176 HENRY KIRKE WIIITE's TOEMS. 



Ripe for the sicMe ; others young, like me, 



And falling green beneath the untimely strolce. 



Thus, in short time, in the churchyard forlorn, 



Where I shall lie, my friends will lay them dcvvn. 



And dwell with me, a happy family. 



And oh, thou cruel, yet beloved youth, 



Who now hast left me hopeless here to mouni, 



Do thou but shed one tear upon my corse, 



And say that I was gentle, and deserved 



A better lover, and I shall forgive 



All, all thy wrongs ; — and then do thou forg'^t 



The hapless Margaret, and be as blest 



As wish can make thee. — Laugh, and play, aiid s'n 



With thy dear choice, and never think of me. 



Yet hist, I hear a step. — In this dark wood — 

 * * * * 



rnAGMENT. 



-The western gale, 



Mild as the kisses of Connubial love. 



Plays round my languid limbs, as all dissolved, 



Beneath the ancient elm's fantastic shade 



I lie, exhausted with the noontide heat ; 



While rippling o'er its deep-worn pebble bed, 



The rapid rivulet rushes at my feet, 



Dispensing coolness. — On the fringed marge 



Full many a flow'ret rears its head. — or pink, 



Or gaudy daiFodil. — 'Tis here, at noon, 



The buskin'd wood-nym.phs from the heat retirCj 



And lave them in the fountain ; here secure 



From Pan or savage satyr, they disport ; 



Or stretch* d supinely on the velvet turf, 



Luird by the laden bee, or sultry fly, 



Invoke the god of slumber. * * * 



* * * * 



