68
miscellaneous poems.
Yet I trust not thy smile, my fair,
For the waters, when troubled, are
Too rough for my skill,
And a tear at will
A lady too often may bear.
For the waters, when troubled, are
Too rough for my skill,
And a tear at will
A lady too often may bear.
Yet 'tis sweet, in the sunny beam,
To sail over some placid stream,—
As away we glide
On the sunny tide,
Of bowers of roses to dream.
To sail over some placid stream,—
As away we glide
On the sunny tide,
Of bowers of roses to dream.
A PENITENT'S ADDRESS TO THE MUSE.
And have I then forgotten thee, my spirit's early love,
Nor listened to thy gentle voice, soft breathing from above?
Forgive, forgive, sweet poesy,—thy truant lover hear,
And lend, to his repentant prayer, once more a lenient ear.
Nor listened to thy gentle voice, soft breathing from above?
Forgive, forgive, sweet poesy,—thy truant lover hear,
And lend, to his repentant prayer, once more a lenient ear.
