notes shall pour
  A requiem to her hallow'd shade.

And Friendship oft shall raise the veil
  Time shall have drawn o'er pleasures past,
And Fancy shall repeat the tale
  Of happy hours, too sweet to last!

But when she mourns o'er Mira's bier,
  And when the fond illusion ends,
Oh! then shall fall the genuine tear
  That drops for dear departed friends!

[Footnote A: Mr. Hodges, in his Travels in India, page 28, mentions, that between Banglepoor and Mobgheir, it is the custom of the women of the family to attend the tombs of their friends after sun-set; and observes, "it is both affecting and curious to see them proceeding in groups, carrying lamps in their hands, which they place at the head of the tomb."]

LINES

TO MISS C.

On her leaving the Country.

Since Friendship soon must bid a fond adieu,
And, parting, wish your charms she never knew,
Dear Laura hear one genuine thought express'd,
Warm from the heart, and to the heart address'd:—
Much do I wish you all your soul holds dear,
To sooth and sweeten ev'ry trouble here;
But heav'n has yielded such an ample store,
You cannot ask, nor can I wish you, more;
Bless'd with a sister's love, whose gentle mind,
Still pure tho' polish'd, virtuous and refin'd,
Will aid your tend'rer years and innocence
Beneath the shelter of her riper sense.
Charm'd with the bright example may you move,
And, loving, richly copy what you love.
Adieu! and blame not if an artless pray'r
Should, self-directed, ask one moment's care:—
When years and absence shall their shade extend,
Reflect who sighs adieu, and call him—friend.

LINES

TO A ROBIN.

Written during a severe Winter.

Why, trembling, silent, wand'rer! why,
From me and Pity do you fly?
Your little heart against your plumes
Beats hard—ah! dreary are these glooms!
Famine has chok'd the note of joy
That charm'd the roving shepherd-boy.
Why, wand'rer, do you look so shy?
And why, when I approach you, fly?
The crumbs which at your feet I strew
Are only meant to nourish you;
They are not thrown with base decoy,
To rob you of one hour of joy.
Come, follow to my silent mill,
That stands beneath yon snow-clad hill;
There will I house your trembling form,
There shall your shiv'ring breast be warm:
And, when your little heart grows strong,
I'll ask you for your simple song;
And, when you will not tarry more,
Open shall be my wicket-door;
And freely, when you chirp "adieu,"
I'll wish you well, sweet warbler! too;
I'll wish you many a summer-hour
On top of tree, or abbey-tow'r.
When Spring her wasted form retrieves,
And gives your little roof its leaves,
May you (a happy lover) find
A kindred partner to your mind:
And when, amid the tangled spray,
The sun shall shoot a parting ray,
May all within your mossy nest
Be safe, be merry, and be blest.

LINES TO DELIA,

ON HER WEARING A MUSLIN VEIL.

Say, Delia, why, in muslin shade,
  Ah! say, dost thou conceal those eyes?
Such little stars were never made,
  I'm sure, to shine thro' misty skies.

Say, are they wrapt in so much shade,
  That they may more successful rise,
Starting from such soft ambuscade,
  To catch and kill us by surprise?

Or, of their various pow'rs afraid,
  Is it in mercy to our sighs,
Lest love, o'er many a heart betray'd,
  Should sob "a faithful vot'ry dies"?

Then, oh! remove the envious shade;
  Let others wear, who want, disguise:
We all had sooner die, sweet maid,
  To see, than live without, those eyes.

VERSES

TO THE TOMB OF A FRIEND.

Dearer to me, thou pile of dust!
  Tho' with the wild flow'r simply crown'd,
Than the vast dome or beauteous bust,
  By genius form'd, by wit renown'd.

Wave, thou wild flow'r! for ever wave,
  O'er my lov'd relic of delight;
My tears shall bathe her green-rob'd grave
  More than the dews of heav'n by night.

Methinks my Delia bids me go,
  Says, "Florio, dry that fruitless tear!
Feed not a wild flow'r with thy woe,
  Thy long-lov'd Delia is not here.

"No drop of feeling from her eye
  Now starts to hear thy sorrows speak;
And, did thy bosom know one joy,
  No smile would bloom upon her cheek.

"Pale, wan, and torpid, droops that cheek,
  Whereon thy lip impress'd its red;
Those eyes, which Florio taught to speak,
  Unnotic'd close amid the dead!"

True, true, too idly mourns this heart;
  Why, Mem'ry, dost thou paint the past?
Why say you saw my Delia part,
  Still press'd, still lov'd her, to the last?

Then, thou wild flow'r, for ever wave!
  To thee this parting tear is given;
The sigh I offer at her grave
  Shall reach my sainted love in heaven!

TIME AND THE LOVER.

Oh, Time! thy merits who can know?
  Thy real nature who discover?
The absent lover calls thee slow,—
  "Too rapid," says the happy lover.

With bloom thy cheeks are now refin'd,
  Now to thine eye the tear is given;
At once too cruel and too kind,—
  A little hell, a little heaven.

Go then, thou charming myst'ry, go!—
  Yes, tho' thou often dost amuse me,
Tho' many a joy to thee I owe,
  At once I thank thee and abuse thee.

A ROUNDELAY.

Wide thro' the azure blue and bright
Serenely floats the lamp of night;
The sleeping waves forget to move,
And silent is the cedar grove;
Each breeze suspended seems to say—
"Now, Leline, for thy Roundelay!"

My Delia's lids are clos'd in rest;
Ah! were her pillow but my breast!
Go, dreams! one gentle word impart,
In whispers place me by her heart;
While near her door I'll fondly stray,
And sooth her with my Roundelay.

But, ah! the Night draws in her shade,
And glimm'ring stars reluctant fade:
Yet sleep, my love! nor may'st thou feel
The pangs which griefs like mine reveal:
Adieu! for Morning's on his way,
And bids me close my Roundelay.

FAREWELL LINES

TO

BRISTOL HOT WELLS.

Bristol! in vain thy rocks attempt the sky,
  The wild woods waving on their giddy brow;
And vainly, devious Avon! vainly sigh
  Thy waters, winding thro' the vales below;—

In vain, upon thy glassy bosom borne,
  Th' expected vessel proudly glides along,
While, 'mid thy echoes, at the break of morn
  Is heard the homeward ship-boy's happy song;—

For, ah! amid thy sweet romantic