SWEET lake! while shades are closing round,
I love to haunt thy tranquil shore,
And mournful tread the hallow'd ground
Which Emma's form shall grace no more.
There's not a rock thy waters lave
But brings her to my fancy's eye;
There's not a ripple on thy wave
But murmurs of departed joy.
Beneath yon birch's shadowy screen,
Oft have we watch'd the fading day,
Or slowly, o'er yon twilight green,
In pensive bliss, have mused our way.
And is she gone?--and do I live
To hover round our favourite spot,
In vain o'er blighted hopes to grieve,
And joys that will not be forgot.

Sweet lake! this brain where memory glows,--
This heart which throbs in anguish now,
Oh, that at length they might repose
As cold, as motionless as thou!