A LONE , beneath these bowers, last night I stray'd,
The spires high peering o'er their green arcade;
There see thy friend delusion's power employ
To bid one faithless moment gleam with joy;
For this thy name pervades the twilight gloom,
Borne by soft echoes round the sacred dome.
I call'd H ONORA in that cheerful tone,
Which oft pursued, when for an instant flown,
And always brought thee back, with lively air,
The rising thought, or sprightly song to share.
Ah! dearest, mark thou, with a pitying smile,
The flattering, soothing, self-deceiving guile!
Back on the half-closed door I turn'd mine eye,
And taught my heart to fancy thou wert nigh;
That, as thou'rt wont, at Love's alarm'd request,
Thou hadst return'd to seek a warmer vest,
To shield thee from the dangers evening brings,
Chill gales, and night-dews on her humid wings;
That I should see thee glide the steps adown
Fleet in the haste, with which thou still wert prone
Again to seek the friend, who never yet
Thy wish'd return with heart ungladden'd met.

Yet, why, thou urgest, by deception gain
A mimic joy, that must increase the pain
When Disappointment brings her sick chagrin
To lone Privation's melancholy scene?
But O! each varied species Sorrow knows
Endured for thee, H ONORA , welcome grows
More than or festal wit, or syren air,
Which thou, my life's adorner, dost not share.

Calm were the gales, the Moon, serenely bright,
Shed her white efflux thro' the noon of night,
And the long shadows of the spires were drawn
Distinct, with all their turrets, on the lawn.

Raised to their summit, my enthusiast eyes
Hail'd those loved witnesses of all my joys;
Of each expanding charm that crown'd thy youth,
Beauty and wit, and elegance and truth;
Warm hopes and smiles gilding the happy years,
Dimm'd but by transient Sorrow's April-tears.
O! how those pleasures deck'd the rising days,
Winter's pale dawn, and Summer's kindling rays!
Shall e'er again, I cried, in thrilling strains,
Such orient mornings tinge yon golden vanes?

Fatigued, at length, on those proud heights to dwell,
On the moist, silver'd ground my glances fell;
But still each thought with fair H ONORA staid,
Who late, enervate, from her Lichfield stray'd;
Seeking, where Bristol's tepid fountains rise,
The health that fled beneath our colder skies.
Then thus again, in half-formed accents, stole
Th' impassion'd dictates of her A NNA'S soul.

Ah! sure she must, at those soft springs, regain
The strength that wasted on her favourite plain!
Their lenient power the fever's course shall break,
That dyed with hectic flash her lovely cheek;
Parch'd that moist lip, and from its vermeil hue
Exhaled energic Health's ambrosial dew;
And, banishing the Wood-Nymph's airy grace,
Sunk the light step in Languor's stealing pace;
Bade the warm sense of Pleasure fade and cloy,
And veil'd the facile smile of Youth and Joy.

Yet that she will return, my soul divines,
Bright o'er its fears that dear dependence shines;
Return, with frame unclouded by disease,
With sense of pleasure, and the wish to please.

Thus, to the downcast eye of musing thought,
Fondness and Hope their glowing visions brought;
Charm'd to anticipate, with cheering powers,
The sweet revival of those happy hours,
When, brief or long, the ever-gladden'd day
Left on our pillows, as it stole away,
Not one regret, save for its rapid flight,
And not a fear, but lest some cruel blight,
From injured health, or accidental harm,
Deny the successor its power to charm,
And shroud that ardent Spirit which explores
Science' bright fanes, and Fancy's fairy bowers.

So, while the past and future were combined
In the light chains, by Hope and Memory twined,
Up to those conscious spires I look'd once more,
Whispering my heart that Heaven would soon restore
H ONORA to her loved domestic scene,
With Health's clear spirit glowing thro' her mien.
Surprised, I saw their spiral summits hazed,
Dim, and more dim, receding as I gazed;
And scarce a minute passed, ere in a cloud
The mist convolving, form'd a total shroud.
Damp on my heart the dark'ning omen fell,
And rising tears within my eye-lids swell.
So late this moon-deck'd night, high o'er the fanes;
When not a breeze crept on the neighbouring plains,
Sat tracing their fair forms in state serene,
With shadowy pencil, on the silver'd green.
And now, — but let me not my peace resign,
Grim Superstition, at thy sable shrine!
Demon of Night, and baseless terror fly,
Nor charge with omens the capricious sky!
Vows not Honora that the vital flame
Relumes its course thro' her late languid frame?
Yes, — the light form, the fair expressive face,
Assume their pristine bloom, their nameless grace.
Soon shall my soul that fervid spirit find
Darting each varied effluence of mind;
And since in those dear veins the purple tide
Begins once more in even streams to glide,
My gladden'd eye, in Hope's perspective cast,
Sees future days enchanting as the past;
As blest a consciousness the sun illume,
And gild the dimness of the wintry gloom;
Shed wonted lustre o'er the Spring's soft hours,
And deck in brighter glow her rising flowers;
While sweeter still the woodland pours its strains,
And morns as roseate tinge yon golden vanes.