CONCETTE. FRAGMENT XVII. (IMITATED FROM THE ITALIAN.) Go, balmy zephyr, softly breathe To her for whom these buds I wreath; Yes, breathe the echo of my sigh To her whose soul-seducing eye Has look'd, I fear, MY soul away: But, zephyr, dare not to betray Tell her I die-but not for whom! HOME. FRAGMENT XVIII. "There to return, and die at home at last." GOLDSMITH. I. SILENT and sad, deserted and alone, & In mem❜ry drooping o'er my faded pleasures, Each home delight, each soul-felt comfort flown, A little bankrupt in the heart's rich treasures. 8 This trifle was scribbled on a tablet when the recollection of endeared home opposed itself to the comfortless solitude of an inn; for surely the term solitude is arbitrary in its application; and the heart, independent of situation, may, in the midst of the busiest haunts, shrink back upon itself solitary and unanswered. II. Sweet social ties, to every feeling dear! Still round that heart's most vital fibre twining, If I relinquish ye, 'tis with a tear, Sadly resign'd, and tenderly repining. III. Home of my heart! of every wish the goal, Where'er thy little wand'rer's doom'd to stray; "Though Alps between us rise, and oceans roll," Thou'lt be the Pharos of my devious way. IV. For tho' the world's fleet joys awhile deceive me, Though dazzled by my more than meed of fame, Should thy dear threshold, Home, again receive me, Thou'lt find my warm, my untouch'd heart the same. |