II.

"Preserve it," thou saidst, "for it shatter'd the

breast

Which once glow'd with love's purest fire;

And it fell as the mistress and mother caress'd
In love's transport, the offspring and sire."

III.

Then thou toldst me the tale, and I wept o'er the

quill,

Where already thy tear had been shed;

"And oh!" I exclaim'd, " may its point ever thrill O'er the nerve where soft pity is bred.

which lay sheltered amongst the reeds on the shore. I flew to the spot, and found the mate hovering near his wounded love; and two cygnets fluttering beneath the wings from which this quill dropped."

VI.

"From that point may the fanciful sorrow still flow

Which, though fancied, ne'er misses the heart;

Be it sacred alone to the delicate woe

Which genius and feeling impart."

V.

But little I dream'd the first trace it imprest

With a sorrow not fancied should flow,

And that, that real sorrow should spring from my

heart,

And that thou shouldst awaken that woe.

VI.

For they tell me, alone and unfriended thou'rt left On the pillow of sickness to languish;

By absence, by fate, of the fond friend bereft

Who could feel for, and solace, thy anguish.

VII.

May this quill then convey one fond truth to thy

heart,

And its languid pulsation elate;

That still in each suff'ring that friend takes a part, And shares, as she mourns for thy fate.

VIII.

Then fancy thou viewest that tear of the soul

Which thy destiny draws to her eye,

And believe that no sigh from thy bosom e'er stole But she gave thee as heart-felt a sigh.

IX.

For sweet is the solace that lurks in the tear

Which flows from the eye that we love;

And what is the suff'ring, oh! what is the care That sympathy cannot remove?

X.

Oh! then speed thy return, and thy sweet cure

receive,

Which affection and friendship present, From her who by pity was taught to forgive, And who feels, where she ought to resent."

u In allusion to a petite broullerie, which occasioned the absence of the friend to whom this fragment is addressed.

JOY."

FRAGMENT XXXVII.

"Joy's a fix'd state-a tenure, not a start."

YOUNG.

I.

"Joy a fix'd state-a tenure, not a start!"

Whence came that thought, sublime and pensive

sage?

Did Joy e'er play upon thy grief-chill'd heart,

Or flash its warm beam o'er the life's sad page?

w This little fragment, in a very imperfect and unfinished state, has already been publish ed.