But they rose in the days that are flown!- To thy rocks, stormy Lannow, adieu! Lo! the wings of the seafowl are spread, Like them, to its shades I retire; Receive me, and shield my vex'd spirit, ye groves, From the storms of insulted desire! From thy waves, rocky Lannow, I fly! MISS SEWARD. BALLAD. HAST thou escaped the cannon's ire Loud thundering o'er the troubled main? Hast thou escaped the fever's fire That burns so fierce on India's plain? Then, William, then I can resign, With scarce one sigh, the blooming grace That face grows wan by sultry clime, Nor soil nor time makes that look old, Than youth or beauty, fame or gold. MISS SEWARD. SONG. Now Spring wakes the Maymorn, the sweetest of [flowers; hours Calls the lark to the sunbeam, the bee to the Calls youth, love, and beauty to hail the new day, And twine all their garlands in honour of May; But think not, amid the gay pleasure they bring, That moments so jocund will pause on their wing! Obey, my fair Laura, the summons that breathes In the scent of the flowers, in the hue of the leaves; In the hymn of the woodlands, for love is the lay, And fragrance and lustre are types of his sway; More sweet are his accents, more rosy his spring, And O! not less rapid the flight of his wing! MISS SEWARD. SONG. TELL me, what can mean this riot That my breast is never quiet, If such tokens don't discover Then, O tell me, what am I? But, alas! poor thoughtless creature! And to tell him, what am I. R. FENTON. THOUGH in the festive circle gay, The bloom of youth and smile of pleasure; D. CAREY. MARY'S EVENING SIGH. WITH lovely pearl the western sky And yon light golden clouds that fly The deepening tints, the arch of light, And sigh, and bless the charming sight O hill! that shadest the valley here, And all she'll ever know. My Edward's form; he looks to me Descend, my love, the hour is come; The sun hath left my quiet home, Yet, why a lonely wanderer stray? The glories of the closing day Can charm thy Mary too. O Edward, when we stroll'd along And both confess'd the power of song, Thou art not false;-that cannot be! Each woodland charm, the moss, the tree, If these, my love, detain thee now, I'll yet forgive thy stay; But with to-morrow's dawn come thou We'll brush the dews away. BLOOMFIELD. SONG, ON A KISS. HUMID seal of soft affections! VOL. III. NN Sorrowing joy! adieu's last action, When lingering lips no more must join! Thee the fond youth, untaught and simple, SONG. ANONYMOUS. LET the lovesick boy, who dies If anger beam from Cloe's eyes, Of the tyrant archer god; Who feeds with dreams of poison'd bowls Whose only chains are chains of joy; Such as merry May inspires, When in the Twins the sun is glowing, |