Louisa's lips in kisses meet, Like a twin-cherry, ripe, and sweet, In Catharine's breath, rich perfume dwells; To charm the gaze of man; Yet if I praise them, sweet one, know, They singly but remind me, so Lips, breath and bosom I can show, ODE TO THE EVENING STAR. BY BIDLAKE. Bright eye of pensive eve! resplendent orb That o'er the misty mountains shinest clear, Like a rich gem Upon an Ethiop's brow; Thy lamp serene my now benighted steps Directs, to that blest spot where dwells my fair, Twin rivals who can boast More pure, more bright than thee. For not thy lovely sight, that kindly cheers That beams in beauty's eyes. Not all the little waking elves, that rise To dance thy rays beneath, Feel such delight as does this breast, when thou, With radiant lustre show'st the happy hour, That leads from scenes of care To still domestic bliss. ORIGINAL POETRY-FOR THE PORT FOLIO. Come Inspiration from thy hermit seat By mortal seldom found; may Fancy dare Exalting to an ecstasy of soul. THE MANIAC. LIST to the maniac's moan, THOMSON. Who strangely mutters in his lonely cell, While on the whispering breeze, his plainings swell And oft with fix'd and ideot stare, Sullenly stands, and mutely courts despair! Yet, from that darkly shaded eye, Now lit by maniac ecstasy, Once the bright flash of genius gleam'd, Once o'er that face, the smile of gladness play'd, And the mild light of virtue beam'd; Once was that form in every charm array'd, And once upon that forehead shone The lightning rays which play round Reason's throne! Still to my view, remembrance faithful gives By sorrow crazed, I'd quit my happier lot, In all those frenzied bursts of madness fierce, to share!— And vainly are the seeds of misery sown, They ne'er can sprout to view, till Reason's sun return. Blest state! when lone Reflection's pangs No more are felt-perceived When in a void, the mind all weary hangs, By no dark thought perplexed, or sad remembrance grieved. But can these tears, unprompted, flow? Do they not spring from hidden heartfelt wo?- Those streaming, upraised eyes, The loud and soul alarming shriek! Tell loudly, that the tortured heart Oft feels the poisoned barbed dart Of circling fiends, from Hell's dark realm below Mark that wild unmeaning laugh! Mix'd of joy, and terror, half Now smiles, and musing seems; Perhaps, a visioned glimpse of former days "Till the whole scene, as viewed through fairy glass See how he opes his arms, and closely clasps Haply, my image 'tis he fondly grasps, And mine the shade, so warmly there caressed. O! my lost friend, that for a single hour, The madd'ning fiends would cease t' exert their power That softly resting 'gainst my heart, The balm of friendship might allay the smart Of woes-which ne'er can cease, 'Till thou enjoy'st in Heaven, perennial peace Conscious no more-thy mind's best powers are lost, Then cease presumptuous! from the attempt profane, Y. FOR THE PORT FOLIO. ON THE POWERS OF FANCY. COME thou, creative maid, whose magic power, And can beyond Potosi's wealth beguile Man's weary steps, as thro' life's gloom he goes the while Be here, and thy enchantment quick impart Whether thy lovely form is haply found, (To prove its influence o'er the thrilling heart,) Of classic streams delight thy raptur'd ear: And woods and lawns and skies more fresh appear, And nature's charms combine man's wond'ring mind to cheer. Among the popular superstitions of Scotland, is the belief in the exis tence of spirits residing in rivers, storms, &e.-Never was imagination more fruitful than in that romantic country, from the days of Ossian to the present time→ See Collins's Ode on the Highlands. For thine, each wint'ry waste, each lonely wild; By thee, each scene sublime delights the soul, While through the panting heart soft raptures roll, And virtue's joys, with social bliss, our harsher thoughts control. When wint'ry snows conceal fair Nature's charms, To thee, the warrior bows, as bold he flies 'Tis she, sweet maid, who charms the lover's eyes, Her looks bewitching and her accents kind. Still may thou ever sooth his anxious heart, And he in thee, his lovely mistress find, Until the sweet confession she impart And conscious blushes own love's dear congenial smart. |