LEWTI, OR THE CIRCASSIAN LOVE-CHANT. AT midnight by the stream I roved, To forget the form I loved. Image of Lewti! from my mind Depart; for Lewti is not kind. The Moon was high, the moonlight gleam Heaved upon Tamaha's stream; I saw a cloud of palest hue, Till it reached the Moon at last; And with such joy I find my Lewti; And even so my pale wan cheek Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty! Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind, If Lewti never will be kind. The little cloud-it floats away, To joyless regions of the sky- As white as my poor cheek will be, When, Lewti! on my couch I lie, A dying man for love of thee. Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind And yet, thou dids't not look unkind. I saw a vapour in the sky, Thin, and white, and very high: I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud. Perhaps the breezes that can fly Have snatch'd aloft the lawny shroud ush my heedless feet from under Slip the crumbling banks for ever: Like echoes to a distant thunder, They plunge into the gentle river. The river-swans have heard my tread, And startle from their reedy bed. O beauteous Birds! methinks ye measure Your movements to some heavenly tune! O beauteous Birds! 'tis such a pleasure To sleep by day and wake all night. I know the place where Lewti lies, The Nightingale sings o'er her head : That leafy labyrinth to thread, And creep, like thee, with soundless tread, As these two swans together heave Oh! that she saw me in a dream, And dreamt that I had died for care! All pale and wasted I would seem, Yet fair withal, as spirits are! I'd die indeed, if I might see Her bosom heave, and heave for me! Soothe, gentle image! soothe my mind! To-morrow Lewti may be kind. (From the Morning Post, 1795.) THROUGH Weeds and thorns, and matted underwood I force my way; now climb, and now descend The fir-trees, and th' unfrequent slender oak, |