LEWTI,

Or the CIRCASSIAN LOVE-CHANT.

At midnight by the stream I rov'd
To forget the form I lov'd.
Image of Lewti! from my mind
Depart; for Lewti is not kind.

The moon was high, the moonlight gleam,
And the shadow of a star

Heav'd upon Tamaha's stream;
But the rock shone brighter far,
The rock half shelter'd from my view,
By pendant boughs of tressy yew.-
So shines my Lewti's forehead fair,
Gleaming thro' her sable hair.
Image of Lewti! from my mind
Depart; for Lewti is not kind.

I saw a cloud of palest hue,
Onward to the moon it pass'd.
Still brighter and more bright it grew,
With floating colours not a few,
Till it reach'd the moon at last;

Then the cloud was wholly bright,
With a rich and amber light;

And so with many a hope I seek,
And with such joy I find my Lewti;
And even so my pale wan cheek

Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty ! Nay, treach'rous image! leave my mind, If Lewti never will be kind.

The little cloud-it floats away,
Away it goes-away so soon !
Alas! it has no power to stay:
Its hues are dim, its hues are grey-
Away it passes from the moon.
How mournfully it seems to fly,
Ever fading more and more,
To joyless regions of the sky--
And now 'tis whiter than before,
As white as my poor cheek will be,
When, Lewti! on my couch I lie,
A dying man for love of thee.

Nay, treach'rous image! leave my mind-
And yet thou didst 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
Now below, and now above,
Have snatch'd aloft the lawny shroud
Of lady fair-that died for love;

For Maids, as well as Youths, have perish'd
From fruitless love too fondly cherish'd !
Nay, treach'rous image! leave my mind-
For Lewti never will be kind.

Hush! 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!
✪ beauteous birds! 'tis such a pleasure
To see you move beneath the moon,
I would it were your true delight
To sleep by day and wake all night.

I know the place where Lewti lies, When silent night has clos'd her eyes— It is a breezy jasmin bower,

The nightingale sings o'er her head; Had I the enviable power

To creep unseen with noiseless tread, Then should I view her bosom white Heaving lovely to the sight,

As these two swans together heave
On the gently-swelling wave.

O 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.

The CHILD of SORROW's TALE.

Deny, but do not taunt a maid

aid

Who never scorn with scorn repays; Proud man, though now I ask your Mine once, alas! were happier days. But Sorrow mark'd me for her own

Before I told my twentieth yearYet when my friends began to frown, I but reproach'd them with A Tear.

I ne'er could frame the harsh reply, The look unkind by feeling fear'd, E'en when I met disdain's cold eye, E'en when I cruel language heard. I've seen my friend, my earliest friend, Refuse my tale of woe to hear;

Yet still unwilling to offend,

All my remembrance was-A TEAR.