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And thou wilt find one little spot,

Where busy trade does not intrude, By pompous art almost forgot,

But lov'd by musing solitude.

When o'er that spot thy rays shall stream,

Roll not unheeding thro' the sky! Steal gently down one brighter beam;

And let it glance on Delia's eye!

That eye, responsive to thy light,

Shall tremble with a brighter ray; For well she loves to woo the night,

When thou thy crescent dost display.

And often, when the young and gay

Crowded the lustre-lighted room, She, not unmark'd, has hied away

To hail the twilight's dusky gloom.

And often shall she thus be seen,

When thou shalt in the west be found, And by the wonted pillar lean,

Where twines the honeysuckle round.

Let then no clouds obscure thy face,

When she shall to thy sight appear, But one mild blue the welkin grace,

And silence rest upon the air.

For, while to lonely musing given,

Her thoughts to former days may flee; And 'mid the pleasures of the even,

Perhaps--that she may think of me.

Then, could the skies a message bear,

Each wandering fire that rolls above Should whisper to her listening ear

The truth that still I love! I love!

But how should'st thou my Delia know?

And who is she, the maid so dear, For whom I bid my numbers flow,

And weary evening with my pray’r?

Oh! thou wilt know her, should'st thou spy

A maid that meekly moves along, And shrinks from the obtrusive eye,

Nor mingles with the giddy throng.

But though unconscious of her power,

None with my Delia may compare; For she is sweet as spring's first flower,

And 'midst the fairest she is fair.

And thou wilt know her for thou oft

Hast seen me fondly by her side, With stolen sighs and whisper soft,

A suitor to her virgin pride.

Oft when thy rays illum'd the dome

That near her mansion rose to view, With secret step I left my

home To meet my love so fair, so true.

To tell my tale of love I came:

Nor she disdain'd to hear me speak; But sometimes own'da mutual flame,

While night half hid her blushing cheek.

And when above the southern tree

Orion's starry baldrick shone,
With sweet reproof she chid my stay,

And gently warn’d me to be gone.-

These times are past,—and prospects drear

And dark, and sad, before me lie, And though Orion rises here,

Orion glides unheeded by.

For now ten times thy radiant horn

Has glitter'd on eve's forehead high; Ten times to full perfection borne,

Thy orb has waned in the sky;

Since far from Delia, far from love;

Far from my native Severn's strand, Lonely and comfortless I rove,

An exile in a foreign land.

Go! then and from this troubled breast

Its vain regrets, its wishes bear! Go!-give thy glories to the West!

Forlorn and sad I tarry here.


Ah who does not love, when the sweet spring is near,

To hear the lark hailing the day newly born? But, maidens of Edinburgh! when ye appear,

We heed not the spring nor the music of morn. Yes! ye are dear to me, maidens of Edinburgh!

Ne'er from my heart shall your memory die. But ah! while I think I must leave you to go afar,

Sorrow distils the big tear from my eye.

O'er the frail bark while the wide billow rolls,

Darkness and death upon every hand; Or thro' the thick wood, while around the wolf

howls, Far from my friends, in a wild desert land; Then shall I think of you, maidens of Edinburgh, Fruitless regrets in my

bosom shall glow; While busy fancy unceasing, shall bid appear

Scenes of delight that no more I must know.

And when brighter days shall again shed their beams

on me, Home and its comforts display'd to my view, Kind love and friendship domestic restor'd to me,

Sweet hope adorning my prospects anew;

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