That song again!--its sounds my bosom thrill, Breathe of past years, to all their joys allied; And, as the notes thro' my sooth'd spirits glide, Dear Recollection's choicest sweets distill, Soft as the Morn's calm dew on yonder hill, When slants the Sun upon its grassy side, Tinging the brooks that many a mead divide With lines of gilded light; and blue, and still, The distant lake stands gleaming in the vale. Sing, yet once more, that well-remember'd strain, Which oft made vocal every passing gale In days long fled, in Pleasure's golden reign, The youth of chang'd HONORA!--now it wears Her air--her smile--_spells_ of the vanish'd years!
TO THE DEPARTING SPIRIT OF AN ALIENATED FRIEND.
O, EVER DEAR! thy precious, vital powers Sink rapidly!--the long and dreary Night Brings scarce an hope that Morn's returning light Shall dawn for THEE!--In such terrific hours, When yearning Fondness eagerly devours Each moment of protracted life, his flight The Rashly-Chosen of thy heart has ta'en Where dances, songs, and theatres invite. EXPIRING SWEETNESS! with indignant pain I see him in the scenes where laughing glide Pleasure's light Forms;--see his eyes gaily glow, Regardless of thy life's fast ebbing tide; I hear him, who shou'd droop in silent woe, Declaim on Actors, and on Taste decide!
SUBJECT OF THE PRECEDING SONNET CONTINUED.
Behold him now his genuine colours wear, That specious False-One, by whose cruel wiles I lost thy amity; saw thy dear smiles Eclips'd; those smiles, that us'd my heart to cheer, Wak'd by thy grateful sense of many a year When rose thy youth, by Friendship's pleasing toils Cultur'd;--but DYING!--O! for ever fade The angry fires.--Each thought, that might upbraid Thy broken faith, which yet my soul deplores, Now as eternally is past and gone As are the interesting, the happy hours, Days, years, we shar'd together. They are flown! Yet long must I lament thy hapless doom, Thy lavish'd life and early-hasten'd tomb.
Last night her Form the hours of slumber bless'd Whose eyes illumin'd all my youthful years.-- Spirit of dreams, at thy command appears Each airy Shape, that visiting our rest, Dismays, perplexes, or delights the breast. My pensive heart this kind indulgence cheers; Bliss, in no _waking_ moment now possess'd, Bliss, ask'd of thee with Memory's thrilling tears, Nightly I cry, how oft, alas! in vain, Give, by thy powers, that airy Shapes controul, HONORA to my visions!--ah! ordain Her beauteous lip may wear the smile that stole, In years long fled, the sting from every pain! Show her sweet face, ah show it to my soul!
