To the Winds

Ye vagrant Winds! You clouds that bearThro' the blue desart of the air,Soft sailing in the Summer sky,Do e’er your wandering breezes meet,A wretch in misery so complete,So lost as I?

And yet, where’er your pinions waveO'er some lost friend's—some lover's grave,Surviving sufferers still complain;Some parent of his hopes deprived,Some wretch who has himself survived,Lament in vain.

Blow where ye list on this sad earth,Some soul-corroding care has birth,And Grief in all her accents speaks;Here dark Dejection groans, and thereWild Phrenzy, daughter of Despair,Unconscious shrieks.

Ah! Were it Death had torn apartThe tie that bound him to my heart,Tho' fatal still the pang would prove;Yet had it soothed this bleeding breastTo know, I had till then possestHillario's love.

And where his dear, dear ashes slept,Long nights and days I then had wept,Till by slow-mining Grief opprestAs Memory fail'd, its vital heatThis wayward heart had lost, and beatItself to rest.

But still Hillario lives, to proveTo some more happy maid his love!Hillario at her feet I see!His voice still murmurs fond desire,Still beam his eyes with lambent fire,But not for me!

Ah! words, my bosom's peace that stole,Ah! Looks, that won my melting soul;Who dares your dear delusion try,In dreams may all Elysium see,Then undeceiv'd, awake, like me,Awake and die.

Like me, who now abandon'd, lostRoam wildly on the rocky coast,With eager eyes the sea explore;But hopeless watch and vainly rave,Hillario o'er the western waveReturns no more!

Yet, go forgiven, Hillario go,Such anguish may you never knowAs that which checks my labouring breath;Pain so severe not long endures,And I have still my choice of cures,Madness or death.