Literary Gazette, 18th May, 1822, Page 314
ORIGINAL POETRY
POETIC SKETCHES.
Second Series— Sketch the Third.
ROSALIE.
The green grass, with a cypress tree above,
Is now her dwelling, and the worm hath fed
Upon the lip I loved so - - -
We met in secret: mystery is to love
Like perfume to the flower; the maiden's blush
Looks loveliest when her cheek is pale with fear.
By moonlight still I sought my lady's bower,
And there, 'mid blossoms fragrant as her sigh,
I met the beauty that my soul adored,
And listened for the light feet, which like wind
Pass'd o'er the dewy turf. Oh never can
That dear step be forgotten—it is still
Familiar as a sound of yesterday.—
Our shrine of meeting was a cypress, which
Hung o'er the rose, like Sorrow shading Love:
This was the temple where we called the Night
To witness gentle vows, and when each lip
Paused in the fulness of impassioned thoughts;—
Hearkened those moonlight melodies, which came
So soothingly upon that silent time;
The light cascade, descending, shedding round
Its silver drops upon the orange blooms,
That leant to kiss their own fair images,
Each sparkling wave a mirror, and sighed forth
Their soul of odour as they caught the dew;
The melancholy music of that bird
Who sings but to the stars, and tells her tale
Of love when, bosomed by the snowy clouds,
The Queen of Beauty lights her radiant lamp,
Her own soft planet.—And at times there came
Like a low echo, a faint murmur, when
A gale just laden with the rose's sigh
Swept the Eolian lyre, and wakened sounds
