On The Eve Of Departure From O''
Loud beats the rain! The hollow, groan
Of rushing winds I hear,
That with a deep and sullen moan,
Pass slowly by the ear.
Soon will my dying fire refuse
To yield a cheerful ray,
Yet, shivering still I sit and muse
The latest spark away.
Ah, what a night! the chilly air
Bids comfort hence depart,
While sad repining's clammy wings
Cling icy, to my heart.
To-morrow's dawn may fair arise,
And lovely to the view;
The sun with radiance gild the skies,
Yet then-I say adieu!
Oh, stay, dear Night, with cautious care,
And lingering footsteps move,
Though day may be more soft and fair,
Not her, but thee, I love.
Stay, wild in brow, severe in mien,
Stay! and ward off the foe;
Who, unrelenting smiles serene,
Yet tells me I must go.
Forsake these hospitable halls,
Where Truth and Friendship dwell,
To these high towers and ancient walls,
Pronounce a long farewell.
Alas! will Time's rapacious hand,
These golden days restore?
Or will he suffer me to taste
These golden days no more?
Will he permit that here again,
I turn my willing feet?
That my glad eyes may here again,
The look of kindness meet?
That here I ever may behold,
Felicity to dwell,
And often have the painful task
Of sighing out farewell?
Ah, be it so! my fears I lose,
By hope's sweet visions fed;
And as I fly to seek repose,
She flutters round my bed.
NOV. 17, 1796.
Matilda Betham
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