Yet  there  is  one  I  pity  more ;

And  much,  alas !  I  think  he  needs  it ;
For  he,  I'm  sure  will  suffer  sore,

Who,  to  his  own  misfortune,  reads  it.
The  rhymes,  without  the  aid  of  magic.
May  ottce  be  read— but  never  after ;

Yet  their  effect's  by  no  means  tragie.
Although  by  far  too  dull  for  laughter.
But  would  you  make  our  bosoms  bleed,
And  of  no  common  pang  complain —

If  you  would  make  us  weep  indeed.
Tell  us,  you'll  read  them  o'er  again.
March  8, 1807


ON  FINDING  A  FAN.
In  one  who  felt  as  once  he  felt,

This  might,  perhaps,  have  fann'd  the  flame»
But  now  no  more  his  heart  will  melt.
Because  that  heart  is  not  the  same.
As  when  the  ebbing  flames  are  low,
The  aid  which  once  improved  the  light.
And  bade  them  bum  with  fiercer  glow.
Now  quenches  all  their  blaze  in  night.
Thus  has  it  been  with  passion's  i
As  many  a  boy  and  girl  remembers^

While  every  hope  of  love  expires,
Extinguish'd  with  the  dying  embers.
The  Jine,  though  not  a  spark  survive,
Some  careful  hand  may  teach  to  bum ;

The  last,  alas !  can  ne'er  survive ;
No  touch  can  bid  its  warmth  return.
Or,  if  it  chance  to  wake  again,

Not  always  doomed  its  heat'to  smothei»
It  sheds  (so  wayward  fates  ordain)

Its  former  warmth  aroimd  ano'ther.
1807


MISCELLANEOUS  FOBMS.
S79


FAREWELL  TO  THE  MUSE.
Thou  Power !  wlio  liast  ruled  me  through  infiuicy's
days,
Young  efispiing  of  Fancy,  'tis  time  we  should
part;
Then  rise  on  the  gale  this  the  last  of  197  lays.
The  coldest  effusion  which  springs  firom  my  heart.
