Robinson

Delusive Hope! more transient than the ray That leads pale twilight to her dusky bed, O'er woodland glen, or breezy mountain's head, Ling'ring to catch the parting sigh of day. Hence with thy visionary charms, away! Nor o'er my path the flow'rs of fancy spread; Thy airy dreams on peaceful pillows shed, And weave for thoughtless brows, a garland gay. Farewell low vallies; dizzy cliffs, farewell! Small vagrant rills that murmur as ye flow: Dark bosom'd labyrinth and thorny dell; The task be mine all pleasures to forego; To hide, where meditation loves to dwell, And feed my soul, with luxury of woe!

Farewell, ye tow'ring Cedars, in whose shade, Lull'd by the Nightingale, I sunk to rest, While spicy breezes hover'd o'er my breast To fan my cheek, in deep'ning tints array'd; While am'rous insects, humming round me, play'd, Each flow'r forsook, of prouder sweets in quest; Of glowing lips, in humid fragrance drest, That mock'd the Sunny Hybla's vaunted aid! Farewell, ye limpid rivers! Oh! farewell! No more shall Sappho to your grots repair; No more your white waves to her bosom swell, Or your dank weeds, entwine her floating hair; As erst, when Venus in her sparry cell Wept, to behold a brighter goddess there!

Venus! to thee, the Lesbian Muse shall sing, The song, which Myttellenian youths admir'd, when Echo, am'rous of the strain inspir'd, Bade the wild rocks with madd'ning plaudits ring! Attend my pray'r! O! Queen of rapture! bring To these fond arms, he, whom my soul has fir'd; From these fond arms remov'd; yet, still desir'd, Though love, exulting, spreads his varying wing! Oh! source of ev'ry joy! of ev'ry care Blest Venus! Goddess of the zone divine! To Phaon's bosom, Phaon's victim bear; So shall her warmest, tend'rest vows be thine! For Venus, Sappho shall a wreath prepare, And Love be crown'd, immortal as the Nine!

"With female Fairies will thy tomb be haunted "And worms will not come to thee." SHAKSPERE.

WHEN from Day's closing eye the lucid tears Fall lightly on the bending lily's head; When o'er the blushing sky night's curtains spread, And the tall mountain's summit scarce appears; When languid Evening, sinking to repose, Her filmy mantle o'er the landscape throws; Of THEE I'll sing; and as the mournful song Glides in slow numbers the dark woods among; My wand'ring steps shall seek the lonely shade, Where all thy virtues, all thy griefs are laid!

Yes, hopeless suff'rer, friendless and forlorn, Sweet victim of love's power; the silent tear Shall oft at twilight's close, and glimm'ring morn Gem the pale primrose that adorns thy bier, And as the balmy dew ascends to heaven, Thy crime shall steal away, thy frailty be forgiv'n.

Oft by the moon's wan beam the love-lorn maid, Led by soft SYMPATHY, shall stroll along; Oft shall she listen in the Lime-tree's * shade, Her cold blood freezing at the night-owl's song: Or, when she hears the death-bell's solemn sound, Her light steps echoing o'er the hollow ground; Oft shall the trickling tear adorn her cheek, Thy pow'r, O SENSIBILITY ! in magic charms to speak!

For the poor PILGRIM, doom'd afar to roam From the dear comforts of his native home, A glitt'ring star puts forth a silv'ry ray, Soothes his sad heart, and marks his tedious way; The short-liv'd radiance cheers the gloom of night, And decks Heaven's murky dome with transitory light.

So from the mournful CHARLOTTE's dark-orb'd lids, The sainted tear of pitying VIRTUE flows; And the last boon, the "churlish priest" forbids, On thy lone grave the sacred drop bestows; There shall the sparkling dews of Evening shine, AND HEAVEN'S OWN INCENSE CONSECRATE THE SHRINE.

When, in the gloomy mansion of the dead, This with'ring heart, this faded form shall sleep; When these fond eyes, at length shall cease to weep, And earth's cold lap receive this fev'rish head; Envy shall turn away, a tear to shed, And Time's obliterating pinions sweep The spot, where poets shall their vigils keep, To mourn and wander near my freezing bed! Then, my pale ghost, upon th' Elysian shore, Shall smile, releas'd from ev'ry mortal care; Whil, doom'd love's victim to repine no more, My breast shall bathe in endless rapture there! Ah! no!my restless shade would still deplore, Nor taste that bliss, which Phaon did not share.

I wake! delusive phantoms hence, away! Tempt not the weakness of a lover's breast; The softest breeze can shake the halcyon's nest, And lightest clouds o'ercast the dawning ray! 'Twas but a vision! Now, the star of day Peers, like a gem on Aetna's burning crest! Wellcome, ye Hills, with golden vintage drest; Sicilian forests brown, and vallies gay! A mournful stranger, from the Lesbian Isle, Not strange, in loftiest eulogy of Song! She, who could teach the Stoic's cheek to smile, Thaw the cold heart, and chain the wond'ring throng, Can find no balm, love's arrows to beguile; Ah! Sorrows known too soon! and felt too long!

WHEN from the craggy mountain's pathless steep, Whose flinty brow hangs o'er the raging sea, My wand'ring eye beholds the foamy deep, I mark the restless surge­and think of THEE. The curling waves, the passing breezes move, Changing and treach'rous as the breath of LOVE; The "sad similitude" awakes my smart, And thy dear image twines about my heart.

When at the sober hour of sinking day, Exhausted Nature steals to soft repose, When the hush'd linnet slumbers on the spray, And scarce a ZEPHYR fans the drooping ROSE; I glance o'er scenes of bliss to friendship dear, And at the fond remembrance drop a tear; Nor can the balmy incense soothe my smart, Still cureless sorrow preys upon my heart.

When the loud gambols of the village throng, Drown the lorn murmurs of the ring-dove's throat; I think I hear thy fascinating song, Join the melodious minstrel's tuneful note­ My list'ning ear soon tells me ­'tis not THEE, Nor THY lov'd song­nor THY soft minstrelsy; In vain I turn away to hide my smart, Thy dulcet numbers vibrate in my heart.

When with the Sylvan train I seek the grove, Where MAY'S soft breath diffuses incense round, Where VENUS smiles serene, and sportive LOVE With thornless ROSES spreads the fairy ground; The voice of pleasure dies upon mine ear, My conscious bosom sighs­THOU ART NOT HERE ! Soft tears of fond regret reveal its smart, And sorrow, restless sorrow, chills my heart.

When at my matin pray'rs I prostrate kneel, And Court RELIGION's aid to soothe my woe, The meek-ey'd saint who pities what I feel, Forbids the sigh to heave, the tear to flow; For ah ! no vulgar passion fills my mind, Calm REASON's hand illumes the flame refin'd, ALL the pure feelings FRIENDSHIP can impart, Live in the centre of my aching heart.

When at the still and solemn hour of night, I press my lonely couch to find repose; Joyless I watch the pale moon's chilling light, Where thro' the mould'ring tow'r the north-wind blows; My fev'rish lids no balmy slumbers own, Still my sad bosom beats for thee alone: Nor shall its aching fibres cease to smart, 'Till DEATH's cold SPELL is twin'd about my HEART.

Blest as the Gods! Sicilian Maid is he, The youth whose soul thy yielding graces charm; Who bound, O! thraldom sweet! by beauty's arm, In idle dalliance fondly sports with thee! Blest as the Gods! that iv'ry throne to see, Throbbing with transports, tender, timid, warm! While round thy fragrant lips zephyrs swarm! As op'ning buds attract the wand'ring Bee! Yet, short is youthful passion's fervid hour; Soon, shall another clasp the beauteous boy; Soon, shall a rival prove, in that gay bow'r, The pleasing torture of excessive joy! The Bee flies sicken'd from the sweetest flow'r; The lightning's shaft, but dazzles to destroy!