POEMS. I. Written in an Album. 1. As o'er the cold sepulchral stone Some name arrests the passer-by; Thus, when thou view'st this page alone, May mine attract thy pensive eye! 2. And when by thee that name is read, Reflect on me as on the dead, And think my heart is buried here. On Lady! when I left the shore, The distant shore, which gave me birth, I hardly thought to grieve once more, To quit another spot on earth: Yet here, amidst this barren isle, Where panting Nature droops the head, Where only thou art seen to smile, I view my parting hour with dread. Though far from Albin's craggy shore, But wheresoe'er I now may roam, On thee, in whom at once conspire All charms which heedless hearts can move, Whom but to see is to admire, And, oh! forgive the word-to love. Forgive the word, in one who ne'er With such a word can more offend; And since thy heart I cannot share, And who so cold as look on thee, The friend of Beauty in distress? |