With fond impatience, all the tedious day I sighed, and wished the lingering hours away; For when bright Hesper led the starry train, My shepherd swore to meet me on the plain. With eager haste to that dear spot I flew, And lingered long, and then in tears withdrew. Alone, abandoned to love's tenderest woes, Down my pale cheeks the tide of sorrow flows; Dead to all joy that Fortune can bestow, In vain for me her useless bounties flow. Take back each envied gift, ye powers divine, And only let me call Fidelio mine. Ah, wretch! what anguish yet thy soul must prove! For thou canst hope to lose thy care in love; And when Fidelio meets thy tearful eye, Pale fear and cold despair his presence fly. With pensive steps I sought thy walks again, And kissed thy token on the verdant plain; With fondest hope, through many a blissful hour, We gave our souls to Fancy's pleasing power. Lost in the magic of that sweet employ, To build gay scenes and fashion future joy, We saw mild Peace over fair _Canaan_ rise, And shower her pleasures from benignant skies. On airy hills our happy mansion rose, Built but for joy--no room for future woes. Round the calm solitude with ceaseless song, * * * * * Sweet as the sleep of innocence the day, By transports measured, lightly danced away; To love, to bliss, the unioned soul was given, And--ah, too happy!--asked no brighter heaven. And must the hours in ceaseless anguish roll? Will no soft sunshine cheer my clouded soul? Can this dear earth no transient joy supply? Is it my doom to hope, despair, and die? O, come once more, with soft endearments come; Burst the cold prison of the sullen tomb; Through favored walks thy chosen maid attend Where well-known shades their pleasing branches bend; Shed the soft poison of thy speaking eye, And look those raptures lifeless words deny. Still he, though late, reheard what ne'er could tire, But, told each eve, fresh pleasures would inspire; Still hope those scenes which love and fancy drew, But, drawn a thousand times, were ever new. Can fancy paint, can words express, Can aught on earth my woes redress? E'en thy soft smiles can ceaseless prove Thy truth, thy tenderness, and love. Once thou couldst every bliss inspire, Transporting joy and gay desire; Now cold Despair her banner rears, And Pleasure flies when she appears; Fond Hope within my bosom dies, And Agony her place supplies. O thou, for whose dear sake I bear A doom so dreadful, so severe, May happy fates thy footsteps guide, And o'er thy _peaceful_ home preside; Nor let E----a's early tomb Infect thee with its baleful gloom. Still another poem, of more genuine beauty and strength than either of these, has been preserved in her own handwriting, which I doubt not the reader will thank me for introducing here, although it bears more of recrimination than the others.