« 前へ次へ »
THE POOR HINDOO.
Said to have been composed and sung by a Hindustani girl on being se. parated from the man she loved. She had lived several years in
ith an English gentleman to whom she was tenderly attached; but be, when about to marry, sent his Indian favourite up the coun. try; and, as she was borne along in her palanquin, she was heard to sing the following melody.
'TIS thy will, and I must leave thee:
O then, best-beloved, farewell!
Half my heart-felt pangs to tell.
Thou her smiles wilt fondly woo;
Don't forget THY POOR HINDOO.
Well I know this happy beauty
Soon thine envied bride will shine;
Prove a passion warm as mine?
And her own desires pursue,
And regret THY POOR HINDOO.
Born hefself to rank and splendour,
Will she deign to wait on thee,
Thou so oft has praised in me?
Yet, why doubt her care to please thee?
Thou must every heart subdue; I am sure each maid that sees thee
Loves thee like THY POOR HINDOO.
No, ah! no!....though from thee parted,
Other maids will peace obtain; Bnt thy Lola, broken-hearted,
Ne'er, oh! ne'er, will smile again. O how fast from thee they tear me!
Faster still shall death pursue: .. But 'tis well. ...death will endear me,
And thou'lt mourn THY POOR HINDOO.
ADDRESS TO CONTEMPLATION.
H. K. White.
THEE do I own, the prompter of my joys,
The morning of my life in adding figures
The interesting sums, my vagrant thoughts Would quick revert to many a woodland haunt, Which fond remembrance cherish’d, and the pen Dropt from my senseless fingers as I pictur'd, In my mind's eye, how on the shores of Trent I erewhile wander'd with my early friends In social intercourse. And then I'd think How contrary pursuits had thrown us wide, One from the other, scatter'd o'er the globe; They were set down with sober steadiness, Each to his occupation. I alone, A wayward youth, misled by Fancy's vagaries, Remained unsettled, insecure, and veering With ev'ry wind to ev'ry point o'th' compass. Yes, in the counting-house I could indulge In fits of close abstraction; yea, amid The busy bustling crowds could meditate, And send my thoughts ten thousand leagues away Beyond the Atlantic, resting on my friend. Aye, Contemplation, evin in earliest youth I woo'd thy heavenly influence! I would walk A weary way when all my toils were done, To lay myself at night in some lone wood, And hear the sweet song of the nightingale. Oh, those were times of happiness, and still To memory doubly dear; for growing years Had not then taught me man was made to mourn; And a short hour of solitary pleasure, Stolen from sleep, was ample recompence For all the hateful bustles of the day. My op’ning mind was ductile then, and plastic,
And soon the marks of care were worn away,
HOW, as I grace with thee my opening lay,
How, with what language, Mary! may I greet
Thy matron ear, that truth's pure utterance meet Sound not like Flattry? In life's youthful day, When to thy charms and virgin beauty bright
I tuned my numbers, Hope, enchantress fair, Trick'd a gay world with colours steep'd in air,
And suns that never set in envious night.
· Ah! since that joyous prime, beloved wife!
And I have seen, at times, thy smile o'ercast
With sadness--not the less my lot of life
Thy guardian angel, Mary! has beguiled
Thou present, weal or woe, as may betide!
HARP OF THE NORTH.
HARP of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark,
On purple peaks a deeper shade descending;
The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending.
And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy;
With distant echo from the fold and lea,
Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp!
Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway,
May idly cavil at an idle lay.