All’ AMICA.

And didst thou think that worldly art
Would mould anew this shrinking heart? 
No! as a bird, by storms opprest,
Is sheltered in its silent nest,
I nurse and soothe it in the strife,
Screen from the bleakest airs of life,
And bring it all that once you knew,
As kind, as timid, and as true!

But how could I so foolish be,
As not to feel a doubt of thee?—­
This joy to find me still the same
Takes from my lip the power to blame;
Else, but forgive me, else I find
A mist has stolen o’er thy mind,
And veil’d my prospect; dimm’d that light
Which once was warm, and clear, and bright.

XI.

To the same.

Go forth, my voice, through the wild air,
  In the lone stillness of the night,
  Beneath the cold moon’s pale blue light;
Seek Eugenia, and declare,
As warmth and promise lurk below
A waste of lifeless, drifted snow;

So, while my lips inertly move,
  While many heavy fetters bind,
  And press upon my languid mind,
Oh! tell her not to doubt my love! 
Affection still her hold shall keep,
Although her weary servants sleep.

Friendship to me is like a flower,
  Yielding a balm for human woe,
  I less than ever could forego;
More prized, more needed every hour! 
Perchance it dies for want of care,
But as it withers, I despair!

XII.

To the late Lady Rouse Boughton.

’Tis said, that jealous of a name
  We all would praise confine,
And choke the leading path to fame
  In our peculiar line.

But vainly should detraction preach
  If once I made it known,
The art of pleasing thou would’st teach
  Acknowledg’d for thy own.

XIII.

Yes!  I can suffer, sink with pain,
With anguish I can ill sustain;
Till not a hope has strength to spring,
Till scarce a prayer can lift its wing;
Yet in my inmost heart there lies
A living fount that will arise,
And, of itself, diffuse a balm,
A healing and refreshing calm,
A pure delight, a cooling glow,
Which Hate and Meanness cannot know!

Yes!  I can faint, and I can fear,
The power of petty creatures here,
Who trick dark deeds in gay disguise,
And weave their web of brooded lies,
With so few threads made smooth and fair,
All seems plain sense and reason there;
And yet I would not learn their art,
Nor have their paltry spells by heart,
Their rankling blood within my veins,
For all the treasure earth contains!