-Ah now thy barbed shaft, relentless fly, Unsheaths its terrors in the sultry air! No guardian sylph, in golden panoply, Lifts the broad shield, and points the glittering spear. Now near and nearer rush thy whirring wings, Hark, thy shrill horn its fearful larum flings! -I wake in horror, and " dare sleep no more!" WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. 1786. WHILE thro' the broken pane the tempest sighs, And my step falters on the faithless floor, With many a face that smiles on me no more; MINE be a cot beside the hill, A bee-hive's hum shall sooth my ear; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest. Around my ivy'd porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing In russet gown and apron blue. The village-church, anong the trees, Where first our marriage-vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze, And point with taper spire to heaven. DEAR is my little native vale, The ring-dove builds and murmurs there; Close by my cot she tells her tale To every passing villager. The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, And shells his nuts at liberty. I charm the fairy-footed hours With my loved lute's romantic sound; Or crowns of living laurel weave, For those that win the race at eve. The shepherd's horn at break of day, Sung in the silent green-wood shade; A CHARACTER. As thro' the hedge-row shade the violet steals, And the sweet air its modest leaf reveals; Her softer charms, but by their influence known, Surprise all hearts, and mould them to her own. |