So once again, to blend the soul's clear stream! Charm'd would my sense that pleasing view discern, But hope is cold on the presented theme,

And her dear hands a darken'd mirror turn.

Yet, friends esteem'd, to memory oft ye rise, Bright from the past, as refluent pleasures cheer ; Though ye no more may glad these mortal eyes. Far spent my day, and the long night is near!

ΤΟ

MISS CATHERINE MALLET.

Yer two short days, my Catharine! then no more,
Beneath our long-loved spires, thy graceful form
Shall lightly glide, to cheer my languid hour
With emanations sparkling, soft, and warm,

Shed from the mind's rich stores; and with the charm

Of language accurate, by habit taught

Th' ideal train with happiest powers to arm,

That rise in swift subservience to each thought,

Whether with Reason's strength, or Fancy's radiance

fraught.

Now damp November's desolating gale

Covers the brooks with shrunk and yellow leaves;
His iron skies scowl on our darling vale,

Nor aught from sway more stern the scene reprieves.
Of thee, since Destiny my heart bereaves,

Lone wintry sighs in unison ascend

With the chill blast which faded Nature grieves.
On me her griefs, but not her hopes attend;
Spring shall return to her, when distant far my friend!

No Expectation tells, with voice benign,

That future

years shall give her back to me!

Thou may'st again behold these turrets shine,

These bowers may spread, these meadows bloom for

thee,

But here no more wilt thou thine Anna see !

Yet not for that shroud those mild eyes in gloom!
She twines the cypress wreath, by Heaven's decree,
For
many a victim of the ruthless tomb;

Set are her heart-dear orbs where no blest mornings come!

For thee, loved maid, extracted be each thorn
That lurks amid the roses of thy fate,

Knowledge and Taste are thine, and bid thee scorn
Each shaft of Envy, Falsehood, Pride, and Hate;
For thou hast soar'd where they have never sat;
Traced Genius in his sun-track; with rapt gaze,

Adored bright Nature in her scenic state,
And in thy morn of life, and riper day,

Fed thy clear lamp of Faith from Truth's unclouded

ray!

Lichfield, Nov. 1805.

IMPROMPTU,

WRITTEN IN THE BLANK LEAVES OF

MISS ANNA BURT'S REPOSITORY OF FRIENDSHIP.

BEFORE thine altar, Virtue, ever kneel

The maid whose beauty charms the kindling heart! The maid, ordain'd Affection's power to feel,

In Nature's truth and in the scorn of Art!

Enchanting ANNA, if aright I read,

Stands in the level of that cordial prayer;

Hers be the rosy and the amaranth wreath,
Which Love and Friendship for the Good prepare!

So may her years in placid currents flow,

Gay as her smile, and radiant as her

eye;

Pure as her blush, where those soft colours glow Warm May diffuses in the orient sky!