How SWEET thy modest light to view, Or, hanging o'er that mirror-stream, Though, blazing on the arch of night, Thine are the soft enchanting hours Thine is the breeze that, murmuring bland Fair STAR! though I be doom'd to prove That rapture's tears are mix'd with pain, Ah! still I feel 't is sweet to love! But sweeter to be loved again! TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN. SLAVE of the dark and dirty mine! What vanity has brought thee here? How can I love to see thee shine So bright, whom I have bought so dear?— The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear For twilight converse, arm in arm; The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear When mirth and music wont to charm. By Chéricál's dark wandering streams, By Esk or Eden's classic wave Where loves of youth and friendship smiled, Uncurs'd by thee, vile yellow slave! Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade! The perish'd bliss of youth's first prime, That once so bright on fancy play'd Revives no more in after-time. Far from my sacred natal clime, I haste to an untimely grave; The daring thoughts that soar'd sublime Are sunk in ocean's southern wave. Slave of the mine! thy yellow light My lonely widow'd heart to cheer; Her fond heart throbs with many a fear!— I cannot bear to see thee shine. For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave, To roam in climes unkind and new: Ha! com'st thou now so late to mock To memory's fond regrets the prey, Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn! Go mix thee with thy kindred clay! FAIR flower, that shunn'st the glare of day, Be thine the offering, owing long Though transient as thy flower. I love to watch at silent eve Thy scatter'd blossoms' lonely light, And have my inmost heart receive |