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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 -* llp^ relig; Fon: #■ -^Nt' ' ( Oh ! mil Might it Boast of Uqsc tot \Ji!e fofo, carnifji ;• PJ POEMS, RELIGIOUS, 3I0RAL AND SF.^T\l>JiV^T Ai^h^ BY tAHl^SI ^l©f0© FOIi:^ERLY OFLEITRIM, IX IJRELAXD, ■*,• Oh ! native Slierwood, happj were thy Bard, Might these his rural notes to future times, ' Boast of tall groves that noddinjj o'er thy plain, IUqsc to their tuneful melody DouiLKY. -*- lUe ffrn, qui quondam grnri/i modu/afus avn carmen ; niu SAINT JOHN, N. \\ PRINTED BY HEXRY CHUBB, MAIIKET-SOUARE. lS'i5. H°14R \ ^msi2^ik(@:i <)» "T is not without reluctance that I have ventured to . submit the following collection to the inspectioa >f the Public. The impossibility of pleasing ally and the difficulty of pleasing manyy are considerations which for a length of time have prevented the at- tempt, and it was not until the advice of my friends lad overruled these objections, th&t I agreed to sub- nit my solitary performances to the candour of tho impartial reader. As an excuse for any inaccuracies which may oc- nir in this little volume, I might enlarge on the cir- cumstances under which the principal part of it has )een composed j but the subject would be not only hsagreeable to myself, but also uninteresting to tho j-eader, and on that account I forbear enlarging upon It at present. If I have been successful in describing the simple andgenume feelings of the heart, and if mv nprfbr^ I mances shall be viewed in that light only, I freely con- fess that my ambition shall be gratified, and my hopes realized ; since I have never aimed at any thing be- [yond the cherished feelings and artless simplicity of hature : but should the reverse be the case, I shall nevertheless comfort myself with the pleasing idea of having done n)y endeavour for that purpose. I have most particularly avoided every thing of a personal, immoral, or immodest tendency ; and I think that I may without fear of contradiction affirm that there is not a single instance of either in the present production. IV PREFACE. It may well be observed that a modern author (however great his abilities mav be,) must, notwith- standing, labor under many difficulties : our country has been ah'eady so fertile in producing genius, that Its soil though not exhausted,is so covered with the su- perior flowers which it lias produced, that the le»s irilliant and more humble buds of the forest cannoti be discerned without that species of good naturoi which induces the obliging reviewer to stoop downl to behold those little graces which otherwise would! escape his observation. There arc two objections generally made to works! of this kind, and which as they come from persons ^hote preientiom arc rather above their abilities, are ihe harder to be answered in a satisfactory manner. J lie first IS the charge of plagiarism. Ignorant and- prejudiced readers seldom let any work, however cri- gina , escape them without giving it to feel the weight of their indignation in this particular; and there is nothing more general for those, whose abilities are loo weak to exercise them on any other topic, than to condemn m this light what they are unable tQ ju^eof many other; but as there is no bulwark sufficiently strong to form a security against assaults of this nature, I have only to declare, that if any one of my poems bears a particulnr resemblance to some-l thing which has already been published, the similarity exists altogether without my knowledge. The next objection is generally mnde to works of a miscellaneous nature, where a variety of subjects and characters are introduced in the same volume; for while some are of opinion, that subjects of a re- ligious tendency should never be introduced where auv thing else is attended to, there are others whp PREFACE. ►dcrn autfior.i ust, notwith- our country : genius, that J with the su-' that the less brest cannot! jood nature! stoop downl erwi&e would! ade to works rom persons abUitieSy are lory mannef. gnorant and| however cri-i j1 the weight^ and there is abilities are ' topic, than e unable tpj no bulwark iinst assaults^ It if any one( ice to some- be similarity to works off of subjects ne volume; jct& of a rc- iiced where others whp affirm, that a diversity of matter is alone entitled to notice. In order to please both parties without de- viating from my own principles, I have selected such subjects as are exclusively religious, from those which are merely sentimental and moral, and placed them in a different section. I shall conclude with remarking, that as this little work now makes its appearance without the adula- tion of the flatterer, or the recommendation of the learned, it must depend for success entirely upon the judgment and candour of the Public. JAMES HOGG. St. John, N. B, \2th September, 1825. e Ancle Permi (Unrni His SI And p Lives t Norki :0h be iDespiA Conipe For dai Alone Nor su Fain (Virtue Fxplair And di Sad ma ^^<®simQ <^ epistle to a Womis ffvitiHt. W^HILE you enjoy the pleasures of the town. And every care, in sweet oblivion drown. Permit an artless tenant of the shade, (Unmov'd by flatt'ry, nor by intVest sway'd,) His sage advice, with best regards to blend. And proudly hail you as a valu'd friend. Lives there, who feels not friendship's sacred fire. Nor knows the themes, her strong commands inspire ; Oh be the monster from the earth remov'd, DespisM, unblest, unpity'd, and unlov'd ; Compell'd each social region to depart. For darker climes, congenial with his heart ; Alone to breathe, in some forbidden air. Nor summer»« glow, nor autumn's smile be there. Fain would the simple and untutor'd muse, (Virtue her aim, and friendship her excuse,) Explain her soul, but fate a midnight flings. And dim's the dazzling subject which she sings, Sad maid, 'tis her's to crave with earnest suit, tv5iajg!33Js:; '^mgmmmmm I « 2 EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FUIENIK To taste the sweetneis of forbulden fruit, To simple genius yielding do fupply. At her approach, th* Acadinn spriog is dry; For her, no lillies grow, no roses bloom, And fate regardless, scarce forbids her doom. How few thereare, who blest with learning's lore, HavelearnM to prize, that more than earthly store; For, all her beauties view'd in every part. Oft fill the head, but seldom reach the heart : Nor needs a heavier curse the mind destroy, Than much to know, and little to enjoy. Others there are, who scorn the devious line. And never bow, fair science, at thy shrine ; Content to labor in the mud below. Or pluck the weeds that round the basis grow ; These to their low inglorious lot resign*d. Lost to themselves, to knowledge, and mankind. Like the blind worm, their weary way pursue. And cut the soil, to gain a passage thro*. Some with incessant labor, strive to gain Learning's pure gem, but often toil in vain. Still foilM and baffled, faintly trace her arts. Chains on their hands, and dullness in their hearti : EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. $ lUn yielding nature, here alone denies, ■The wretches wish, the long expected prize, some latent wish the goddess seems to claim, Some strong desire, or thirsting after fame ; Where these appear, each labor she beguiles, [And crowns each fond endeavour with her smiles. But see ! another train appear in view, |(The muse beholds them, but laments how few,) The sons of genius favor*d by the skies. Before the eye, in glittVing columns rise; Exulting triumph, in their own pure light, I Swell into shining ranks, and swim before the sight ! Lo ! from the star which lights with friendly rays, [Heroes and patriots, to immortal bays. The smiling matron, fondly stoops to trace. Whence flow the feelings of her cherish*d race. Beholds one universal joy around. Strikes her sweet harp, and earth returns the sound ! ** Ye friends of man," methinks I hear her say, (While beams the firmament with brighter day,) " In all my open paths your way pursue. The world shall own the debt it owes to you \ 'Tis yours to bid the sculptur'd pillar rise^ 1: 11 ii (! t I ii * EriSTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. That tells your glory, to' a thousand eyes; Engrave your miens on yon earthly frame. The boast of nature, and the song of fame." The crystal form, receding from my sight. Here sinks, encompassed in a blaze of light. The wondVi..g muse with fixt attentive eyes,. ] Surveys her flowing mantle, as it flies, I Eager to grasp the more fhan earthly prize ! J Nor learning only, should engross your ca,-^. The tvai/ to live, demands a greater share, And on the word of truth you may relv. The way to live, will teach the way to die ; Religion, honor, truth, a graceful ease, And all the virtues, farmM to win and please, Pit man for life— in every station blest, A friendly paf ron, or a welcome guest : Smooth every thorny path, and leed the way^ To bliss I'nchang'd, and joys without decay. The ciixling round of an eternal day. Tims may you live, belov'd, esteemed by all. Your comforts many, and your sorrows small, 'Till time with potent .way .hall raise your name. A friend!^ rival to your broihcr'a fame. s if Iright on the hill a sun beam play'd, Liound the morning breezes blew, Liid various forms of light and shade Slow moving, clos'd the distant view. iTo view the bright ascending beam, *C^liza climbed the rising hill : She heard the mut'tring of the stream, lie murmurs of her native rill. cloud conceal'd the sunny ray, ""he smile of morning left her view ; And while she measured back her way, 'luick from the soudi the tempest blew. — 'lose slielter'd fiom the torrents powV, yhe youthfhl maia reflects with pain, |lowflatt'ring lifers ^mcertain hour, [ow vo'udle, and yet how vain. Lnd 0% when life's bright morn had past, ind youth returned its borrow'd bloom ; Jhe ♦hought of that uncertain blast, ^n.l all the terrors of its gloom. .V ( f 7 I il THE TKAI Full many a storm, to blast her joj^, With angry pow'r was wont to roll ; In vain—their force could ne'er destroy The sunshine of Eliza's soul, -seines-' ©ENTLY the passiniT breezes blew The spicy scent from bower to bower, Wildly the feathered insect* flew, To catch the dew from flower to flower : When Julia to the silent cell Ilesdess repair'd, her woes recounting; Responsive to the rustic's shell That echo'd on the distant mountain. Lonely she spent the evening hour, She wept the ties of love that bound her ; 'Till darker shades began to lowV, [her : Andnight'sdeepgloomcamethick'ninground Ah ! then did fear with frown unblest, * TIio iiuniniins l>ird. f^ Ang 1th I Tounc [er bs lear tli dl hi] ^Vhile Irtue ISlow si The St Ihe rai hat e^ • [Pure as From c Bright To licrl; *. i .1 THE SUN BEAM. :heck the wild maze of strong reflection ; )h ! no, one passion filPd her breast, >as dismal, gloomy, sad dejection* Angels" she cry'd, « whose silver wings, ''ith restless care forever hover, ground the couch where mercy brings, Ter balm, to sooth the dying lover : k»ar this last tear to yon faithless youth, t-H him I mourn his loss no lono-er ; W'hile memory views his breach of truth, ■^irtue insures her conquest stronger." ^low she reclined on the verdant sod, The stars in their orbs above were gleamino-,) "he rais'd her fervent eye to God, 'hat eye, that tear^ together beaming,— ure as the crystal drops that flow, iom ether clear, on the breast of even ; right as the burning lamps that glow, , [her :lTo light the wide expanse of Heaven ! Vinir round I I* It m ii; B i h 14 ^^t ^9a»oto. " J^ovELY Matilda, why such hastc Away to the distant mountain ? Lovely Matilda, why so fast Away from the crystal fountain ?* « Ah me !" reply'd the youthful maid, " I stooped o'er the fountain yonder, A sunbeam on its surflice play'd, But a sprite was lurking under. It smiPd at first but fearful grew, While I shriekM at its sudden motion ; Away from the wat'ry sprite 1 ilew, 'Tis a mermaid of the ocean." " Lovely Matilda, come with me. Your Edward shall defend you ; Together we the shade shall see, No elf shall dare offend you." With timid look and flutt'ring breast. Now back to the stream she paces ; She stoop'd, and saw, of all the rest. The lovliest of the graces ! And( To se mnd ( Whei ^nd ho{ or one 'W TO JULIA. ? And oft in noontide's sunny ray, o see the sliade she wandered ; ind oft upon the banks she lay ^here the crystal stream meandered. Co 5Jttlia. HIL£ far from the spot where ia childhood you wandcr'd, Llong the greon clifft that bcscirted the main, ^here the cold bubbling spring from its fountain nie« ancjer'd, Lnd water'd the flowrets that grew on the plain ; Iq joy can illumine the night of i^y sorrow, Lnd hopeless and sad from reflection I fly, for one beam of hope paints the bliss of to-morrow, )r pierces the shade where dejected I sigh. Oh Julia, thy smile was the dawn of my morning, Thy voice was the sound that enliven'd the green. Thy blush was as pure as when Phoebus returning, 'hrew his mantle of beauty and crimson'd the scene : )h ! never forgot be the shade of the willc ;, \ H 10 ;l ! 1. li .'• 1 H 'il TO JULIA. Where first I invokM thy propiteous reply, And blest be the moonbeam that playM on the billow. Though now in her faint shade dejected I sigh. The rosebud that dipp'd its fair form in the fountain! And tasted each sweet that the streamlet could bringj The violet that grew on the lieathcover'd mountain, And shrunk half abash'd from the Zephyrs of spring J Faint emblems of thee— yet by thee well attended, Breath'd forth a sweet fragrance that scented the sky;' But now by no kind guardian Angel attended. They shrink at my touch while dejected I sigh. Oh Julia return to the haunti of thy childhood, Keturn to the shade of the white-blossomM tree ; Return to the sheltering side of the wild wood, Tiiy coming alone, can bring comfort to me. Bid the pleasuies of love from thy fair eyes expanding,] Beam forth in their splendour, these torrents to dry, And let hope take the summit of pleasure, command^ The victim of sorrow, no longer to sigh. [ing II ^Hou heavenly born divinely kind %sician of the troubl'd mind, I hail thy sovereign pow*r ; ^or present ills that grieve my breast, lo more I sorrow unredrest, ^hy balm can give the weary rest. And soothe the pensive hour. ^oud sweeping o'er the northern plain, '^here winter holds her icy reign, Boreal winds may blow ; hit hope can view the spring to come, 'an call a thousand flow'rs to bloom, ^nd paint the winter's darkest gloom, With summer's brightest glow. VVhen friends possessed of mutual heart, f'orc'd by necessity to part, Forlorn, dejected, mourn ; Jo words can speak, no tongue can tell, 'liat feelings in their bosoms swell, i'et, mingling with the last farewell, Plope pointi to the retuvn. m s 12 THE STRANGER. When on the brink of life we stand, And nature waits the dread command, " Depart and be no more :" 'Tis thine sweet hope", with cheerful ray, To gild the dark unmeasured way, To regions of eternal day, Where fear shall be no more. ^IL O the green swelling waves of the wide western The ardent undaunted her passage pursuM ; [ocean, And many a fond pray'r with unshack'led dovotion, Impell'd her with speed, her long voyage to conclude : But one stranger alone on the stern was reclinini. A tear fill'd his eye, and his heart was repining, [ing, While his bosom heavM high the deep sorrow confin- And he faintly exclaim^, "oh ! my country farewell. " Blow softly ye gales," said the desolate ranger, " That waft me lo quick from my dear native plain, From Erin, the land where the poor and the stranger nd, nandy Lil ray, THE STBANGER, 13 e. 'ide western M ; [ocean, d dovotion, conclude : reclining, 3ining, [ing, row confin- ry farewell. ! ranger, ative plain, the straP'jer ■Have never requested assistance in vain : [tion, ?o part from euch scenes, how the harsh contempla- linksdeepin my bosom, the source of vexation, Lnd thrills at my heart, the unhappy sensation. That prompts the sad motto, " my country farewell." »n the green rosy banks of yon murmuring river, iVherc spring, and the Zephyrs, delighted to reign, low oft have I wandcr'd, unconscious that ever, ^ he rude hand of fortune, should tarnish the scene; How mild was the breeze, how refreshing the fountain, -low still was the lake, how majestic the mountain, nd must I, the charms of the landscape recounting, [n regions remote, bid " my country farewell." It was night — to !us hard wooden pallet reluming, he victim of grief and distraction, he lay, jU sleep's balmy cordial, prevented his mourning, knd in regions of fancy, he sported 'till day ; kit ah I when he wak'd, how severe his confusion, lias 'twas a dream — a deceitful delusion, riiat drew with new fervour, the constant cfiusion, 'hat gush'd from his bosom, " my country farewell.** u THE STRANGER. At length in N«w.Brunswick, his long destination. Poor Sylvius in vain, behsld " liberty's land ;" Bereft of the comforts of sweet conversation, Bevpilder*d and lonely, he travers'd the strand : Beneath a disorder that body was bending. Which now, to the cold silent grave was descending, While tear after tear, on his pale visage blending, Half imotherM the sentence, " my country farewell." ^ But nature slow yielding, at length became weary, J All mournful and sad, on a rock he reclined : The past was remtmberM— the present was dreary, And dark were the shadows that hung on his mind To the spot where he languished in pensive reflection A stranger had wanderM —a timely protection. He grasp'd his cold hand, with a brother's affection, And heard the soft accents, " my country farewell." Then loon led hira home, where humanity waited, The soft soothing balsam it yields to bestow ; To the friends of Hibernia, his sorrows related, Who hastened to aid the sad object of woe. But ah ! his last moment relentless was hasting. The taper of life, in its socket wa.i waslin m »Si destination^ land ;" raation, strand : Jing, as deicending,! i blending, | itry farewell."! ame wearj linM : t on his mind »ive reflection tection, ir's affection, try farewell.' THE HERMIT OF WOODFORD. 15 'et happy, the sweets of humanity tasting, He smird, and in death, bid his country farewell. A TALE. ** ^st Ulubris, animus si te non deficit cequus** fUERE Woodford's forest spread its ample shade, he great Orourke his residence had made, ^Vith undisputed sway, he held his reign, ^^*l^^'l^cknowIedg'd lord of Leitrim's fair domain; or him, submissive at his massy gate, [lis vanquished foes, to hear their sentence wait, nd while the neighboring monarchs vied to share, n peace his smile, in hostile fields his cere, etir'd he liv*d, untaught by pride to roam, broad respected, but belov'd at home. lity waited, stow ; i related, woe. ^ hasting. ^ng, In early life, this virtuous prince had led, lovely stranger to the bridal bed, )f Albion's daughters, innocent and mild, ^pon her birth, consenting fortune smilM : ^ut ere twelve years had mpjiciir'r] r,„¥ tUi% «».«« i; i: 1« THE HERMIT OF WOODFORD. Which marks their Jimiti to the human race. The morning lun, which on the billow shone, Ere night, beheld her destitute, alone, Bereft of friends, the good she valu'd most, Distressed and shipwrecked, on the Irish coast-- There, as the King the dreadful scene survey'd. He first beheld the lovely orphan maid ; Awhile with strong emotion mute he stands. Then pensive ranged along the level sands,— Now quick returning to the scene of woe. He felt the tribute of compassion flow; Kind pity touched his breast, he call'd relief. To soothe her sorrows, and assuage her grief. And as he viewed the hapless stranger o'er. His bosom own'd a pang, unfelt before, Swift thro' his veins, the vital current flew. While love with pity in his fancy grew ; Nor ceas'd their warmth, for now the tempest ^/ei, The fair Eliza to his car he bore. Each means concerted, to restore her bloom, Reviv'd her spirit, and conveyed her home. In viin tl ^ ?rince to hide his passion strode, 3RD. n race, shone, Host, h coast— survey'd, f tandi, ids, — 3e, relief, grief, )'er, lew. THE HERMIT OF WOODFORD. H In vain essay'd to quench the flame of iove^ [ The pow'r of fancy to prevent a cure, With wonted skill hadfix'd his weapon sure, He felt the shaft, approach his yielding heart, [And but Eli?,a*8 self, cDuld draw the dart. Succeeding time, unnumber'd charms reveard, Which tear, and sorrow, had at first conceard ; The Prince beheld, and while his heart approved, His hand and fortune, bless'd the maid he Jov'd. Long ti^e a life of happiness they led, Ere fortune smird upon their nuptial bed ; At length propitious to increase their joy, I She gave a pledge of bliss, a lovely boy. His father's hope, his mother's only pride, f For him their former joys were laid aside : But ah ! how short the bliss, which Heav'n design'd, j To cheer, not elevate, the human mind ; I Alone, unguarded, as the infant lay, A wanne cultivated spot, the forett's pride, 'ith herbs and fruits, the Hermit's wants siipply'd ; for nature's wants, unlike ambition's aims, ^re few, tl:o' urgent, in their simple claims, ^hen spring returning, call'd him to his soil, )r grateful harvest, crown'd his rustic toil, 'orth would he wander, o'er his little field, ?o taste the swvets, the cooling zephyrs yield . )r when the summer's soft refreshing breeze, i*lay'd on the stream, or sported in the trees. )ft would he range along the forest's side, ^here bloom'd each flower in solitary pride ,* 'or nature to iiis cjc-., could well display, H'jr full hlown chiuiuf, in loveliest array : I ^ II 20 THE HERMIT OF WOODIORD, Yet tho* serene his heart, the starting tear, Confcst, that sensibility was there; And oft tlie heavy sigh, untaiiglit would tell. That grief's remains, in pious hearts may dwell ; For true religion, soft ^ ursuasive kind, Exerts her peaceful conquest o'er the mind; 'Tis her's, to regulate with potent sway. Nor tear one passion, from its place away. Thus, tho' resign'd to his secluded lot, He mourn'd for past enjoyments, unforgot. One even, when in the west the source of day, From half the world conceal'd his cheerful ray. When to the shade the fcather'd tribes retir'd. To case their throats, with love and music tir'd;— Pensive he sat— he heard a plaintive sound, Like human voice, amaz'd he turn'd around, With more attentive readiness to hear, AVhcn lo ! the voice again assail'd his ear; Quick to the spot, the aged man repah-'d And list'ning, thus the notes of sorrow heard: *• \N>otc'h th.Mt T am, ah ! whither shall I stray ? " How thro' this lonely desert, find my way ? *' Tio juA I suHcr, to my actions due, tear. Id tell, ay dwell 5 niad; » ay. got. ce of day, rfiil ray, retir'd, sic tir'd ;- ind, >und, » ar; 1 heard : stray ? way ? THE HERMIT OF WOODFORD. 91 But ah ! the innocent must suffer too ; iThis wounds my heart, and sure if heavier woe, [Await the wtcl;ed, in the reahns below, ['Til mine to suffer aggrwated pain, [Thro* every guilty pore and guilty vein ; £*eu now, I feel the all-subduing pow'r, Whose hand can limit life's uncertain hour, Seize on my vituls, with rgsistlew sway, I yield to death, the summons I obey ; Eternal row*u," but here her voice was drownM, i.nd prone she lay, extended on the ground. The friendly Hermit saw the mourner's pain, And gcnijy rais'd her, from the dewy plain ; Then in his arms, the torturM wretch convey*d, Lnd careful, stretch'd her in his rushy bed ; (ntent, with perseverance to restore. The trembling life, that Hed at every pore. Lttcntive to her wants, a little child, That wept with hunger, and with terror wild,) ^ethcr cold cheeks, with quick descending tears, ind told his artless sorrows and his fears. tt length, the suff'rer rnis'd htr aching head, lid to the Hermit thus, in faltVinir accents iuid : 1 I- it Il f*^ 22 THE HERMIT OF WOODFORD. €C »'f' Twcr« useless to relate, how longlVe trod, " The paths that led from happiness and God; " Nor would you prize the tale, should I impart, " How scar'd my conscience, and how hard my heart ;| " Suffice it to relate, my wand'rings past, " I meet my fate, tho' unprepared, at last. " How {rreedy have I hugg'd each darling sin, " That pleasure could invent, my heart to win ; " 'Till thus distress\?, unpity*d, and forlorn, ** I'^ach guilty joy is from my bosom torn. " One crime alone, is needful to impart, " A crime, that loads with pain, my sinking heart ; " That lovely boy— Oh ! cursed be the day, *• I tore him from his parents' arms away, *' And chang'd to want and pain, his wretched fate, ** The cljcrish'd idol of a kingly state. •' Sec here the toys, the much lov'd infant wor«'*-^ Ker lips were open'd, but she said no more ; Thrice with her latest breath, sJie strove to say, His parents* name, but not a word found way ; One mortal puiig, her labVing bosom tries, Iltr eyes grow dim, her guilty spirit flitf. The tender Hermit, with his rural spade. THE HERMIT OF WOODFORD. 28 kneath an elm, her lonely mansion made ; pen warnM by hcav*n, no more to live alone, le claim'd the youthful mourner as hii own ; ind safely posted, in a careful place, The honor'd relics of his noble race. Revolving years, beheld the humble pair. The toils and blessings of their station share; Lnd while the Father ownM the hand of time. The sturdy Edward hasten'd to his prime. My son," (the aged sire would often say,) Should ever chance, invite your steps away, Oh ! shun with all your might, the tempting snare. And guard each motion of your heart, with care: 'For oft AS life, before you spreads its charms. Or courts your youthful fancy to its arms, 'Tis to deceive, and with a siren smile, 'To win the heart, it hastens to beguile !" Retiuiiing seasons with their wonted pace, law Edward grow, in beauty and in grace. Jut still the Hermit's precepts, fill'd his mind, por e'er to leave the forest, he design'd ; Till once bewilder'd by a fruitless chase le dianc'd to i«e creation's open face. ■'At <>> . M 24 THE 1IKRM1T or W001H()Ri>. Hi» tfirobbing bosom, anil his wond'riog ryei, Alike bfsjiok« liis pIcaMue and surprise; And long, upon the grassy field he stray *d. And long, to view the country he dciay'd : Each object o'er the nica(Knvs, caught his gayrc, And lakes and mountains, fillM him with amaze. It chanc'd that in the forest's cooling' shade, Th' adopted dauglitcr ofODurke, had stray'd, And to the spot, unconscious bent her way, Where Edward on a bending willow lay ; Hi« dress fantastic, and his artless air, Soon drew the notice of the nuihiu'^ fair. And oft jihe look'd, and nuuh hhc ticcniM hurpri*M, That one so lovely, should be thus disguisM. With hasty steps, the bashful youth withdrew, And plcasM his fancy, with a distant view, For ne'er, in all his wand'riiijs in the wood, Had Edward seen a sii^ht so fair and f;aod : And never yet, (true to the best ilesign.) Had nature plann'd a form, more excjuisitcly fin«. At length, with many a straj^ge anju^ing thought, His mansion in the thicket, Edward sought ; " *Tis strange," he cried, " for never in the space, Tin: IIKTIMIT OF woodfoud/ 25 *' Of which my niiiul» itill holdi a feeble trnc c, •• When left a prey, to wretchedness am) paiw, ^ " A wand'rer led me, on the distant plain, *• Did fields appear so green, or flocks so gay, J •* Nor e*f n the birds could boast so sweet a lay ; " The vocal linnet, when she soars above, " The far extended foilagc of the grove, " Sings not so svvcet, as when her melting strain, ** Is pourM, to cheer yon tenants of the plain :^ " But most, yon lovtly vision caiight my eye, •* Fool that I was, so cowardly to i^y ; ** Sure such a fornix could never mean mc ill, •* Methinks, I see the lovely image still." — Thus thoughtful, o*cr the mazy track he goes. Finds his Ion* cot, and courts a sweat repose ; But vain the wish, his thoughts the hope dcnyM, The peaceful Hermit, slumb'ring by his hide. Meantime, young Anna had rctir'd to rest. With strange emotions mingling in her breast ; Oft had she heard of Fauns and Sylvan Gods, And airy sprites, that live among the woods^ ■«4 V i: III { I- t ijj! 86 THJ- iiEHMiT or woonroftn. And much she seemM to doubt thnt such agfac^ Couhl find rectption in a mortal face, « Some timid spirit he must be," she said, " No other would of Anna be afraid | " For as I sported o'er my Guardian's Iftwn, " xVot e'en the red-breast or the youthful fawn. " Fled from my harmless touch, for well they knew. " No wanton deed of malice would I do— " But if the creature's mortal or divine, " Sprung from an earthly or ethereal line, " 'Tis sure became in richest beauty drest, " To waken love's first motions in my breast" Time mov'd apace, and each succeeding day, "J Saw Anna choose the sanie seducing way, ^ To shun the fervour of the uoon-tide ray ; j But Edward taught by many a pang to knovr, AVhcnce sprung the source of his unusual woe, Kcsolv'd HO more to quit the forest's shade, Nor tempt the dangers that he saw display'd, 'Twas harvest now, and o'er th« level fieldf, Slow mov'd the ^jolden elft whJ.K r^,^. ..:„,.. THE HERMIT OF WOODFORD. 2T :ongenial to the earth, tho blushing morn, rith balmy dew-drops, 8l«ep*d tlie ripening corn ; Intl every flow'r, und every loaded spray, Spread its fresh foilage to the morning ray. Dee[) in the woods, (an unfrequented land,) For many a year, had Iiv*d a robber band, 3y hell conducted, and by rapine fed, lie king's abhorrence, and the country's dread : These to no rules of iionest life inclin'd, Lud bent to live on plunder, now designM, |To seek the open grounds, and thence to bear, iThe treasured harvest of the rustic's care. JAwhile consulting on the deed they staid, i:«ch swore, in life or death his friend to aid, lUnarniM thev ^ntent to jhun the light, ind bear away tf. rthens in the nii^ht. iA traitor servant, v,..u his place had fled, IT' escape the law's decree, the party led, 'Till near the utmost border of the wood, [To wait the slow approach of night, they stood, Attentlva to tl^e hour that fills the air. V \l . I lUkiinuiMMP" 28 THE HERMIT OF WOODFORD. With richest scents, the royal maid was there | Her train of servants, to the palace sent. Alone, and thoughtful, in the shade she went. A curious fan, the virgin's hand supplied, A golden band, her graceful body tied ; In brown and shining tresses, hung her hair, Her lips, a smile of softest sweetness wear. That blending with the beauties of her face, To every blush and dimple, gave a grace : Nor in the forest, bloomM an op'ning flow'r—- To vie with Anna, in that dewy hour. The false domestic, saw the tempting prize. He calls his fellow thieves, and thus he cries ; " See there, unguarded, in our reach is plac'd, " The richest gem, that e^er a palace grac'd, " The king's belov'd inestimable store, " Pledge of the valued bliss, he lost before, *' Of her possessed, we doubtless shall obtam, " A kingly ransom, and an easy gain, Since to regain his child, the prince would part, Aught, but the blood that circles in his heart : " Haste then, and bear the precious load away, ^* *Twill well requite the trouble of a day." « it i 'U THE HERMIT OP WOODFORD. He scarce had ended, when the lawless band, I Too well obey, hii cruel fierce command ; Relentless seiz'd th' unconscious maid in haate. And bore her screaming o'er the distant waste, Now had the shades of night begun to rise, [And veird each sparkling glory of the skies ; Close was the wood, and intricate the road, [That lay between them, and their dark abode ; [Each sinew they exert, each nerve they strain. Ere da\vn*d the day, their own recess to gain, Awhile, their coming footsteps, keen they mark, Then lose their way, and wander in the dark. I It chanc*d, by strong directing justice led, They stray 'd beside the Hermit's little shed, I There, as the wakeful Edward sought to steep, Strange recollections in Lethean sleep. He heard the mournful notes of sorrow flow. In all the depth and eloquence of woe. " Leave me" she cried, on this secluded field, " That humble cot, a friendly shade shall yield, " Why would your brutal rage, my hopes destroy, " And bear me far from every earthly joy ? $9 f td 30 THE HKRMIT OF WOODFORD. " Or why, cncuinbcr'd with a charge so weak, " Uove thro* the woods, and tempt the tangling brake; " No boon I ask, tho' dark the night and late, *' But quit y©ur hold, and leave inc to my fate ; " Oh ! heav'n,oh! earth, your wonted succour give, " Or kill the wretch, who Jongs no more to live !" Quick from his bed, with an elastic hound, The youth advanc'd and scarcely toucii'd tJie ground, A trusty bow, (which oft he us'd before. To shoot the flying deer,) in haste he bore. He met the ruman train, and bid them stand. Or dread the force of a superior hand: Then askVI, what trembling voice a moment since. Fron, heav'n and earth, had bcggM a kind defence Amaz'd, confounded, at the stern salute. The sons of darkness, stood a moment mute. The wretch who held her with unfeeling hand. Bold and dctcrminM, grasj^'d the golden band That bound her waist,-~the careless knot gave way. While from the robber ran hh living prey ;^ Dismay \i he fled, the rest had fled bd'ore. nd gave the ohjcct of their labour o'cf . A i THE HERMIT OP WOODFOKD. 31 Returning hope, the virgin's bosom warmi, * fhe flies, and sinki in Edward's friendly arms ; Lnd while he help'd Iier to the lonely cot, ler fears and lurringa were at once forgot. rh' astonished Hermit saw the stranger fair, lnd wond'ring mark'd the maid's majestic air, [For tho', to solitude and nature true, riie scenes of life, full well the Hermit knew ;) riien bade her welcome, to his shelt'ring walls, nil morn should light her, to her native halls, ^leantime, the kindling fire dispell'd the shade, Uid shew'd her friend, to the admiring maid, t'rembling she saw, she knew him, and believ'd. riieswain it guardian sprite, who had her wants reliev'd. ^ut soon by mutual understanding led, thousand soft endearing things she said ; ^hile the sage father view'd them o'er and o'er, Lnd wonder'd where, or how, they'd met before. Her strange adventure told, the Hermit prest, the royal wand'rer to his aged breast, ind oft his thoughts, ascend in fervent praj'r, S9 THK HERMIT OF WOODFOlTH. To him >vho makes the innocent his care; 'Till sleep descending, silent all around, Their eyes and hearts, ^ith silken fetters bound. But who can tell the grief and sad dismay, That thro* thebust'ling castle, found their way; That she had sought the field was known too well, But whither gone, no mortal tongue could tell ; All night, the sad domestics scour'd the plain, All night, the monarch wept, and wept in vain. Now had the morn with more than welcome ligli Dispeird the shades of an adventurous night; High o*er the green, the lark melodious sung, The distant woods, with sounds responsive rung, The golden clouds, in wild meamiers play'd, And mixM the rosy light with dappled shade. Forth from her bed of fern, (it was their best,) The maid advancM, in rich apparel drest. Her robe was loose — the golden sash she wore. The guilty wretch had from her bosom tore ; The Hermit raw the want, and quick supplied Another, which for years had lain aside, Xove, fror But see, tach Zep 'i Ills mom *' He next le Quee .ind evtr^ urn. 'j re bound. eir way ; vn too well, ould tell ; t plain, in vain. welcome ligli night; 3 sung, sive rung, ay»d, shade. ir beet,) St, le wore, tore ; iipplied THE HERMIT OF WOODFORD. ss kmongit the other trinkets it was laid, ^hen Edward's nurse the glitt'ring store diiplaj'd. Now thro* the forest, by his guardian sent, To guide her way, the willing Edward went ; 'I'o'jd of his charge, 1 ull oft he turn'd aside» ^0 view the beauteous damsel in her pride, Lnd oft he felt hi^ rising bosom swells [ard labVing with a wish, he darM not tell. What various feelings, crowd the virgin's mind, ind range within her bosom, unconfin'd ; LJone she was, far from her guardian's view, Lnd but one stranger youth, the secret knew : should he prove false — but here she check'd the l^ove, from suspicion, the remainder bought, [thought, -I i 'i But see, h'^r native plains appear in sight, tach Zephyr breathes more exquisite delight, 1 ills moment, joy her rising bosom warms, 'i !ie next beholds her in the Monarch's arms :— e Qusen advanc'd, her ready kiss to share, And evtrv face. difneU'd the doom of care- 3t THE HERMIT OF WOODFORD. Trembling she tells, the meditated rape, H«r fears, her suff'rings, and her blest escape, By whom released, in what courageous way. How noble he, and where his dwelling lay. The royal inmates, while they stood to hear, In show'rs let fall, the sympathetic tear. Much they lamented her late misery. And much they honor'd hiui who set her free ; " Thanks genfle rustic," the glad king began, " Twere pity, that the wood your worth should span " Merit like your's, should shed its beams afar, " And shine conspicuous in the fields of war ; " Where Ulster's heavy waving harvests bend, " And stormy seas their swelling waves extend, " A host of northern foes infest the shore, •* Much bent on rapine, but on slaughter more ; •* To-morrow, I a chosen band shall send, " The weak and injured natives to defend ; *' Co then, where glory leads, where courage warms, " And dress your sturtly limbs in shining arms : " And while the perili of the war you share, Your aged Sire shall prove our Iloyal caijj." ti V '% THE HERMIT OF WOODFORD. The youth conssnted to the war to go, First, if hia sire, hit b\e mg would bestow ; Then sought the woo the Hermit's mind to know There at his toil, * e aged man he found, The yellow sh^ es, were lying all around ; Then told, wii i downcast look and panting breait» His sovereign's pleasure, and his own request. ] Awhile the father heard in speechless woe. And down his cheeks the tears began to flow, But strong reflection, with prcrailing pow'r, Came to his aid, and stopp'd the briny show'r : He knew 'twas vain, t* oppose the monarch's will, To check the mind of Edward, vainer still, He bid the youth in falt'ring accents go. Where duty call'd, to fight his country's foe ; Invok'd n tiiousand blessings on his head, And mutual fears, in mingling streams were shed. Now to tlic palace, the brave youth repairs, His bonom fill'd with strange unwonted cares ; iiis arms ohlftin'd, he join'd the soldier band, And niarch'd to drive tiic tyrants off the land : c3 I 36 THE HEUMIT OV WOODl'ORI). Thus let us leave him, 'mid the scenes of blood. And turn to view, the Htrinit in tlie wood. The second morning'* cheerful light had shone^ That saw the Hermit in his cot alone, Musing he sat, tho* pensive yet resign'd, And many a passion fillM his active inincl, Tho' dark the shades, his mind that overcast. At once it grasp'd, the present and the past. 'Twas thus he sat, when o*«r his narrow plain, > Advanced a party of the royal train, In angry mood, approachM the Her;nit*« cot, And bore him wondVing from the much-lov*d spot i Thro* gloomy ways, and mazy windings led, Nor answer'd ought, to what tho pris'ner said : Yet tho' his meek requests the guards deny, The} dread the virtuous rigour of his eye. Now to the throne they bear him, and present— (The aged man before the Monarch bent,) The Queen with wild disordered looks was near, And Anna pale with wonder and with fenr ; When thus the King,—" 'lis our comiuand you tcU, THE HLKMIT OF WOOUIOIin. 37 |v He»w in th* adjacent wood, you came to dwell, I" Your life how spent, deserving praise or blame, Your dtfed8,yourvi«ws, your country, and yourname; But firs^, inform us, where in all the laud, I" You found this treasure, this our infant's band." lepaus'd, but when the iiumble Hermit told, ^Twos Edward's nurue wiiogave the prize of oh!. With lier last breath, on that remenibcr'd day, hVli^n d(;ath was cheated of his youthful prey ; JTlie Kin^', the Queen, tlie maid, and all around, |ri«w to his arms, and hicss'd the joyful fcound, l]n lively exclamations, vent their joy, Iror Edward was their lost rccovcr'd boy ! Kow in the midst, their welcome guest was plac'd, [With every mark of royal favor gracM, iTIic nodding King, admir'd the welcome man, [And thus the sire his own sad tale began : " Fairest and I(»veHest spot of all the earth, r Tiio chalky clifl's of Albion, claim my birth ; [" l*ure scat of nnturc, for uncqnaird thcrr, ' Sirwij^tli's in Ujc soil, ajid health is in Lhc air, ^f 38 THE HERMIT OF WOODFOI^D. ) i •* The sky unclouded, and the prospect bright, " The valley fertile, and the mountain white. *' Full many a summer, there my life I led,— *' A virtuous part'ner bles«*d my h / bod, *• Exempt from woe, and all the toil. care " We Iiv*d, nor earth produced a happier pair, " An ardent love in either heart was shed, — " But ah ! I live to mourn Maria dead. " Dark was the hour, when from my bosom torn, " (Where still her lovely image shall be worn,) ** She sunk in death's inexorable arms, " And lost in his embrace, her thousand charms : " My pleasures tied, that melancholy day, *' And sought the grave where my Maria lay. " *Twa8 vain to setk the cool and social shade, " Where oft her worth and beauty were display'd; " *Twa8 vain in active life to seek relief, " Since every view renew'd my raadd'ning grief, " Thus press'd by sorrow, and affliction sore, " I left my Country, to return no more. " One durling child, her mother*s image sweet, " In speechless anguish, clung around my feet— \ •right, lite. I,- :'d. ire pair. >m torn^ orn,) :harms : lay. shade, lisplay'd ; f gner, •re, weet, feet— THE HERMIT OF WOODFORD. 3I> id,-N 'I 1 "■■.V i " " I rais'd the weeping 8ufF'rer, from the ground, I " Flew to the beach, and there a passage found, I I " To old Hibernia was the vessel bound. I " Now on the liquid mountains high we rise, " The skilful helmsman, each precaution tries ; A tempest drove us on the Irish shore, I sunk, and saw my tender charge no more ! Yet heav'n preserved my life, a billow past, " That whirlM in eddies to the roaring blast, " Borne on the flying sur«jo, I touch'd the strand, " Then quick it fled, and left me on the land ; " But of my child no knowledge could I gain, " She sunk, and dying " Fought my aid in vain ;" " Sad, from the scene of death J wander*d far, ll" Where ne'er my eyes should view the morning star ; " A distant covert in yon wood I found, '* And ^hcre I tili'd a lonely spot of ground, " 'Till your fond son, by heav'n so kindly sent, " Reli^v'd me, weary in the grassy tent.'* Tl^e Queen beheld the tear upon his face. Then clasp'd a iatukh, in her fond embrace, — ' * *r s ^- t 92 It I f 49 THE HERMIT OF WOODFORD. 11 H Joy was in every heart, on every tongue, 'Twas strange, but so the will ofheav'n ordain' d. That day, a child's and parent's right she claim'd. Thus they, m hile valiant on the bloody plain. The prince's arm, contended but to gain ; His vanquish'd foes, invok'd the southern gale. Confounded fled, and spread the coward sail ; While others stretch'd upon the injur'd land, Proclaim'd the strength of Edward's matchless hand.j As homeward on his way, the youth returns. Love, fear, and hope, usurp his thoughts by turns, And long he felt his anxious bosom move, Alike the slave of duty and of love ; At length obedient, to the wood he nent, His steps unequal, his regard unspent. The silent cottage row before him lay, Where oft he'd spent the sunshine of th» day, Wond'iing he sees the solitary spot. And fears some mischief was the Hermit's lot : With hasty steps, he turns the clear to gain, Ere night comaienc'd her slow descending reign, Nor stops, 'till near the castle's massy walls, lie meets hii nvmA ^y^c^l■\A anJ /tn U',m U/^.m.%. r.il. i Oh! i I The wile When p( That sha ■And spu She flies " Mv SOI I * « At lenj I "To tell "Thyfri " Heav'r " The K As cm iHalfdou I So seem' I And tht So great, I Hii hearl fiiit whei How ro8( A sweet That blis (turns, by turns, t, day, 's lot : in, g reign, alls, ...,. CM. I THE HEKMIT OF WOODFORD, 41 Oh ! artless innocence, unus'd to trace, The wiles and snares, of man's corrupted race. When peace forsakes tli€ badges and the star, That shade the breast, the seat of mental war, lAnd spurns the richest gems that deck a crown. giie flies for shelter to thy russet gown. " My son" the Hermit cried, my pray*r is heard, " At length thy merit meets a just reward, j" To tell the grateful news, I flew to thee, I" Thy friend and graudsire too, behold in me, " Heav'n, that beheld thy worth, now bids thee share, *• The King's regard, his offspring thou and heir !" As one bewilder'd in some pleasing dream, I Half doubts, half believes, the sweet deluding theme, So seem*d the Prince, and when the King cnrest, And the Queen held him to her beating breait, So great, so sweet, so sudden his surprise, Hii heart could scarcely trust his wond'ring eyes : But when his love, in all her pride advanc'd, How rose his heart, how high his spirit dancM ? A sweet embrace she gave, and then he knew. That bliss so exquisite, was not untrue. ili !• i2 THE HEiariT OI WOODFORD. 1r I Hit ii' Ths A.-ast was spread, an:l at the King's commaind A tlioii^and bon-fres ihiWd o'er all the land. From distant states th-eir potent Lords repair'd. Partook the banquet, and the triumph sharM : Three days they reveUM on the sumptuous feast. And the fourth morn had rose to tinge the east ; When rising from hiii green bespangled throne. The King bcstow'd the virgin on his son ; The royal consort in her state was near. And o*er the pair :,he dropp'd a joyful tear. While the sage Hermit, and the Bishop grave, Approach'd the lovers, and their blessing gave. *Twere vain to tell how long the regal pair, EnjoyM their rights, how good, how blest they were.| But when revolving seasons brought the day. That call'd them from their well? arn'd crown awav, Their virtuous oflspring, train'd in every grace. Maintain^ their virtue*, and supplied their place. I As changi But if thii And r^ 's commalnd,[ and, jpair'd, arM: us feast, e east; [irone, }ar, rave, I gave. ir. t they were, \ Jav, rown awav, «;raee, lir place. 43 5re»j5 to iMrmorp^ HAT art thou memory ? Whence thy magic pow- So painful oft, yet oft bo kind, [er ? When mazy thought usurps the mind, ma varied themes ^ngross the passing hour : Art thou a native of our earth ? Or do the regions claim thy birth, ["Where bliss unfading ever bids thee stay, [To mark the joys of an eternal day. {Thy sacred current in the human soul, With ever busy ebb and flow. Moves the full tides of joy and woe, I As changeful time aiay bid that current roll : Thus when the lunar orb of light. Beams in full splendour to the si,';ht, The swelling ocean lifts its floods on high, J And bright itflects the glory of the sky. But if thick brooding clouds obscure the moon. And silver Cynthia in her way, n 1 c k-ir *K« I J I c2 44 THE DLSAPPOINTFU LOVEtl's I yfi /'■' I i ■'I The troubled ocean mourns her absence soon j Darkling retires amid his caves. Nor lifts so high his briny waves. The gloomy c cms feel the sullen roar. And spreads the dismal scene frem shore to shore. Thus memory, on the ever active mind, When joy directs its dancing beam, To shine upon thy flowing stream, Thy themes are ever pleasing, ever kind; But ah ! when sorrow and her train. Usurp the trembling soul again ; No beam of joy thy cheerless light bestowa. Nor friendly gloom is thine, for soft repose. Ah ! tell me not sad mem'ry, of the days. When free and careless as the breeze. That mov'd along the rustling trees, I sung responsive to the wild bird's lays ;— When natures colours could impart. The swell of pleasure to my heart. And youth and beauty, in Amanda strove. With purest charms, to court my heart to l«Vi ! i lilt pain (Wl The Syhe peij And Gild Ih ! bid 'lien, — c tooj ha^ Whe Som ids ever Thei The jMelts the IDrives fr« And ah ! Well Each And ever Thus Brav( iJ Etl*S ce soon j re to shore. » » in, owa, }Of«. ze» ve, ItfVf ! ADDKESS TO MEMORY. 5ut paint tlie morn that bid these pleasures end, (What best befits raj prospects now,) The plighted troth, the broken vow, The perjured hver, and the faithless/riVw^/.* And while yon bright pellucid beam Gilds the soft bosom of the stream, )h ! bid me mourn my well remember*d woes, riien,— cease a while, and leave me to repose, too, have felt the raptures thou canst bring. When quickly in the throbbing breast Some treasur'd scene by fancy blest, iids every fibre of the. bosom spring; j Then soft ascending to the brain, The warm enchantment once asiain. iMelts the whole soul, and with resistless sway, fDrives from its place, each anxious thought away, .And ah ! when absent from a much Iov*d friend. Well hast thou taught me oft to trace, Each well known feature of his face, And every line within thy core to blend,-- Thus, tho' Edgkntus far away, Bravci the tteru dan^eris offhe «»». 45 / I •( ! ^ I f! Hi I 4 ^'5 1 i ifJ TUL nrsAPpoiNiKD i,over'$ IVIetiiipki I «ce him from the beaten strand, «* Tall on tho mast," approachi.ig to the land. But ah ! forbear to goad rny wounded heart, Nor shew the soul-seducing maid, Wiio cliarn 'd uie to the sylvan shade, Then left me bleeding to bewail the smait: She went, and with her every joy, Thajt time and fortune could dcstrov.— ■ My ho|K> and prospects, vanished on the wind. And not ouc friendly comfort staid behind. Yet r must think— and still by thee inspir'd, My wnnd'ring fancy ever roves An]on<; the shelt'ring silent groves, Where first her charms my youthad bosom fir'd ;— Kctnniiiiu with n thousand woes, Tliought after thought, succeaiiive grows, 'Till with strange pow'r, the well connected chain, Fills every creyice of tho houI with pain. Oh ! cease thou worse than hated death, to rend, A heart ahfady swoll'n—forbear— 'J'hcglinijn'ring .spark of reukou spuic. K. 0} ADDRESS TO MEMORY. 47 ^hnt sinks two dim, too feeble, tu ascend; Already hat my vanquikhM heart, Own'd the full triumphs of thy art, ^nd while impatience throbb'd in every vein, fvi fondly strove the torture to restrain, ■jius when the mountain flood in fury raves, The troubrd peasant view* the sands Wide scatlVing o'er his valuM lands, .nJ strives to bound the lawless roarinonis the mountain rose, |*\nd ev'ry wild flow'r of the vale In rich hixuriance grows ; IWhcre rolls the stream with rapid force, ; Emerging from the wood, And ill the valley winds its course, I Tlie cot of Annin stood. I |Xo artist learned In Gothic lore, I lad rais'd its slender wall ; pleiuhd mouldings grac'd the door, 49 ■NO SI No paintings decked the hall.— D '4 \i 1 ■' m AliMIN AND AMANDA. Ii / But there a gem, transceiulant bright,^ Its native worth displaj^'d ; It shed its purest beams, to nigljt, And glitter'd in the shade, 'Twas fair Amanda, great by birth, But greater still in charms ; And sure, if bliss be found on earth, 'Twas centred in lier arms. The crowded City she had left, And sought the silent grove ;■ Of every earthly joy bereft, But Armin and his love. And oft she thought while thus aUmCj From busy life retired ; 'Twas better live, belov'd by oncy Then, be by all admired. Her own, her much lov'd Armiu there, In humble life was true : He lov*d her with a husband's care, A husband's foadnoss too. 11 k ARMf^f AND AMANDA, 51 Each moment, as it fled along, Beheld their rising joys, I Unknown to them the giddy throng, Their pleasures and their toys. The lark tliat hail'd the coming morn. For them proclaimed the light ; I The thrush that warbled in the thorn, Their music sung by night. The lambs that skipt along the green, Or on the pasture lay ; j With grazing watchful dam*s between, I Amus'd them with their play. The rural spade — the shepherd^s crook, ' Their morning task began— And evening claimed, some treasured book, To tell the wiles of man. 1 !ius fled their days, — while beauty smil'd, AH'tictign hail'd the ray : A mutual love their cares bcguird, (,'ontcntment smooth'd their way — If ; 1 62 ARMIN AND AMANDA. 'Till, Oil Amanda's lovely face, Some secret aiinruish stole ; And dimmed die seat of every <^race. 1 he mirror of her soul. Her Armin saw the spreading gloom, That sliaded o'er her charms ; Unconscious why their wonted bloom. Had wither'd in his arms. " Oh ! lov'd Amanda," he exclaim'd, " Thou best of woman -kind, " Some hidden sorrow, long unnam'd, " Has prey'd upon thy mind : " Would'st thou retrace the busy life, " Which once thy childhood knew ; " And view the scenes of noise and strife, " Thy Armin follows too. " Or would'st thou o'er the rolling deep, ** To other lands repair ; ** Still, faithful to the charge I keep, " My love shall lead me there. ^ ice. 3om, ooni, rn'd, ni'd, life, ew ; 1 strife, deep, XRMIN AND AMANDA. ^ « The mighty anguish then reveal, " Nor bear your grief alone ; I <* My breast each pain of thine shall kd, " Make every pang its own." He ceas'd— Amanda saw his fear, And ere she made repl}^, Siic kissed away the briny tear, I That glisten'd in his eye, ^*' Nor change of scene, nor change of clime, " Have I repin'd to see ; "CiWd with the bliss of being thine, " The world's alike to me, I" From deeper source, my sorrow floWs^ '* In vain would you desiix?, "To light the burden of my woes, " Or quench the glowing /ire. '' Some hidden powV, with ceasless breath, '' Still tells my boding mind ; "That thou, Shalt soon be lost in death, '* And r, be left behind. u'4 1 54 AR3IIN AND AMANDA. i t «( * In life sequester'd and forlorn, " What could your lover do ? Since from its place, each pleasure torn,, " Should fly along with you.'* " Oh hush your grief," die husband cried,^ " 'Tis all a lurking thought, *' By ceaseless study, still supplied, " And slumbers, 'till its sought, " Forget your sorrows, dry your tears, '' And wait his great command ; "Who rules the world, and holds the spheres, *' In his Almighty hand. *' For should my soul be calTd away, " At his permission free ; " Oft would it leave the realms of day,j *' To come and gaze on thee. " To yonder distant rising ground, " Where blooms the spreading tree ; " My spirit, unrestrainM would bound, " And converse iiold with lliec," re torn, d cried, ;ars. 3 spheres, ARMIN AND AMANDA. ks when by winter's fetters bpund, The streamlet seeks to train, 5ome secret channel under orround. Its waters to contain ; When lo ! the sun witli ftiendly ray. Dissolves the icy foe ; friie rills again resume their way, Exulting as they flow. po free, so gentle, thro' her veins. The vital current flew, 'ontentment its glad pow'r regains, And fills her breast anew. ^5 ree; uul, letnrning spring had now began. Her all reviving' reiixn ; [Quick down the hills, the streamlets ran, Aiid verdure dt ck'd the plain. Ascending linnets, on the wing, Pour'd forth their sweetest hivs : ^\m\ liaird the wjlconie rav of spriiHr, The ^ohicc of their d;'vs. jp. i 56 ARMIN AND AMAND^ Half pendent o^er the river's sidcj The palmy willows grew : Or dippM their branches in the tide> That near the margin flew. From flowVs, amid the grassy blade, A thousand sweets arise; That shed their fragrance in the shade^ Or spend it in the skies. But who, that marks the lapse of years,, Would trust the sudden glare ? Westward, a sable cloud appears, And darkens all the air. The Eagle views th* impending storm,, And seeks his plac, of rest; The Hare skips nimbly to its form, The swallow seeks her nest. Home as the school-boy bends his way, The tempest's force he feels ; That bars another moment's plav, Close rallliiiL^ at iiis Jioi-I-^. m ^ \%A\ % ARMIX AND AMANDA. 5T [Aiicl quick, where late the Shepherds stood. Exulting m the ray; |The strong, the yellow mountain flood, Bears rocks and trees away. 'Twas thus the elemental war, With fury rag'd around, lAiitl ruin, mounted on liis car, Struck forests to the ground. [When from his hamlet, Armin view'd, A lamb, Amanda's care, [lard struggling in the foaming flood, That tost its waves in air — juick in the torrent's verge he flics, The torrent turns him round ; iroo late to gain the bank he tries- He sinks, fatigu'd, and drown 'd 1 "en then, amid the mortal strife, That shook his tortur'd frame ; With nature on the verge of life, lie spoke Amandii's num.e. I J*" \} li J*, f 5S AKMIX \SD A:\rANbA, ^ S' With chilling fear, and frantic scream, The fair beheld her love. Now, sink beneath the fatal stream, And, lifeless rise above. Then falling oh the grassy brink, She dream'd her griefs vere o'er j But ah ! she wakM again, to think, That Armin was no more ! Close driven in an eddying nook, The flood the body bore; Amanda reached it, with her crook, And pull'd it to the shore. Then in her arms the burthen raised. To give the fond embrace, O'er all his lifeless features gaz'd— With tears bedew'd his face : ** Oh Heaven !" she cried, () AHAflN AXR AMANDA. Slie nioum'd the heavy ills of life. That crowd the wretches way ; 'I'ill reason, weary of the strife, Uesign'd her sinking ray; The rising moon, dim ghincing shone, To hght the momitain side; Wlien forth she went, unseen, alone. And " Arm in" thrice she cried. *• Didst thou not promise to return, *' Heneath this willow tree? " To bid Anuuula cease to mourn, " And converse hold with me." The leaves sigh'd motn*nfu! in the breeze, She hears no voice around ; A heavier blast disturbs the trees, Widi melancholy sound. i'r \ 1' ,1 Twas near the spot where Armin slept, With undisturb'd rej)ose; The mourner saw, — again she wept The burden of her woes. V .•' 61 CAUoLAn's Git AVE. Insensible to all but grief, As on the corpse she lay, His spirit came to her relief, And kiss'd her soul away I he Shepherds found the hapless pair, In joy, and sorrow, true j Lnd raised their grassy mansion there, Beneath yon spreading yew. Wviticn on the Grave of Carolan,^ SHADE of the great, whose melting song, Could once, the purest grief inspire ; ^hen nature led an artless throng. The willing captives of thy lyre : * Carolan wa« one of the last, though not the least nnncnt of the Irish Bards. As a Poet and Musician pe latj perhaps no equal* in his time ; his koii/^s are f ' '">'reat repute j^„ over Irvland,and the plaintiva t'lodies «( his harp will it is supposed forever remain aiinvalled ; to the hrilliancv of a wit he 'MUh,\ hI| tlm Vmiy of a great genius; he died ni extreme poverty. ii'4 * -^ 69 CAKOI.AN's GRAVEr fi Bend IVoni the throne of clouds, where nqiej] Thy fingers touch the golden strings ; Wiiere all, who see that touch, allow. How sweet the music which it brings Bend, where in this sequrster'd vale, Made sacred, by thy ttnieful nani2; A youdiful Bard, invokes thy aid, 'I'hat fain would (jniulate thy faine; Lo ! here young zepliyr, gently blows, The flow'rs, that spring in early bloom ; And here, the breath of tViend.sliip glow*;, To mourn thy ashes in the tomb. And here th^ sun's most lucid r^v. Shines on the sad, the honored ground; Glows in tjie heat, the pride of tkiy, Nor beams so pure a light around. Thus fancy speaks, yet fancy led By strong affection, often strays ; 'Till sage reflection in her stend, Confers with truth, die meed of praise. (Carolan's grave. 63 Lnf? oil ! if ever in the space, Where fame inscribes the wise and brave ; he sons of Genius find a place, Thee Carohirt, the muse shall save. |Twas nature taught thy harp tlie way, Each maddening passion to controul ; ireath'd on thy heart, lier own sweet lay, And iilPd thy heav'n aspiring soul. lilt ah I how fate with jonstant frown, Tlie thbrny path to thee assigned, )n all thy worth, unmov'd look down, In life unchang'd, iq death unkind : For here, whefe mourns the whistling grass, The sole response of Erin's woe. No sculptural stone, to those who pjtss, Proclaims that thou art laid IjoIow. ^'or this forsaken spot alone, A lesson to the mind suppHes : jinco many a kindred space is known, W'ha-t dullness lives, and genius dies. 64 CAROL AN S GRAVE. The toys of wealth, and paniperM [»ri(le, That shed a false delusive jilare ; Inveigle flatt'ry on their side, The triumphs of her art to share. Thus, oft the monument Is rais*d, Tiio' science marks its tale untrue — Thus oft, the sordid dust is prais'd, And wears the palm to merit due. But i^i t]>e rustics artless tear, ' * Thy fame is firm, thy memory strong; And fresh in each returning year, Shall live the numbers of tliy song. E'en now, wrapt fancy hears thy strains, In murmurs wake the mountain high ; While echo bears them to the plains, Then, gives them trembling to, the sky. And once again she views thy form, Forlorn, and destitute, and blind ; % age reduc'd, by sickness worn, Fling all its sorrows, to the wind. Tho' p Thei Yet fri( A pc Tho' hi They That ov And J carolan's grave. She sees thee on the moory hilJ, By want distrest— by hunger' Jed, Explore the wandVings of the rill. Alone to eat thy mouldy bread.' Oh I qease bold vision, hence, away \ Nor paint the mournful hour he dies • Shew not the humble spot he lay, * With not a friend, to close his eyes, Tho' poor the sons of Erin live, Their woes supprest, their pleasures small ; \ et friends to want, they freely give, A portion of their little all. TW hard their toils, their passion, strong, 1 hey ever boast a noble muid ; That owns the charms of magic song, And mourns the griefs of all mankind. m M e^ m .4 I ;i ^JO^H ! dark was the crime, the first cause of my sorrow. And dark is the cell, where I languish confinM: And dark is the scene that awaits me to-morrow. But blacker, the midnight that hangs on my mind. How short is the iims that's allowM for reflection,— Yet weary of time, I would dream it away, While a Father's distress, and a Mother's aflection, Invoke the sad moment of fate to delay. The stranger who pities, the injur'd who hate me, , The friends who bemoan, and the foes who disdain. The shame, the remorse, and the pain that await me. Add each a new sting, to the sura of my pain. Oh ! time, thou avenger of guilt and of folly, Mow suil'i ifi thy pinion, how bhort is thy stay: I'lio' now ill the moments of lone melancholy, I'vo iir^M vhce to fiv v\ilh inv sorrow a\va\. t THE COXriCT's LAMENT. 67 )i. ! were I permitted unfetter'a to rove, klong the dear banks of my own native stream, kViiuld truth In the sunshine of certainty prove', pis scene of distress to be only a dream : hen, blert in tiie sheltering shade of the wild wood. Too early forsaken, for tumult and noise ; These feet would retrace every step of my cliildhood, riu heart would respond, to its innocent joys. lilt why does the current of fancy thus lead me, 5'ognze on the spring of my life's morning bloom ? fhvn .vind its sad way from the prospect and leave me. To mourn at thtt side of a murderer's tomb ? Hje^e hard heavy chains that inflexible bind me, ^.id liold every limb in their painful en.bracc; ' [l|'ith many a clang on the pavment, remind me, th^t justice has markM me the prey of disgrace. 3uthark ! yon shrill noise all the prison astounding, '" "Hinnurs ungrateful, rings loud on n)y ear ; f^erhaps 'tis the knell of my death that is sounding,^. ^ow dark is my prison, how lonely and drear ' "' I I I! 68 VERSfES ON FRIE^^^SHIP. Sec, fili'd with compassion, yon herald of mercy, Of mercy divine, (for no other can save ;) He tells me that heav*n, yet in pity may bless me. And sign my acquittal from death and the grave, He bids me, (and ah ! might I learn to obey him,) Each care, and each pleasure, of life to resign ; ' May heav'n with its own purest mercy repay him, And guard his departure, from sorrows like mine. ©^5©^ )OFT as the social hand, to nature dear. That wipes from pity*s cheek the falling tear, Mild as the gentle breeze tiiat wakes the morn, When philomelia hails the day's return, Warm as the genial Sun's dilfii've ray. When o*er Siberia's waste it scatters day, Iifriendship-.Heavenly born, divinely fair. And sent on Earth to banish pain aud care. Behold the wretch whose md di stracted mind. ▼ERSES ON FRIENDSHIP. Impatient seeks in death a kind relief, Or silent sinks beneath a load of grief, bd tries in vain the least respite to find « |To him, the friendly pov/r, her succour lends, ithes every care his troubled breast that renils, JDisarms th» impending melancholy doom, Ind from the anxious bosom banishes its gloom. Yet not alone when cares distress. She pours her comforts on the breas^. Sweet anttdote of pain and woe: But while her willing hands impart A balsam to the wouMded heart, |Slie heightens %ytTy joy that mortals know. Blest is the man, no more in life alone. Who finds a heart congenial with his own, Where mutual cares, and mutual joys may rest, Alike elated, and alike distrest, Prepared by heaven to heighten or sustain, ifie smiles of fortune, or the stings of pain, i'iie generous aid, with aid united grows, iill care and sorrow lofVpn »« r 69 KO VEKSES ON FIIIENDSHII-. jf k I i'! r II Thus when the trper'a loim sequester' J blaze. With quiv*rii>s beam ^niits a sickly li^'ht, Uncqualto expel the the glooai of night, 'Till kmdred fires unite their friendly rays : Then with communicative powV they glow, A brighter light their cheerful beams bestow, Arountl they shine, an emblem of the day, And banish gloomy darkness lar away. Yes, tho' misanthrophy may plead, 'iliat virtue from the world is fled. And for her loss in cells repine ; To view her still in friendship's foim, To feel her breath my bosom wai ai, And taste her purest sweets, be ever mintf. Grant me, kind Heav*n, (fur thine it is to give The various blessings which our uants relieve,) A constant friend, whom int'resl cannot sway. To smilo perfidious, and his truif- betray, Whose faith unaltcr'd ever shall remain, In sorrow true— in joy without a stain. Then shall my love an equal tribute pay, VEIISKS ON FIIIENDSIIIP. 71 And only end with life's uncertain day. And oh ! thou source from whence my bliss began, Almighty Parent of the human race, Wiiose love divine extends beyond the space, Thy wisdom bounded for the life of man : When all my earthly joys and sorrows o'er, I close my eyes, to view the light no more, While fond affection, willing yet to save, S'lall hang in vain upon my silent grave ; 'Tis thine Great Pow'r, to gild mp way. To regions of eternal day, And friendly spirits in the skies ; And while my breath recedes in night, Let death unveil the purest light, And views Seraphic swell upon my eyes. i.^ Sf- f ■ u Jn imitation of Ossian,^ Ji IIE.Iarkihadcoftlicni^ht had covcrMthcijlaiasof Hois, Ar.ll honor rested on the uiountaln, tlie roaiiug Flood in its fury, dnsli'd from the high rocks. I luid my head on th« grnvc of Mary, And ileepitole on my senses; hail I thou dreum Of the dark midnight hour, hail ! thou strong Image of scenes departed, let mc view 'J'hy ivveet form, in the stream of fancy— . The sound of sorrow came from the hills, The blood of my heart run cold ; and bt-fore mc Stood the ghost of Mary. Her white hand was rai^'J, And Bliainc bent my eyes from her looks. Foran-ci Cave a sting to her keen glance, and her beauty Was departed. « Thy guilty brow is turn'd * When this and the little poem called the Ilnrrx-r, were first written, the author Iiuil lu'vor seen Mr. M'Pherson's sujicrior method of trimslating in {Iw. B«me style—consequently he has cndoavonrcd to insi- late the original by retaining uearlv an niii..! mwnl.Li ol feet in the vciici. A DiaoAM. AsMiyr laid the pale shadow, "and the cold Cl.^fk of cleath, h«» ,.o chiinm for the guilty :-. Vc;l, hear mc, son of the wild cave of the rock. Hard nud cold, shall be the bed of thy youth, ' And sorrow shall ,n«ct thcu in the paths of mirth; To thee, diall tlic green fi.Ids lo.e their verdure, ' And the sweet song of the bird of the n.orning, ' Miall no njore delight thee. By thee th« heart ' That trusted in thy false vows, was dccciv'd ; And th«eye that viewM thee with fend affection, Was herdlof its brioht beams forever. Soft and sweet, would thy soothing word", paint the Bhss of my life, but dece|)tion was in Tliy voice, and folly closed my destruction.- Doath was in the wound, and life and honor On the wings of the dark storm, benjoan'd Themselves, to the rude blast of midnight- I Adiai : could guilt like thine find sweet merry, [ Then should J bear thy sharp sorrows, to the ^ 'iH-oue of the Internal." A heavier blast |I!>M ihc hrown heath ; a lhou:,and spirifs passM M'niisdaik ui„n.. j.;a,}, nn ic. iloaling cLmd ^^i'.n,nu\|-r:vcn^c." iiul ^iary nvus silent: u fl I 71 'JO MM V 1 111 Iln- l»(iic eye ulnmc wiili pity, mid its Ifjir I'VII ihy tlu< .;i!illy. Siulilen I itoitrd— 'ihc inaoa ehuiio on tin? stream, ilic hill was lilcnt. Co Eurin J!^\ lAT l)(>u:il('ous naliire lonnM vim fair. Is [uisl !i (loiil)t— -ycl, LlU'V why, k^itll mjtki" tlu'st' cimrms vour only caiv. That bloom to llulc, ami liyo to die. Or lias iu)t I loav'n one tlioii^lil dcsionM, That niio-ht the passiniv uiomont ch iiiii JShrd its hrjoht hist re on ll Ami l)anish every seKish ai Is there no latent eharni witl le nnnt I, in, nn, That now nnsoiioht neoleetetl hes ; Anil ionnM to oraee, to please, and win, (\>neeartl lK)m view, neoh-ded dies. C^h I yes, a lovely loini like thiiir, Mn-^l i;lo\v with more than moiial lire 'J'lu>;i, hill th;it spark ol" heauly ilii;ic, And u? its nali\e souie-" asj'ire. 70 fo CTIha. * t ^ ('ail irild (h,Ml.'|)ll| oriHf.i(;i|'n| 'i'lin>n.-h bhadcs of sorrow /ithl lis way, :rNii lorr ji OOIII riic (liirki^nM bosom lo illmno ? f^ (lure ;i, /r;o/- wIukso sooiliim. I,nlm, C^m still Uu' ( ''vrr ofllu soul r»ul lIlC lOlloj, SC.lofllMMloJlt, |)t; (;,! 'rise wavos of sorrow cciwc lo roll ? Ill, i'liat.sW/r and lool- Al ap'ovcr diiiK <»n<' ;;• Ihy l<»v('ly li|,s(lKTplJlv »lnc, Or in ihy cyt'-'i iiiu londnl si iislomM to briniy Vrl unmc d KM\»n,o7*rtrrr, wlioso cl 'am can hind. >ri'a.st Kacli ruder |)assi«.ii of die I willini^captiv*' jtm! llic mind, And JnlUmJi care oflilo t(» rest ? Ill Kit' a charm wlmst* wond' J.iko liiiry .sjull rons pow'i' s, am It a I lilliri icarl, 76 TO I i I I' Approach in sad misfortunes hour, And from its wound, extract the dart ? That grace and charm are thine, alone, By Angels to a mortal giv*n ; And each endearment is thy own, That forms a duphcatc of Ileav'n ! —^G^— Co (OOULD fancy's self, invent a name. To speak the bosom-melting flame, That preys upon my heart ; Could I the mournful cause disclose, K'en she the cause of all my woes, Would bear a friendly part. — Such beauty to a mortal face, Such striking dignity and grace, Arc surely seldom giv'n ; The charms that thus, united shine, In lliat nng(>lic face of thine, Must be the gift of heuv'u. It set Tiiee To s| Wljil I'or y( Vet oi Yet on For al My i,e But iiu' Or, bic 'Mid g Well c Wiien Jiiy sn 11 1 If^eeim as nature J,ad design',!, 1 liee, fau-est form of womankind, Array'd in beauty's vest ; To spare her oW inventive pains, ^Mi.Ie one oKrc;.NAL remains, J o ^opy all the rest. i i U. -- Q!©^- J^AUKWELI. my Julia, lonely „„;,, '.";• >■"" ' •^'"".'.' >».v pantin,. lyre,' \ot once again, thy lover aid, Jetonce again, his verse inspire: ;,'"■ f' '■ t" P""'t the parting sc-ne My J.eart that si„ks bene-itir u^\ ' lii.f (• • ,1 "i-neatn Its woe, "lit laint v niarkc fl.« „, i •^ ''"'=* the tear of sorrow /low. 'Mi W'^i > I \% n 80 Co iMisa ^ One m ^4CCEPT, sweet Maid, the Poet's grateful lay, A tribute which the Bard is proud to pay j Nor blame a hand that to its purpose true, Tho* trembling, would aicempt thy praises too :— But ah I the Muse tho' glad her stores to brin^ Accustom'd merii less refiii'd to sia^ Half shrinks, unequ.,,: ro the tempting gtrain, Bevvilder'd in a maze of soft delicious pain ! The simple Poet wliose unheeded lays, Exempt from blame, would scarcely covet praise, By thee led on, would bid his verse aspire, To glow with munbers of Celestial fire, And with the love of Glory mov'd would aim, To court tlifi smile of never-dying Fauie. Fair friend of Science, taught in early years, To love the soil, where virtue's fniit appears. If Heaven have mark'd with sentimental trace, Half thy hcad'i virtuci, iu thy smilin- face, Wh. And di While c Mix wii While V By foes Cold is t That car Nor yjel With all But th Th' incri Behold. I And bids The yo Mi*ste to Whosj h(j THE soldier's GLORY. One raodest look of thy unclouded eyes, Wtuld from the Graces be«r away the prize I WHILE poverty and pain ui.ited grow And cl,eck the joy. which pleasure would bestow Hinle dark surrounding cloud, with shade, of nijlt. M-x w,.h our sunshine, and avert the hV-ht Whde virtue mourns her sad unhappy lo't By foes despi.'d, by seeming friends forgot.- Cold ,s the heart, .nd doubly bound the hand, That can the warm in>nas,ion'd suit withstand. Nor yield redress, where supplications flow. With all the "sad variety of woe." f But the glad Muse, that soars on joyful wing, Th' increabing merit of the age to sing, Behold, the pleasing scene, with sparkling eye Auu bids ike timd Bard, the dazzling mbJ.cUri,. The youthful warrior whose uadaunted ^e^i, Il-ste to the distant foe, he longs t o meet. Whoso hoart expands, when o'er the tented vale, 81 u 92 THE soldier's GLORY. Ui fiiv Britannia spreads her Ensign to the gale ; Whose arin»,in freedom's cause, untaught to yield, Full oft has gain'd the well-disputed field, At friendship's call, can heave the sigh of wo« Or bid the softer tear of pity flow ; Untaught by art, can feel another's grief, Unmov'd by love of praise, can lend relief, Such is our Country's boast, for heav'n design'd, Two virtues chief, to mark the British miod. By those inspir'd her ardent sons obej^ "^'^^lourage to lead, humanity to stoaj/. See where the vet'ran lays his armi aside, Ills Country's glory once, his Country's pride. No more his hand* their wonted task forego. Since smiling peace maintains her reign below; No more the scenes of war his thoughts employ. But glows his heart with pure domestic joy : 'Tis his the stranger's sorrows to redress, And plead the cause of virtue in distress; With sweet consoling pow'r and skill to dry. The tear that trickles from misfortune's e^e-~ To bid the shades of sorrow pass away. And bless the mourner with u brighter day : Held a 1 Liinb?, t THE HAIiPER. Thus, all the toils of war and discord o'er. And Douglas landed on our native shore. His heart that scorn'd the sharpest edge of pain, Now swells and warn-s, to pity's moving strain ; \nere friendship calls, devotes the social hour, Where /jzVj/ claims, directs his ready powV. The lone Hibernian, distant from his Isle, Where nature glows with beauty'* fairest smile. Whose arms no more Britannia's cause maintain,' While blooms the olive on her fertile plain ; To distant lands, by freedom taught to roam. To find the comfort that's denied at home ; His country's friend in Douglas sure to find. Forgets the sorrows he has left behind. Exulting feels the debt, he loves to owe. And fans the grateful flame that bidi his bosom glow \ In imilalion of Ossiaiu >4 ^AW him cro:,s the green fields, his right hand Held a long cane, tiic support of his weak Limb?, ond tiie guide of his falt'ring steps. 1:4 m 1,A lulB '111 ? THE HAIU'EU. Mis (lark e^e tho' tieprlv'd of tlie bri^lit beam, ^Vliose power gilds the cheerful day as it goes, Yet :t .. ;ii'd bent on the charms of the rich lawn : Down his shoulders, on which age sat heavy, Hung his gray hair;— his left hand ht^d his llarp- It was made in ancient times, when the sons Of its Isle were free and happy : Oh ! land Of Heroes departed, 'twas then thy Bards, Could awake its sweet sounds into rapture. He sat on a green bank where the wild rose And the sweet shamrock scented the fresh f^alc, He touch*d the chords of his Harp, and Music, Sweet-sounding Music transpir'd. Soft-stealin-' Tlie notes breath'd peace and rural happiness : Every tumult of the soul was suppress^; And Nature join'd in the mild song : around The flocks seem'd to rejoice while, they libteu'd. He next sung of war,— diicord was on the wire, Nor h the sound of thunder more drcndlul. When it echos in the distant mountains, Than were the martial strains of the nnnstre' :— The Ijud tlaiiij ofaims, and the shrill H umMtt, Rung The He To the When Soft pe Respoi] To the Her gaj His teai Buto! ^\ hen h AnJ the And his f That fiir KuI'devi hi the br Stream'd Ho rose, j While he 'i he sons I'ives in t OfKria v iKXf' 'yilE IIAItPER. fi5 Rung on the ear, like a horriu tempest ;— The Hocks fbiso. ', their green pasture, and fled To the wild rock3. He paus'd,and sweet was the change When he sung of love, the strong afitction, Soft persuasion, and true y sion, it inspires : Responsive echos from afar, answer'd To the chaste notes of rural love; hope with Her gny train 8])orted in tlie air, attunM His tear.wash'd Lyre, and gave life to the sound. / But oh ! whert he srmg of his native Isle, ^Vhen he told his artless tale of the wrong* And the ills ofERIN; his soul kindled, A nd his faithOil harp answer'd to the grief Tiiat fiil'd his sad heart : anger for a while, KuI'd every touch of his bold hand ,-.trembling hi the breeze, complaint followed, till tears, Stream'd from their dark orbs, and checkM his fancy. Ho rose, and the plaintive notes still lingered. While he mov'd, sad and slow to hisharaJet.- * 'i'he sons of Erin were great, and their renown I-ives in the song of the aged; the Bards Of Kriu were many, and sweet were their songe ! ^ F iOafc %- ""^^ n%, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) .*.€p L^/ f/j % 1.0 I.I .25 1.4 M 1.6 — 6' V, ^ /} % A ^ > ^^- Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WIST MAIN STKIIT WH»TIR,N.>. t45tO (7<6) l/J^.^O? '^ ^ -^ 4^ / L^/ f/j &e On reading his Emerald Isle, WEET as the odours of the spicy gale, When morning breezes fan the flow'ry vale. Sweet as the iEolean Harp its music brings, when Zephyrs gently move along the strings, Sweet as the thought that forms the lover's dream. When sportive fancy moulds the lovely theme, Phillips, thy strains a tender joy impart, And with resistless graces win the heart. Or as the exile fated long to roam« Far from the comforts of his native home, Sees with delight, each object once again. That led his childhood on the dewy plain ; Walks with emotion o'er the rising ground. To view each once familiar scene around ;— • So warms the bosom, while thy melting lays^ Revive the memory of departed days ! And while the dazzling subject we (mrcue, A thouiaiid beauties open to c^urvMcvi. '^Vri lie, 'ings, Tings, 'cr's dream, heme, ©DE TO IRELAND. Here from the solitary shade of night, That oasts a doubtful veil upon the sight. Departed saints and patriots for a while Spring into life, and cheer their lonely Isle ; And Heroes mingle with the radiant blnze, That fills surrounding nations with amaze. There fancy bright, attends thy flowVy lay, Where smile eternal spring and blooming May, While fields Elysian like, their fragrance share. And mingling music floats on scented air. Consenting nature, marks the true design, And owns thy wondVous pencil half divine. ST ne, h tin; and, J. a,—— I lays, ue. 0^t to JJuIanU. (J!),H Erin ! Island of my birth, Thou fairest, loveliest spot on earth, Accept iny humble strains : Fain would I sing thy heath brown hills, Thy vcrdnnt fields, thy cooling rills, And wide extended plains. k /. ss ELEGV ON THE •■J I' Oh ! by the blood that fervent flows, When mem'ry tells thy bleeduig woes, By every pulse that warms, With rude assault my throbbing breast, Thy imi^ge deeply there imprest, For ever lives and charms. Sooner may mem'ry die away, And reason's last retreating ray. Forsake my vacant mind ; Than I forget my native land, Or cease to love the patriot band, To Erin's interest kind ! On the Death of Loud Byron. iSrORTH from her inclnnclioly ivy bovvV, \yith deadly nightsliade o'er her tempJes boimd^ The weeping Muse seeks yonder distant tow*r,* To breathe the sad and solitary sound. ♦ The late residence of Lord Byron, in Kngand. 3WS, : woes, breast. 'YRON. les bound. tow*r,* Knganci. DEATH OF LORD BYROX. 89 In evVj note, the keenest sorrow flows. Her kindling fertile fancy can create ; She mourns her own, she mourns a Nation** woes, And bends reluctant to the stroke of fate. Attentive echo,[hcars the plaintive tale. And bears it trembling to each distant shore, Tiie solemn tones, slow sounding on the gale. Proclaim," tU* Immortal BYRON is no more!" Lost is the voice, whose ev'ry note could charm, The crowded City, or the silent grove; Cold is the heart, whose ev'ry thrill could warm, The yielding senses, with the song of love I To form the strength of his amazing thought. Each noble gift of Genius, was design'd ; As if by him, consenting Heav'n had taught, The scope of fancy in the human mind. Yet, let not •veak presumptuous man proclnim, licason, unerring master of the soid ; V)*cn Bvron, |)!e»t with reafion's [mrcs-l /fame, Mandci-'d, m exile from contciKincnl's /loal. I- I T? i»i to ON THE DEATH OF LORD BYRON. Nor let the simple sons of faumble life, Arraign the pow'rthat mark'd their lot so low. Unurg*d by pride, the passions cease their strife, And in reli'»ion*s well formM channel flow. Illustrious Bard ! while Genius o'er thy tomb To mourn her ©iftpring, drops th« pensive tear. While troubled Britain weeps thy early doom, 1 And Grecia's Isles in sable weeds appear : While happier poets with proud rival art, Explore all langnaga^ to express thy praise. Yet deign t* accept a tribute from the heart, An humble mourner's unaffected iays I Long shall thy memory respected live, Plac'd in the records of immortal fame ; To thee shall truth, the meed of science give, And thousands yet unborn, shall love thy nnuie J 11 'RON. 9\ SO low. ' Strife, 3W. omb ive tear, ►om, r: ?e. niiuie I ADDRESS TO THE "^HE pride of Athens, Dian's stately dome, The wealth of Tyre, and strength of ancient Rome; The glory of the Carthaginian bands. And he whose arms subjected foreign lands; Are now no more— they only live in name, And scarce their ruins speak their former fame; Ordain'd to sink, the Sovereign of the skies, Views with contempt the folly of the wise. Touched with his Country's love, the Bard would sing Old Erin's praise, the pride of Britain's king, Attend kind muse, with thy loquacious art, And speak the feelings of the poet's heart. The rustic swain, unrivall'd at the spade, The man of letters, and the blooming maid, The sage?, for tnitii and wisdom far renown'd, And he whose arms thn British conquests crown'd, Art t,hin\a (.firi| h vAud. ' -a I Ml ^ ADDUEtJS TO THE Whose sovVeign baiiu the sninti distress beguil'rf, Shines in thy centre, spreads tttfo' every part. And gways the gentle, and the rustic heart. Nor shall the Bard forget his debt to own, To those whose bounty to the poor is shewn. Whose well directed skill, and weiilth combine. To bless the needy, with the word divine; The pious deed—the labor of their love. Is blest on earth, and on record above. Where lofty trees with clust'ring berries bend, Wlicre pond'rous cliffs their friendly shades extend, Where streams unwearied from their sources flow, Purl down the hills, and bless the land below. Oft have I sat, delighted to behold, Scenes, which description's self, can nc*er unfold. Or, as along the verdant fields I slrav'd. And view'd efach fiow'r that scents the lonely shade, The ruin'd castle's « Ivy raantled" wall, Bending with age, unwilling yet to fall ; The lofty fort, with blooming herbage crown'd, Fam'd in old story, and for ghobts renown'd ; Charm'd with the hiniUciif.c, fant) soar'd on liigb, -4 n beguirrf, part. irt. vn, lewn, nibino. sbcRcI, les extend, I'ces flow, elow, unfold. nely shade, *n'd, on liigli, SA3NT PATHICk's SOCJETY. And sought its sovereign author in the sky. Hail hap|)y scenes, to my remembrance dear, Reflection ne'er shall cease, to bring you near, Tvvas nature's stage, full well she play'd her part. Shone on my eyes, and warmM my youthful heart. From scenes of pleasure, to return no more, The Bard reluctant left his native shore ; But pleasM, at length he reachM Columbia's pride, Where British laws, in British hearts preside: And where old Patrick's venerable age, Receives the homage due his country's sage. Friends of your country, met to wish it joy, Accept the praises of a cottage boy, Whole warmest wishes ever ihall aspire, To him of every patriot wish the sire ; That peace may never from our Isle depart, That truth may reign in every Irish heart. That our old shamrock may unrivail'd shine. And with the thistle and the rose entwine— For you, may wisdom still her aid extend, puide you in life, and guard you at the end ! »t i 04^ m ? f f* i f ' 1^ I A Monody 07i the Death of ^FhERE yonder cliff beskirts the winding shore, My feet had strav'd with pensive steps and slow j lb hear the rising billows madly roar, And echo answering Aoni her vaults belowr. There, while attention marl^*d the passing hour. The plaintive notes of sorrow reachM my eyir j Such as are heard from some lone distant tow'r. Where solitude inspires the rustic's fear. An aged vetVan from the fields of war, To vent his grief, had there retir'd alone. His frame was markM with many a lengthened sciir. And courage in his eve, thro* s(^rrow shone, * These verses were written shortly after the death ofthediitinguished individual whose worth they are meant to record. To those w!)o have not had rite pleasure of an acquaintance with the deceased, they may probably seem too full oi' paneffyric, but I caa assure thp reader, that as I had no object in view but the faithful display of truth the reprosenlaticwi u a well meant, though perhaps imperfect likeness of liia anginal, 95 %,* nding shoro, s and slow \ beIow« ng hour, 1 my e^r ; int tow'r, jar. one, then'd sciir, shone, 'ter the denth orth they are ? not had f>»c leceased, they ic, but I can ct in view but 3ntatio4i u a &cnes3 of liia A MOXODV. "Why tlius so far remote from man," I wid, " Where social converse cheers the pensive hour; " Indulging grief, by thoughts successive led, " Or courti.ig to yoiw heart th' unfriendly powV ?" A rising sigh ills manly soul sup])re8t, Silent he stood, in all the depth of woe : One rolling tear alone his grief exprest, 'Till thus he spoke, with solemn voice and slow. " Wrapt in the darkest shade of silent woe, "The deep recess, where streams the mourner»s tear, " My heart has felt, and own'd the cruel blo>v, "That piercM the heart, than life itself more dear. " Nor thou despise the feelings of my mind, " InspirM by recent loss, they now deplore ;-^ " The noble Tuench, in virtues school refin'd, "And first of men-but now alas, no more ! " Where southern hosts of proud imperious foes, " In vain essay'd to make I3ritannia yield, " Oft has he stood their f.iry to oppose, "And sucll'U the torrent of the crimson field. ! 96 A MOXODY. "Not Gallia'i powVs combin'd, 'vvith all their'aft, ** Could move hi< breast with one unmanly fear j *' Yet pity*s softer scenes couid touch hia hearty * ■ " And from its orb, beguile the ready tear. "Yes honor'd chief, from thy green native plain, *'To where thy duty led thy arms afiir, "'Twas thine, ^vith equal firmness to maintain, ;, " Concord in peace — humanity in war ! " But now rctir'd from fields of hostile gore, " Where Britain'^ Iveroes' ashee mingling blend, " Thy peaceful relics grace that nali\e shore, " Which once thv valour could so well defend. " Long as my heart the vital spark retains, " Long as my hands perform their woated part, " While blood runs warm and quick within my veini, *' Thy memVy never will forsake my heart.'* In their'aft, lanly fear j I hearty ear. re plain, ntain, • rjg blend, ore, I deil-ndl, ns, ited part, lin my veini, heart.'* 9f ©5^ poet's ^lumlier. ^Pf^HEN happiness at first came down, To light the world with friendly ray. To guard mankind from fortune's frown. Throughout his long protracted day. One cheering beam of hope she lent, That seem'd to promise more in number, But ah ! its vigour soon Wits spent, Like dreams, that mock the poet's slumben » Kind Heaven beheld the dying beam Float in loose fragments on the wind, Then bid the faintly quiv'ring flame Glow with a substance more refin'd. One solid form was fram'd above. And stamp'd with loud responding thunder, That bliss no more might empty prove, Or transient, like the poet's slumber. But giMy mortals vainly try. In joys profiuie to find the treasure; In vain to folly's temple fly, And court the fleeting shade of pleasure : i3 :'/ / i r 98 * riv AN ELV.GY. \ Stern death that ha.tes releiitless on, Rends all their ^opes and joys asunder,^ 1 he visionary scene is gone, Kegfetted, like the Pectus Slumber. ^UOLD from its airy source the mountain bre«e. Moans thro' the woods its hollow notes of woe i Bends the long branches of rhe leafles. trees, And hastens niuruiuring to the lake below! Close is the shade, and lanely is the 8pot, Dark is the hour, and dismal all t}ie scene ; One solitary minstrel, half forgot, Remains !o sing the requiem of the green. Is this the first sad solitary dav That rose to view my youthful prospects fled ? And lent h$ soft invigorating raj , To shew a guardian, and a FATiira dead. Oh I yes, the restless pang that filU n.y breast. Nor leaves cue fibre of :ny heart behind ; ' Ai^ elect: Too plainljr tells, that sorrow unrcdrest, Claims a» her own, each motion of my mind. Cold, cold, he lies in death»8 ungracious arms, Who taught my heart to fan the muses flame ; And relish every ardent wish that warms, The >outhfuI fancy with the love of tame ! Full low he lies, who tunM ipy infant voice. The simple numbers of the heart to sing ; And bade that heart, approrcfKe wiser choice. The matchless praise of Ileav'ns eternal King | Nor I alone am loft his loss to weep,-r. For many t bosom on his native plains; Fresh in its inmost core, his .orth shall keep. And sound his dirge, with melancholy strains. There, while afToction mounii^ {he mortal blow, And friendship weeps responsive to her moan; Untaught, the tear of povem shall how. For him, who ever m.\dc its cause hid own. E'en now perhaps in some sequcs^er'd vale, Where blooms thti vin\/>t in :»« .>i<^,u.i. .u^j.. 99 i t ( ! ) 100 AX EPITAPH. VI Koine lioary minstrel tells the plaintive ta!«. How worth and genius, onlv bloom to fade ! ?ut, in a happier clime where virtue thrives. Fresh in the glow of an eternal bloom ; Who peaceful sinks in death, again revives. To soar with triumph, o*er his mortal doom. There oh! thou guardian of my helpless days, A Fatiieh's smile, shall crown thy constant lovej And songs of triumph swell the kindling lays. That echo through the boundless fields above. Yet oft as stoops thy spirit from the sliies. To view our sphere, below the solar beam ; ' Tears, " such as Angels weep," are in thy eyes. For pity, ever was thy darling theme ! *jyi,KKE lies a stranrrer in his lonely tomb, Far from his kindred clay and nati\ e home, To sleep securely till the welcome day, Tliat culls his spirit to resume its clay, Then shall both bouI and body, jo'n in rest, \V'here pain no more, can hurt the peaceful bretit. fade! es, doom. days, istartlovej above. lui; eyes, il bietat. 101 ©H ! yes I remember when blithe on the plain. As fancy directed, I warbled my song. When my heart was a stranger to sorrow and pain. And I sported with innocence all the day long; But oft as I think of the days that have fled me. When the rosy ting'd light of the summer sky led me. Where the pure vestal flowr's of the mountain be^ spread mc, Some pow'r seems to whisper, that life is a dream. And oft as along the lone forest I wander, Where nature is cloth'd in her mantle of trees; Where birds tune their sonnets, or streamlets meander A lonely response to the soft sighing breeze ; The fearj that depress, and the views that elate mc, The scenes that are over, and those that await me. All, all, would conspire of cool reason to cheat me, And silently tell mc that life is a dream. But no : — fond remembrance forever awakens. Sweet thouizhts of tlic clnar crystal hike in my mind* »4 * * ' I i m 1:1 102 rilE minstrel's FAREWtLL, Tlio' now for a far distant region forsaken, It reralls the fair scenes I left siijiling J^ejiind : Anil when the warm vision of pleasure invites me. Or music's sweet touch, witii enchantment deliglus wc. The "Minstrel's farewell,"* on smooth MEtviN.uf, frights me, And tells my quick heart, that 'tis more than a dream. Sweet harp of my country, how still arc thy slumbcn. Thy glory is past, and thy melody fled ; Oh I let me awaken thy soul-breathing numbers, To sing tae last accents the Patriot said : Then haply, some strain as thy wild chords are sighing, The last sad request of the soldier when dying, Shall teach my l(,iic heart, (on its requiem relying.) That life and affection, are moro than a dream. \V'V the plain of Clontarf, whilr (he battle was Jn all thp irrim terrors of carnngc and pain ; •■^g"';;. T'eifut colit'c{i(»:j. ' ' THE ^flNSTRKl/s FAREWELL, 103 And Erin^ brave sons, with their tyrants engaging. For liberty struggled, nor struggled in vain ; A bard, by the foes of bis country surroundld. Sunk down on the gory field, weary and wounded; To the loud cry of conquest, his wild harp resounded. While fate told the victim, that Hrin was free. I' Ve tyrants hh vain," (said the minstrel awaking To all the delight? of his own native song,) " Far, far, from its shed, my glad soul is escaping, ''And the warm tide of melody bears it along: " Your rage can destroy, and your cruelty bind me, " And bear my lone dust where no brother shall find me, " Yet still in the core of their hearts they shall i«i„d me! " When Erin, my own native Erin, is free. " Too long has my coimtry in sil.nt reflection, •' Hi.ng sad o^T her sorrows, or fought with her chain ; I' But now, as if led by a muturl affection, I* The hands of her warriors have freed her again: " Oh I then be the dawn of her liberty glorious, " Her patriots true, and her children victorious, "And 8o shall her sweet harp, unrivall'd harmonious. "Hreath forth the sweet notes of I U soul that is free. « it 104 THE minstrel's FAREWELL* " E'en now tho* distress^, in the dark valley bleeding, " And never to view my brave part'ners again, *' While death's chilly tremoiir to pain is succeeding, " Unalter'd the love of my heart shall remain : "And quick as the flame of my soul is returning, " Where slaves arc at rest, and oppressors are mourn- " Still bright, and more bright, the pure vision ii burning, " Since justice has conquerM, and Erin is free. " Oh ! hail thou blest day ! how serene was thy dawn. ing ? " How fair was the star that preceded thy light ? " No more shall my countrymen helpless and fawning, " Fall down to a stranger, and beg for their right : « But while the clear mirror of victVy shall cheer them, " The foe of their Island shall tremble and fear them, "Nor slavery's fetters shall dare to come near them, "For such is the bliss of the land ihaf; is free. " Sweet soul of my Island I while life is retreating, " Oh I let me awaken thy liveliest thrill ; m 7EhL* valley bleeding, •s again, is succeeding, remain : returning, on are mourn- jure vision ii 1 is free, was thy dawn. hy light? i and fawning, leit' right : y shall cheer nd fear thcra, e near them, free. retreating, 1 • 1 Si THE MINSTREI/S FAREWELL. 105 " rho* quick to their ebb, my last pulses are beatin " Thy music is cheering, is exquisite still ! "And oh ! when the life of thy minstrel is ended, " For thy country alone, be thy soothing notes blended, " N^or breath one sweet lay, by a stranger atten^ded, •"Till valour and concord shall bid thee be free. " Thus, high o'er the field of her birth, the young linnet, "In wild breathing exstacy warbles her song;— " While zephyV in love with the exquisite sonnet, "Bears far on his wings the soft music alon**; " But if by ihfc grasp of a mortal surrounded, " The lovely young warbler looks mule and confounded. And the loud airy songs that in echo resounded, Are hu&h'd, 'till the wings of the minstrel are free." He cpas'd.and each wild chord propitious consented. And sounded njtlodious its holiest strain ; Nor long o ei the slow weeping lute he lamented. Till silent it fell on the moss-covcr'd plain : But the touch of the winds, and the shade that wai fl lyii^S:. 106 AN ELEGY. PlayM o'er the looie strings, a lament for the dying, Whdle mountains and rocks, to the music replying, Re-echo'd in murmurs that Erin was free ! ON THE DEATH OF A LADY, ll/HE plaintive bell s^junds mournful on the enr, And silence rules the melancholy hour ; Lamenting friendship, sheds the pensive tear. And memVy weeps her sympathetic pow'r. Oh ! blest forever be the fond return. The tribute sensibility bestows ; When o*er the virtuous ashts of the urn, She pours the weighty burthen of her woei ! In vain affection's thrill the bosom warms, In vain she paints the lovely HAURIOPS bloom ; She clasps the sinking victim in her arms, But quickly drops it— in an early tomb. AN ELEGY. lOT or the dying, lie replying, ea! 4DY, n the enr, r; tear. ^oei )r S bloom ; Thui some fair flow'r, whose tender l-nvas expand. To catch the morning dew, or summer's light; By some untimely blast, is rudely fann'd. And with'rinj sinks upon the breast of niglit. In life's gay morn, when youth and beauty rare. Graced her fair form, in virtue's school refin'd; *Twas ever hers, t' indulge with constant care, The more attractive graces of the miad. As life advanc'd, increasing virtue still. With stronger force niaintain'd its sovereign pow'r ; Iropell'd each thought that sway'd her yielding will, And charm'd the glad, and checr'd the pensive hour. But He, whose wisdom rules the world hclow, To sudden death, His much-lov'd charge oonsign'd ; ResignM, she felt the sharp resistless blow, And left each care and pain oHife behind. The tender innint, or tlia smiling boy, hi vain would deprecate the stern decree? ; Nor (l(:eting earth could yield a spinlc of joy. y> che^>r the eou!, that hasttMVM to be frcu». i ' f J IT. t ' i, . 'U . I f . ^^ AN EPITAPH. Yet hope, whose beams can pierce the darkest shade, Points to her bh'ssful mansion in the skies, Where pain and sorrow shall no more invade. And Angel hands, confer the lasting prize I • ^a^ERE rest the peaceful aslies of the dead. Awhile the victim of the lonely tomb ; Ashes, whose angel flame, triumphant fled. To realms, of life, and never fading bloom. Tho' pain and sorrow with resistless pow*r, Clung to her heart, and "mark'd her as their own," Tho* darkest shades o*ercast her morning hour. And hid the rose of beauty, scarcely blown ; Yet, like the silent moon whose silver beam, Grows dark, overtaken by the sunny ray ; She gave one last, and faintly quiv'ring gleam, Then, lost her splendour in the source of day ! 109 Mavs's Cgarma. ir V/HERE Mispeck's stream slow murmur- ing flows, Meand'ring in the silent shade, A Youth I heard bewail his woes. And mourn in anguish for a Maid : Far distant from the bustling throng, With head reclined, and folded arms ; He rang'd the limpid stream along, V^hile thus he sung, of Mary's charms : " When fancy on the wings of love " Upborne, explores Columbia o'er, " Around she soars, beneath, above, " And scans the Fair, from shore to shore : " One form alone can stop her flight, '' That/orm my yeilding bosom warms; " And ravish'd at tlie dazzling sight, " Iowa the force of Mary's charms. '^ What heart of man tlio' e'er so cold, ** Can bear the blaze oi' Marv\s eve ? •i r ,'. 1 I' ! ¥ : L i'l 110 MARy'9 CHARMS. " EsteemM beyond the worth of gold, " Before, her, weeping lovers lie : " While 1 unheeded still sustain, <' Resistless love's most rude alarms ; " The greatest smart, the keenest pain, ** And all, for cruel Mary's charms. " Oh ! could I with Miltonian pow'r, ^* Still dictate the unerrinff line : " For her I'd spend each pleasing hour, " Might that conduce to make her mine : " In hopes, with sweet persuasive strain, " To win her to my eager arms ; — " To cure the smart, to ease the pain, " The sad eifects of Mary's charms. « But all ! the feeble effort fiiils, " Nor can I ever speak my mind : *' Unheeded I must still bewail " The f: lithloss heart of woman-kind : *' Yet ere I cease my griefs to tell, " One wish my yeiidlng bosom warms :" Then, softly brealhinnf. "Love farewell,'* He bid adieu .o M: ny's charms. Vi TO A rniKND. Ill The wind sigh'd hollow in the trees, Responsive to the mournful song ; And many a sprite was in the breeze, As slow it niov'd the waves along : The maniac on the margin stood. His mind revolving sudden harms ;— He plung'd beneath the gloomy flood, No more to gaze on Mary's charms! €o a ffvitna, ox II rs DEPARTURE FOR ENGLAND. i^LL hail ! ye dark advancing shades, That veil the world in silent night ; Blest is your gloom, when grief pervades, The heart and eyes, t!iat shun the light : For ah ! from every object bright. Lonely and sad, I turn away ; W;iilc j,ccnes that once codld yield delight. In vain their transient joys display : Ah ! why does friendship with her charms, Beguil* the soul with hope of re«t ? I lii 'H ii ■ i. .^,jtm 1/ Hi If I'M II ^^^ TO A FRIEND. ]uvite us to her eager arms. When fate can snatch us from her breast j Or why docs hope with ardent ^est. The shade of fricnJohip still pursrie ? And seek in every cordial guest, A dream so Heeting, to renew. Oft as I've felt the painful smart, That kindred hearts are doom'd to kno-v j When fate relentless bids them part, A Ion*; Irng absence to forgo : Though tf(d I've niourn'd in accents slow. That UHf ur ." sheds so pure a flame ; To light th.j soul, thro' pain and woe. Delighted with an empt^ name. But ah ! forgive the hasty strain- Full many a day I've found in yow, That friendship is n trcasur'd gain, A pleasui'c and a profit too : To these, awhile we hid adieu. Stern duty calls thee far away-^ Thy flame, affection, w« renew, And wait with hope, another d»y. 0'< TO SEI^SIBJLITY- Farewell, and when in Britain's Isle, Or cradled on the stormy wave; Far from a parent's aid and smile, The smile which fond affection gave : Oh I then in city or in cave, In all life's mazes bear along, Thro' joy, thro' sorrow— to the grave. The mem'ry of the child of song 1 JpLEASING, painful, tender, thing, Ever, ever, on the winrr; feent to cheer us from above, Triend of pity, soul of love,— Ptmse awhile, and let me trnce, The well-fonu'd beauties of thy face. Now, I sec the lily's pale, O'er thy wand'ring looks })revail— Now, the roses scarlet dye. O'er thy checks, like streamers flj ;— 113 1 '.'- w i \u TO SENSIBILITY. All at once, the tints retire, Eyes of dew, and lips of fire I Ardent now, T see thee stop, On the nionntiilns rushy top ; Where the linilii moor-fowl h'es. And die cloud's l)hie-sl>adovv flies; See Uiee, from the rising ground, 'View the hrnely vales around. Touch 'd to view the scenes of woe, Now thy nadv torrents How; Ajid thy mildly shhiing eye, Beams the splendour of die skv; When the warm refreshing rain, W^ets the bosom of the plain* Rut thy gentle moving art, Softly stealing on die heart, With an unresistinij swav. Thro' the bosom wins its way ; Chases every ruder theme, Like die lovers evening dream. ilW TO SENSIBILITY. Warm to every thrill of joy, Nought tliy pleasures can destroy ; While thy grief, at every vein, Strikes with more exalted pain ; And the milder tides of woe, Soothe the heart they overflow. E*en the hero owns thy pow'r, In the battle's dreadful hour ; While he checks the rising pain, For a fj'iend or brother slain ; And resists theo, /)ohtiniht uf mora ! isa €i)t m^ptv of tijt mooti. ** Ficik mevunerit nosjocarifahiilii. ^^WAS in the cheerful month of June, When nature smiles in fullest bloom. When sporting school-boys hard at play, Enjoy tiie sunshine o^ the day ; A Bard, with village orders sent, Alone to bear his message went, W^iethcr to country shop, or mill, The muse has not vouchsaf'd to tell. It was the hour when t.hades are seen, Extend tlieir length along the i,'reen; The distant wood with music rung, The milk maid at her labor sun:' To aid her toil, the careOil swain, * It was not nntd long after this poem was written, that 1 j)cr(?tMved some of iho circumstancea bore a distant rebunblanrv to Burn:.' iniu.itabL' vision." THE TAPKU or TlIK WOOD. Convt7'tl her milk along the plain, VVhispVing, what oft he'd told before. His heart a heavier burden bore : And still attempting to unfold. What nature baffled ere 'twas told. Upon a grassy hillock, made Beneath a hir-Ii's spreading shade, An aged pair, reclining told. Full many a tale of days of old ; When truth prcvailM, and crimes were small. And simple manners gracM the hall. Where now, disguise and art preside, And pamperM sloth, and selfish prido. Returnini^- homeward from his toil, 1ie plonghnian trod the new turn*d soil. And briskly wliistling on his way, r^eft care to meet another day, And all the scene was blithe and gny. All but the Bard .--oppress'd with pain, i='rom whicli f;e sought relief in vain, Hcmembrance snd, with wonted eaie, Hecall'd tho ihndes of happier day*;; m J ^■-hi-+i- J fi '■** 124. THE TAPER OF THE WOOD, When on the high unculturM hill. Or at the clear refreshing rill. Or in the thicket's close-woven shade, Stranger to pain and grief he stray'd: When youth's gay hour, its pleasures lenft, Too oft in folly's cause luis-spent— And as he view'd the prospect o'er, A thousand pangs his bosom tore ; " Oh ! hours of bliss forever past, "Oh ! joys too pleasing long to last, " Ye sweets of life's fair morn," he'^said, " Scarce tasted, when forever fled, " Oft do I mourn, in darkest shade, " The vacancy your flight has made; " And lonely in the silent dell, *' To echo, sad my sorrows tell." Thus thought indulg'd, begettin^j^ thought, The hour and messa;;?, he forgot. Now, had bright Phabus from the throne of Jay. Beam'd on the western hills, a parting ray; Hush'd was each sound, save where the reiuless breeza Wav'd the extended branches of the trees, me of Jay, ;cless brseza TlIK TAPE 11 OF TH^ WOOD. 13^ Night from the east, resumM her stilly reign. And shades on shades, hung heavy on the plaiti : Thus in the dungeons of some ancient towV, Tlie gloomy cell, where midnight loves to lovv'r, The' real each object, so obscur'd the scene, Nor clay iotmW floor, nor vaulted roof is seen: So grand in darkness, quick advanc'd the night, And not a star, displayed its friendly light. Thro* a thick grove, in which his passage lay, A narrow winding footpath, mark'd the way, There while he walk'd, revolving in his mind, The pleasing prospects he had left behind. The gathering clouds, assum'd a darker shade. And thro' the wood's remotest wilds he streyU In vain he call'd, each circumstance conspir'd T increase his pain, for now to rest retir'd, The distant villagers, securely lay, 'TwW with the strong exertions of the day, Nor wish, nor call, could rouse tliem from the be .»,. THK TAI'KR OF TUL WOOD. 12^ *' Too long deluded with a vain pursuit, *' I've heard the breathings of the iEolean kite, " And fondly thought, the softly soothing strain, " With wond'rous pow'r, could hlunt the edge of pain • " But now, experience to the op'niug niinil, "By thought nujturc, and nature's lore refiuM, "Has taught this truth, winch lolly fears to own, The 2)ocl^s labour ^ in contempt is ffi-own : — " •'Tis madly vain,'" thus sordid millions cry, *' ' To fan the fire, that's kindled in the sky ; *• To happier scenes, in busy life retire, " These please the heart, and bring a useful hire, •' Nor ever madly, lean to folly's side, " When int'rest, and desire, the heart divide ,* " Or, do you long for an illustrious name, " Die, and we'll place you on the list oi tame." * lie started at tlie thought, and turnuig routul, He heard the echo of a distant soinul ; Hope S[)runs, hut yielded soon to liuiiJ fiar, J or well he know, no mortal haunt, was near, Ai when tliu huutr.niaii's horn rc^ouuth, >*''«*'n^ tijkj mounh)iu\ iia.'vy ^'lo'^ndi; Ci when llu; lu tic':i chtviii;! uur^'i 12S Tin. 'iAi'i:i( oi- iiiK vvd (>i-». I'oiiir Swi'Il.H in tfu» valley, clciir and si. So rung the uoiM%— he paiKs'd to Uunr And bolt cr music ktriit\k hi^i eai Siith as the Macedonian chicr Alternate nil'd with joy and grief; Or «uch as Pluto's ho soni wann'd, When by a njorial n:instrel eiiaraiM, He yielded up the lovely pri/o, \or onca the hold request Ucuics. Ationtive (\\M, he ga/.'d to Whence came the sec. vvond'rous harmony And thro' the thick' lin'' "floom of niiilij lichcld a distant ^rnnm*ring li-ht 'i'hat And (injckly njov'd ulon;; the ground, cast u circlnj;; boani aronnd. 'Till ut H distance fu'd it stood, The ^flowing Taper ol' the Wood ! Willi re^ohiiion now inspir'd, And Willi the [o\ c. of music Jir\L lie lel'i 111 c cuul lucicment cove, 'o vlow the mcicor vf tiio grove Atul cantioM>lv y iii'pro.i;'hint> taji .<•'"$ i t'.M'i.jin buildi.i^; lillUfi, Uk C}? TriK TAfM'TT OF Til I! WOOII. ceen seen ] oor Such as iipoM th^ ndjncent Or in tli« wood was ncvf Witli tiniitJ rap lie toi .I'd the d Which mortal ne'<- Imd toiichM before, Tiie starting looi the Hiilt'rinj^ breast, Alike hit; awe and Tear confeat lint when the door, on cithrr ,idc. ( With self-taniiht swin<' extended wide. To paint the scene, e'en Cancy laiii And Marni des^eription nought avails — Bu^htly benm'd the 8pacions hall, Splendid lamps adorn'd the wall ; Along th' extended uislc were seen, Flowers and fchrnbs of ever green, Whose Bnudls and tints lull well display'dj The tenants of a liappier nhad*; ivcniote from nuni, in foreign lands, And nonriili'd by the muhCi hand:.. There too, in beacjtooiis senlj)tnre drcet, A iMurcury displayM his crest, On hinj, sonic pow'r his skill had Iry'd^ JBut life and enly Hie dcnv*d • 120 1 % iw Tin: TAiMCK OF Tii;: wood. i ' [lire ssi.i IM Serene, tii' unconscious f;- In char;>)9 uiajnificGntiy tnilj. Advancing sottiy, he surve^'U Each object strange, wiicn lo ! a ir.aiJ, Approricliing slow, inajc;,tic baiJ : *'riail stranger, to our )uansiou hail, ** Sore hnrrasi'J hy the stormy gale, " To tht'c on.- fViciitlbhip we bestow, "Be cahn, nor ilri'aa in us a foe !" Tiuis said, she kinJIy reJchM Jjcr hand, A surety of the social band ; Xlicn thrr/ th.e inansion lad the way Softly sniiiiii«j, sweetly gay. Thro' all the dome, a lovely band, Obedient, waited her connnand; Some eareiul fanii'd around her head, ()t!)ers, a spacious table spread, Somo trim the lamps, and i lend the Cwe, And now fidvance, and now rciire :— Tull wh> her iigurc, in htjr air The -races ahoac divinely Lnt j or syn);nelry exact pwaitfiiij ; fii- / fl- THI-'TAPKK OF THF WOOD. Anil robM In nature's loveliest ve^U She ;ook''(l, the smil'd, at evVy view, niie 'S) » e, [rule, m nature's re, lief J ind, lays, cast, Than swellM the heart — thcu glowM the k:iidiing fij d. So sweet the sound, so tlelicate the strain. The muse alone can tell, niv pow*r is vain. Entranc'd he sat— a load and quicker sound ThrillM in the soften'd air, — he ga::'d around, The birds new-wak'ning, hail'd th* approaching d nvn, And near him, lay a well remember' d lawn ; Upon a grassy bank, alone he stood, And gone, the lovely TArrii of thk Wood ! Zi^- Oh I Fortune, thou iivt luiril iinieeil, Thou riuik'st the wretch's bosom bbed, And smart at cv'i y })oro : To-day, a splciulld prospect yhows, The brilliant colours of the rose, The next, the scene is o'er. r\-\\ Oft have I felt my wand'riog lieart^ To joy's quiclv-l)oun(hng motion iitart. And hail its transient ray \ f I'; [yre, 4ij [J m 13G THE lover's leap. But while the sporting beam I vlew'd, The bliss, the pleasiue, I piirsu'd. Soon vunish'd far away ! From thee, no longer shall I claim, Contentment, competence, or gain. The blessinjTs of an hour ; }3etter t' address my fervent prayV, To Ilim tvho dissipates despair. With aa Almighty pow*r. No more to reason's dictates blind. No more to folly's smile incliifd, I prize the fleeting show ; Since passion's rude iind madd'ning pain. With disappointment in its train, Is all thou canst bestow I /^/HERE shall a v/ou^-ded lover %, Where in oblivioirs covert lie, * For a (If^scription of the pluce here allutleJ lo, see Addison's iS^/uctator, Vol. 3, Num. 'Jo3. THE LOVKE S LF.AI\ 1ST w'd, n, There to indulge tlie plaintive sigli? And falling tear ; Unheard, unseen, by mortal eye, Or mortal car ? When first I view'd Matilda o'er, With all the wainith of love, I swore 'Tvvas Venus from the Cyprian shore, To ffain mv heart. My head was sick, my heart was sore, With Cupid's dart. gpain. Display 'd from her exalted crown, Twice twenty curls of lovely brown, With careless twist hung dangling down, And glossy shade. Which many a Bachelor had won, From many a maid. V, ule J lo, see Th' attractive graces of her mind, By Education well refin'd, \A'ithoul the aid of charms could bind. The vieldinfi yeiiGC ; h4 M^ 1" 1, ) Tiic siren all t]>ose di::niis conibin'cl. At my cxpenoe ; For tlio' with diarins so svvcrt siie smil'J, ^et, when iiiy heart was al! i^-v.-iirj, Ouribrincrlove, a^'je,t"she.tvlU ei , ,. ^^'^^i t^i'-H alas I ^he left me peiiMve, woiuj'rino. wild, Tcil mc, ye learii'd, wlio kiion- the way, * To realms remote beyojid the sea, AVhere Lucate'/high promontons ^. , , Invades the skies : Or would you kiiulJy pilot lae, To where it h'es. There Sappho closM a I:R> of finuc, And maijy a tender-hcaried cLujie,' Quoiieh'd in the waves below, the' (lime " <^^''Jil-i^lac'diove; VV.;,ii vond'T tf:e-, iff the sa^,)e, I ' ' , U- . . ', 1 ? r^ Its Or ODK TO SLEEP. IJD Should iortune kindly hear my call, 'Twill ease my heavy heart of all Its heavy wrongs — its cruel thrall,' Its pain and woes ; Or should I perish in the fall, My grief shall close ! — @Q?o— 9ln Sht to ^Itep. /ESCEXD O Sleep, and on thy silken wing, A fond cessation from my sorrows brinn^, Drive far away, each passion that alarms. And rock me, rock me, gently in thy arms : Expel each twinkling beam of busy day, And drive my wakeful themes, far, far away. But bid the softer iicencs of fancy rise, Paint fairer worlds, and more exalted skies, "Where happier beings, free and unconfin'd. Range o*er the fiowVy hills, or sport along the wind. Smooth cradled on thy lap, each active powV, Obey*i thy will, and hails thy silent hour, 1 uo ODi: TO SLF.KP. R! k w '.3 Sinks into silence, at tliy slow commaiul, Antl owns the skill of thy persuasive hand : Content the vital spirit to retain, And swell the triumphs of thy shimbVing reign. Oh ! bid the warm enrrptur'd \ ision spread, Its sweet enoliantments round my heart, my head ; Blest be my dreams, and may they fondly rove On some remember'd object that I love ! 'Till the bright morning's fairest light .Iiall rise, And spread its cheerful beams before mv eyes. Lead me to some setiuester'd shaded spot, Haunt of my childhood, now almost for-ot— AVheru calm and silent, by the ^v!lisp'ring ^troim, ' Life like an hour, that hour shall seem a dream ; And soft and easy bid the moments pass, Like the pure stream that bubbles in the grass : There, as eacli passion, weak and weaker still, Unites its current with the flowing rill, Each limb and nerve, in sweet repose shall rc=t, And the soft bands, lie light upon my breast. Thy cordial, sleep, dispels oiu* evening carei, And for its morning ta-k, the mind prepare.- ; f ^ y TO rUE EVENIXa STAR. lil id: J reign. eaJ, my head ; ' rove !! rise, eves. t, )t— fctrt'im, Ircum ; grass : II reef, ast. ei. ei i Revives the mein'ry, clears the costive brain, Tiie spring ofhealth, the antidote of pain ; But yet thy powV, no comfort can impart, Where vice enslaves, and guilt corrodes the heart, There thy lov'd shades, no slielt'ring scenes adorn, Thy pillow restless, and thy bed a thorn : And liive the birds of night, thy dreams display, Tiie gloomy forms that shun the face of dav. Oh ! may my days glide on with welcome pace, And my glad nights, be spent in thy embrace ; Till thus descending to the drowsy tomb ; My dreams of bliss, shall cheer th' impending gloom. Come welcome sleep, in all thy spreading charms, .*.nd rock me, rock me, gently in thy arms ! ^ ! U)V lovt'ly star of the western skv, First in the train of even, I view tiiy silent beam on htoh, Tlic watch tow'r liLrht nl' I l.i.iv'M I 112 To THE JiVENlMG STAll, Ml Far, far, I mark thy glinim'riiig ray. In the wide expanse descending ; And no kind hght, to cheer thy way, Its kindred fire is blending. And pale as gleams thy open face. In the Moon's pale light declining ; The world, thro' far extended space, Admires how fair thy shining. Now on the smooth and glassy deep, That rests without noise or motion ; Now on the woodland flow'rs that weep, The Sun o'er the distant ocean. Now o'er the rising mountain's top. Where grows die heath, long and hoary, O let my sonnet, court thee to stop, To shine 'mid the worltls of glory ! r|^ A thousand fires thro' darkness creep, In the dark blue vault is dioir mansion j Their beams are mingling hi the deep. And cheering the wide expansion. m •lO rilK ISVENING STAIt. 113 Sl.iMe on, sweet beam of the twil^I.t shme, 1 he dew drop is on the wilW: l'';r .sweet is the ho„r 'till tho„ decline. 1 o lave thy breast in the billow. Here on the lonely fudin-j ^rccn Where murnun-s the coolinj, fountain. 1 1 e .Shepherd with his flocks is .seen, ilmtpass'd the day on the mountain: And here, where the busy circle trod. As duyn, its pride was glowing ; ^''■'"'■^ disfnbs the peuccfnl sod. iiul the hara)less catlle lowing, Tlj..umo.Iest orb ofthe night, farewell; O ll.y bean, y„„ «,„ ;, e„<.r„acl„n.. A,«i's p,-i,l. J'l.c«.vvi„s.th«..,add'uin. steel on either si,l'p. Rc5poM,ive to the .fokc, the woods resound ' And the tall tree, cou.cs tumbling ,o the ground ' Now on the bough. th8op-„ing buds appear. ■ And tell the coming blossom ofthejear; '&ap'd fr,m the winter's cold, tl«: active' bees. Soar glad in air, slow humming to the breeze ' The youthful lamb, upon their pasture gay. Skil-ncar their dam's, and iunoccntlvpluy L Uorne on the soft refreshing jjale of spring. ■J Uc linaets warble, and the thrushes sing. The stindy ploughman, hears the artless noise And « histles loud, responsive to their joys. But chief, the soft and n.ildly blushing r»y, il-at ushers i. the cheerful month o(May Demands the song, the museattempt. the theme. And waves her pinion on then-sing beam I See. where the pearly dew-drops brightly glow lofml the /low',.., hat in the .alley grow; '■'''"' '"'"^''"^ diamonds, in the hcrbugo hia.'e V~h< as the Smul,,,t,i;,l, .■,,,„ „uh hi. nj.. ■^■J 'luk the .lately m.npoKo;,il,clid,l, 115 « :f u H A 1 16 KURAL LIFE. i\ ^-, »l II ' The meadow's bland, their scented burden yield. And the fair damsel round its branches ties, Tiie clust'ring flovv'rs, and many a bunch supplies, *Till allbespangl'd with the flowerets fair, It bends, the beauteous wonder of the air ! Or if thro' summer's groves, and summer's bow'rs. Made green, by vernal soft descendujg show'rs ; Sweet fancy roves, hov/ fair the scenes she views, ;\Vhile every change the blooming bight renews : White, yellow, red, and all the various tints, That na neon her grassy carpet prints; In rich luxuriance, meet the gazer's eye, Send up their odours and in beauty vie. Down the still lake, where pebbles strew the way, The bulrush nods, the reedy blossoms pluy, The spotted fiahes, leap in scaly pride. And move the crystal waves from side to side. Along the river's side, the mower blithe, Bathes in the frn.^rant gras^ his shining scythe, Tho bending Iicrbagc to his wenpfui yicUli, And nature's JKiivest lies upon tlvj fiolds. I'lcnn iiimiy a h«nd thf. swath* mo tu-i-i'd Bit^uir.^^ And on^v '';;•*!!'>, ii uovti's ail ih-j ^nauui ; nUJlAL LIFE. IIT (^uick thro' the green, the fanning zephyr flies, And rai&M in heaps the " lovely ruin" lies ! Thus, spent the day, beneath some hawthorn's shade. The forward youth, and half reluctant maid, In ev'n's still hour, the dusky moments pass, And talk of love and labor, on the grass. Some rival, jealous of his comrade's lot, # With panting bosom, lurks behind the spot ; Seems as by chance, the lonely pair to spy. And careless whistles, as he passes by. Next, o'er the land , is spread the rip'ning corn, That bends in ridges to the gale of morn ; Brisk to their task, advance the reaper bands, The temper'd sickles arm their better hands — Full many a comic tale, their talk engage. How Lucy weeps her youth, and Anne, her age- Each couple's match'd, and every pair is fix'd Who married last, and who shall marry next — Thus while on Village, politics they joke, The mellow harvest sinks beneath their stroke. But the same blast, that dries the yellow slipuvf High in their station blasts the spreading leaves ; The grateful sap, forgets aloft to Jlow, ,> ) ' 118 nURAL LfFE. Kscals its juicy streams, and sinks below. Haply, some rubtic bard, beholds the scene, And chants the requiem of the fading green ; Bciiolds the sickly beam, supplant the shade, And wond'ring thinks, bow summer's blpom to fado, A'ext, barren winter, claims the simple strain. And all the plonsures of its hoarv rei'>n. The cheerful circle, and the social host, The City's M^onder and the Country's boast. Far in the land that blooms forever green, The ancient father and his group are seen ; The supper ended, and the blessing giv*n, That craves the btill continu'd care of Heav'n ; Some talc of other times, is gravely told, Of Maids that lov\l, and Knights thi\t foug/it of old i Of Erin's former wealth, anil spacious halls, -'" ' And Tara's fame,— sad Tara's ruin'd walb— The youthful auditors, amaz'd admire. How strange the themes, related by their sire, And tlio' some ills, their quiet may invade, AMdmi>: their sunshine, with a passing shade, Yet bless'd with peace, supply'd with healthy cheer, 'J'hey spend the rolling seasons oi" the year ! liE. Few ( Thro' Each With Its gv Wliei A ririi Warr Whei 'ilie ( Andj W'hei ConY( Wcll- Aiul^ Whei And ,' 111 en .'Viid sr^e IMn^. 149 ^ 4.^EAR CiiLOE, liear tlie strain I sinrr. Few deeds are done without a llingk— Tiiro' all the world its vvortli extends, llach Jiioinenl put to vai-ioiis ends : ^/' With yonr kind leave, I'll tell its use,, lis great convenien(||, and— abuse. *' When bullies tjimrrel in a fair,^ A ring is form' tl, to see the pair— Warn'd by tiie noisv tino-liuo- bell. Where Merchants stand, tlieir wares to sell, p 'ilie Cits advance, by two and three, I Am] farm a riifg^ tlie goods to see: — When music's sweet cnliv'ningsoinKl, Convenes tlie spriglitly rustics round, I Weli-pleaiiM they view their ueighborsprance; And/orm a ring^ around the dance. When Circus Jockeys, ])ly the ladi, I And shew their feats, for j)ublic ca.li, la crowds, the curious oazcrs m\ And fijrni a ring tu see the show : ;l b I'JO TllF. RACE HOUSE AND THK POET, u r 5 h I" / \ Or when to close tlie law, Jack ketcli Lavs hold of some devoted wretch. In droves the pitying public fly, Am] foiin aring^ to see him die. Life to preserve, and cherish health, The brood of want, and sons of wealth, The great, the snu;ll, die white, the sable, AW form a rifig, around the table. — Haste then sweet maid, no longer tarr}*, We'll find a xved(Ii?ig ring, and — marry — Then with discretion let us use it, Admire its virtues, nor abuse it. CIjc Matt %m&t aiiti tijc iUo^tj J FAliLE, ©NCE on a time, how loni^ airo. The Muse has not vouchsafed to show, Whether it was in Goldsmith's days, Or when old Homer wore the bays It matters not, if 1 declare, To POET, etcli 1th, vcaitli, tl>e sable, r tany, -inan-y — f ^)Otti lys THE RACE HORSE AI?JD THE POET. 151 The subject as it reach VI my ear, — Once on a time, half blind with writings And half bewildered with inditing, A Poet, who for years had sung. Unfriended by the heartless throngs Across a valley bent his way, To shun the sunshine of tlie day. It chancM, in that luxuriant shade^ A racer cropt the flow'ry blade, A racer lie, of purest breed, Well fed upon the choicest feed. His tail was long, his hair was sleek. His waist was small, his breast was deep ; He view' d the Bard with animation, And thi.3 beojan tlie com ersation : — " Good morning neighbour, why so shy ? " In haughty mood you pass me by ; " 'Tis strange, — ^you cannot have forgot, '' How much alike, in life, our lot ; " How gifted with the self-same flame, " Our labour and our end the same; " 'Tis surely some unkind sensation, " Tliat makes vou spurn our ne^'^r relation : 'I I / T J V, 152 THE RACJi: HORSE AXD THE POET. " For tho' your garret's airy height, *' May serve to wliet the appetite, ** ra sooner least me in a stable, " Than muse above an empty table.*' The poet lialted to attend,' The logic of his nimble friend, Tlie hairy Orator he view'd. And thought his accent somewliat rude, ; Then, bid him with precision state it. How, and how near, they came related,- Nor lofty he, to liold dispute, K'en with a well-instructed brute : Thus far premised, the horse began, To trace his kindred to the man. " Our Patrons, sir, are ever kind, And bear our merit in their mind, Still treat us with a kind regard,'* '' But I have none," replied the liard, A little vex'd, that here at least, He'd no advantage o'er the beast. ■ The horse resum'd, '' the same our use, " The gaphig public to lunuse ; '' To gallop oif' ihro' thick ftud thin, / OET. rude, it, aled, — i. a, use. THE RACE HOUSE AND THE POET. 153 " And thus the < Ladies Purse' to win." The Poet said, the firstt was true. For crotvds adnjire what Poets do ; But own'd, the next, with him was worse, He ne'er had gain'd a Ladijs Purse. The next, and not the sliglitest claim, Related to their love of fame ; And while the racer swore he lik'd it, The rhymer said he'd not reject it. But wonder'd tho' he still belield it, Tliat foois and Critics still withheld it. The beast rejoin'd, " with motion fleet, " You move your hands, and I my feet, " The odds is this, my grassy caper ** Is more at large than your's on paper : ** Thus, must you see my statement's true, " And own me near akin to you. " Now, for the troubles of our station, " Like ev'ry other in the Nation, <* You, doubtlessj, weep by turns your lot, <• And I bemoan a rugged trot, *" V/hcn subject to a miser's reins, ** Who ill rewards me for my pains j J.Vl' TJii; iiwi: iion.si: and tjie roiyr. ♦* And still it j^roves my greatest sorrow, ** That men so much are prone to oonmv:* The other shook his lieaci and granted. Abroad or home, he sometimes wanteiJ ; lie said that men were always known. To deal in trifles not their own ; They l)orr(nv\l hh sage observations, And never own'd their obligations ! The horse continuM, " mark Iicw rude, " And how eonfhi'd their gratitude ; *' For after all my toil and pains, *' And airy courses on the plains, " When health is gone, and hope is [last, '' I'm left to die alone at last: '* Tins, Sir, upon my life is true,— - *' I Fow goes die world, 'tween dc>al h and you ? "' With Poets it is nmch the sam*^,'' HeturnM tlic drooping son of fame ; " M'cll," said die beast, "since now 1 know it, «* I'll ne'ei- claim kindred with a Poet." '' i Hit alter death," die bard replied, * ^* I've an advanlage on my side, iorrow, iintcd ; OWl], lis, I rude, A MON'ODV. I.i.j *• s past, and you? y > [ I^ no wit, )ct." '' While you poor brute, shall lie neglertcd, ** My iianio.ind works, shall stand rcspcctccr.'* ON Tiii: DKATir or wiluam falconkk, AUTilOK or TilE "SlUrwUKCIv." it HOU Muse of sorrow, by whose weeping jtrahi, The flowing tear of pity is bcguirj, Come, and in pensive melanclioly pain, Lament the fate of thine Immortal ciiild. And yon, ye few, whoso hearts, attun'd to woe, Swell to the plaintive soul-subdiiing long, Approach, willi sorrow's sympathetic glow, lndul<;c the fceiiuij, and the theme prolong', Strike the snd harp,— 'tis I'Ar.C'OMiU ihitt chim, J he stnrtinj tear, tiic soliiary nuniij, ll I .-»»;> t 156 A MONODV. Whose Hoble soul, unub'J to selfl^li aims, Could make another' ti sonows, all its own. r I % It M t llii) ::■ ^^■ll ' ■ w i ( H A k ^^^Hfl IM !k ^^^^■M K'i ■1 II Yc foaming surges, from your stormy bed. Direct your course to India's distant shore; You now may roll tremendous o'er the head. That lost in death, shall feel your force no more. I No Mother*s cry, no sadly-soanding bell. With due regard compos'd his clay to sleep ; But furious billows roar'd their anr^M-y knell, O'er all the troubled surface of the deep ! — But vain the wish his virtues to disclose, Nor friendly Muse, nor pity's softest lays, Can bid the trembling verse aspire for tiio.se, Whose genius only can express their prai;,e. Yet, to lament the Minstrel of the wave, Shall Genius weeping to the sj.ut rcjuir, ^^■|KM•e youth and merit found an early -rave, And iiii^ her jad and sweetest uujultLi.- thwc! ro part for a jBinU- ;^ ES, lot me tear iwyself away, Tho' love forbiih my feet to rove ; \nd wait with hope the dawn of day, To light me to tlie maid I love ! iOi Tliat smile so sweet, that look so fond, .Shall cheer mo thro' the long long night; -r«d fancy with her lairy wand, Fill my whole heart with chaste delight. Beauty and youth would plead in vain, For 8ti!l to love and honor true, Thy iujage onlj/, shall renuiin, For ev'ry scene is full of vow. Farewell my h)ve,--i)ass on ye hours, That liokl me from my fair one's anus : And ah ! ye friendly aiding pow'rs, Trotect her innocence and clutrms ! K li! f 15S I I ) h { lifV \ STfjt UespiiiiHun' Eobn- TO HIS MISTUESS\ IIAT means the darkness that pervnJes nij' mind, And fills my breast with dee[) unsocial gloom ? That bids my soul (to every comfort blind) Explore the road that leads me to the tomb. To memory lost, a..d every cherished joy, And left to dull forgetfuhicss and pain ; I seek the cause that could n)y biiss destroy, And blast my youthful hopes, but seek in vain. Enquiring friends with fond officious care, Would learn the cause tha* bids my sorrow flow j The cause deny'd— with never ceasin;; prayV, They beg indulgent heav'u t' avert the blow. Tell me my heart, (if reason yet retains, Her weak dominion in thy trembling core ; Ere yet these sad and melancholy pains, Shall check thy vital throb, to beat no more ;) r THE UESPAIRINa LOVER. 159 nv !iJes ni}' iDintlj gloom .'' Hi) J tomb. troy, k ill vain. orrow flow j irayV, e blow. core ; more ;) Is this the pang of love, that uiiretiirnM, Consumes the soul that gave its motions life; That first with wild and ardent passion burn'd, Then sunk cppress'd, unequal to the strife. To court forbidden rest, I seek tlic shade, The shade aversu, its wonted boon jlenies; And as the charms tl)at gild the landscape fade, With them, the hope of silent slumber fliea. Or if some wild and melandioly dr«an). To fancy paint thee, in thy lovely charms : The light that forms the dark oppressive beam, But glows, to show ihee in my rival's arms ! Oh ! wouldst thou learn with equal love to prize, The youth whose fondness never can decay, Whose sad distracted heart, and tearful eyes, lu answering sorrows pass the weary day. Then should the soul lliat now with fliitL'riit^ witi^^, Strives to escape from its uublest abode ; (iiow warm with hope, and every hour should biiun;, Some lAcnbumchnim to ease it ofiti) loiul. 160 THE MANIAC*S FATE. Accept till* sad yet true tlescriptive strain. To thee Louisa, — every verse is thii;e, And ah ! let lore that never plead? in vain, Move thy soft breast, to make that treasure mine ! m' w V I I I! ^^WAS night, and thro* tiie murky an-, (Where brooding darkness veilM the sky, : In dismal wailings loud and drear, Was heard the owlet's mournhd cry. The noisy surge, the angry wave, In fury shook the pavement o'er ; When thus I heard a Maniac rave His song of sorrow on the shore : " Oh ! cruel fate, that could design, ' " ((3r yet tlie future evil know) ** The ruin oi'a heart like mine, "That ever mouniM nuollicrs wpc;. THE maniac; s fatk. Kil ** Oh ! worse than dealli, thou torturing pan«r, " Too keen for heart ol'niau to bear ; '' Awhile, withdraw thy [)oisori'(l fang, *' And yet, the child ornKKuioss spare. <' Oh ! yield niy bosom, to the slioclc, '' That comes so kindly to thy aid, — *' Methinks, the stroke sliould rend a rock, '^ Of hanlest flint, or marble made ! *' L,et stul romenibrance of thy wronirs, **Tlie spell of death and ruin wave; *' And while the scene around thee throJig., " Sink, sink, forever — iu the grave. '' Witness, ye rocks lluit skirt the main, ** And jtreaiusthat lave the silent wood : '' I low oft upon this dewy })lain, ** Devoid of pain and grief I've stood j '^ Vet am I now distrcssM, forlorn, *' While everv joy of I lie 1 wev'p ; '' J see the haUfid bfiun ornionu" — nus..d h;ji-ih \\\v. cai'es of ao-c I j)un die In-ca^t of uiaiihn!)t.l lie. . h m TO THE SPIRIT OP POESV. 165 nh f woes : Oft in tiie lone sequester d vale, Led by thy charms, I've mov'd along ; Heard thy sweet notes in every gale, Bevvilder'd by the melting song. Oft have I blest the vvond'roiis powV, That bade my ling' ring spirits rise ; But soon it fled, and one short hour, Leil me involv'd in darker skies. ace. 'g^> iarn, iel? d jiriel"? eve. And oft from passion's wild alarm, I've songhtsome shade of soft repose: The heart that feels not pleasure's charm, Alike unconscious bears its woes. Oh might I find some dark recess, Unfriendly to the voice of song. These eyes the gloomy vaults would bless^ Far distant from the noisy throng. There, spirit of the sounding lyre, My life should glidr, a tranquil daj', My breast no more should feel thy Jire, Or throb responsive to thy lay — 1G6 TO THE SPIRIT OF POESY, But mid tliisself dcliiding dream,- I low strange the dictates of my >vill- I {\y thy bright seducing beam, Yd, lolly bidy me love thee iitill ! S, ( M w til,' Lill ! Pa&^4 II. wm , . 1 ' kd ■|r L<0^^ w vv He I W The W In Full I'd Has ON Tin: BnEviTY or time. WrUicn immcdialcli/ after the death of Donapatfe, V^TilETCirD in the narrow mnnsion of the 'lend, VVonder o( nil, lamented yet by few, He now in silenee rests his active head, Who drcnchM in blood tlic plaiui of W.'it«rlo». The rude usurper of a inonarcli's right, Whom occan*» waves, nor honor's ties could bind, Laid in the dark obscurity of night, In yonder silent grave, is now confin'd. Full many a champion, famM In classic song, For wise debate, or deeds of arms rcuowuM, Hos join'd the silent, melancholy throng, Beneath the depth of Lethe's waters drowu'd. 1 10 r.I.r.Cl AC STAK/A'^ 't^ ihcii, to whom the \h\n\ of ruraditc/ K:»g(T to please*, Uihhe^sM his fervent pr.\) A WealvM" suppliant, now hehirc thee lies, Ami humbly :if,ks thy Kiinl inslnicLinjj For tlioii, in realms of cverlasLin" il Blest Viith the fjft, of youth's cttTiiaJ j Hastscrn, of states, the lluiirish and (hu: ilV. care u'wrii :»V With nil the ilrcjulfnl ravaw's of time I , H k When from tlio dark recess of sev'n fold ni-ht. i'l I i:ri:i!N.\i. row 11 who t.its enthron'd on hi^^h, JMaeM in thiir spheres yon golden orb of h^iht And all the .'^lories of the lunar sky ; i»'"» "When from his hand. 1 1 th , liHs ear til rcceiv i d it J f( orm. 'JVanecndaul beauty huiu^ upon tl Nor ehillin.; frost approarhM, nor Mnstin-^ Uorm, 10 green To spoil the verdant beauty of the fic cue, Would fancy's self, attempt the da/.z'Iing theme With all the >'>\v r Tl; I)ersua!iivc Hpeceh could brinjjj e'-.c pow'rs eomI)IuM, could never Hud a name. Dc »icripilvc of the charms of which 1 bin^j, *M tU'ON, Jy It pra)'r: ics, »1J[ en If : li |n'i/iK», !cav, Id iii;^I»t^ iM oil liigii, ol'li^lit, W hu fonn, grccii; tin;'; «toru), CCIIC. np; theme, li coiilil briiijjj in. la rnn : 'A *'"^' liui, H'. lays (pears ; ON TUi: BHKVITV OF TIME. Ibiis to the heart it speaks in ^vords of fire— •• Wide is the itmple nirifje ofhuiunn woe ; " KeL-ull thu Iboiisli wish, ihc fond dusirc, "Kor set'h for histin^' happiness below. "Tim travuitorr term orniorlul 3 ears, " M'lth e:jycT speed, incessam hurries on ; 'To tiint durk poiiit \^hjre motion (hroppears, " And lo ! the v,c;ir\ drenm oflifv U i^'one. " O.ir soft att«c!iments (inuurc'ji dearest tit-,} •* SuhdaM by til :e, nci;'ccted dij av\ay ; '• As genial warmHi before the tempest flies, "■ Wheii roiiin^j eioud* obscure the i\ice of d',\y. Th'jii fricml.hlp too, sweet bond of social bli*.*, " And comi'ort of the melancholy iiour; lo hindred love, mij;t yi,'!d the j artinp kisi, " And lose in death, thy orjce per:.na!.ive powV." it^\ where on yonder stone, the guardian ehade, Uf worth dep;n-ted, to return no more, Vun lovolv youth, eontcniplative is laid. And views, oi death the loiu!, luani-ioii o'er. .10 n 11 176 ELEGIAC STANZAS * i Forth from his eyes, the streaming sorrow flows, 'Tis nature's tribute to a parent's clay; '\^'hilc in liis swelling breast nircction glows, AViih all the force that borrow can convey. At length the irJghty grief that fills his so;il, Bursts the firm bonJ, which fortitude snpplici j The mournful passion reigns without coniroul, While thus, with liftcJ Iiamis, he faintly cries : " Oh I ever honoiM, ever lovM and dear, "From all n)y hopes and wishes snatch'd away ; " For thee, affection sheds the pensive tear, " Hangs on thy gvave, and lingers o'er thy day. ** To view thy animated fonn, hi vain "My cyc« survey the lonely sculptur'd ground ; " Reflection sad returns with double pain, " And nought but echo answers to my sound. " With thee no more in even's refreshing hour, " I'll range, to taste the sweetness of the gale ; "Willi thee no njorc enjoy (he rural bowV, " And heui- the night bird's iolitarv t^Ie, ! w )w flows, ovvs, nvey. siippliei ) HUroiil, :Iv cries: Ij'd away; ■ tliY cla\ . 1 ground ; sound. J hour, the ^ale ; kv'r. le. r ON THE BREVITY OF TIME. 177 ♦'EnricliM witli ioarning's ever valu'd store, " With softest pity was tliy heart refiuM ; •* Now gone forever, thou wilt be no more " To me a parent, to the poor a friend.— " When gloomy darkness hides the face of day, "And night triumphant, spreads its awful shaJfl; •• Hither untir'd, I'll wander to survey, " The horrid devastation time has made." In life's gay morn, when circling pleasures claim. The hour from sober thought, and futuro care, When joys tumultuous, damp the pious flame, As fire consumes the milder duid air : Prone u the youthfu' heart, with ardent p.iins. To lov^ the trnn<;itnt siiade of mortal fame; To prize each lriumj>h which anibition gains. And view rcii<::on thro' a niask of shams. Yet ah ! rash youth, thy hurry'd step forbear, The vain attempt for h:?ppin(.'ss (ieclfne ,- ^^ ho tnsfcs the poison, finds the trial dear, /Lr.d time aveii«jes all th» wrongs of lini© 1 1 ITR KV,F.r.l U STANZAS 'I The fondest hope the luind can cnferfnin, 'i'iic wuiT.iest with ilu\t faiu-y can supply; But shew t!je plcasuje. uliich >vc scUJoin gaja, Or once cujoyW, in full tVnitiDu die. In every distant good, \vc view a charm, That bliss obtainM. the ever-grasping niinrl, rursuessome other tlicine, with fervour warm. And leaves what once dcli-htcd, far behind. Behold yon witherM oak that stands alone, Half bending oVr the fragment of a wall. Where echo iieavcs the sympaihelic moan, In sounds rc^^-ponsive to the rustic's calL Stran^'je arc tlje ta?cr. the vi'jn-e records lell, Of that nl3slcri()u^spot, and all around; How first from hcav'n, (he pond'rous a!)boy fell. And cover'd nil the consecrated ground ; How on the selfsame morn, in open ,\^ht. That tree was planted by an angel'* hand , And how, profan'd, ii witiun'd in a night, A fatftl omen to the guilty land, o>r Tin: jjhevity of time. 179 upply ; oin gaia, in, ig mind, Lir warni;, ' behind. lone, wall; »nn, 8 lell, !)boy fell, nJ : and ^ Hence, >vhen the nigh' its sable veil has drawn, The weary peasant silent turns away; Nor dares approach the *' lonely specter'd Inwn," 'Till courage strengthens, in the face of day. Ye sons of wealth, ye votaries of fame. By nature's sar grace the [Measures of the peaceful bowV. And oft alas ! beneath a glossy shade, Conceal'd from view, a sordid mixture lie* ; The shining siiiea, with study 'd art o'erlaiJ, But falsely hide du-ception from the eyes. Blended in one promi^cucvjc concon.":e her.*» Alike, tlie vlrtucjus ;);:..! \1:q vii-ivju^ s!?'.i(C', Tiie gifis ofh^av'.;, t!.o ;>.-cuuct ofthj vjap. And c\»m alike thc.'i^ cr>n-:r.cr. n'ircni*i cars. ^%i >%. \%. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I m m IM 1.6 P» V. # ^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STRBET WIBSTie,NY MS8U (716) ara^soa ^^ 4^ #j' ^ ^/ >\ 180 ELEGIAC STANZAS. , >•< ■^? il i! ill .1 M h\ But on the \vi:)gs of each departing hour, The records of our shame, or glory fly ; Unveil our hearts, before th* eternal pow'r, T/tat to condemn, and t/iia to justify. Proad regent of the world, weak mortal rixUe Thy eyes dolt, behold the slary skies ; Where worlds unnuniber'd, with effulgent rayg. Throw lack the si^ht, too strong for mortal eyes. Then view the elements, the old abode Of man, for \m support and ease conibin'd ; "Worthy their maker— worthy of the God Who first in heav*n thia wond'rous earth design'^. Yet these must perish, as the morning dew Is dried before the sun's met Idian beam ; While more exalted worlds, in glory new. Shall swell afresh, the ardent serapl^i flame ! Borucona tempest thro' the yielding sky, A mighty angel shall bestride the shore ; And swear, by him who liveB unmalcli'd on high. That earii), and time it»elf. shall be no moie. >> Lir. V ow r. I r,\Ue '" t lit rayg, iiortal cyeti. ibinM ; artli design 'd. ew in; V, I flaiue ! IvV, e ; oil high. THE NATIVITY, - JS^ Then shall the living victors of the foe, Unmov'd behold the wide extending fire; And yield with patience to the final biovv', That bids with them, their murderer expire. With kindred joy, the dead in Clirist shall rise. And leave the lonely horrors of the tomb ; While i'aith insures their mansion in the skies, Ai'd hope expanding, brightens all the gloom ! ^'HE night was hush'd, no voice disturb'd the vala, And not a murmur echoM on the gale ; Soft fipi'^y l)reczes o'er the meadows blevv. And bolUT still, the streamlet's whispers grow: Jr.dea's fl.jclis in tiiat portentous hour, M.u! ju>t awul.'d, !o crop the vcrJant fiow*r; A hlifrjilierd train, their fl nty chtirges tend, Wiiere on the phiin, their mi»ujii^g footstep* blend : V.'iih watchful err, sik'iii ihry j.uc'd t!:pp'nii:, wm. mmmmm «li"WII THE NATIVITY. And universal stillness held her reign, When lo ! a splendid glory beainM on high, And open'd wide, the portals of the sky; The uond'ring shepherds, saw th' approaching light. And prostrate fell, with terror and affric^ht : For siuail the pow'r, to humble mortals giv'o, When shines the awful dazzling light oi' heav'n. Advancing now, the glory shone around, And heav'nly visions toudiM t!ie hallow'd grounds- One brighter form, superior to the rest, With voice divine, tlie treujbling swains addrcst : " Hail lowly tenants of the grassy fields, " *Tk yours, to view the gift Jj:riovAii yields ; " With mortal eyes to sec the infant ray. Whose fountain spruiig in everlasting day. •• In Bethlehem's city see the Saviour lies, " The lord of earth, the Sovereign of the skies !'» Thus said, the an-el choir harmonious raise, Celestial voices in a song of praise; More sweet, more clear, tiie tuneful accents gre>T, And on the wings of every zephyr flev^'; Till all at or.cc, the leouteous ssraphs shroui, n high, k y ; preaching light^ JVight ; Is giv'o, oi' heav'n. :)w'cl ground— ns audrcst : 13 f I yields ; 7. ? day. ies, lie skies I'* raise, cents gre>T, shroui, TiiK NAXniT-k'. X63 Their radiant glory in a purple cloud ; On rapid wing, the shining train withdrew, And clouds and darkness clos'd the distant view : (Enchanted echo, answering to the sound, Awhile prolongM tlie notes, and charra'd the earth around.) Thus when in heav'ns high arch, the rainbow ahowi The violet's blue, the crimson of tiie rose. And vivid green, with every other dye That forms the lovely wonder of the sky; The youthful circles on the moisten'd phiiu, Behold it brighten in the dripping rain; When lo ! a cloud o'ercasts the sunny ray, And quick the fairy prospect dies away : Their eyes are bent to earth, with vacant stare. And looks that scorn to gaze on empty air. So still, so mute, the rural watch i^urvey'd, The light celestial,^ink in midnl^'Iil's shade ; 'Till bursting forth, their joyful voices raise, A weak response, to tlie angelic lays : Then habte to Bethlehem's city, to behold The long expected prince, of David's lino foretold. il 184 THE NATIVITY. Oh ! ye wliose blinded eyes, (untaught to learn,) Have never stoop'd, tlie saviour to discern; Approach the manger, to the stall repair, And with tlie shepherds, view your Maker there. The hands tlmt fbrmM the wide extended skies, And gnir,p the maddening thunder as it flies, The voice wliose undisputed word can tame, The tcmpest*s fury and the lightning's flame, And the swift feet, thut tread the rushing storm, All cenlrMin an Infant's humble form, The pow'r eternal, whose unerring will. Angels admire, ambitious to fulfil, By man alone resisted, seeks to '^ain His creatures' love, yet often tries in vain. Oh I bid your songs ye grateful few ascend, *Tis yours to praise the sinner's dearest friend; With constant glad cifusions still prolong. The ceaseless wonders of Enjanuel's soni:: In joyful numbers bid your accents rise, And biess the new born prince of earth atid skies. Hail Lord of nature, tbrnj'd in nature's mould. To earth subjected, and by heav'n foretold ; When rising wav9s,no longer swell the main, Jght to learn,) isccrn; aker there, iclecl skies, it fiiiis, 1 tame, 's flame, hlng storm, II, vam. scend, est friend ; ong; e, th atid skit;8, re*s mould, ctold ; be main, 'I I" f -^WW^PPPPin^^^^F-^BWIIWffBWIlH IPP I ill i^PIWIIilPtlllipili THE CRUCIFIXION. When stars no longer deck th' etherial plain, V.'hen gtops the sun— and breezes cease to blow, And rivers in their beds forget to flow- Eternal jears, with unobstructed pace. Shall tell the matchless wonders of thy grace I 2S5 Ijt €viuiiiximu ^ E midnight clouds that darken pleasure's rajr, And o'er the mind, impervious wuiyour way ; When sharpest sorrow rules without controul, And melancholy sways the thoughtful soul ; Hail to my mournful breast, and bid it glow With tlie sad tale of more that mortal woe 1 See yonder, where a lawless hostile band. With hearts of steel, and thirsty weapons stand ; Wily burns their anger ? why the hellish hate 'I hat marks eadi movement of their foul debate ? l^it some monster of the hunmn kind, Miat claims iheii councils, and their arcnr^th combiu'd; T' avert his mtniitated ill, ami save 'li PN^^M mmm mr "ppinp \m THE CRUCIFIXION". ,1 Unnumber'J myriads from a common grave ? Ah ! no, another cause their niatlness brings, They vent their malice on tije King of Kings. Is tliere, who bears a mortal heart, can view, Unniov'd, the Jark infernal deeils they do : Behold their preconcerted rage, nor j-ay, How vain is human pow'r, when p^.'^sioi* lep.ds astrtty, Mark how the victim oftheir spite is ifd, A crown of thorns surrounds his sacred heal ; Condemu'd tlio' guiltless, in the H)id->t he stands, And lifts, but lifts in vain, to ileav'n hi^ hands j Tiie feet, by folly iiever led astray, The Godlike hands, that ne'er inactive lay ; And the kind heart, with care for mortaii worn, Transfixed with nails, with mental an;^aish torn. Oh Heav'n ! did Angels view the cursed deed, And stoop to view their Lord and master bleed; Oh ! no, they tied beyond the solar »ay, And struck with horror, turu'd their eyes away ; There wept the sufferings of their injur*d Lord, Abhor'd thenuH'der, and the God ador'd. Iv'en he whose word, can shake creation's frarne^ When anjry thunders speak his awful name; w Pl^i" n grave f :s» brings, OF Kings. an view, ?y do : say, sion iep.iis astrtty, red bca ' ; a he stands, 1 hib huniJs : ivo Uiy ; 3rta!^ worn, n;»ii ish torn. rsed ileed, laster bleed; ray, ' eyes away ; jur*d Lord, lorM. t low's frarnej ilnanie; THE cRrcHixroN. 1st Saw with regret the impious deed from liigh ; Andgriev'd, that justice, or hisson^ must die ;— Bid the bright sun, awhile conceal his ray, And veil the bright meridian of the day. Now the redeeming God to Heav'n complains^ And mourns the cruel torture of his pains; — On drooping wings, the last sad mercy flie«, ** 'Tis finish*d," he exclaims, then faints and dies I " *Ti8 finishM," echo'd from the rocks around, " 'Tis finished," Earth, and Seas, and Heav'n resound. 'Twas then, (obedient to the dreadful nod. That spoke the angiir of the Parent God,) The winds loud sounding from their caverns blew, The thunder roar'd, the forked lightning flew; The Temple felt the dire convulsive shock, And burst the firm foundations of the rock ! Then too, from graves which long had held in trust, The sacred relics of the wise and just ; Their bodies rose, (pale horror led the way,) Forsook their dark abodes, and stalk'd in open day. Back to his hell, the glutted fiepd return'd. To tell how Earth had sinnM, and Heav'n had mourn'd ; Exulting death adniir'd his own dark pow'r, Jo fl w ffls.%, THE CRUCIFIX I Olif. And gloried in the conquests of an hour. Oh ! Innocence unstainM, oh ! spotless fiame, (Nor Seraph's tongue can find an equal name To speak thy worth,) how did thy spirit rise. To brighter mansions in thy native skies ? E*en then, by man dcsj)ii.'d, by God carest, Soft mercy rose transcendant in thy breast. Oh reach my wand'rin^ love, (too fickle grown,) Fondly to muse of thee, and thee alone; And bid reflection paint in every thouHit How dear the purciiasp that my freedom bought j How rich the blood, how exquihiir t!ie pains. That piercM thy heart, that trickled from thy veins; Then while my soul shall view thy great design. The purchase of her peace with drops divine j To thee my ardent wishes snail aspire, While the false shades of earthly hopes retire j And when the tyrant d^^ath, elate shall brin?. The vanquibh'd terrors of his pointless sting, The thief's request, my latest pray'r shall be, Savioc:^, in Paradise remember me ! 189 r. >tless fiame, 1 name t rise, us? rest, ?ast. J grown,) le; ;lit, mi bought J ; pains, •om thy veins ; Eit design, divine ; 1 retire j 1 bring, stin^, ill be, AN ODE TO THE REDEEMER, iSAAlh \ king of Saints, in mortal form conceai'd, Thy conquering arm, o'er hell's black host prevaii'd ; Stern danger brav'd, o'ercame each daring foe, And laid the furious host of demons low : *Twas thine, tho' with the father close allied, To lay thy seeptre and thy robes aside. To stoop unnotie'd of a virgin born. And live and die, neglected and forlorn. Attendant angels wiih'd, yet wish'd in vain. To soothe thy sorrow, and assungc thy p:iin ; And while the sun, concealM his ^ice in nighr. All heav'n grew pale, and trembled at the si-ht \ Hail ! Lord of life, the greedy grave in vain, Vv^ould bind thy glory with an earlhly chain; In vain malicious man would pierce the side, Whence fJow'd the stream of life's retreating tide; In vain the glutted pow'rs of death would tcl). Exulting proud, the mighty sAvioua fell ; 11 'm 190 THE il E S L ini E CT I o ]Nr. n- \-. Thou friend of ruin'd man, ordain'd to save, Didst conquer death, and triunfiph o'er the grave. On that rcmcmbcr'd day of which I sing, All heav'n o'erjoy'd, beheid its mighty King, Rise from the tomb, thy pains and sorrows o'er. To suffer, languish, and to die no more ; Henceforth to reign on thy eternal throne. And claim the prize, adjudg'd to thee alone. Hail ! prince of peace, let heav*n and earth agre<^ To celebrate thy rising Deity ! Let every being, join the cheerful song, And sound the vvond'rous thenie,from age to age along Long had perverted passions rul'd the mind Of sinful man, for nobler \\e\\'s design'd; Thy friendly eye, beheld his shame and grief^ And on the wings of mercy cams relief: Thy sov*reign grace for mortals was displayM, And sav'd in pity, what thy wisdom made ; Hail ! blest Redeemer, let my joyful lays, To thee aspire, with humble fervent praise; Let all my pow'rs exalt thy love divine, And every wish, and every hope be tlaue ; to save, )'er the grave. [ sing, ty King, ►rrovvs o'er, jre ; throne, e alone. and earth agre«| 1 age to age along le mind n'd; ind griefj, lief: display* d, made ; 'ul lays, praise; ne, :laue ; ODE TO INNOCENCE. 191 And when to close the scene of n'ortal woes, My nerveless frame, sh&ll sink in soft^ repose; While yet my spirit on her ardent flight, Shall wing her way, to reahns of endless light ; Oh ! may the pleasing hope the trav'iler cheer. Dispel each doubt, and banish every fear. That yet, my quicken'd dust his praise shall sing. Who vanquish'd death, and robb'd him of his siin^, o Sin S^t to 'JJun^teitre* iSSAR Innocence, how pleasing is thy shade, Of thee possest, in peace I lay me down ; Careless the villian's censure to evade. The fool's displeasure, or tiie tyrant's frown. When eve arrives, to veil the world iu night, Pieas'd would I range amid thy dlent bowVs ; And feel thy secret motions with deli W-.r. Sooth all my griefs, and esiie my weary pow'rs, !■ }; Ida OOr: TO INNOCENCE. And whan the morn, a/rayM in purple pride, Awakes to hall the day, the 5?inging throng; Each chirping warbler, (tho' ofspcech deny' J, With me shall mingle in a joyful song. I { Parent of truth, acc^.pt my grateful lay, To ihcL it flow3, thy pleasures to engage ; And evir with thy b^rd Fonchsa'e to stay, Guide o( \m youth, and succour of his r>,ge. IM Bo, when rhese short but weary scenes are past, All! death an J immortality draw near ; Shall I approach t>c promis'd land at last, And in my Saviour^ Innocence appear I •ti priae, ■ throng; ;age ; tay, is rge, are past, ir ; ast, ar 1 )n S^e maixuntv. vl IIE lonely uistant wanderer wliosc fbet, Tread every region but their native soil, 'Jlat land almost forgot iu length of years, I sing not, 'tis the exile who remov'd, From the fair Eden of a quiet breast, Demands my strain, his be the muse*s toil, He wanders mt'st, who waders iyom his God. Come pity gentlest maid, with moistenM oye, Be thou my muse, and teach the verse to weep The wretch who borne on pasbion's soaring wing. Strays thro* the winding labyrinths of thought. Or thoughtless revels in each guilty joy, TLat weans he soul from re*t. O pride, Thou first of huniRii baits to tempt the mind, Prompted by thee, we first forsake the truth, And foolish venture on each false delusion, That Tolly gi'.di with beauty not its own : 'Till unrestrained by wisdom's sacred voice, That brealhi.;; h«r dictattiJ U) tht huinbitf loul, M 194 THE WANDERER, J Too late we mourn the heart seducing cbrtice. Pride, on thy daring phime that seeks the skiei, (Rat driv'ii by justice from th' invaded spliere. Still waves in darkness,) moping reason sits, And seeks but seeks in vain tl»* expecteii !;oal. Or if some iar extended ray from llea\'ii, With friendly beam piorce^ the Bpreading gloom, Thy victim scorns the blessing, and repel's. How few there are, (by mad atnbition led,) Who mark the point \\lienieiids the wild career; — Ambition ! eldest born of priJe, the source Of helpless Orphan's tears, and Widow's sorrowjj Sure is the pray that drinks its curj^-'d ihaught, Ih; fubtiie poison mixes with the frame ; Corrodes the heart, and each succeeding gulph Adds a new sting to thirst of human bluod, Andiway unchecked, and love of lawless pow'r. Nor less on mischief bent, fierce anger's gust, With whirlw' id sweep atul loudt'.'mjieUuous roar, Such as distracts thebroast ofiome foul fiend, Bfars far a Aay the fated truant's peace ; Or nerves the slaught'nng hand for carnage : *TiU not a trace of heav'n i» left behind ; , t> the skiei, :d sphere, on sits, L'teil !'oal. ling gloom, eiiel's. ioii led,) ulld career; — source ow's sorrow! j J draught, iiie ; ding gulph I bluud, vless pow'r. i^r's gubt, |>e'. horror of the ibul dekign. h mmm E\ 196 THE WANDERER. Nor length of years, nor pity's tender pica, Can drain the tainted bosom of its guilt ; 'Till death in cold oblivion wraps the heart. Which htav'n nor earth could soften to relent f And mercy woo'd in vain to sweet forgiveness. Him, to his native land, (where every flow*r. That heav'n design^ to flourish in the breast. Meet soil for virtue, and her lovely train. Withers, neglected in the lonely blast ; — ) Religion tries to gain with fond essay, But weeping owns ho rgiveness. f flowV, le breast, rain, r i ask. ipcstiioufi Kurges ft tries, ^aves, shore ; lie blast. ital snares • s way, course, iicss and i tot. THE WANDERER, lyr r«8am in the raging surf that swells below ! Beware sad Exile, of the pointed rocks, Of infidelity, for danger lurks In every motion of the driviu<; current :— Distracting thouglUs, and wild uncertainty; And fear, that shrinks from the treinenduous gulph, Yet doubts e'en what it dreads. Oh i worse than death, That doubt'st tiic love, and guardian care of heav'n, AVhere e'er ti^y voice deceinive, strikes the ear, Comfort, and peace, and lia^opine^s, must fly. IJut chief, and worst of all tiie tempting ills. Which lure the guilty truant from the paths, Of truth and virtue, i)lcasure spreails her wileb. And com-ts him to her arms, the soft erjhrnce leaner ves each manly pow'r, and saps the germ Of forcitud€>, 'till not a seed of heav'n, Left for resistance, struggles wilii the tempter, laill'd in the lap of i)iea^ure, the fidl soul. Torgets its wants, and wastes the precious time, hi guihy joys, h)i--ctftih)ess of jTooiI, AfMl warm pursuit of evil, hail l!ic I'louglifc .•!ow peaccftd lioui-s are >|>eMf,aud licallh is wailed ; \! •* I idS THK WANDEHER, .| Vl To catch the empty phantom of a dream, That flies the fast approach of certainty. Far on the northern shores, where summer's heat. And spring** delightful smile are never known ; The simple inmate of the darksome cave, {Spends the nocturnal months, the lingering shade, That shuts the face of day from mortal eye, In playful frolics with the cheerful lamp. That lights the narrow compass of his cell ; Or strings the sparkling beads in many a row, To suit his lonely partner's olive neck ; Or ornament her with the shining circle. Not half so childish is the Indian's toil, As his, who seeks in folly's airy round, (Pleasure miscall'd,) to satisfy the mind. Some, lost in indolence, forget the end. That heav'n design'd for man's pursuit, that man Might profit by possession of the prize ; Lost to the world, and every aqtive scene. That lights the weary heart of all its cares ; And stupid sunk in kijiury's embrace. That yields a rest inglorious to the boui, The victim lies, nor knows the load lie bcai*. i U: THE WANDErtER. 199 m, y- mer*s hcai, known; vc, ring shade, il eye, cell ; ' a rowi > lie. I, I, L end, it, that man e; :cnc, cares ; ml, le beau. These, and a thousand other snares that wait. To tempt the wandVer, farther from his home, Avoid with cautioui care, wouldst thou be happy; Nor yield thy heart tc each seducing ill. That bears the spirit on its baneful winjr, Thro' realms forbidden by the voice of heav'n 1 ne borders of the grave, the land of death ! Close in the shadow of a circling wood. Where never storm disturb'd the peaceful scene. And nature shone in all her lovely charms; I'hc younrr, the fair, Amanda spent her days. In youth's delightful season, when the heart «inks or expands as passion gives the touch, To pliant fancy, or as reason points, The path of truth ; hers were the modest charms, I'hat bloom in secret to the passing wind. Nor less the cheerful sunshine of her soul, Siione inward, and illumin'd every thought, 'i'hat virtue wish'd to cherish. Every angel That loves to guard the innocent and pure, Adujir'd the sweet construction of her heart, A stfon- nm\ fair lesciiiManrt oi[hc\v ov, n. ^^■.( was the huur, •.\lit:u Ij-oi.! Iiti limnhle (.ot, V ''I m ) 200 TIIK WANDERER. I if I She wander* J to the busy world, where guilt, Too oft unpunish'd roams in open day ; With form seductive, and with treacherous smiles. The maid beheld the cursed wight, nor knew. That danger lurks where pleasure strews the way, With warm enchantments, and inviting snares. But soon alas, familiar grown with vice. And unaccustom'd to the guardian spot, Where modesty and worth together grew, In harmless kuury, the Siren call, AUur'd her to the land where every scene That pity weeps to view, displays iU front, In open light, unblam'd and uncondemn'd. Oh ! was no trace of [)uvity or joy, No kind, no fond, remembrance of the past, Left in her ruiuM mind, to cheer the moment,— Or point to future days. Oh ! no, save one Sad solitiu'y passion, still that toldj Of what she was, crc earth and hell combinM, To tempt her wand'rings from the source of bliis:- 'Twas grief, when lone reflection told her hearf, How far from NNisdom's sacred paths she'd sLra^VL THE WANDERER, SOI } guilt, rous smiles, r knew, /s the way, ; snares. > «w, cue ont, m'd. past, loinent,— ' QOWQ nbinM, ice ot* bliss:- icr liearf, And yet, the noblest passion of the breast. When blessM and guided by his sovereign will. Who always wills the best, tho* stern oppos'd By selfish mortals ;!ove it was that drain'd, The flowing current of her native blifs j Explored the streamlet, and its source destroyed ; And now, upon the cold unfeeling world. She calls for refuge, but implores in vain. Thus, thro' the wide extended range of thQug|it|| That slowly opens on the eager mind, Indulg'd by fancy, every wish is fed. That riots \t\ the heart, and thus the wretch, Too late beholds how destitute his lot. Think giddy mortal, while afar you roam. Led by the will-o-wisp of fancy, think, How soon the vain delusive dream may end; And awful truth with stern relentless aspect, Hush to thy view. Oh 1 think how slighted time, Hurries, (the richest treasure of thy life,) Beyond the reach of thy enfeebled grasp; Ph ! then one moment pause, give o'er the aim, Nor sink in sclfuhness, lo rise in bhaiue 1 h U 202 JTIjfr iuill « Eobf. .V From {/iff I .S//i Psa/ m. ^MKKwilll I ovr, my trust aiul rocL My tortross jiiul doliv^-or too :th I Mv t« y tow r ot MrLMii;th Iroui ev'ry shock In ev'ry ilaiiocr kind aiitl true. In Him, the Lord, I still shall trust, Who doth my i'ervent praises claiui; own llim pure and just, y tongue siiall dwell upon J lis iUmc. And while I M Tl ic sorrows of a hownino- dcatli V nrag'd by hell, provok'd mv Icar JEHOA AHliuud iuy pantiuir bivnlli And humble cry, for Me was near Then shook die world, and treniblinrr ownM, n 15) wrath, who plae'd it on its li, line Tl II ^t. \d rock, shuck, [rust, i c.^tiiu; I just, 1 lis i'iuixc. rnp.E \v\i.\. I lovK, 203 Au(\ vvlillf i(s hjjj^rr foiifKlaiions nioaiiM, The Ifoav'ns were i'lWW with MU(»kc am! ilamo. As down i\w skies I Ic hoiil I lis foicc, Thick (InrkiKss Iny h^'ncalh 1 [is I'eet : A cherul) bore I Jim in J lis course;, Ami vviiiils siipphcd ihiii- motion fleet. \m\ MS III nwliil ojoom Ifepast, 'i'he nimhliiio- waters iormM Ilis throne ; Th' afniol, led clouds, conless'd the hhist, With (hsinal horrors not tlieir own ! ^41 Tear ; breath near. 'J'hen, Irom their hideous rostliio- pljice, Where thunders roar'd, and Ho'htningsllew; They fled the brioliiness of i lis lijc;e, And beani'd llie skies, witli lustre new. )lin^ ownM, b Ihimcj His mandate kindled coals oi'/iro, Keen arrows left Im potent liand ;- m TIIEK WrLL i LOVK. The rolling cloiuls oriilglit retire. And lightnings show tlie flaming brand f '/i' ,i The rocks beneath the flowing waves, (Their waters fled,) are dry and bare ; No more the flood its channel laves, For GOD, the mighty GOD, is there ! i I From ocean's dark and deepest gloom, His praise to tell, my soul He drew; And to prevent my hov'ring doom, Quick to my aid, His mercy flew. Vain were my anxious thoughts, for lo I At his rebuke, the earth was mov'd ; And ev'ry proud and hateful foe. Fled from the fav'rite that he lovM : While in a wide and spacious plain, He fix'd my happy dwelling place ; And bid me, free from fear and pain, Kxtol iUv ' ojtiquests of his grace ! iufjf brand t 'avesj lid biirc ; ves, is there ! idrcw ;• m, , for lo I mov'd ; lovM lain, place ; pain, ace J 2U5 ON THE DEATH OF HER FATHER* (^H ! cease to mournj that tear is valnj Tho' strong affection urge its way ; Reflection, but increases pain, When sorrow rules the pensive da}-* Turn from the grave, where sad and long, Thy eyes have wept a parent's doom ; Kor pour the tide so fresh and strong. To feed the herbage on his tomb. Tho' fled with him, is many a joy, And many a care usurped its place ; rho' al! that anguish could destroy. Has fled its wonted resting place : Yet once again resume the smile, That us'd to sparkle in thv eve ; Ma ij !l 200 TO A J.AI>Y, And let a friend tliv iinerbco'iiile, ' And diace lliat melnncliolv sVIj. ■l Full vi-eli he hiowt\ that soft ixlief, To friendship's soothing* voice is glv'n ; Full well \\efech thy heavy grief, And fain would tune the dirije of Heav'n The dirge, tliat charms the drowsy dead, That calls the cypress into bloom ; And while it tells of pleasures fled, Points to a pin*er 1)1 iss to come. For who that marks the pride of life, How transient, and uncertain too ; Would fly the latest mortal strife, Nor gain, to bliss, a passage thro' ? Yet oft like cowards, faint we stand, And trifle with forbidden tovs : And iho' we view the promis'd land, Full more we prize our fleeting jovs. ll. r, is glv*ii ; of Heav'n : y (lead, m ; I, life, 00 ; ro' ? K'i. ON TJIi: DK ATJl OF 1I£R FATURR. 20T Bound down with many an earthly tie, Prone to Ibrgetfulness and siu ; Low in the vale of lile we lie, Nor heed the silent voice within. 'Tis Heav'n in tender love duit calls, Our dearest friends and hopes away,— . The airy tow'r of fancy falls, And all that's mortal fades away. Thusj wisdom thro' aflliction's road, To death's lone verge, her oftspring brings; Then pomts tiie mourner to his Clod, And o'er the rolling current springs. So flies the dove, from her bleak c(ne, And joyful, feels the whiter o'er ; Then seeks the green rcfreshinf^ grove, Where her lov'd mate had Pcd before ! m-' m m i nd, • joys. 1 ;■; «03 ^tanja»t COMPOSED IN A TIME 01' SICKSESii, *£ARY of time, and sublunary joy, I fly each transient Kcenc of borrowM mirtli ; And bid a long farewell to every toy, That bound my captive soul a slave to earth.— 3ut hail soft melancholy to my breast, " Possess my soul and solemn thoughts inspirt ;'' |*aint fleeting life in faithful colours drest. And fill my bosom with seraphic fire ! Too long alas ! has life with seeming charms, Entic'd me from the sure unerring road. That leads to bliss, beyond the reach of harmu, And ends propitious, in a blest ab«dc. Oft have my lips, the smile of pleasure worn, AVhcu I'uin and grie^, hung heavy on my heart ; And oft I've felt my feverM bosom burn, But hid the torture, with the help of art. KSii, nirth ; larth.— \ iBipIre ;'' J. orn, ly heart ; itrt. STANZAS. But now no more, by fancy led astr.iy, The mpid oft'rin^s of the world 1 prize ; From these, without regret I turn away, To seek for solid d/iss beyond the skies. Or if some pleasure fled, a siijh would claim, Or fond affection bid my fancy utray ; Tlie direful i)iin2, that shakes my sinking frame, Exckidei the vain delusion far away. It tells me, nil tliis transient world can give. Must fade away, and wither in its bloom ; That life is never worth the price we give, Since all that's earthly hastens to its doom. It tells, that every hope of life muit fly, Tho' fed and eherish'd in the bosiom's core ; That friendship sweet, and fonder love, must die, And in the grave give all their wishes o'er. • And tho' some struggling motions yet may live, As dying embers in the ashes rest ; Mr soul can scarcely feel the heat they give, And calm they lie, witliin my yielding breast. 90d il .1' *% J210 STAIxZAS, And while consumption with a steady hand, Directs its poison'd arrows to thy heart ; Unable, all its fury to withstand, I yield at length, content with life to part. Yet, 'tis a solemn thing to die ;— to soar Far from this world, on wide extended wing; To view the objects once so lov'd, no more ; — To part with life, without a mental sting. As time fast fleeting from its clay, returns, To that Eternity from whence it came ; The conscious dust the separation mourns, *Till dark it lies, divested of its flame. Amazing thought ! the chilling hand of death, Withdraws the screen that bhades th' Eternal ray; And as the wandVer yields his quiv'ring breath ; To distant regions points the op'ning way. Then, as by faith attracted to the skies, The ardent spirit seeks her ftiture home ; Low In the dust, her kindred parliier liet-, And kicep&uncunsiiouft of its futwc doum. STANZAS. ^. 2] I irt. wiug; re ;- ;atb, ternal ray ; pcath ; 'ay. Oh ! fhon Creat PowV,Mhose sovereign srnre extends, Beyond all mortal thought, or mortal pray'r; Whose love the sodthing hope of glory lenJs, ConquVer of death and victor of despair/ U led by sad delusion I have strayM, From thee, the source of intellectual \oy ; Oh ! bid thy grace, the tear of sorrow aid, ' And these sharp pangs each earthly hope destroy. Oh ! teach my soul the moments to improve, With happy art, as quick they glide away / 'i o cast its sorrows on a Saviour's love, And feel that love my never failing stay. (ome welcome death, divested of thy sting, III vain thy javelin fli«s, thy terrors frown ;- i'he purest bli.s, that Heav'n itself can bring. h thus in thy cold arms, t« lay me down l' e; iiJin. X ^t Cijutc]^ f art* "^HEN thron'd in splendid majesty the moon, Looks down, fair-shining from her silver car ; Be mina the lonely, but, instructive path, That winding thro' the tall surrounding grove, Leads to the silent spot where calmly rest, Beneath the beaten soil, the mould'ring bones, Of many a truant from the land of time. As nearer I approach the sacred ground, A " solemn! stillness" seizes on my heart ; In slower currents, flows my wandVing blood ; 'Tis nature speaks, and sure she must be heard. Around the venerable spot are seen The hoary fragments of a ruin'd wall, Which time has sported with full many a year; And many a tempest on its beaten sides, Discharg'd its fury : still to mark the place, Where once in gothic pride iti pillars stood, The broad foundations fchew their mabsy bulk : \f the moon, er car ; ith, ig grove, rest, ng bones, le. ound, :art ; ig blood ; \ be hfiard. n I, my a year ; ides, place, s stood, absy bulk : TFIE CHURCH YAUD. 213 While on their bate, some crumbh'ng turrets itand. To tell the sad spectator of the scene That all that*s earthly, hastens to its end. Beside the narrow path, so often trod By faltering feet— with tears so oftbedew'd ; The lonely cowslip rears its modest head, And the green nightshade emblem of the graves. That shew the moon their grassy forms around. Waves in the sullen blast of night. The stones Whose half-worn letters. Hieroglyphics old, And nameless characters, by time defaced. Tell to the living, where the dead are laid, Promiicuous placed upon the level green, (Tribute of friendship and affection warm,) Shade the rank herbage, that from year to year, Grows unmolested on the holy spot. Oh ! mark the new-turned soil, for hero to day. Were stretch'd the lov'd remains of all that hope, Once uiagnifyM with microscopic glance : Of all that fortune waited to enshrine III more exalted spheres; now lifeless laid, i: '-« I * i ■ '1^ \ 214 Tin: CHURCH yaiip* And tho* the half distracted Parent yields Fresh froin it« briny source, th« trickling tear With never-ending pace, yet still umnoy'd, By fond at}ection*s gift, the lowly dust Itcft of sensation, ever sleeps below. Here too, tho* justly fam'd on many afield Where death refus'd his dart, tho' boldly pressM, 'J'iie Warrior sleeps, forgetful of his fame; And near hiis bulky grave the inlant lies. To whom the self-same hour gave birth and deal!!, Alike they moulder, banquet for the worn»s. There wrested from a tender lover's arms, That fondly circled the remains of beauty ; 'Till death, with strong relentless force, unlock'd The lovM embrace, the youthful virgin waits Th' approaching period, when the vanquish'd grave. Shall yield reluctant, (tho' with fairer charms, And doubly blest, with never fading lustre,) The various captives of its finish'd reign. In yonder distant spot, so scldona trod, Save by liuirtnUbreast, (»r his I'oathcrM rnatr, A grave is fcen, 'iwa^ surely made in ha»te, I-ur sun kbdv uvv Lii€ >uiiacu Hi Uic cailn flh I IHE CHURCH YARD. 21i [ig tear eld y pressM, ind tlca'tli, ns, 7; unlock'd waits lish'd grave, re,) i. WAUf ute, rt i-ems unrini.h'd. Oh ] it hold, a jtran^er, Who once had friends, and competence, and health : But IVoTidcncc, that ever knows the best, And knowing acts as sovereign graca commands ; AllowM the lone « inhabitant below," To wander from the regions of his youth In quest of happiness, a shade, a name, Bnt known as such, in this terrestrial world. Yet still, the phantom lurM him with her smile, And many a clime beheld the exile roam, Lonely and sad along its barren waste : ™ poverty and death, at length united, La,d him in earth, «„d left him not a friend ; And now, perhaps, beyond the swelling n,ain, His lioai-y Parents, weep his early loss. ' There stands the ..)g abbey coverM „Vr, And ^..arded by the full-grown moss of vcar. ; ^^'> h^^selfss is the fabric., fear commanly as some mourner hither led, By views like niiur, to .ee the land of death, bhall wander thou^ihiful oV the - sa.li.lm 'a ground;' AN ADDRESS, 8iC. The mopn with tricnt^ly be>in may silver o*er. My narrow mansion ; and tiie tear be giv'n. That ^)ity sheds upop the ucw-fona'd grave. 2It — <2;iG?&— ail aiDUrtiSs, TO TIIE VJTIiONS OF SUNDAY SCHOOLS nV Hind, Nn ir-iiii uxsmcA', ^ HE tender plant that rears its slender form. By some close thicket shelter'd from the stanii ; Whose youthful leaves to meet the breeze expand, And bloom nnrivall'd on a favor'd laud ; If left to brave the tempest's an^ry powV, Jiosigris its beauty in the stormy hour ; And with'rini^ sinks, unable to maiutuiM UuL'ijual combat ou the open j>l 181 185 189 191 193 Elegiac Stanzas on the Brevity of Time, The Nativity, - -^ The Crucifixion, - " " The Resurrection, - - " . An Ode to Innocence, - • " The Wanderer, . - - Thee will I Love, &c. from the 18th Psalm, - 203 To a Lady on the death of her Father, - - 205 Stanzas, composed in a time of Sickness, - 208 The Church Yard, - " " ^^^ An Address to the Patron* of Sunday SchooU in New-Hrunswick, - . - 4. A Reflection, - - - " '^-^ PAr,x. IC, 16f> M - 181 - - 185 . 189 « - 191 ^ m 193 Psalm, - 202 ar m - 205 Lness, 208 •• .21:2 i-y Schools in m - nr m • 22 i