University of Virginia Library

AMŒBÆAN.

He.
The sky has lost the happy lustre
It borrowed from her azure eyes,
The unruly winds around me bluster,
Unsoftened by her balmy sighs,
And for my true love's loss alone
The thronging town 's a desert grown.

She.
Along the glen and o'er the heather,
With spring's return once more I stray
Through scenes where oft we've roved together
At rosy dawn and gloaming grey;
But all these former haunts of bliss,
Love, without thee their beauty miss!

He.
By arch triumphal, lordly tower,
With thoughts like these I soothe my way—
“What sculptured flower could match her bower
With wreaths of living roses gay?
And piles superb, and courtly hall,
For her sweet cot I'd change you all.”

She.
Now blooms each freshest, fairest blossom,
By woodland wild and garden wall,
Yet pressed unto this aching bosom,
These faint blue stars are worth them all.
For being too sad to speak the thought,
With these he sighed, “Forget me not.”

He.
In art supreme, around us, o'er us,
Sweet Southern voices rise and float,
Or swells sublime the lofty chorus,
Or dies on one voluptuous note—
But how can mimic transports move,
After her unfeigned words of love?

She.
Let skylarks spring to meet the morrow
With lays of jubilant delight,
And Philomela's voice of sorrow
Most passionate plead the livelong night:
If of sweet music I have choice,
Waft me one echo of his voice.

He.
Oh! what are city pomp and pride,
If Celia be not by my side?

She.
Oh! would that I my way might win
To that sweet town he sojourns in!