I love to sit upon her tomb's dark grass, Then Memory backward rolls Time's shadowy tide; 10 The tales of other days before me glide: With eager thought I seize them as they pass; For fair, tho' faint, the forms of Memory gleam, Like Heaven's bright beauteous bow reflected in the stream. ? 1790. FOOTNOTES: [16:2] First printed in the _Cambridge Intelligencer_, Oct. 25, 1794. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1880, _Supplement_, ii. 359. The text is that of 1880 and 1893, which follow a MS. version. LINENOTES: Title] Anna and Henry C. I. [1] Along this glade C. I. [2] Henry C. I. [3] stern] dark C. I. Harland] Henry C. I. [5] To her cold grave did woe-worn C. I. [6] stay] stray C. I. [7] the] a C. I. [9] dark] dank C. I. [10] Then] There C. I. [11] tales] forms C. I. [14] Like Heaven's bright bow reflected on the stream. C. I. TO THE EVENING STAR[16:3] O meek attendant of Sol's setting blaze, I hail, sweet star, thy chaste effulgent glow; On thee full oft with fixéd eye I gaze Till I, methinks, all spirit seem to grow. O first and fairest of the starry choir, 5 O loveliest 'mid the daughters of the night, Must not the maid I love like thee inspire _Pure_ joy and _calm_ Delight? Must she not be, as is thy placid sphere Serenely brilliant? Whilst to gaze a while 10 Be all my wish 'mid Fancy's high career E'en till she quit this scene of earthly toil; Then Hope perchance might fondly sigh to join Her spirit in thy kindred orb, O Star benign! ? 1790. FOOTNOTES: [16:3] First published in _P. and D. W._, 1880, _Supplement_, ii. 359, from _MS. O_. PAIN[17:1] Once could the Morn's first beams, the healthful breeze, All Nature charm, and gay was every hour:-- But ah! not Music's self, nor fragrant bower Can glad the trembling sense of wan Disease. Now that the frequent pangs my frame assail, 5 Now that my sleepless eyes are sunk and dim, And seas of Pain seem waving through each limb-- Ah what can all Life's gilded scenes avail? I view the crowd, whom Youth and Health inspire, Hear the loud laugh, and catch the sportive lay, 10 Then sigh and think--I too could laugh and play And gaily sport it on the Muse's lyre, Ere Tyrant Pain had chas'd away delight, Ere the wild pulse throbb'd anguish thro' the night! ? 1790. FOOTNOTES: [17:1] First published in 1834. LINENOTES: Title] Pain, a Sonnet MS. O: Sonnet Composed in Sickness MS. [3] But ah! nor splendid feasts MS. O (c). [12] Muse's] festive MS. O, MS. O (c). ON A LADY WEEPING[17:2] IMITATION FROM THE LATIN OF NICOLAUS ARCHIUS