278 



And, while reproach half mingled with his moan, 

 Snatch'd it from her's, and press'd it to his own. 



VIII. 



Three months had pass'd ; still lived the monster-brat: 

 Its sire had sought the wood ; alone she sat : 

 She sheds no tears — no tears are left to shed; 

 Unmoisten'd burn her eyes — her heart seems dead — 

 Her form seems marble. Lo ! from far the sound 

 Of music steals, and fills the caves around. 

 She starts ! — scarce breathing — trembling ; — " Oh ! for 

 wings ! " — 



But hark ! for nearer now the minstrel sings. 



SONG, 

 l. 



When summer smiled on Goa's bowers 



They seem'd so fair ; 

 All light the skies, all bloom the flowers, 



All balm the air ! 

 The mock-bird swelPd his amorous lay, 



Soft, sweet, and clear ; 

 And all was beauteous, all was gay, 



For she was near. 



2. 



But now the skies in vain are bright 



With Summer's glow; 

 The pea-dove's call to Love's delight 



Augments my woe; 

 And blushing roses vainly bloom ; 



Their charms are fled, 

 And all is sadness, all is gloom, 



For she is dead ! 



