Lines

TO MISS ——, ACCOMPANIED BY A ROSE AND A LILY.

I look’d the fragrant garden round For what I thought would picture best Thy beauty and thy modesty; A lily and a rose I found,— With kisses on their leaves imprest, I send the beauteous pair to thee.

SONG.

Nature’s imperfect child, to whom The world is wrapt in viewless gloom, Can unresisted still impart The fondest wishes of his heart.

And he, to whose impervious ear The sweetest sounds no charms dispense, Can bid his inmost soul appear In clear, tho’ silent, eloquence.

But we, my Julia, not so blest, Are doom’d a diff’rent fate to prove,— To feel each joy and hope supprest That flow from pure, but hidden, love.

IMPROMPTU LINES,

UPON ANACREON MOORE’S SAYING THAT HE DISLIKED SINGING TO MEN.

By Beauty’s caresses, like Cupid, half-spoil’d, Thus Music’s and Poesy’s favourite child Exclaim’d,—“’Tis, by Heaven! a terrible thing Before a he-party to sit and to sing!” “By my shoul! Master Moore, you there may be right,” Said a son of green Erin; “tho’ dear to my sight Are all the sweet cratures, call’d women, I swear, Yet I think we can feel just as well as the fair: Tho’ you’d bribe us with songs, blood and ’ounds! let me say, I’d not be a woman for one in your way.”

LINES TO JULIA.

Tho’, Julia, we are doom’d to part, Tho’ unknown pangs invade this heart, For thee the light of love shall burn, To thee my soul in secret turn: Upon this bosom, swell’d with care, The thought of thee shall tremble there ’Till Time shall close these weeping eyes, And close the soothing source of sighs. So, in the silence of the night, Shines on the wave the lunar light; With its soft image, bright, imprest, It heaves, and seems to know no rest: Its agitation soon is o’er; It sighs, and dies along the shore!