With frantic grief poor Ethelinde "Lift up thine eyes, my Edwin dear, That much lov'd sound recalls his life, He lifts his closing eyes, Then feebly murmuring out her name, He gasps, he faints, he dies. Stupid a while, in dumb despair She gaz'd on Edwin dead; Dim grew her eyes, her lips turn'd pale, And life's warm spirit fled. A DIRGE. Bow the head, thou lily fair, Shed thy leaves, thou lovely rose, Fragant woodbine all untwine, For, woe is me! the gentle knot, Her head with dim half-closed eyes, And mute is that harmonious voice, That with such ease and grace And I of all my bliss bereft, Lonely and sad must ever moan; TO SLEEP. COME, gentle god of soft repose, Come sooth this tortur'd breast Shed kind oblivion o'er my woes, And lull my cares to rest. t; Come, gentle God, without thy aid I sink in dark despair; Let hope in some propitious dream O quickly send thy kind relief, ASPASIA rolls her sparkling eyes, And every bosom feels her power; The Indians thus view Phœbus rise, And gaze in rapture, and adore. Quick to the soul the piercing splendors dart, Fire every vein, and melt the coldest heart. Aspasia speaks; the listening crowd And self-admiring folly hears. Her wit secures the conquests of her face; Points every charm, and brightens every grace. Aspasia moves; her well turn'd limbs Like a tall bark o'er summer seas; |