Oh! what art thou in mine?

For she, who nurs'd thy drooping form
When Winter pour'd her snowy storm,
    Has oft consol'd me too;
For me a fost'ring tear has shed,—
She has reviv'd my drooping head,
    And bade me bloom anew.

When adverse Fortune bade us part,
And grief depress'd my aching heart,
  Like yon reviving ray,
She from behind the cloud would move,
And with a stolen look of love
  Would melt my cares away.

Sweet flow'r! supremely dear to me,
Thy lovely mistress blooms in thee,
  For, tho' the garden's pride,
In beauty's grace and tint array'd,
Thou seem'st to court the secret shade,
  Thy modest form to hide.

Oh! crown'd with many a roseate year,
Bless'd may she be who plac'd thee here,
  Until the tear of love
Shall tremble in the eye to find
Her spirit, spotless and refin'd,
  Borne to the realms above!

And oft for thee, sweet child of spring!
The Muse shall touch her tend'rest string;
  And, as thou rear'st thine head,
She shall invoke the softest air,
Or ask the chilling storm to spare,
    And bless thy humble bed.

LINES

TO LADY WARREN,

On the Departure of Sir John Borlase Warren, K.B.

TO TAKE THE COMMAND OF A SQUADRON.

Oh! why does sorrow shade thy face,
Where mind and beauty vie with grace?
Say, dost thou for thy hero weep,
Who gallantly, upon the deep,
Is gone to tell the madd'ning foe,
Tho' vict'ry laid our Nelson low,
We still have chiefs as greatly brave,
Proudly triumphant on the wave?
Dear to thy Country shall thou be,
Fair mourner! and her sympathy
Is thine; for, in the war's alarms,
Thou gav'st thine hero from thine arms;
And only ask'd to sigh alone,
To look to heav'n, and weep him gone.
Oh! soon shall all thy sorrow cease,
And, to thine aching bosom, peace
Shall quick return;—another tear
To love and joy, supremely dear,
Shall give thy gen'rous mind relief—
That tear shall gem the laurel leaf.

LINES

TO MISS ——,

ACCOMPANIED BY A ROSE AND A LILY.

I look'd the fragrant garden round
  For what I thought would picture best
    Thy beauty and thy modesty;
A lily and a rose I found,—
  With kisses on their leaves imprest,
    I send the beauteous pair to thee.

SONG.

Nature's imperfect child, to whom
The world is wrapt in viewless gloom,
Can unresisted still impart
The fondest wishes of his heart.

And he, to whose impervious ear
  The sweetest sounds no charms dispense,
Can bid his inmost soul appear
  In clear, tho' silent, eloquence.

But we, my Julia, not so blest,
  Are doom'd a diff'rent fate to prove,—
To feel each joy and hope supprest
  That flow from pure, but hidden, love.

IMPROMPTU LINES,

UPON ANACREON MOORE'S SAYING THAT HE DISLIKED SINGING TO MEN.

By Beauty's caresses, like Cupid, half-spoil'd,
Thus Music's and Poesy's favourite child
Exclaim'd,—"'Tis, by Heaven! a terrible thing
Before a he-party to sit and to sing!"
"By my shoul! Master Moore, you there may be right,"
Said a son of green Erin; "tho' dear to my sight
Are all the sweet cratures, call'd women, I swear,
Yet I think we can feel just as well as the fair:
Tho' you'd bribe us with songs, blood and 'ounds! let me say,
I'd not be a woman for one in your way."

LINES TO JULIA.

Tho', Julia, we are doom'd to part,
Tho' unknown pangs invade this heart,
For thee the light of love shall burn,
To thee my soul in secret turn:
Upon this bosom, swell'd with care,
The thought of thee shall tremble there
'Till Time shall close these weeping eyes,
And close the soothing source of sighs.
So, in the silence of the night,
Shines on the wave the lunar light;
With its soft image, bright, imprest,
It heaves, and seems to know no rest:
Its agitation soon is o'er;
It sighs, and dies along the shore!

LINES

To the Memory of Mrs. A.H. Holdsworth,

LATE OF MOUNT GALPIN, DEVONSHIRE.

Tyrant of all our loves and friendships here,
  Behold thy beauteous victim!—Ah! tis thine
To rend fond hearts, and start the tend'rest tear
  Where joy should long in cloudless radiance shine.

Alas! the mourning Muse in vain would paint,
  Blest shade! how purely pass'd thy life away,
Or, with the meekness of a favour'd saint,
  How rose thy spirit to the realms of day.

'Twas thine to fill each part that gladdens life,
  Such as approving angels smile upon;—
The faultless daughter, parent, friend, and wife,—
  Virtues short-lived! they set just as they shone.

Thus, in the bosom of some winding grove,
  Where oft the pensive melodist retires,
From his sweet instrument, the note of love,
  Charms the rapt ear, but, as it charms, expires.

Farewell, pure spirit! o'er thine early grave
  Oblivion ne'er shall spread her freezing shade;
Nature shall bid her richest foliage wave
  Where her reposing fav'rite child is laid.

There widow'd fondness oft, when summers bloom.
  Shall with thy infant pledge of love repair;
Oft shall they kneel beside thy mossy tomb,
  And tears shall dew the flow'rs that blossom there.

LINES

Written upon a Watch-String,

MADE AND PRESENTED TO THE AUTHOR BY MISS ——.

Say, lovely Charlotte! will you let me prove
What diff'rent thoughts thy taste and beauty move?
This woven chain, which graceful skill displays,
  Leads me to think of time, and heave a sigh;
But when on thee and on thy charms I gaze,
  Time unremember'd moves, or seems to die.

LINES

Upon a Diamond Cross,

WORN ON HER BOSOM BY MISS C.M.

Well on that neck, sweet Kitty! may you wear
  The sparkling cross, with hopes to soften Heaven;
For trust me, tho' so very young and fair,
  Thou hast some little sins to be forgiven:—
For all the hopes which wit and grace can spread,
  For all the sighs which countless charms can move,
Fall, lovely Kitty! on thy youthful head;
  Yet fall they gently—for the crime is love.

LINES TO FORTUNE,

Occasioned by a very amiable and generous Friend of mine munificently presenting Miss E.S. with a Donation of Fifteen Thousand Pounds.

Oh, Fortune! I have seen thee shed
  A plenteous show'r of treasure down
On