Moore.
CANZONET.
Love and Joy, one April day,
Stole a fragile bark, they say;
But when once she was afloat,
Quarrell'd which should steer the boat;
Love grew angry, seized bis quiver,
And struck poor Joy into the river;
And though his pinions buoy'd him on the wave,
And though he pray'd and wept, Love would not save,
But frowning turn'd away—he found a wat'ry grave !—
Still the bark is sailing on,
And Love steers her all alone;
Mournful sits the cruel boy,
Weeping for the death of Joy, "Whose phantom sometimes flits around the mast. Recalling all the brightness of the past: But if repentant Love woos the light form to stay, He spreads his rainbow wings and flies away. 0.
AN EPITAPH.
When sorrow weeps o'er virtue's sacred dust, Our tears become us, and our grief is just; Such were the tears he shed, who grateful pays This last sad tribute of his love and praise : Who mourns the best of wives and friends combin'd, Where female softness met a manly mind : Mourns, but not murmurs, sighs, but not despairs, Feels as a man, and as a Christian bears.
M
