The Lover's-Journey.

Each sabbath-day of late was wont to prove

Hope's liberal feast, the holiday of Love:

But now, upon his spirit's ebbing strength

Came each dull hour's intolerable length.

The next had scarcely dawn'd when Walter hied

O'er hill and dale, Affection for his guide:

O'er the brown Heath his pathless journey lay,

Where screaming Lapwings hail'd the op'ning day.

High rose the Sun, the anxious Lover sigh'd;

His slipp'ry soles bespoke the dew was dried:

Her last farewell hung fondly on his tongue

As o'er the tufted Furze elate he sprung;

Trifling impediments; his heart was light,

For Love and Beauty glow'd in fancy's sight;

And soon he gaz'd on Jane's enchanting face,

Renew'd his passion,— but, destroy'd his peace.

Truth, at whose shrine he bow'd, inflicted pain;

And Conscience whisper'd,‘ Never come again.’