Where from this Gothic casement's height, We view'd the lake, the park, the dell, And still, though tears obstruct our sight, We lingering look a last farewell, 5. O'er fields through which we us'd to run, And spend the hours in childish play; O'er shades where, when our race was done, Reposing on my breast you lay; 6. Whilst I, admiring, too remiss, Forgot to scare the hovering flies, Yet envied every fly the kiss, It dar'd to give your slumbering eyes: 7. See still the little painted _bark_, In which I row'd you o'er the lake; See there, high waving o'er the park, The _elm_ I clamber'd for your sake. 8. These times are past, our joys are gone, You leave me, leave this happy vale; These scenes, I must retrace alone; Without thee, what will they avail? 9. Who can conceive, who has not prov'd, The anguish of a last embrace? When, torn from all you fondly lov'd, You bid a long adieu to peace. 10. _This_ is the deepest of our woes, For _this_ these tears our cheeks bedew; This is of love the final close, Oh, God! the fondest, _last_ adieu! 1805. [Footnote 1: To Maria--[4to]] FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES: FROM THE "PROMETHEUS VINCTUS" OF AESCHYLUS, [Greek: Maedam o panta nem_on, K.T.L_] [1] Great Jove! to whose Almighty Throne Both Gods and mortals homage pay, Ne'er may my soul thy power disown, Thy dread behests ne'er disobey. Oft shall the sacred victim fall, In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall; My voice shall raise no impious strain, 'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main. ... How different now thy joyless fate, Since first Hesione thy bride, When plac'd aloft in godlike state, The blushing beauty by thy side, Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smil'd, And mirthful strains the hours beguil'd; The Nymphs and Tritons danc'd around, Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless frown'd, [2] HARROW, December 1, 1804. [Footnote 1: The Greek heading does not appear in the Quarto, nor in the three first Editions.] [Footnote 2: "My first Harrow verses (that is, English, as exercises), a translation of a chorus from the 'Prometheus' of Æschylus, were received by Dr. Drury, my grand patron (our headmaster), but coolly. No one had, at that time, the least notion that I should subside into poetry."--'Life', p. 20. The lines are not a translation but a loose adaptation or paraphrase of part of a chorus of the 'Prometheus Vinctus', I, 528, 'sq.'] LINES WRITTEN IN "LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN, BY J. J. ROUSSEAU; [1] FOUNDED ON FACTS." "Away, away,--your flattering arts May now betray some simpler hearts; And _you_ will _smile_ at their believing, And _they_ shall _weep_ at your deceiving."