The reason firm, the temperate will, 1804. A COMPLAINT. 1806. There is a change, and I am poor; What happy moments did I count! A well of love,-it may be deep, I trust it is, and never dry: Such change, and at the very door Of my fond heart, hath made me poor. JAMES MONTGOMERY. 1771-1854. HANNAH. AT fond sixteen my roving heart Where circling woods embowered the glade, I met the dear romantic maid: I stole her hand-it shrunk-but no; I would not let my captive go. With all the fervency of youth, Not with a warmer, purer ray, The sun, enamoured, wooes young May; But, swifter than the frighted dove, The angel of Affliction rose, Yet, in the glory of my pride I stood, and all his wrath defied! I stood, though whirlwinds shook my brain, And lightnings cleft my soul in twain. I shunned my nymph; and knew not why I durst not meet her gentle eye; I shunned her, for I could not bear To marry her to my despair. Yet, sick at heart with hope delayed, Oft the dear image of that maid The storm blew o'er, and in my breast 'Twas on the merry morn of May, Then as I climbed the mountains o'er, I saw the village steeple rise, My soul sprang, sparkling, in my eyes: 1801. I reached the hamlet: all was gay; I met a wedding, stepped aside; There is a grief that cannot feel; ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. 1766-1823. ["Rural Tales, Ballads and Songs." 1802.]* ROSY HANNAH. A SPRING, o'erhung with many a flower, I caught her blue eye's modest beam: The water heedless passed away: With me her glowing image stayed: I strove, from that auspicious day, To meet and bless the lovely maid. I met her where beneath our feet Through downy moss the wild thyme grew; Nor moss elastic, flowers though sweet, Matched Hannah's cheek of rosy hue. I met her where the dark woods wave, New glories to her rising train. |