The change I vainly seek in them
Is in my heart alone.

Nay, fling not back thy cloud of hair,
Its roses are unbound;

See, Leila, see thy carelessness,

They're scattered o'er the ground.

Yet, but an hour, when first the dew
Fell from the twilight star,

How tenderly these flowers were culled,
And now how crushed they are!

And must I in those roses read
What my heart's fate will be?
That when the prize is once possess'd,
How slight its worth to thee.

Oh, all in vain thy small snow hand
Awakes its wildering strain;

Thy dark eyes breathe the soul of song,
To me they turn in vain.

I heard thee wake the deep harp chords

For other ears than mine

I saw the light of thy soft eyes
Upon another shine.

The heart must speak, or ever words
My depth of love can tell;

But eyes, hand, heart, must all be mine,
Or else, farewell, farewell!

APPENDIX.

THE HON. GERTRUDE THIMELBY,

Born .... died....

Daughter of Lord Aston, of Tixall in Staffordshire, married Henry Thimelby, Esq. Her husband having died young, and her only child having soon followed its father to the grave, she spent the remainder of her life in a convent of English nuns, at Louvaine in Flanders, of which her sister-in-law was abbess.

Several copies of verses, written by her without any view

to publication, were first printed in a work called Tixall Poetry-Edinburgh, 1813.

To her Husband.

On New-year's-day, 1651.

How swiftly time doth pass away,

Where happiness completes the day!

Weeks, months, and years, but moments prove
To those that nobly are in love.

This computation's only known

To them that our pure flame can own.
Succeeding years example take

By those are past; their numbers wake
Envy, while with a will resign'd

No will is known till th' other's mind.

On the Death of her only Child.

DEAR infant,* 'twas thy mother's fault
So soon enclos'd thee in a vault!
And father's good, that in such haste
Has my sweet child in heaven plac'd.
I'll weep the first as my offence,
Then joy that he made recompence;
Yet must confess my frailty such
My joy by grief's exceeded much :
Tho' I, in reason, know thy bliss
Can not be wish'd more than it is,

Mrs. Thimelby was at this time a widow, and, in the expression of her humble sorrows, she seems to think that her child was taken from her on account of her faults, that it might be joined to its father in heaven on account of his virtues.. Note by the Editor of the T. P.