I’ll make my last, cold, pillow on thy breast;
  That breast where oft in life, I’ve laid my head,
  Will yet receive me mouldering with the dead;
  This life resign’d without one parting sigh,
  Together in one bed of earth we’ll lie! 
  Together share the fate to mortals given,
  Together mix our dust, and hope for Heaven.

HARROW, 1803.

* * * * *

ADRIAN’S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL, WHEN DYING.

  Animula! vagula, Blandula,
  Hospes, comesque, corporis,
  Quoe nunc abibis in Loca? 
  Pallidula, rigida, nudula,
  Nec ut soles dabis Jocos.

TRANSLATION.

  Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav’ring sprite! 
  Friend and associate of this clay,
    To what unknown region borne,
  Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight? 
  No more with wonted humour gay,
    But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn.

1806.

* * * * *

TO MARY.

  Rack’d by the flames of jealous rage,
    By all her torments deeply curst,
    Of hell-born passions far the worst,
  What hope my pangs can now assuage?

2.

  I tore me from thy circling arms,
    To madness fir’d by doubts and fears,
    Heedless of thy suspicious tears,
  Nor feeling for thy feign’d alarms.

3.

  Resigning every thought of bliss,
    Forever, from your love I go,
    Reckless of all the tears that flow,
  Disdaining thy polluted kiss.

4.

  No more that bosom heaves for me,
    On it another seeks repose,
    Another riot’s on its snows,
  Our bonds are broken, both are free.

5.

  No more with mutual love we burn,
    No more the genial couch we bless,
    Dissolving in the fond caress;
  Our love o’erthrown will ne’er return.

6.

  Though love than ours could ne’er be truer,
    Yet flames too fierce themselves destroy,
    Embraces oft repeated cloy,
  Ours came too frequent, to endure.

7.

  You quickly sought a second lover,
    And I too proud to share a heart,
    Where once I held the whole, not part,
  Another mistress must discover.

8.

  Though not the first one, who hast blest me,
    Yet I will own, you was the dearest,
    The one, unto my bosom nearest;
  So I conceiv’d, when I possest thee.

9.

  Even now I cannot well forget thee,
    And though no more in folds of pleasure,
    Kiss follows kiss in countless measure,
  I hope you sometimes will regret me.

10.

  And smile to think how oft were done,
    What prudes declare a sin to act is,
    And never but in darkness practice,
  Fearing to trust the tell-tale sun.