LINES

TO MISS L——­ D——.

When Heav’n, sweet Laura! form’d thy mind,
With genius and with taste refin’d,
  As if the union were too bright,
It spread the veil of diffidence,
That ev’ry ray, at first intense,
  Might shine as soft as lunar light.

To frame a form then Nature strove,
And call’d on Beauty and on Love,
  To lodge the mind they priz’d so well: 
Completed was the fair design;
Thus blended dew-drops mildly shine
  Within the lily’s spotless bell!

LINES[A]

Written in a beautiful Spot,

THE FAVOURITE RETREAT OF DELIA.

Streams ever limpid, fresh, and clear,
Where Delia’s charms renew’d appear,
Ye flow’rs that touch’d her snowy breast,
Ye trees whereon she lov’d to rest,
Ye scenes adorn’d where’er she flies,
If grief shall close these woe-worn eyes,
May some kind form, with hand benign,
My body with this earth enshrine,
That, when the fairest nymph shall deign
To visit this delightful plain,
That, when she views my silent shade,
And marks the change her love has made,
The tear may tremble down her face,
As show’rs the lily’s leaves embrace;
Then, like the infant at the breast,
That feels a sorrow unexprest,
That pang shall gentle Delia know,
And silent treasure up her woe.

[Footnote A:  I am indebted to Petrarch for some of the imagery contained in these Lines.]

VALENTINE VERSES,

Sent to my young Friend, Miss Emma Trevelyan,

OF WALLINGTON-HOUSE, NORTHUMBERLAND.

Emma! ’tis early time for thee
To hear the sounds of minstrelsy,
That breathe around the rosy shrine
Of honest old Saint Valentine.

Too young art thou for strains of love;
’Tis not thy passion I would move;
Instead of lover’s strains, I send
The cordial wishes of a friend.

Nobly has Nature done her duty,
To give thee of thy mother’s beauty
So large a share—­oh! then be thine
The mental charms that in her shine!

And may thy father’s taste refin’d
Still add new graces to thy mind;
And may’st thou to each charm impart
The gen’rous frankness of his heart.

Then, my sweet Emma! thou shall move
In many a heart more genuine love
Than ever warm’d poetic line,
Or sigh’d in any Valentine.

LINES

WRITTEN UPON SEEING A BLIND YOUNG WOMAN IN NORTH WALES,

Who supports herself, and an aged and infirm Mother, by selling Stockings and Gloves of her own Knitting, which she offers to Travellers as they pass by; in doing which she has been known to run close by the Side of a Carriage for several Miles.

POOR BLIND BET.