THE HEIR.

See yon tall stripling! how he droops forlorn! How slow his pace! how spiritless his eye! Like a dark cloud in summer's rosy dawn, He saddens pleasure as he passes by.

Long kept in exile by paternal pride, He feels no joy beneath this splendid dome; For, till the elder child of promise died, He knew a dearer, though a humbler home.

Then the proud sail was spread! The youth obey'd, Left ev'ry friend, and every scene he knew; For ever left the soul-affianc'd maid, Though his heart sicken'd as he said—Adieu; And nurses still, with superstitious care, The sigh of fond remembrance and despair.