Something fell short, or something overpast. The lads play’d idly with the helm and oar, } And nervous women would be set on shore, } Till “civil dudgeon” grew, and peace would smile no more. } Now on the colder water faintly shone The sloping light—the cheerful day was gone; 100 Frown’d every cloud, and from the gather’d frown The thunder burst, and rain came pattering down. My torpid senses now my fears obey’d, When the fierce lightning on the eye-balls play’d. Now, all the freshness of the morning fled, My spirits burden’d, and my heart was dead; The female servants show’d a child their fear, And men, full wearied, wanted strength to cheer; And when, at length, the dreaded storm went past, And there was peace and quietness at last, 110 ’Twas not the morning’s quiet—it was not Pleasure revived, but Misery forgot; It was not Joy that now commenced her reign, But mere relief from wretchedness and Pain. So many a day, in life’s advance, I knew; So they commenced, and so they ended too. All Promise they—all Joy as they began! But Joy grew less, and vanish’d as they ran! Errors and evils came in many a form— The mind’s delusion, and the passions’ storm. 120 The promised joy, that like this morning rose, Broke on my view, then clouded at its close; E’en Love himself, that promiser of bliss, Made his best days of pleasure end like this: He mix’d his bitters in the cup of joy Nor gave a bliss uninjured by alloy. THE MAGNET. Why force the backward heart on love, That of itself the flame might feel? When you the Magnet’s power would prove, Say, would you strike it on the Steel? From common flints you may by force Excite some transient sparks of fire; And so, in natures rude and coarse, Compulsion may provoke desire. But when, approaching by degrees, The Magnet to the Steel draws nigh, 10 At once they feel, each other seize, And rest in mutual sympathy. So must the Lover find his way To move the heart he hopes to win— Must not in distant forms delay— Must not in rude assaults begin. For such attractive power has Love, We justly each extreme may fear: ’Tis lost when we too distant prove, And when we rashly press too near. 20 STORM AND CALM. (From the Album of the Duchess of Rutland.) At sea when threatening tempests rise, When angry winds the waves deform, The seaman lifts to Heaven his eyes, And deprecates the dreaded storm: “Ye furious powers, no more contend; Ye winds and seas, your conflict end; And on the mild subsiding deep, Let Fear repose and Terror sleep!”