22 HENRY KIRKE AVIIITE's POEMS. 



Ko more the shepherd on the "blooming rtiead 

 Attuned to gaiet}^ his artless reed, 

 No more entwined the pansied wreath, to deck 

 His favourite wether's unpolluted neck ; 

 But listless, by yon bubbling stream reclined, 

 He mixed his sobbings with the passing wind, 

 Bemoan'd his hapless love, or boldly bent, 

 Far from these smiling fields, a rover went, 

 O'er distant lands, in search of ease to roam, 

 A self-wdll d exile from his native home. 



Yet not to all the maid express'd disdain, 



Her Bateman loved, nor loved the youth in vain. 



Full oft, low whispering o'er these arL-.hing bouglis, 



The echoing vault responded to their vows, 



As here deep hidden from the gjare of day, 



Enamour'd, oft they took their secret way. 



Yon bosky dingle, still the rustics name ; 

 'Twas there the blushing maid confess'd her flame. 

 Down yon green lane they oft were seen to hie. 

 When evening slumber'd on the western sky. 

 That blasted yew, that mouldering walnut bare. 

 Each bears mementoes of the fated pair. 



One eve, when autumn loaded evVy breeze 



With the fallen honours of the mourning trees, 



The maiden waited at the accustomed bow r. 



And waited long beyond the appointed hour, 



Yet Bateman came not : o'er the woodland drear, 



Hov/ling portentous, did the winds career ; 



And bleak and dismal on the leafless woods. 



The fitful rains rush'd down in sudden floods. 



The night w^as dark ; as, now-and-then the gale 



Paused for a moment, — Margaret listen'd, pale ; 



But through the covert to her anxious ear, 



No rustling footstep spoke her lover near. 



Strange fears now filled her breast, — she knew not why j 



She sigh'd, and Bateman's name was in each sigh. 



She hears a noise, — 'tis he — he comes at last. 



Alas ! 'twas but the gale which hurried past ; 



