Page:Zóphiël; or, The Bride of Seven.djvu/11

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TO

ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ.


Oh! laurel'd bard, how can I part, Those cheering smiles no more to see,Until my soothed and solaced heart Pours forth one grateful lay to thee?
Fair virtue tuned thy youthful breath, And peace and pleasure bless thee now;For love and beauty guard the wreath That blooms upon thy manly brow.
The Indian, leaning on his bow, On hostile cliff, in desert drear,Cast with less joy his glance below, When came some friendly warrior near;
The native dove of that warm isle Where oft, with flowers, my lyre was drest,Sees with less joy the sun awhile When vertic rains have drenched her nest,
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