Your heart had master'd it's unquiet inmates. I've met you at the revel, and the dance, And seen your brow wear that gay look, which charm'd All hearts in former times. Savona. Even so, Rinaldo; But often, often is the visage masqued In smiles and revelry, when the heart's wounds Bounds on, through field and thicket, with the arrow Rinaldo. Dear friend, cheer up! Your malady is slight; friends, and new scenes, Savona. Look at the Star! look at the Star, Rinaldo! grow pale! And that black cloud is near approaching it! But this is idle, and but feeds the fancies That prey upon your health. I'll close the casement. Savona. Oh! no, no, no! for Heaven's sweet sake, forbear! That Star gazed on my birth, and on that Star My dying eyes shall gaze. Rinaldo. But not to-night, I hope, Savona. Lend me thy hand. Ha! That black and ominous cloud. And yet I like not Now it comes nearer: It touches the Orb's disk. Thank Heaven! his hand Is cooler now. It has o'erwhelm'd the Star In it's black mantle! Why am I thus moved? [Turns towards him. Oh God! so has his Spirit! Cold, cold indeed his hand! Oh! but to feel "HOMMAGE AUX DAMES." 1825. L'AMORE DOMINATORE. WHO is the Monarch so mighty and bright, As though Beauty's bright eyes form'd his diadem, And his waving wings round his light form play, 'Tis Love! young Love, th' immortal boy, That Throne is thy heart, Oh Mistress mine! And those soft lips are the rosy gate That leads young Love to his throne of state. "HOMMAGE AUX DAMES." 1825. GOODRICH CASTLE. THOU Sylvan Wye, since last my feet I've gazed on many a far-famed stream; Run murmuring through it's regions wild: But none to my delighted eye, Seem'd lovelier than my own sweet Wye: With every woodland glory crown'd, And skies of such Cerulean hue, That God's own eye seems gazing through. And thou, proud Goodrich! changed and worn, By Time, and war, and tempest torn; Though past thy glory like a dream,- Time-hallow'd pile! no more, no more, No more bold knights thy drawbridge pace, No more the valiant man thy towers; The falling meteor o'er thee shoots, And the fox nestles in thy halls. "LITERARY SOUVENIR." 1827. THE CAPTIVES' SONG. Paraphrased from the 137th Psalm. WE sat us down by Babel's streams, And dreamt soul-sadd'ning Memory's dreams; |