University of Virginia Library

A FRAGMENT.

TO ------.

'Tis night, the spectred hour is nigh!
Pensive I hear the moaning blast
Passing, with sad sepulchral sigh,
My lyre that hangs neglected by,
And seems to mourn for pleasures past!
That lyre was once attun'd for thee
To many a lay of fond delight,
When all thy days were giv'n to me,
And mine was every blissful night.
How oft I've languish'd by thy side,
And while my heart's luxuriant tide
Ran in wild riot through my veins,
I've wak'd such sweetly-madd'ning strains,
As if by inspiration's fire
My soul was blended with my lyre!
Oh! while in every fainting note
We heard the soul of passion float;
While, in thy blue dissolving glance,
I've raptur'd read thy bosom's trance,
I've sung and trembled, kiss'd and sung;
Till, as we mingle breath with breath,
Thy burning kisses parch my tongue,
My hands drop listless on the lyre,
And, murmuring like a swan in death,
Upon thy bosom I expire!
Yes, I indeed remember well
Those hours of pleasure past and o'er;
Why have I liv'd their sweets to tell?
To tell, but never feel them more!
I should have died, have sweetly died,
In one of those impassion'd dreams,
When languid, silent on thy breast,
Drinking thine eyes' delicious beams,
My soul has flutter'd from its nest,
And on thy lip just parting sigh'd!
Oh! dying thus a death of love,
To heav'n how dearly should I go!
He well might hope for joys above,
Who had begun them here below! [OMITTED]