24

POEMS.

7 *

And who that heard our shouts would riseTo try the dubious road?

IVor rather deem from nightly criesThat outlaws were abroad.

8 .

Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hourMore fiercely pours the storm!

Yet htfre one thought has still the powerTo keep my bosom warm.

9 -

While wandring through each broken path,OVr brake and craggy brow;

While elements exhaust their wrath.

Sweet Florence, where art thou?

10 .

Not on the sea, not on the sea,

Thy bark hath long been gone :

Ob, may the storm that pours on me,Bow down my head alone!