Hours of Edleness. WRITTEN FROM 1802 TO 1807. ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY,1 COUSIN TO THE AUTHOR, AND VERY DEAR TO HIM.2 HUSH'D are the winds, and still the evening gloom, Within this narrow cell reclines her clay, That clay where once such animation beam'd; The King of Terrors seized her as his prey; Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd. Oh! could that King of Terrors pity feel, Or Heaven reverse the dread decrees of fate! Not here the mourner would his grief reveal, Not here the muse her virtues would relate. But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day; And weeping angels lead her to those bowers Where endless pleasures virtue's deeds repay. And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign, Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear, Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face; Still they call forth my warm affection's tear, Still in my heart retain their wonted place. TO D IN thee I fondly hoped to clasp Detach'd thee from my breast for ever. True, she has forced thee from my breast, Until that heart shall cease to beat. And when the grave restores her dead, On thy dear breast I'll lay my head- LINES WRITTEN IN LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN BY J. J. ROUSSEAU: FOUNDED ON FACTS. "Away, away, your flattering arts May now betray some simpler hearts: DEAR, simple girl, those flattering arts Mere phantoms of thine own creation : Then he who tells thee of thy beauty, Ah! fly not from the candid youth; IMITATION OF TIBULLUS. "Sulpicia ad Cerinthum."-Lib. iv. CRUEL Cerinthus ! does the fell disease Alas! I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain, Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please? That I might live for love and you again: But now I scarcely shall bewail my fate; By death alone I can avoid your hate. YY |