Amelia Opie

Then thou hast learnt the secret of my soul,
Officious Friendship has its trust betrayed;
No more I need the bursting sigh control,
Nor summon pride my struggling soul to aid

LE many a fond and blooming maid Attempts thy heart to gain;
And, by thy fatal smile betrayed, Thinks not she strives in vain:
While in those eyes of tender blue They answering passion see,
And in thy sweet expression view The charm...

"Sweet maid
on whom my wishes rest,
My morning thought, my midnight dream,
O grant Lysander's fond request,

As o'er the sands the youthful Cynthio strayed,
Moist from the wave he saw a pebble shine,
While, with its borrowed lustre charmed, he said"Henceforth this sparkling treasure shall be mine
"But when his hand had dried the ...

How I hail this morn's appearing
It will thee, my love, restore:
Safety danger past endearing,    Sure we meet to part no more
Fame is thine, lo

LE many a fond and blooming maid Attempts thy heart to gain;
And, by thy fatal smile betrayed, Thinks not she strives in vain:
While in those eyes of tender blue They answering passion see,
And in thy sweet expression view The charm...

This fact is clear…
Both man and
Prize not what's good, but what's uncommon ;
And most delighted still they are,

Spring
thy impatient bloom restrain
Nor wake so soon thy genial power;
For deeds of death must hail thy reign,

Cease,
Laura, cease, suspect no
This careless heart has learnt to love,
Because on yonder lonely shoreI still at pensive evening rove;

[Originally called the Place de Louis Seize,—next the Place de
Revolution, where the perpetual guillotine stood
]Proud Seine, along thy winding
Fair smiles yon plain expanding wide,

Think not, while fairer nymphs
Thy feet, dear youth, to Pleasure's bowers,
My faded form shall meet thy sight,
And cloud my Henry's smiling hours

What means that wild and joyful cry
Why do yon crowds in mean attire Throw thus their ragged arms on high
In want what can such joy inspire
And why on every face I meet Now beams a smile, now drops a tear

There came to Grasmere's pleasant valeA stranger maid in tatters clad,
Whose eyes were wild, whose cheek was pale,
While oft she cried, "Poor Kate is mad
"Four words were all she'd ever say,

Originally called the Place de Louis Seize,--next the Place de
Revolution, where the perpetual guillotine stood
UD Seine, along thy winding
Fair smiles yon plain expanding wide,

AS it for this I dearly loved thee
But since at length I know thy heart,
And learn no real passion moved thee,
Go,

There was a time, poor phrensied maid,
When I could o'er thy grief have mourned,
And still with tears the tale
Of sense by sorrow's sway o'erturned