An Aunt'S Lamentation For The Absence Of Her Niece. Written From Hastings.

AN AUNT'S LAMENTATION FOR THE ABSENCE OF HER NIECE.

WRITTEN FROM HASTINGS.

Like as the dove I sit alone, Dejected, pale, and wan, Without a friend to hear me moan The loss of Marianne.

Now on the raging deep I gaze, And all it's wonders scan, Yet still my thoughts revert always To thee, my Marianne.

Now o'er my book, my work I pore, But do whate'er I can, My book, my work will charm no more, I've lost my Marianne.

The other morn the fifers play'd, I to the window ran, And as the music pass'd, I said, Where, where is Marianne?

Oft as I hear the sailors bawl For Susan or for Nan, Alas, I cry, Oh that a call Would bring me Marianne!

Now on the beach forlorn I stray, Nor know the face of man, Yet all would please, each scene be gay, Had I my Marianne.

With her each hour I could employ, And still new pleasures plan, For ev'ry hour 'twould be my joy To please my Marianne.

Ah could I view her face I'd fly From Beersheba to Dan, No land, no sea beneath the sky Should part my Marianne.