HANNAH'S EYE.

TO MISS H. GRAHAME.

BY MR. J. THELWALL.

Now April suns, with softening gleam,
Begin to cheer the vernal sky,
I wander near the huddling stream
Where Roslin Castle nods on high.

The hanging wood, the jutting scar,
The ruin'd tower with ivy'd wall,
And headlong brook resounding far,
The Poet's youthful dreams recall.

Yet not in lonely thought I rove,
With hermit step, and vacant eye;
Nor warble to the senseless grove,
Nor bid the echoing rocks reply:

For Hannah's gentle form is near;-
For her I tune the social lay;
For her I bid the vernal year
Its emblematic sweets display.

And I have found a beauteous flower,
Of foliage soft, and radiant hue,
That, underneath a rustic bower,
Seem'd half retiring from the view.

In shape and size 'tis Hannah's eye:
'Tis Hannah's tint of lovely blue :
The clustering petals well supply
The iris form of varied hue.

I'll ask yon pair of loitering friends
That listen to the water fall,-
I'll ask yon swain that earthward bends,
How they the beauteous flow'ret call.

But loitering friend, nor hoary swain,
The beauteous flow'ret's name supply;
Tho' speaking glances tell me plain-
How like it is to Hannah's eye.

Of maids and youths I ask by turns:
Nor youths nor maidens can reply;
Yet every passing glance discerns
A sister flower in Hannah's eye.

Then, tho' the bashful flower refuse
Its name, to deck the cordial theme,
The image, sacred to the Muse,

Shall gild the Poet's future dream.

And if, perchance, some kindred flower,
In southern groves I chance to spy,
I'll think of Roslin's rural bower,
And call that flow'ret Hannah's eye.
EDINBURGH, APRIL, 1804.

THE KISS.

BY THEOPHILUS SWIFT, ESQ.

FROM rose-buds yet unblown, whose orient morn
Opes the young blush, unconscious of a thorn,
The purest purple take: and steal from May
The pearl that gems the lawn, when springs the day.
Crop the chaste violet from her scented bed,
And spoil the primrose of his velvet head.
With Hybla's store the luscious labour fill,
Diffusing odours as the drops distill.
But search, O search, the aromatic joy!-
One latent sting would all thy care destroy.
Now cheer with hope; and now a smile infuse,
Bathed by the Graces in Castalian dews:
Now Paphia thrice invoke:-with pious hand
Thrice dip the magic of her myrtle wand.
Into the nectar'd mass let Zephyr fling
The newest, earliest whisper of the spring:
Now haste to Saba; now returning, breathe
The gale that wantons on her summer wreath.
The note of Beauty's darling bird prepare,
And mix the murmur of the turtle there.
'Tis done:-and hark! the chirp respondent rhimes
With Love's dear poesy in dulcet chimes.

It breathes! The Senses feel the blest controul,
And joy and transport chain the charmed soul.
See!-Finished lives the spell of full delight,
And Fragrance, Melody, and Grace unite!
But say, ye Muses, in what favour'd soil
Blooms this fair blossom of your balmy toil?
On Laura's lip resides the treasured bliss,
And Poets mold the rapture to a kiss.

Fugitive Poetry.

VOL. IV.

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