 | American poems, selected and original |  |
TO ELLA.
Ah! vainly Ella, do I hear
Thy lute complain, in note so clear,
As would seduce an angel's ear;
That bids me check the song of praise,
And give to other themes, my lays.
Thy lute complain, in note so clear,
As would seduce an angel's ear;
That bids me check the song of praise,
And give to other themes, my lays.
To fierce disease and grief a prey,
In pain I pass the lingering day.
No more I raise the sprightly strain,
Or warble the melodious song,
That fill'd the breast with envied pain,
And could the joys of life prolong.
In pain I pass the lingering day.
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Or warble the melodious song,
That fill'd the breast with envied pain,
And could the joys of life prolong.
Now, when the glowing orb of day,
Hath sunk beneath the western wave;
With melancholy heart I stray
To hear the stream his border lave.
Hath sunk beneath the western wave;
With melancholy heart I stray
To hear the stream his border lave.
Or like some pilgrim press the yielding grass,
And wet my sandals with the nightly dew,
A sprig of laurel breaking as I pass,
To thee I say the honoring branch is due.
And wet my sandals with the nightly dew,
A sprig of laurel breaking as I pass,
To thee I say the honoring branch is due.
My dangerous course along the vale I take,
Beneath the hanging rock, that seems to shake
With ev'ry blast, and threatens on my head
Its crushing weight to roll;
But my undaunted soul,
Enjoys the scene, nor feels the chill of terror spread.
Beneath the hanging rock, that seems to shake
With ev'ry blast, and threatens on my head
Its crushing weight to roll;
But my undaunted soul,
Enjoys the scene, nor feels the chill of terror spread.
Now, near a cavern dark, and wild,
With folded arms I stand,
Like melancholy's gloomy child;
I heave the swelling sigh;
Upon the passing gale;
While from my ever-streaming eye;
Adown my cheeks, so wan and pale,
The tears incessant drop upon my hand.
There I hear the moping owl,
His dismal whoopings roll,
Upon the heavy ear of night,
In sounds that would thy soul affright.
With folded arms I stand,
Like melancholy's gloomy child;
I heave the swelling sigh;
Upon the passing gale;
While from my ever-streaming eye;
Adown my cheeks, so wan and pale,
The tears incessant drop upon my hand.
There I hear the moping owl,
His dismal whoopings roll,
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In sounds that would thy soul affright.
But oh! my bursting heart!
So tortur'd by the fang of grief,
In other scenes would seek relief:
On fancy's rapid wing I'd dart
Where Horror with his staring eye,
And upright hair,
Sits gazing on the fiery sky,
When sulphurous lightnings fly,
And swell the soul to wild despair.
So tortur'd by the fang of grief,
In other scenes would seek relief:
On fancy's rapid wing I'd dart
Where Horror with his staring eye,
And upright hair,
Sits gazing on the fiery sky,
When sulphurous lightnings fly,
And swell the soul to wild despair.
Where the vex'd wave with mad'ning roar,
Rolls thundering on the craggy shore,
And aims with ev'ry dreadful shock,
To burst apart the flinty rock;
When still like wretched man! in vain
He strives his purpose to obtain;
Mad to despair, he flies again
And clamours to his parent main.
Rolls thundering on the craggy shore,
And aims with ev'ry dreadful shock,
To burst apart the flinty rock;
When still like wretched man! in vain
He strives his purpose to obtain;
Mad to despair, he flies again
And clamours to his parent main.
Birtha.
May 21, 1791.
This, and the succeeding Poems, signed Birtha, are extracted from the Gazette of the United States; where they form part of a poetical Correspondence, carried on under the signatures of Ella and Birtha. We have selected the following Poems as being most correct, and most worthy of preservation; especially as they are now offered to the public with the author's corrections.
| American poems, selected and original | |