She wept with pity and delight,

She blush'd with love, and virgin-shame ;

And like the murmur of a dream,

I heard her breathe my name.

Her bosom heav'd-she stept aside,
As conscious of my look she stept-
Then suddenly, with timorous eye
She fled to me and wept.

She half enclosed me with her arms,
She press'd me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head, look'd up,
And gazed upon my face.

'Twas partly Love, and partly Fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful art,

That 1 might rather feel, than see,
The swelling of her heart.

I calm'd her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin-pride.
And so I won my Genevieve,

My bright and beauteous Bride.

1

LEWTI,

OR

THE CIRCASSIAN LOVE-CHANT.

At midnight by the stream I roved,

To forget the form I loved.

Image of Lewti! from my mind

Depart; for Lewti is not kind.

The Moon was high, the moonlight gleam
And the shadow of a star

Heaved upon Tamaha's stream;
But the rock shone brighter far,
The rock half sheltered form my view
By pendent boughs of tressy yew.-
So shines my Lewti's forehead fair,
Gleaming through her sable hair.
Image of Lewti! from my mind
Depart; for Lewti is not kind.

I saw a cloud of palest hue,
Onward to the Moon it passed.
Still brighter and more bright it grew,
With floating colours not a few,

Till it reached the Moon at last;
Then the cloud was wholly bright,
With a rich and amber light!

And so with many a hope I seek

And with such joy I find my Lewti;

And even so my pale wan cheek

Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty! Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind, If Lewti never will be kind.

The little cloud-it floats away,
Away it goes; away so soon?
Alas! it has no power to stay :
Its hues are dim, its hues are grey-
Away it passes from the Moon!
How mournfully it seems to fly,
Ever fading more and more,

To joyless regions of the sky-
And now 'tis whiter than before!

As white as my poor cheek will be,

When, Lewti! on my couch I lie, A dying man for love of thee.

Nay, treacherous image! leave my mindAnd yet, thou dids't not look unkind.

I saw a vapour in the sky,
Thin, and white, and very high:
I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud.

Perhaps the breezes that can fly
Now below and now above,

Have snatch'd aloft the lawny shroud
Of Lady fair-that died for love.
For maids, as well as youths, have perish'd
From fruitless love too fondly cherish'd.
Nay, treach❜rous image! leave my mind-
For Lewti never will be kind.

Slush! my heedless feet from under
Slip the crumbling banks for ever :
Like echoes to a distant thunder,

They plunge into the gentle river.
The river-swans have heard my tread,

And startle from their reedy bed.

O beauteous Birds! methinks

ye measure

Your movements to some heavenly tune!

O beauteous Birds! 'tis such a pleasure
To see you move beneath the Moon,
I would it were your true delight
To sleep by day and wake all night.

I know the place where Lewti lies,
When silent night has closed her eyes—
It is a breezy jasmine-bower,

The Nightingale sings o'er her head:
VOICE of the Night! had I the power

That leafy labyrinth to thread,

And creep, like thee, with soundless tread,
I then might view her bosom white
Heaving lovely to my sight,

As these two swans together heave
On the gently swelling wave.

Oh! that she saw me in a dream,

And dreamt that I had died for care!

All pale and wasted I would seem,

Yet fair withal, as spirits are!

I'd die indeed, if I might see

Her bosom heave, and heave for me!

Soothe, gentle image! soothe my mind!

To-morrow Lewti may be kind.

(From the Morning Post, 1795.)