Hours of Solitude. A Collection of Original Poems. Volume II.

THE POWER OF LOVE.

THE sweet enthusiast, on a rock reclin'd, With transport listen'd to the dashing waves; Her snowy garments swam upon the wind, And Silence spread her wing amid the caves.

Now sportive Fancy did her eye‐lids close, And Memory brought the happy past to view; A group of visionary friends arose, And in a dance confus'd around her drew.

Borne on Imagination's ardent wing, Again a child, she skimm'd the yellow mead, Again threw pebbles in the cloud‐pav'd spring­ Again in baby gambols took the lead.

And now, her childhood past, a busier scene Floats on the bosom of the silent night; Her lover's form, all deck'd in sea‐weeds green, Swam wet and shiv'ring in her startled sight.

Light on the trembling surge he seem'd to stand; Pale was his face, loose hung his dripping hair, His shroud he held within his clay‐cold hand, And, sighing deeply, threw his bosom bare.

Then pointed Melancholy to the wave; "Say, wilt thou come, sweet love? behold my fate! This element hath been thy lover's grave; Say, dost thou love me still­or dost thou hate?"

In haste the beauteous dreamer op'd her eyes, To lose the vision from her rocky pillow; In vain, alas! whatever side she tries, The sprite remains, still pointing to the billow!

And now a sterner look assum'd his face; "Thou dost not love me, or thou wouldst not stay, Come plunge, my love!­soon, soon shall we embrace! Midnight has past:­haste, haste, I must away!"

The sweeet [sicsweet] enthusiast heard her lover groan; And sighing from the promontory's steep, "See, dear‐lov'd spirit!­I am thine alone!" She said; and plunging sought him 'midst the deep.