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But if, led on by Heaven's decree to' explore
Torn from thy desert caves and solemn roar ;
Enshroud me far from men, in deep repose.
TO THE POPPY.
NOT for the promise of the labour'd field,
For dull to humid eyes appear
Alas! a melancholy worship's mine!
That dost so far exceed
The richest gifts gay Flora can bestow, Heedless I pass'd thee in Life's morning hour (Thou comforter of woe),
Till Sorrow taught me to confess thy power.
In early days, when Fancy cheats,
A various wreath I wove
Of laughing Spring's luxuriant sweets,
To deck ungrateful Love;
The rose or thorn my numbers crown'd,
As Venus smiled or Venus frown'd.
But Love and Joy and all their train are flown, And I will sing of thee alone;
Unless perchance the attributes of grief,
Their pale funereal foliage blend with thine.
Hail, lovely blossom! thou canst ease
Canst close those weary eyes in gentle sleep
For, oh! thy potent charm
Can agonizing Pain disarm;
Expel imperious Memory from her seat,
By thee the wretched die!
Which bids the spirit from its bondage fly,
I'd court thy palliative aid no more!
Burst these terrestrial bonds, and other regions
HON. MRS. O'NEIL.
TO THE WILLOW.
SEE Nature's fairest gift appear,
Queen of flowers, how bright her hue,
Flings her refreshing odours to the night!
For me a wreath does Fate provide, A chaplet meet to deck the bride
Who weds Despair-the pallid cypress here
Sweet rose, be wasted in the cave of Death;
Then not for me, too lavish rose,
When the wild winds impetuous blow,
When the tall elm and stately oak
But not for yielding gentleness alone, And patient meekness, is the willow known; "Tis her distinguish'd lot to prove The last resource of suffering love; Her graceful foliage decks the maid Who weeps too easy faith betray'd; Or crowns the drooping love-lorn swain, Whose haughty fair one scorns his pain; Or marks the consecrated spot where sleep Love's victims, who at length have ceased to weep.
Then, still to cureless grief a friend,
Alone can tempt me to resign
This lone sequester'd bower of thine:
With its strong fence my then-forgotten woes,
To see thy pendent branches o'er me wave,
FOUND IN A BOWER FACING THE
SOFT cherub of the southern breeze,
And on thee pours her laughing eyes;
Thou at whose call the light fays start,
The blossom thin and infant flower;
Soft cherub of the southern breeze!
And if aright, with anxious zeal,
My willing hands this bower have made,
For thee of all the cherub train
Alone my votive Muse would woo; Of all that skim along the main,
Or walk at dawn yon mountains blue;
Of all that slumber in the grove,
Or playful urge the gossamer's flight, Or down the vale or streamlet move, With whisper soft and pinion light.