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EPITHALAMIUM.

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HOW fair, how sweet the blushing rose!

How glorious to th' enraptur'd view! As with enliven'd tints it glows

All glistering in the morning dew.

By many a soft descending shower

The beauteous plant is gently fed, And many a kind aerial power

Sheds fragrance o'er its tender head.

So fair, so sweet, the youthful maid,

O’er whose warm cheek soft blushes fly, Her face in beaming smiles array'd,

While love sits trembling in her eye.

That blushing cheek, love-darting eye,

That face in beaming smiles array'd, Ah happy bridegroom! thine the joy!

For thee are all those charms display'd.

Then, lover, seize the present hour

That views them yet in all their prime,
Ere winter nip the blooming flow'r,
And youth and beauty yield to time.

M

THE GRAVEYARD.

SLOW waves the willow o'er the stone

That points where sleeps a mother dear; Oft have I sought the spot alone

To shed at ease the filial tear.
There too a brother's ashes lie;
And there *Horatio claims a sigh.
Though time has brought a slow relief
To the most poignant pangs of grief,
Though many a year has ceas'd to flow
Since first my sad soul tasted woe,
Yet still, unalter'd by their course,
Remembrance has not lost her force,
But leads me oft at eve alone
Where waves the willow o'er the stone.

Slow waves the willow o'er the stone;

The setting sun sinks far away; Around the graves with grass o’ergrown

The cooling summer breezes play. The sportive swallows wheel their flight Around the green hill's lonely height; Scar'd from the shore, the plovers scream, And skim along the dimpling stream; While from the mid-wood oak afar The locust echoes through the air.

* Horatio Clarke.

These scenes affection oft shall view,
And pay the debt to memory due;
Oft bid me seek at eve alone
The willow waving o'er the stone,

THE SAILOR'S DEPARTURE.

A SONG.

[Tune-" The topsails shiver in the wind.”-]

THE rising gale forbids my stay

Farewel my native shore!
For I must tempt the salt sea-spray,

And hear the billows roar;
Or 'mid the battle be laid low,
Or feel the captive's weight of woe.

But though the storm may rouse the main,

Though loud war's thunders roll,
The hope to meet my fair again,

Shall sooth my weary soul:
And many a sigh and many a tear,
Suspended, find a solace there.

Sweet memory, rising to my aid,

Shall each dear scene renew;
And bid thy charms, enchanting maid,

Maria! meet my view:
Those charms that did my heart beguile,
While doating on thy angel smile.

Full often when the morning sun

Leads in the blushing day,
Full often while the setting moon

Steals silently away;
The wand'ring gales that sweep the sea
Shall bear the fervent sigh to thee.

But why, thy beauties all to show,

Do I give fancy room,
Which round the lone path where I go

Extends a thicker gloom,
And wakens from their transient rest
The passions that torment my breast.

For though no dangers I may fear

From sea or war's alarms,
Yet coward love still bids the tear

Flow for thy absent charms;
Which while I leave to cross the main
Perhaps I ne'er shall see again.

Then, lest too high my fond heart swell,

I'll strive to think no moreFarewel, my sweetest girl, farewel!

Farewel my native shore! Farewel each thought I hold most dear! Farewel to hope! Farewel to fear.

M 2

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