nd him seek to please.
I have no other friend beside,
But here I safely may confide.
Suspicion ne'er the bosom stains,
Which poverty has bound in chains!

How oft I wonder at my lot!
How oft are all but thee forgot!
While in this half-despairing breast,
Love builds a little, quiet nest,
To hover o'er with joyous wing,
Nay, sometimes soar aloft and sing!
'Tis this alone the heart sustains,
Which poverty has bound in chains!

IV.

"Come, Edmund, now the sun goes down,
Thy many wanderings tell!
Say, after all thine eyes have seen,
If home appears so well!"

"So well! alas! ye do not know
How absence can endear!
In every hill, in every tree,
A thousand charms appear.

"The verdure of these English fields
Seems in my heart to glow--
There, as this shaded river winds,
I feel its waters flow.

"For, though I ventured forth so bold,
So long, so far did roam,
Affection, like a wayward child,
Still wept and murmur'd, _home!_

"I persevered, yet still I strained
The pleader to my breast;
I hush'd her cries, but as I chid
More fondly still carest.

"And when I met with foreign dames
Of grace and beauty rare--
I fancied one dear village girl
Like them: but oh! how fair!

"My early playmate! oft I humm'd
The lays she lisping sung!
And sigh'd when looking on the arm,
Where she at parting hung.

"Then, joy! within my native vale
To find my Ellen free!
To fancy others pleas'd her not,
Because she thought on me!

"So closely round a glowing heart
Did never flowers entwine!
Oh! ne'er was mortal spirit lull'd
With visions sweet as mine!"

V.

VALENTINE

_FROM A YOUNG LADY TO HER MOTHER._

1811.

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It is a custom, in some parts of Norfolk and Suffolk, to send little
presents with verses on Valentine's Day, to relatives and friends.

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Hope has her emblem, so has Love,
But I have vainly sought
For one, that might entirely prove
The picture of my thought.

If violets, when fresh with dew,
Could amaranthine be,
Their soothing, deep, and glowing hue
Would justly speak for me.

Or to some plant with tendrils fine,
With blossoms sweet and gay,
This office I would now assign;
But flowers will all decay!

A bird would suit my purpose more,
With filial heart endued;
But, ere their little life is o'er,
Birds lose their gratitude!

No emblem of the love I feel
Appears within my view;
Less ardent, or less