From those rain scenes, where fancied pleasure reigns; From crowds that weary, and from mirth which pains; From flattering praises, from the smiles of art, Sweet to the eye but faithless to the heart; From guilt which makes fair innocence its prey, Sighs but to blast, and courts but to betray; From these I fly, impatient to caress All lovely Nature in her fairest dress. Oh, sweet retirement! Oh! secure retreat From all the cares and follies of the great! Here lavish Nature every charm bestows, In softness smiles, in vivid beauty glows! Here May presents each blossom of the spring, And balmy sweetness falls from Zephyr's wing. Yet while I stray, in tranquil quiet blest, Fond mem'ry presses at my anxious breast; And as I rove 'mid scenes so justly dear, Remembrance wakes the tributary fear! The mental eye perceives a sister's form, And even these peaceful shades no longer charm. "Yes!" I exclaim, "'twas here she lov'd to stray, Smiling in beauty, innocently gay! Oft by yon streamlet, in the echoing vale, Her voice would swell upon the evening gale, Charm from the care-fraught bosom half its woes, And hush the wounded spirit to repose!" While these delightful hours I thus retrace, And dwell on every recollected grace, Thy sister's soul, my Agatha, forgets That _thou_ art blest in that which _she_ regrets; Forgets that pleasure crowns thy happy hours, And fond affection strews thy path with flowers; Anxious thy way with rose-buds to adorn, And from those buds remove each lurking thorn. Ah! selfish heart, lament thy loss no more, Nor thus thy recollected bliss deplore; Content thyself to know thy sister blest, And calm the plaintive anguish of thy breast! Be still serenity thy future state; Far from the pomps and perils of the great; Unnotic'd, quiet, shall thy peace ensure, Peace, when the world forgets thee, most secure. --Yet, yet, my Agatha, affection swells The trembling heart where thy lov'd image dwells; Still bids me look to thee for all that cheers In lengthen'd life, and blesses ling'ring years: My spirit, form'd a _social_ bliss to prove, Dares but to hope it from thy future love. Deceived by him on whom it most relied, Pierced in its fondness, wounded in its pride-- Yet, yet, while throbbing through each shatter'd nerve, Disclaims to thee the veil of low reserve; Owns all its weakness, will each thought confide, And what it dares to feel, disdains to hide; Owns, though no more the storms of passion rise, That from the thought of selfish bliss it flies, Still feels whate'er had once the power to charm, Faithful affection, sensitive alarm; But from the pangs which once it felt relieved, No more will trust where once it was deceived; To thee alone will look for future joy, And for thy bliss each anxious wish employ: Absorbed in thee, and in thy opening views, Its pains, its pleasures, nay its being lose: