And still to love, though prest with ill, With me is to be lovely still, My Mary! But ah! by constant heed I know, My Mary! And should my future lot be cast Thy worn-out heart will break at last, CXXIX. LIFE. ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD, 1743-1825. L' IFE! I know not what thou art, But know that thou and I must part; But this I know, when thou art fled, Where'er they lay these limbs, this head, As all that then remains of me. O whither, whither dost thou fly, Where bend unseen thy trackless course, And in this strange divorce, Ah tell where I must seek this compound I? From whence thy essence came, Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed Wait, like some spell-bound knight, Yet canst thou without thought or feeling be? Life! we've been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear; Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not good night, but in some brighter clime Bid me good morning. CXXX. CHARLES DIBDIN, 1745-1814. BLO SONG. LOW high, blow low, let tempests tear My heart, with thoughts of thee, my dear, And love well stored, Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear, The roaring winds, the raging sea, In hopes on shore To be once more Safe moored with thee. Aloft while mountains high we go, The whistling winds that scud along, And the surge roaring from below, Shall my signal be To think on thee, And this shall be my song: Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear And on that night when all the crew The memory of their former lives, |