Ah! I mourn no fancied wound,
Pangs too true this heart have wrung,
Since the snakes which curl around
Selim's brows my bosom stung.

Destin'd now to keener woes,
I must see the youth depart,
He must go, and as he goes
Rend at once my bursting heart.

Slumber may desert my bed,
Tis not slumber's charms I seek--
'Tis the robe of beauty spread
O'er my Selim's rosy cheek.


TO A LADY WEEPING[19]

When I beheld thy blue eyes shine
Thro' the bright drop that pity drew,
I saw beneath those tears of thine
A blue-ey'd violet bath'd in dew.

The violet ever scents the gale,
Its hues adorn the fairest wreath,
But sweetest thro' a dewy veil
Its colors glow, its odors breathe.

And thus thy charms in brightness rise--
When wit and pleasure round thee play,