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Again, my Matilda! how pleas'd would we stray By the moss-cover'd mountain, or smooth-flowing rill;Where, bless'd with each other, we'd look up to heav'n,Our wishes confin'd to the lot that was giv'n, And the sphere we were destin'd to fill.
But, alas! how I wander,—wild Fancy, away! Why picture a scene that's so bright and so fair?Why tell me we ever again shall be gay, Poor victims of sorrow, and daughters of care!Adieu, my Matilda! to visions like these, That mock the sad heart, and can only annoy;—Let us dwell on the hope, with a rapture sincere,That we soon shall be freed from the wretchedness here, And mount to the regions of joy!
TO MISS SOPHIA HEADLE.
Say, dear Sophia! gentle friend, Wilt thou to Orkney's sea-beat strandAgain thy wand'ring footsteps bend, And leave fair England's happy land?
When o'er the murm'ring billows borne, As whisp'ring breezes waft you there,Wilt thou with fond remembrance turn To her, that did thy pillow share?
