The nightingale had bathed his wing Beneath the neighbouring murmuring spring; And birds, and flowers, and streamlets gay, Seem’d to salute the new-born day; And in requital of the light, Their grateful harmony unite. The sun was bright, the sky serene, The garden fresh and pleasant seen; Life was delight, and thou, sweet maid, No blush of shame thy charms betray’d; For innocence ruled o’er thy breast, Alike thy waking and thy rest. Maiden, or angel upon earth, Thy laugh, and song of gentle mirth, In heaven were surely heard; thine eyes Were stars, and like sweet melodies Thy wandering tones; thy breath perfume, And dawn-like thy complexion’s bloom. As phantoms then thou didst not find The hours pass heavy on thy mind, A poet, under Love’s decree, Sang melancholy songs to thee; And of his griefs the voice they lend Thou didst not, maiden, comprehend. Poor maiden, now what change has come O’er that glad brow and youthful bloom? Forgotten flower, thy leaves are sere, Thy fruitless blossoms dried appear; Thy powerless stem all broken, low, May to the sun no colours show. O! dark-eyed maid of ill-starr’d birth, Why camest thou on this evil earth? Rose amid tangled briars born, What waits thee from the world but scorn? A blasting breath around thee, see, Thy bloom is gone, who’ll ask for thee? Return, my angel, to thy sphere, Before the world shall see thee here: The joys of earth are cursed and brief, Buy them not with eternal grief! Heaven is alone, my soul, secure The mansion for an angel pure. MEDITATION. Upon the obscure and lonely tomb, Beneath the yellow evening’s gloom, To offer up to Heaven I come, For her I loved, my prayer! Upon the marble bow’d my head, Around my knees the moist herbs spread, The wild flowers bend beneath my tread, That deck the thicket there. Far from the world, and pleasures vain, From earth my frenzied thoughts to gain, And read in characters yet plain Names of the long since past; There by the gilded lamp alone, That waves above the altar stone, As by the wandering breezes moan, A light’s upon me cast. Perchance some bird will pause its flight Upon the funeral cypress height, Warbling the absence of the light, As sorrowing for its loss; Or takes leave of the day’s bright power, From the high window of the tower, Or skims, where dark the cupolas lower, On the gigantic cross. With eyes immersed in tears, around I watch it silent from the ground, Until it startled flies the sound The harsh bolts creaking gave; A funeral smile salutes me dread, The only dweller with the dead, Lends me a hard and rough hand, led To ope another grave.