To Vesper

Thou! Who behold'st with dewy eyeThe sleeping leaves and folded flowers,And hear'st the night-wind lingering sighThro' shadowy woods and twilight bowers;Thou wast the signal once that seem'd to say,Hillario's beating heart reproved my long delay.

I see thy emerald lustre streamO'er these rude cliffs and cavern'd shore;But here, orisons to thy beamThe woodland chantress pours no more;Nor I, as once, thy lamp propitious hail,Seen indistinct thro' tears; confus'd, and dim, and pale.

Soon shall thy arrowy radiance shineOn the broad ocean's restless wave,Where this poor cold swoln form of mineShall shelter in its billowy grave,Safe from the scorn the World's sad outcasts prove.Unconscious of the pain of ill-requited Love.