! come with me, and from our flowery fields
I'll cull the fairest blooms gay Flora yields,
To wreath thy fairer brow-ah! dry thy tears;
Lest cank'ring grief anticipate grey years,
I mourn no lambkin straying from the lawn,
Nor lover false, to other charms withdrawn ;
Far different cares impel the bursting sigh,
Far deeper anguish dims my flowing eye;
For friendship's desolated joys I mourn,
For lovely Ellen from my bosom torn.
What lawless villain tore thy friend away,
And when and how and whither fled-ah! say
I fly to bring the fair one to thy arms,
To soothe thy cares and hush thy fond alarms.
Canst thou unlock the prison of the tomb,
And deck the faded cheek with vernal bloom?
Canst thou recal the spirit from on high,
To re-illume the dark, the death-clos'd eye?
Then may thy proffer'd services avail-
My Ellen's dead, and low laid in the dale.
Is Ellen dead? Oh! heavy tale, indeed!
Ye pale primroses that low hedge the mead,
My task shall be, each morn and dewy eve,
To pluck you fresh, and every thorn bereave
That might invade my Emma's hand, while she
Strews her lost Ellen's grave, and weeps with me.
With solemn yews and myrtle branches green,
In sad remembrance of the funeral scene,
I'll hedge her grave, and keep from vagrant feet
The sacred spot of sorrow's lone retreat.
Talk not of social joys-no more I'll string
The trembling lyre, nor vocal carols sing.
My sheep, farewell, ye tender lambs adieu,
No more I hail the glittering morn with you:
Would not your bleating but increase my pain,
And seem to ask for her who grac'd the plain?
Alas! that peerless form all cold is laid,
Where not a ray the gloomy clods pervade;
That lovely face, that passion ne'er could cloud,
Is veil'd through time's long annals in the shroud.
My few sad days I'll spend at Ellen's grave,
Or in deep shades, where mourning willows wave,
Make my sad couch, and weep my soul away
In friendship's tears.-
Oh! lovely Emma, stay,
Nor fly a youth who only lives for thee,
Whose careless heart as morning light was free
Till bound by you. In that fair face doth shine
The sweet expression of a soul divine.
Why would you fly-you whom all nymphs excel,
With raging beasts and dismal shades to dwell,
Where roaring tygers rend the shivering air,
And hissing snakes, and ravenous wolves repair.
O! stay with me, each rising day I'll spend
To soothe my Emma's cares, her grateful friend;
Whate'er thy Ellen was I'll strive to be,
And only think, and speak, and live for thee.
My fleecy treasures at thy feet I'll lay,
My fruitful fields with springing pastures gay,
And all the lowing herds which here you see,
Shall bless my Emma if she'll live with me.
Oh! come, my love, together let us share
This quiet vale, and breathe its fragrant air.
BLEST moments hail! of unmolested thought,
When silence lulls the sylvan scene around,
Save on the wings of cave-born echo brought,
The dying whispers of some distant sound.
When ev'ning shades pervade the balmy air,
Perfum'd mellifluous from each fragrant flower,
All but the bird of night to rest repair,
Who wakes to soothe the solitary hour.
Then contemplation seeks the ivy'd cell,
The woodbine bower, the undulating grove,
Where dryads hymn or sportive elvins dwell,
Or earth-admiring heavenly spirits rove.
Stern care and sorrow take a short farewell;
The world, its toils, and busy scenes forgot,
Imagination spreads her magic spell
In all the pleasing luxury of thought.
The form, slow wafted by the midnight breeze,
In mazy wreaths, a pleasing rev'ry makes;
Perhaps from this some friendly spirit sees,
And guards each step the pensive wanderer takes
Oh! then, sweet silence, in thy cell remote,
Let me with wisdom oft hold converse blest,
While stilly zephyrs o'er the woodlands float,
I'll seek that peace with thee alone possess'd.
Now laughing Pomona presides o'er the plains,
Attir'd in saffron, while plenty attends, And scatters profuse to the long hoping swains, That wealth which kind heaven to industry sends: Fresh as the morn, in mirthful bands,
Elate with joy, the harvest hands Ply round the waving yellow fields,
Where nature rich her choicest bounty yields! While the loud roar, prolonging through the vale, Proclaims the joke, or plauds the merry tale. When tir'd, beneath a shady tree,
Social they sit and laugh,
Their sports recount with heartfelt glee,
And home-made nectars quaff;
Gay wit, to crown the lab'ring hour,
In russet vest appears;
And humour, bright'ning with her power,
The wearied spirit cheers.
May hygëian gales, and mantling fields,
And dews their vegetative lymph distil,
Each cultur'd fruit ripe autumn yields
Unite to bless the generous farmer still.
As bright Apollo sinks to rest,
In transient glories robes the west,
Reflected in each stream,
The envious shades of sombre night
Repel the lingering rays of light,
Save Cynthia's liquid beam.
Soon fancy wakes, with raptur'd eye,
To scan the wonders of the sky,
Wrought with amazing skill;
Each point that glimmers on the sight
She magnifies to realms of light,
And peoples as she will.
The milky zone soft ether binds,
As virtue fair adorns those minds
That seek the heavenly way;
Impearl'd with radiant orbs serene
The snowy foldings intervene,
And plastic forms display.
The lambent meteor swiftly flies Through dewy tracks across the skies,
Light o'er the brow of night;
Sudden the vivid fleeting blaze
Arrests the wildly eager gaze,
And vanishes from sight.
Bright emblem of terrestrial bliss,
That meteor thus call'd happiness
Suspends the glaring mark;
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