XVI.

An Hour was before me, no creature more bright, More airy, more joyous, e'er sprang on my sight. To catch and to fetter I instantly tried, And “thou art my slave, pretty vagrant,” I cried.

I had hold, and securely I thought, of its wing, O! how I shall glory, so lovely a thing To place by the cradle of friendship, and see, With the aid of my captive, if I can be free.

Oh! while she is with me, some means may be found To temper the air and to hallow the ground — To make those entangling bind-weeds decay, Drive Suspicion, who rear'd them, for ever away,

And leave all around, kind, and healthful, and gay! When this can be compass'd, I'll build me a bower, And twine in the trellice each sweet-scented flower — Rare, delicate plants, whose large, fresh leaves shall fling

Green shadows, where birds in the stillness may sing. A place of repose, when the spirit is faint, And the heart wants to utter a passing complaint: Of safety; for pure and serene be the air,

And nothing unkind or unholy be there! In this sacred retreat I my cares would confide, And there my half-forming opinions should hide; If true, gather strength for the brightness of day —

If false, in the shade, unreprov'd, die away! How fondly I nourish'd these hopes, but in vain! The calm and the stillness I could not retain; My Hour fled away, every wish unfulfill'd,

And warm'd not the Friendship Suspicion had chill'd!