Fair Helen's Dirge.

Oh, what is life?—A shadow fleet,
That flies at ev'ry beaming ray,
So lovers' joys are oft like dreams
That vanish quite ere break of day.
I've truly felt this hapless truth,
Since death, thou didst our love arrest;
How soon ye've blasted in her bloom,
The sweet companion of my breast.

Now dim's the eye, that beam'd so bright,
In which I love did first disclose,
Pale, pale's the lip I often kiss'd,
Her cheek's are like the faded rose.
Now still and motionless she lies,
How changed the aspect once she bore!
Her sands have run—her spirit's fled—
So now her bosom throbs no more.

Ah! hapless wretch, where can I fly,
My soul corroding cares to shun;
Oh! would oblivion lend its aid,
'Twould soothe my soul with grief undone.
For when I think upon our vows,
It swells my heart with grief and care,
Till like to split my throbbing breast,
Though wand'ring with my bosom bare.

Oh! mourn with me ye soaring larks
That mat aloft on airy wing,
Bewail my sorrows songsters all,
That make the woodlands gladly ring,
page 87 For now my Helen lives no more,
Ah she lies mould'ring in her urn;
With her my hopes and joys have gone
Ah me! they're fled ne'er to return.