Sketches in verse with prose illustrations. By Mr. Polwhele. Second edition, with several additional pieces |
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 | Sketches in verse |  |
86
SONG.
[Where harebells had imbib'd the dew]
Where harebells had imbib'd the dew
And clos'd their cups, my limbs I threw:
The silver lamp of Heaven shone bright;
And my heart sicken'd at the sight.
The winds blew shrill: a gathering cloud
Flung o'er the moon its sable shroud;
While large drops, like the tears I shed,
Fell cold upon my naked head.
“Ah, darken'd orb, too plain I see
“An emblem of myself in thee;
“While, chasing joy, affliction pale
“Draws over me the sombre veil!”
And clos'd their cups, my limbs I threw:
The silver lamp of Heaven shone bright;
And my heart sicken'd at the sight.
The winds blew shrill: a gathering cloud
Flung o'er the moon its sable shroud;
While large drops, like the tears I shed,
Fell cold upon my naked head.
“Ah, darken'd orb, too plain I see
“An emblem of myself in thee;
“While, chasing joy, affliction pale
“Draws over me the sombre veil!”
87
And now, before the rising blast,
The clouds in scatter'd fragments past
Far from the lunar disk, till clear'd
From gloom, the splendid moon appear'd.
Twinkled the glistening leaves more green,
And soften'd lustre cloath'd the scene.
The clouds in scatter'd fragments past
Far from the lunar disk, till clear'd
From gloom, the splendid moon appear'd.
Twinkled the glistening leaves more green,
And soften'd lustre cloath'd the scene.
“Fair orb! 'tis thine again to smile;
“But my poor bosom—woe the while!
“Again thy rays the landscape cheer;
“But joy no more shall brighten here!”
“But my poor bosom—woe the while!
“Again thy rays the landscape cheer;
“But joy no more shall brighten here!”
| Sketches in verse | |