Soft Isis heard his artless tale, Ah, stream for ever dear! Whose waters, as they pass'd the vale, Receiv'd a lover's tear. How could a heart, that virtue lov'd, (And sure that heart is mine) Lamented youth! behold unmov'd, The virtues that were thine? Calm, as the surface of the lake, When all the winds are still, Mild, as the beams of morning break, When first they light the hill; So calm was his unruffled soul, Where no rude passion strove; So mild his soothing accents stole, Upon the ear of love. Where are the dear illusions fled Which sooth'd my former hours? Where is the path that fancy spread, Ah, vainly spread with flowers! I heard the battle's fearful sounds, They seem'd my lover's knell-- I heard, that pierc'd with ghastly wounds, My vent'rous lover fell!-- My sorrows shall with life endure, For he I lov'd is gone; But something tells my heart, that sure My life will not be long."-- "My panting soul can bear no more, The youth, impatient cried, 'Tis Edward bids thy griefs be o'er, My love! my destin'd bride! The life which heav'n preserv'd, how blest, How fondly priz'd by me, Since dear to my Amelia's breast, Since valued still by thee! My father saw my constant pain, When thee I left behind, Nor longer will his power restrain, The ties my soul would bind. And soon thy honor'd sire shall cease The captive's lot to bear, And we, my love, will soothe to peace His griefs, with filial care. Then come for ever to my soul! Amelia come, and prove! How calm our blissful years will roll, Along a life of love!-- SONNET, To MRS. BATES. Oh, thou whose melody the heart obeys, Thou who can'st all its subject passions move, Whose notes to heav'n the list'ning soul can raise, Can thrill with pity, or can melt with love! Happy! whom nature lent this native charm; Whose melting tones can shed with magic power, A sweeter pleasure o'er the social hour, The breast to softness sooth, to virtue warm--But yet more happy! that thy life as clear From discord, as thy perfect cadence flows; That tun'd to sympathy, thy faithful tear, In mild accordance falls for others woes; That all the tender, pure affections bind In chains of harmony, thy willing mind! SONNET To TWILIGHT. Meek Twilight! soften the declining day, And bring the hour my pensive spirit loves; When, o'er the mountain flow descends the ray That gives to silence the deserted groves. Ah, let the happy court the morning still, When, in her blooming loveliness array'd, She bids fresh beauty light the vale, or hill, And rapture warble in the vocal shade. Sweet is the odour of the morning's flower, And rich in melody her accents rise; Yet dearer to my soul the shadowy hour, At which her blossoms close, her music dies-- For then, while languid nature droops her head, She wakes the tear 'tis luxury to shed. TO SENSIBILITY.