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'Twas thus that I mus'd while I wander'd away,
Thro' the towers of the castle sublime;
Which still are majestic and frown in decay,
Array'd in the mantle of time.
The woods and the ruins I left with regret,
And bade them with sorrow adieu;
But the scenes of fair Conway I ne'er can forget,
For memory their charms will renew.
LINES, FOR MY MOTHER'S BIRTH-DAY.
This day let pleasure smile on every face,
And beam in every eye with sprightly grace;
Let artless joy the flowing lay inspire,
And sweet affection consecrate the lyre.
And see! all nature smiles around;
And hark! the "wood notes wild" resound;
In sunny robe the May appears,
The presage fair of golden years.
Let Hope with soft propitious ray,
Our bosoms fondly cheer;
Ne'er may the sunshine of this day
Be clouded with a tear.
P
