Where'er thy morning breath has play'd, Come to my blossom-woven shade, Thou wandering wind of fairy land. For sure from some enchanted isle Where heav'n and love their sabbath hold, Where pure and happy spirits smile Of beauty's fairest brightest mould; From some green Eden of the deep, Where tears of rapture lovers weep, Endear'd, undoubting, undeceiv'd; From some sweet paradise afar, Thy music wanders, distant, lost,.... Where Nature lights her leading star, And Love is never, never cross'd. Oh Gentle gale of Eden bow'rs, If back thy rosy feet should roam, To revel with the cloudless hours In Nature's more propitious home, Name to thy lov'd elysian groves, That o'er enchanted spirits twine, A fairer form than cherub loves, And let the name be CAROLINE. THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION. LEAVE this barren spot to me? Th' ambrosial amber of the hive Yet leave this barren spot to me; Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! Thrice twenty summers I have seen, Since childhood in my pleasant bower First spent its sweet and sportive hour, Since youthful lovers in my shade Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! TO THE EVENING STAR. GEM of the crimson-colour'd Even, Companion of retiring day, Why at the closing gates of heav'n So fair thy pensile beauty burns, So due thy plighted step returns, To chambers brighter than the rose; To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love, So kind a star thou seemst to be, Sure some enamour'd orb above, Descends and burns to meet with thee. 14 |