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Could gold thy truant fancy bind
A faithful heart would still content me;
I gave thee all that fortune lent me!
Who vow'd to love, and “ love sincerely,"
Tho' thou wert poor, I lov'd thee dearly !
Seek not the fragile dreams of love:
Such fleeting phantoms will deceive thee; They will but transient idols prove,
In wealth beguile, in sorrow leave thee. Ah! dost thou hope the sordid mind,
When thou art poor, will feel sincerely? Wilt thou in such the friendship find,
Which warm’d the heart that lov'd thee dearly?
Though fickle passions cease to burn
For her, so long thy bosom's treasure, Ah! think that reason may return,
When far from thee my paths I measure: Say, who will then thy conscience heal?
Or who will bid thy heart beat cheerly? Or from that heart the mem'ry steal
Of her who lov'd thee truly-dearly?
When war shall rouse the brooding storm,
And horrors haunt thy thorny pillow; When fancy shall present my form
Borne on the wild and restless billow; Oh! where wilt thou a helpmate find
Whose heart, like mine, shall throb sincerely? Or who thy heart in spells shall bind,
When hers is broke that lou'd thee dearly ?
When thou contending throngs shall court,
Where party zeal bas often crown'd thee; Perchance, of Fortune's frowns the sport,
Caprice or cold neglect may wound thee! Then wilt thou find no gen'rous heart
To bid thee bear misfortune cheerly ; No friend, in grief, to share a part
Like her who lov'd thee long and dearly!
Could I to distant regions stray,
From thee my thoughts would never wander; For, at the purpling close of day,
By some lone vagrant rill's meander,Each wand'ring bee, each chilling wind,
Would tell the heart that's broken nearly, In them, where'er they rove, to find
The faults of him I lov'd so dearly !
I will not court thy fickle love;
Soon shall our fates and fortunes sever: Far from thy sight will I remove,
And, smiling, sigh " adieu for ever!" Give to the sordid friends thy days;
Still trust that they will act sincerely, And when the specious mask decays,
Lament the heart that lov'd thee dearly !
For time will swiftly journey on,
with sickness haste to meet thee, Friends prov’d deceitful will be gone,
When they no more with smiles can cheat thee: Then wilt thou seek in vain to find
A faithful heart that beats sincerely,-A passion, cent’ring in the mind,
Which, scorning interest, lov'd thee dearly!
When in the grave this heart shall sleep,
No soothing dreams shall bless thy slumber; For thou wilt often wake to weep,
And in despair my sorrows number!
My voice in whispers tell thee clearly
Mrs. Robinson. CANZONET.
TRANSLATED FROM CAMOENS.
Thou pride of the forest! whose dark branches spread
To the sigh of the south-wind their tremulous green, And the tinge of whose buds is as rich, and as red,
As the mellowing blushes of maiden eighteen!
O'er thee may the tempest in gentleness blow,
And the lightnings of summer pass harınlessly by; For ever thy buds keep their mellowing glow,
Thy branches still wave to the southernly sigh.
Because in thy shade, as I lately reclin'd,
The sweetest of visions arose to my view ; 'Twas the swoon of the soul-'twas the transport of
mind'Twas the happiest minute that ever I knew.
For this shalt thou still be my favourite tree,
In the heart of the poet thou never canst fade;
Compare the above with Mr. Sheridan's “Uncouth is this moss
cover'd grotto of stone,” Vol. 1. p. 57.
Who fed me from her gentle breast,
When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who sat and watch'd my infant head,
When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who drest my doll in clothes so gay,