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The blood-tinctur'd sea-wave my pillow shall be, The wild bird shall shriek o'er its desolate prey,And my woes find a tomb in the depths of the sea— Far, far from thy grave, dearest Ellen! away."The north wind was high, and the billow's rude swell, While he heard at a distance his messmates' halloo;And there stream'd in his last look a fatal farewell, As he left, with a sigh, the sweet valley of Tow.
THE DEATH OF LEANDER.
Leander in the bloom of youth Was deck'd with ev'ry grace,For honour, worth, and spotless truth, Were beaming in his face.
But ye who all the soul would know, And search its inmost part—Say, did those matchless virtues glow As brightly in his heart?
'Mid flow'ry lawns, and gardens trim, His stately mansion stood;Where many a fountain's sparkling brim Was fring'd with waving wood.
