1809.]} Original 
_ It wasadream, yet did it seem not so; 
IT heard the torrent as he roll’d along, 
The little prattling minstrels of the spring, 
And leaves that whisper’d the old elms 
ainong. 
‘© Lo! as the morning broke of those bright 
eyes, 
Of love, of life, of light, the radiant 
throne, | 
High beat the pulses of this captive heart, 
Which fate, and even habit, mark thine 
own, 
«6 The sight alone of pity in those orbs, 
That ne’er with lustre of compassion 
beam’d 5 
Gave hirth, O Heaven! to more than idle 
fears, 
I doubted if awake I was, or dream'd. 
66 What sounds I heard! 
names were mine ! 
Thou dear one, from those lips which 
breathe o/ fire, 
What tender meanings in those eyes I read! 
Which tremble as they gaze with soft de~ 
sire.” 
and what kind 
What added brilliance pity can bestow! 
Oh! if *twere possible that you could seey 
How in their firmament, like stars, they 
shine, 
O never, Phillis, wouldst thou cruel be. 
*§ Repeat I cannot, what I then did say, 
Or what my bold, presumptuous hopes ex- 
press'd ; 
This much I know, on that dear iv’ry hand 
A thousand ardent kisses 1 impress’d. 
** Bright as the tints of morn, a rising blush 
Thy fascinating features seem’d to wear, 
When lo! the rustling of a neighb’ring bush 
Some instant danger bade me to beware. 
*© Sudden I turn, when curs’d Philtno’s form, © 
His rival form, half-hidden, I descry, 
Who, pale with envy of my happier stars, 
Regards my am’rous thefts with evil eye. 
«€ Inflam’d I grew, with anger, with surprise, 
And waken’d ina moment at the view.” 
Thus e’en in dreams, if sweet my transports 
are, 
Alas! they are as short and transient too. 
?Tis true, the pleasure and the dear deceit 
Did with the darkness of the night depart; 
But not with darkness of the night retires 
The ardent passion which consumes my 
heart. 
Thus, for a little moment if I am blest, 
In dreams, that with a churlish haste are 
gone, 
When day again returns his cheerful course, 
My torments bus increase, and J love on. 
Poetry. 4715 
For the Monthly Magazine. 
TO HER WHO BEST WILL UNDERSTAND, 
N?: not the telltale Muse shall bear the 
name 
Of her I love so tenderly ; 
Nor Echo from her caves proclaim, 
Tho’ oft made vocal to my flame, 
The sounds that syllable the dame 
That loves me too so tenderly ! 
Yet, as her conscious eyes peruse the Jay 
That I have penn’d so cautiously 5 
The blush that o’er her cheek shall play, 
And heaving bosom oft shall say, 
Dear is the lover—-far away, 
That breathes his flame so cautiously § 
And, free from prying eyes when next we 
meet, 
To breathe of love, how rapturously, 
Oft as our parting lips retreat, 
Mingling sweet joys with converse sweet, 
Her partial voice shall oft repeat 
The glowing theme—how rapturously! 
EE 
SONNET 
TO AN UNFORTUNATE FRIEND, PAR 
TICULARLY FOND OF THEATRICAL- 
REPRESENTATIONS. 
WEY, luckless Friend! why boasts the 
scenic tale, 
A charm which_tunes thy mind to Plea- 
sure’s tone ? 
Joy’st thou to hear the buskin’d hero wail 
, Worth unrequited? fate too like thy own! 
Or doth Thalia, laughter-loving Maid, 
Chase from thy sight the grisly Spectre, 
Care, 
When, by her magic Crook’s transforming aid, 
She shews lite’s thorny vale as Eden fair? 
Then view, in Fiction’s changeful vestments 
ays 
A io which oft by fallacy enthrals 3 
But, as the audience soon forgets the play, 
Learn thou to feel, ere Life’s great curtain 
falls, 
Alike indiff’rence to the weal or woe 
Of those who fill each motley scene below. 
re 
EPITAPHIN CHESTERTON CHURCH-YARD, 
WRITTEN BY THE LATE ALDERMAN 
IND, OF CAMBRIDGE. 
Near this Place lies interred, 
ANNA MARIA VASA, — 
Daughter of Gustavus Vasa, the African, 
She died July 24, 1897, — 
Aged +4 Years. 
GHOULD simple village rhymes attract 
thine eye, 
Stranger, as thougi'fully thou passest by, 
Know that here lies beside this humble stone 
A child of colour haply not thine own, 
Her 
