Puslapio vaizdai
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To make him Nature's playmate. He knows well
The evening star: and once when he awoke

In most distressful mood (some inward pain

Had made up that strange thing, an infant's dream)
I hurried with him to our orchard plot,

And he beholds the moon, and hush'd at once
Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently,
While his fair eyes that swam with undropt tears
Did glitter in the yellow moon-beam! Well-
It is a father's tale. But if that Heaven

Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up
Familiar with these songs, that with the night
He may associate Joy! Once more farewell,

Sweet Nightingale! once more, my friends! farewell.

LEWTI;

OR,

THE CIRCASSIAN LOVE CHANT.

At midnight, by the stream I rov'd

To forget the form I lov'd.

Image of LEWTI! from my mind
Depart; for LEWTI is not kind.

The moon was high, the moonlight gleam,

And the shadow of a star

Heav'd upon Tamaha's stream;

But the rock shone brighter far.
The rock half-sheltered from my view,
By pendent boughs of tressy yew.—
So shines my LEWTI's forehead fair,
Gleaning thro' her sable hair.

Image of LEWTI! from my mind
Depart; for LEWTI is not kind.

I saw a cloud of palest hue,

Onward to the moon it pass'd.
Still brighter and more bright it grew,
With floating colours not a few,

Till it reach'd the moon at last.
Then the cloud was wholly bright,
With a rich and amber light;

And so with many a hope I seek,

And with such joy I find my LEWTI;

And even so my pale wan cheek

Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty! Nay, treach'rous image! leave my mind,

If LEWTI never will be kind.

The little cloud-it floats away,

Away it goes-away so soon!

Alas! it has no pow'r to stay:
Its hues are dim, its hues are grey—

Away it passes from the moon.

How mournfully it seems to fly,

Ever fading more and more,
To joyless regions of the sky-

And now 'tis whiter than before,
As white as my poor cheek will be,
When, LEWTI! on my couch I lie,
A dying man, for love of thee.

Nay, treach'rous image! leave my mind-
And yet thou didst not look unkind!

I saw a vapour in the sky,
Thin and white and very hig...

I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud

Perhaps the breezes that can fly
Now below, and now above,

Have snatch'd aloft the lawny shroud
Of lady fair, that died for love :

For Maids, as well as Youths, have perish'd
From fruitless love, too fondly cherish'd!
Nay, treach'rous image! leave my mind-
For LEWTI never will be kind.

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