TO OCTAVIA, The eighth Daughter of J. L g, Esq. on the completion of

her sixth year.

BY A. A. WATTS, ESQ.* * FULL many a gloomy month hath past,

On flagging wing, regardless by,
Unmarked by aught, save grief,--since last

I gazed upon thy bright blue eye,
And bade my lyre pour forth for thee
Its strains of wildest minstrelsy!
For all my joys are withered now,-

The hopes I most relied on, thwarted,
And sorrow hath o'erspread my brow

With many a shade since last we parted:
Yet, 'mid that murkiness of lot,
Young Peri! thou art unforgot!
There are who love to trace the smile

That dimples upon Childhood's cheek,
And hear from lips devoid of guile,

The dictates of the bosom break;
Ah! who of such, could look on thee,
Without a wish to rival me!
None: his must be a stubborn beart,

And strange to every softer feeling,
Who from thy glance could bear to part .

Cold, and unmoved-without revealing
Some portion of the fond regret
Which dimm'd my eye when last we met!
Sweet bud of beauty!-mid the thrill

The anguished thrill of hope delayed-
Peril-and pain--and every ill

That can the breast of man invade No tender thought of thine and thee Hath faded from my memory!

* These elegant verses have been extensively circulated in manuscript in town, and have been attributed to Lord Byron. From information, however, on which we can rely, we consider ourselves as being fully authorised to ascribe them to the gentleman whose name we have prefixed to them.-ED.

But I have dwelt on each dear form

'Till woe awhile gave place to gladness;
And that remembrance seem'd to charm,

Almost to peace, my bosom's sadness :-
And now again I breathe a lay
To hail thee on thy natal day.
Oh! might the fondest prayers prevail

For blessings on thy future years
Or innocence, like thine, avail
_ To save thee from affliction's tears,
Each moment of thy life should bring
Some new delight upon its wing;
And the wild sparkle of thine eye,

Thy guilelessness of soul revealing,
Beam ever thus as beauteously,

Undimm’d-save by those gems of feeling-
Those soft luxurious drops which flow
In pity for another's woe?
But vain the thought!-It may not be-

Could prayers avert misfortune's blight,
Or hearts, from sinful passions free,

Here hope for unalloyed delight,
Then those who guard thine opening bloom
Had never known an hour of gloom.
No;-if the chastening stroke of fate

On guilty heads alone descended,
Sure they would ne'er have felt its weight.

In whose pure bosoms, sweetly blended,
Life's dearest, social virtues move,
In one bright, linkless chain of love!
Then since upon this earth, joy's beams

Are fading frail, and few in number,
And melt-like the light woven dreams

That steal upon the mourner's slumber,
Sweet one! I'll wish thee strength to bear
The ills that heaven may bid thee share;
And when thine infancy hath fled,

And time with woman's zone bath bound thee,
If in the path thou’rt doom'd to tread

The thorns of sorrow lurk, and wound thee,
Be thine that exquisite relief
Which blossoms 'mid the springs of grief!


y, Je

And like the many-tinted bow

Which smiles the showery clouds away,
May hope-grief's Iris here below---

Attend, and soothe thee on thy way,
"Till full of years.--thy cares at rest---
Thou seek'st the mansions of the blest!---
Young sister of a mortal nine,

Farewell !-perchance a long farewell!
Tho' woes unnumbered yet be mine

Woes, hope may vainly strive to quell
I'll half unteach my soul to pine
So there be bliss for thee and thine!

October, 1817.

STANZAS. AT eve I'll haste to deck the tomb

Where lies whom most I lov'd on earth; The sweetest flowerets there shall bloom,

Fair emblems of his truth and worth. And when the summer's sun shall glow,

And faded all my spring flowers lie, The rose and woodbine sweet shall blow,

And shade the spot from every eye.
And there sequester'd I may weep,

And fan each blossom with my sighs,
Till I am laid there too to sleep,
And my soul greet him in the skies.


RETURN, ye dear, delusive hours,
When seem'd my path all strew'd with Aowers,
When free from care, my heart was gay,
And hail'd with hope each coming day
Alas! my happy hours are o'er,
The flowerets fade-to bloom no more!


TO A FAITHLESS HUSBAND, CAN the voice of reason reach you

In the midst of frantic joys?
If it can, ah! let it teach you

What my peace of mind destroys.
Oh! 'tis not the wrong you've done me

Preys upon my wounded mind;
But the heart, with which you won me,

To another you've resign’d.
Souls, more gross than mine, may pleasure

Feel in what the brutes partake; But to me, the dearest treasure

Was the faith that ne'er could break. . Let the syren, who's ensnar'd thee, . Glut upon the grosser part, If you only could have spar'd me

All I wish'd to have-your heart ! But too well I know, that never

Such a partnership can be; Soul and body ne'er can sever,

Until death has set them free. That I lov'd you (ah! how dearly!)

Heaven knows who heard my vows : That my faith I've kept sincerely,

Self-approving conscience knows. Not by merely chastely keeping;.

(That each matron ought to do) But my thoughts, awake or sleeping,

Never once have stray'd from you. Ob! you had (cease tears from flowing!)

A heart so tender and so true; Every joy of heaven's bestowing

All were centred once in you.

While I write, my babe lies sleeping,

Cradled by his mother's arms,
Unconscious that her eyes are weeping

O'er the author of bis charms.
But no more-though thus I've shewn thee

All that rends my heart in twain,
Think not, that 'twill ever own thee,

Or receive thee back again. The die is cast, for I can never

Sue for a divided heart; Nor imagine time will ever

Soothe my soul or ease its smart. .
Yet I wish thee every blessing

Heaven can give, or man receive;
And tho' absent, still possessing
All those joys for which I grieve.

J. H.V~-y.

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

ALL hajl! the scene where fancy's mien

Smiles fair and marks of love discloses, Whose wanton freak leaves on the cheek

The kiss from Lyra's lips of roses! 'Twas thus I dream'd, as twilight gleam'd

Across the eastern arch of heaven, Like growing hope, that strives to cope

With chill despair's infectious leaven. Methought 'twas noon: the summer's sun

Beam'd from & cloudless sky upon me; Beneath the shade my limbs I laid, .

And listlessness came gently on me.

« ElőzőTovább »