To whom shall I cry,
And who will hear my crying?
Nor father, brother, husband, son,
Nor God on high
Can ever know the pain
Of the woman-soul self-slain
That man may be strong and whole,
Draining his last deep draught of soul,
From her soul — dying:
Even my own
Quick mother-heart is cruel as stone,
When, with fear-blinded eyes
My soul from passion flies
Seeking for Paradise.

Mine the inexorable doom
Of rebel breast and tyrant womb,
And secret agonies
Of hope and fear that burn

Oh thou! to Friendship, Truth, and Justice dear,
Whom dying Patriots ever shall revere!
Oh thou, whom Freedom call'd, with parting breath,
(And gave her sigh — her languid look — in Death,)
When gasping, sinking — mould'ring to decay,
On Corsica's wild shore she fainting lay!
Still in that eye her purest ray shall shine —
" Honour's clear light, and Virtue's spark divine.
— 'Tis not for those, by righteous Heaven designed
In deep Retirement's vale their path to find,
Whilst calm Oblivion shall their peace secure,

Worship, O mountains,
The God unseen,
And ye pastures green;
Ye deserts adore,
And ye flowered hills,
The Lord who earth fills
With life evermore,
Praise Him, rivers and rills,
God of earth and sky:
Praise Him on high.
With fruits' fair stock
Ye woods Him praise,
Ye mountain-ways
And every rock;
Praise Him, my flock
In these pastures green,
The God unseen.

Say, lovely Delia, dare I sue,
In hopes my suit to gain?
Ah! could I raise a sigh from you,
My efforts were not vain.

Dare an unknown intruder plead? —
Ah! bid me not refrain;
Since Hope compels me to proceed,
You'll spurn not with disdain.

Behold, fair Delia, at thy feet,
A humble suppliant sighs,
Whose anxious fears too plainly speak,
If Delia frowns he dies.

Sweet Virtue's lodg'd within his breast,
That sacred pledge of truth;
And Constancy, the charming guest,
Attends the faithful youth.

ADDRESSED TO A GENTLEMAN OF LIBERAL CHARACTER .

In that dark season of the circling year,
When gath'ring skies and leafless groves appear,
When Nature trembles at the midnight storm,
And sees the howling wind her charms deform,
When all her treasure — all her boundless store,
Her rich luxuriant paintings are no more!
And dismal glooms shall shadow ev'ry place,
Where once she revell'd with superior grace;
In that dark season, mournful and forlorn,
Can Fancy then the dreary waste adorn? —
Ah, no! the treach'rous maid denies her art,

Ah! charming wrestler! — with what care
For love, Louisa pleads;
The god well pleas'd, accepts her pray'r,
And Julia owns she bleeds.

Oh! could Louisa's winning strain,
Once reach my Delia's ear,
She, too, might own a mutual pain,
And check my frequent tear.

The boast of swains — her sex's pride,
Of ev'ry charm possess'd;
I've lov'd her long, nor aught beside,
Can soothe my wretched breast.

Chaste as her fame, my passion rose,
And Virtue guides it still;
Pure as the lucid stream that slows

Shall Bradgate 's name adorn the poet's verse,
And not one muse Lenora 's praise rehearse?
Whose melting looks resistless force impart,
To charm the fight, and captivate the heart;
Whom nature form'd so virtuous, and so fair,
As kindles love, and yet creates despair;
Tho' warm as wanton Venus , when she strove
On Ida 's mount to win the prize of love.
Forbear, rash youth, to trust your wand'ring eyes,
Conceal'd in beauty's smiles perdition lies:
Thus mortals gaze upon the lightning's blast,
Tho' sure to perish in the flame at last.

( " Non, l'avenir n'est a personne! " )

Sire, beware, the future's range
Is of God alone the power,
Naught below but augurs change,
E'en with ev'ry passing hour.
Future! mighty mystery!
All the earthly goods that be,
Fortune, glory, war's renown,
King or kaiser's sparkling crown,
Victory! with her burning wings,
Proud ambition's covetings, —
These may our grasp no more detain
Than the free bird who doth alight
Upon our roof, and takes its flight

Short is the fleeting hour when gay delight,
And heartfelt converse wings its rapid flight;
That hour which Hope has mark'd with pierce eye,
Ev'n in the darkness of a clouded sky:
But oh! while Mem'ry shall her pow'r retain,
Think not, O Clerimont, 'twas pass'd in vain.
Where'er I go, my pensive soul to cheer,
Thy voice, illusive, seems to charm my ear!
Those cordial words I hear, which soften'd Grief,
For on thy gentle accents hung Belief:
Thy pleasing form, endow'd with virtues rare,
Gleams in each ling'ring path of silent Care. —

The snow is on the hills, the hills so cold and high.
I saw a maiden of the hills, graceful and fair, pass by.

I saw a maiden of the hills, graceful and fair, pass by,
And I towards her went with great courtesy.

And I towards her went with great courtesy.
" Will you, " said I, " lady, of my company? "

" Will you, " said I, " lady, of my company? "
But " Sir Knight, pass on your way, " said she unto me.