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THE CIRCASSIAN LOVE-CHANT.
AT midnight by the stream I roved,
To forget the form I loved.
Image of Lewti! from my mind
Depart; for Lewti is not kind.
The Moon was high, the moonlight gleam
Heaved upon Tamaha's stream;
I saw a cloud of palest hue,
Till it reached the Moon at last;
And with such joy I find my Lewti;
And even so my pale wan cheek
Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty! Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind, If Lewti never will be kind.
The little cloud-it floats away,
To joyless regions of the sky-
As white as my poor cheek will be,
When, Lewti! on my couch I lie, A dying man for love of thee.
Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind
And yet, thou dids't not look unkind.
I saw a vapour in the sky,
Thin, and white, and very high:
I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud.
Perhaps the breezes that can fly
Have snatch'd aloft the lawny shroud
ush my heedless feet from under Slip the crumbling banks for ever: Like echoes to a distant thunder,
They plunge into the gentle river. The river-swans have heard my tread, And startle from their reedy bed.
O beauteous Birds! methinks ye measure
Your movements to some heavenly tune!
O beauteous Birds! 'tis such a pleasure
To sleep by day and wake all night.
I know the place where Lewti lies,
The Nightingale sings o'er her head :
That leafy labyrinth to thread,
And creep, like thee, with soundless tread,
As these two swans together heave
Oh! that she saw me in a dream,
And dreamt that I had died for care!
All pale and wasted I would seem,
Yet fair withal, as spirits are!
I'd die indeed, if I might see
Her bosom heave, and heave for me!
Soothe, gentle image! soothe my mind!
To-morrow Lewti may be kind.
(From the Morning Post, 1795.)
THROUGH Weeds and thorns, and matted underwood
I force my way; now climb, and now descend
The fir-trees, and th' unfrequent slender oak,