,

I sit and wait for thee;

The hours and minutes counting,

Which part my Lord from me:

Mightier the deathless flame I prove,

Than that which I inspire,

For mine, the depths of woman's love,

With an Immortal's fire!

115.

When the first blushing light of day

Colours my crystal rill,

And bright Apollo's golden ray,

Streams o'er the distant hill;

With joy I hail the day-star's birth,
Which, in its soft decline,

When evening's shades steal o'er the earth,
Will blend my soul with thine!

When, in the fervid heat of noon,
I seek my coolest cell;

And sit and muse on thee alone,
Where purest waters well:

I sigh to think, I cannot share
With thee, my limpid home;

Nor shield thee from the sun and air,
Of thine own glowing Rome!

When, in the purple light of eve,
The flowers their petals close;

And weary men, their labours leave,

For Nature's soft repose:

When perfumes fill the gentle air,

That breathe from plant and tree,

I, to my fountain's side, repair,

And watch and wait for thee!

Oft then, as fade the fleeting hours,

In roseate light away,

The nightingale, above me, pours

Her soft, mellifluous lay:

This fault'ring tongue can ne'er express

All that I feel for thee;

Let her entrancing tenderness,

My soul's best medium be!

Then, while each burning star of night,

My fount its mirror makes;

And the bright moon's resplendent light,

Its crystal depths awakes;

How merrily the bubbles dance,

To meet that glorious beam,

Which casts, at length, its wish'd-for glance,

Upon my haunted stream!

Haste, Numa, haste!-or I will chide

My Lover's slow delay;

Fling all thy cares of state aside,

Thy regal pomp away:

In love and bliss they have no part

So come, with spirit free,

And bless the fond, and loving heart,

That watches still for thee!

META, OR THE POWER OF JOY.

A Tale.

――nessun maggior dolore,
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice

Nella miseria,

DANTE.

IT is a simple tale I tell;

-But human joy, and human woe, Have power the answ'ring hearts to swell Of those, who own a kindred throe; Whether Emotion's tide is poured

Through sterner bosoms of the North,Or hearts, with Southern passions stored,

Lavish their burning treasures forth;

Where'er it be, that Grief has wept,
Devotion pray'd, or Hope has smil'd,

Or Love into the heart bas crept,

'Mid city-throngs, or in the wild:

Where'er the joys and griefs are known,
Our common nature bids us feel,
Responsive throbs we still must own,

And sigh for woe, and smile for weal:
Therefore this simple tale I tell,

Of home-felt grief and home-felt joy;

Too potent joy-as it befell,

To one, whose youthfullife, such gladness could destroy!

Not distant far, where Haerlem's towers

Arise, 'mid stately groves and bowers,
A wealthy Merchant's mansion stood,
Embosom'd in a noble wood.

Fair were his fields-his gardens fair-
Abundance pour'd her treasures there;
His vessels ride the subject main-
His flocks and herds adorn the plain-
And, in his home, a blooming train
Of youths, and gentle maidens rise,

To bless their loving parents' eyes.
The kindly neighbours smile to see,
Their worthy friend's prosperity;

In others' woes to bear a part,
Prompt was his kind, expansive heart-
And all who bless'd him as he pass'd,
Wish'd his fair fortunes e'er might last-