His streaming beard the sport of every wind;
And, while the coot her jet-wing lov'd to lave,
Rock'd on the bosom of the sleepless wave;
The eagle rush'd from Skiddaw's purple crest,
A cloud still brooding o'er her giant-nest.
And now the moon had dimm'd, with dewy ray.
The few fine flushes of departing day;
O'er the wide water's deep serene she hung,
And her broad lights on every mountain flung;
When lo! a sudden blast the vessel blew, [f]
And to the surge consign'd the little crew.
All, all escap'd--but ere the lover bore
His faint and faded JULIA, to the shore,
Her sense had fled!--Exhausted by the storm,
A fatal trance hang o'er her pallid form;
Her closing eye a trembling lustre fir'd;
'Twas life's last spark--it flutter'd and expir'd!
The father strew'd his white hairs in the wind,
Call'd on his child--nor linger'd long behind:
And FLORIO liv'd to see the willow wave,
With many an evening-whisper, o'er their grave.
Yes, FLORIO liv'd--and, still of each possest,
The father cherish'd, and the maid caress'd!
For ever would the fond enthusiast rove,
With JULIA'S spirit, thro' the shadowy grove;
Gaze with delight on every scene she plann'd,
Kiss every flowret planted by her hand.
Ah! still he trac'd her steps along the glade,
When hazy hues and glimmering lights betray'd
Half-viewless forms; still listen'd as the breeze