WOMAN. 
 
WOMAN: 
 
 A SATIRE, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY WADHAM PEMBROKE. 
 
 Difficile est satyram non scribere. 
 
 JDY. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST, CHANCE, AND Co. 
 
 MDCCCXXX. 
 
LOAN STACK 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 NEVER did more blushes suffuse the face, or more 
 ineffable emotions assail the bosom, of any timid fair one, 
 when she coyly confesses the tender excitement of her first 
 love, than now are mine, whilst I commit these maiden 
 effusions of my Fancy to the waves of Literary emulation. 
 
 Bat the experience of a single storm, gives courage 
 to the Sailor ; one campaign, strengthens the heart of a 
 Seldier ; it may be thus with me. 
 
 My little Skiff is ready to put off she is gone she is 
 invisible. Heaven protect her lonely wanderings ! and if 
 she be not wafted by the gales of praise, to the harbour of 
 Fame, permit her to find, among the placid waters of 
 Lethean stillness, a quiet resting place. 
 
Fye! Fye! Fye! 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Ridiculum acri 
 
 Fortius et melius magnas plerumque sectat res. 
 
 HORACE. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 WOMAN 1 
 
 TO LAURA 31 
 
 CHILDISH REMINISCENCES 41 
 
 AMABILIA. 63 
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 To THE SPIRIT OF POESY 85 
 
 To LAURA 91 
 
 THE FORSAKEN , 96 
 
 To LAURA 100 
 
 ON LEAVING 102 
 
 THE STANDARD'S UNFURL'D ,, 104 
 
viii. CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 A FRAGMENT 106 
 
 THE WALTZ 110 
 
 To MELANCHOLY 112 
 
 FRIENDSHIP , 115 
 
 ON 117 
 
 Music 121 
 
 ON RETURNING A TO 123 
 
 DIES FESTALIS 124 
 
 FORBID THAT I EVER BEHOLD THE EYE 127 
 
 CONCEALED LOVE 129 
 
 To LAURA - 131 
 
 IMITATION OF HORACE. BOOK iv. ODE 7 134 
 
 To A WEEPING WILLOW 136 
 
 To LAURA ON HER BIRTH-DAY 138 
 
 STANZAS . . . , * * 145 
 
WOMAN: 
 
 A SATIRE. 
 
 LADIES, 'tis meet that I resume my Pen, 
 
 Or quickly hasten to my Lyre again ; 
 
 Tho' not to sing the beauty of your eyes 
 
 A theme which far too oft my thought supplies; 
 
 Nor yet the ringlets playing round your neck, 
 
 Which give the tincture to your dimpled cheek. 
 
 Ah no ; all this may truly please the sense, 
 
 Elicit Poesy's sweet eloquence, 
 
 Make flattery her glassy words express, 
 
 And all the Lover's silly tenderness; 
 
 Make you admired in the Dance's maze, 
 
 Embosom'd close by corsets and by stays; 
 
 Delight the eye, and make the servile fop 
 
 In liveliest measures round about ye hop : 
 
 We may adore, fall down, and heave the sigh, 
 
 Call ye our Sun and our Divinity ; 
 B 
 
2 WOMAN. 
 
 But still the heart, while it approves the skin, 
 
 Contemns, derides, despises, what 's within : 
 
 As the rough mountain which, while in it lie 
 
 The golden stores that Afric's shores supply, 
 
 Conceals its barrenness, when o'er it plays 
 
 The beam which verges from those golden rays. 
 
 So we admire the visage and the dress ; 
 
 (Oh ! would to Heaven that some admired them less ;) 
 
 But see these once depart, and thea inquire 
 
 Why beaux have ceased to flatter and admire ; 
 
 And by some envious lip I' will soon be told 
 
 The mountain 's only valued for its Gold. 
 
 Had Nature e'er intended it for me 
 To found a school of true Philosophy ; 
 Without the rigour of the primal Thales, 
 Or austere virtue of Old Doctor Paley's 
 I mean a Seminary for Young Ladies ; 
 We had not now-a-days beheld so many 
 Old maids hated by all, not loved by any ; 
 Methinks my Pupils would have better angled, 
 The fly of Love more elegantly dangled, 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 And e'en without the new invented swivel, 
 
 If not a bite, at least had got a nibble. 
 
 But as it is, their floats I mean their hearts, 
 
 Are oft pulled over head in deepest parts 
 
 Of Love's rough waters when (without staying 
 
 To give the hooked boy a little playing) 
 
 They behold this nay e'en before they strike 
 
 They lose the fish perchance it was a pike 
 
 And oh at least some seven years ago, 
 
 If I bethink aright when it were so, 
 
 I ne'er could get another one to try 
 
 To taste, or e'en to smell a living fiy. 
 
 Report, dear Ladies, 'mong the finny race* 
 
 Has a smooth tongue, of fools the only grace 
 
 They cannot hear, 'tis true, but they can see ; 
 
 The eye 's an organ of loquacity 
 
 At least I've often found it so with me. 
 
 Behold that form which rises in the crowd 
 Of swelling nymphs, magnificently proud; 
 Her garb is beautiful its satin fold, 
 Her swan-like bosom vainly strives to hold. 
 
4 WOMAN. 
 
 The Cretan whiteness of her rounded arm, 
 
 Is not content with Nature's simple charm ; 
 
 Refined gold, the sapphire, and the gem, 
 
 Her bracelet's circle gorgeously hein. 
 
 See, how she moves as stars along the night, 
 
 Where'er she goes e'en Darkness pales to Light ; 
 
 Behold, what fools attendant on her train 
 
 Sigh for her smile, and haply sigh in vain ; 
 
 See, how bright Wit her golden stores displays, 
 
 And Wisdom's iron tongue her satire stays. 
 
 Age sighs for youthful buoyancy again, 
 
 And Youth for Age, to soothe its bosom's pain ; 
 
 She walks in peerless beauty not a word 
 
 Against her maiden blandishments is heard. 
 
 Infernal Circe, garbed in Venus' dress, 
 Thou cream of Corinth's vicious loveliness ; 
 Such as those Harlots, who notorious were 
 The fetid colleagues of Aspasia. 
 Such ought'st thou to he called, but thou art named 
 Whate'er in Flattery's Lexicon is famed. 
 
WOMAN. 5 
 
 To thee e'en Poesy's seraphic fire, 
 
 Compressed in all the madness of desire 
 
 Exhausts itself all proudly long to share 
 
 The lecherous perfume of thy chamber's air. 
 
 All fain their sweetest Kisses would imprint 
 
 On lip so lavish of the Tyrian tint. 
 
 Heu tempora ! heu mores ! Oh ! by Heaven, 
 
 If Satire's poignard but to me were given, 
 
 I'd plunge it 'mong such perjured breasts, and proud 
 
 Expose their hearts before the admiring crowd. 
 
 What, shall the force of misery or joy, 
 
 Of lasting pleasure or complete alloy ; 
 
 Nay, nature's streamlets, from whose courses flow 
 
 All that delight or misery can know, 
 
 Be thus polluted by the horrid stain, 
 
 Which runs from hearts corrupted and profane ! 
 
 Ladies, perceive the above is writ en passant ; 
 hcebus forbid I e'er be an assassin ; 
 The heart 's your pride the dagger is my pen ; 
 Oh, hear ye this, ye servile sons of men- 
 Women it might have been but the expression : 
 
 Yet hither, hark ye, to a short digression. 
 B 2 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 I've said, good folks, my pen to be my dagger; 
 Not such an one wherewith 'tis meet to swagger, 
 As the young Ensign, when he sounds it high 
 * Sir, you forget I serve his Majesty ;' 
 But such as I can use without suspicion 
 Of going on a bandit's expedition. 
 Nature, kind virgin, has to every mind 
 Ordain'd what may be best ; and not confin'd 
 Her splendid blessings to " a favor'd few ;" 
 But each has given what may fitly do 
 
 1 mean, to pass the waters of the World, 
 Your canvass hoisted, and your sails unfurled ; 
 With about thrice experiencing shipwreck, 
 The cube of that a broken head or neck : 
 
 'Tis in pursuance of this golden rule, 
 Not that which every one has learnt at school 
 That hares have swiftness to elude the paw 
 Of Canine fierceness, and their masters' maw. 
 Hence Bulls have horns, hence Fishes have their fins, 
 The Worm its glow and Serpents venom'd stings 
 'Tis hence, at least so sings the Tean lyre, 
 That beauty lit in woman's eye her fire : 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 This is not very elegant I know ; 
 
 ' To light a fire/ methinks, is rather low ; 
 
 Yet you'll excuse, one cannot always hit 
 
 The very simile which just will fit. 
 
 But to proceed, as bullocks by their horns, 
 
 Serpents by stings, and roses by their thorns ; 
 
 So I defend myself by Satire's pen, 
 
 Which is ray Dagger I repeat again. 
 
 Last year, sometime about the winter solstice, 
 Pardon, my Friends, if any where a fault is ; 
 When I was sitting reading Doctor Gillie, 
 Musing and thinking it were mighty silly, 
 That ever Greece should favor such a prism 
 As what is mostly termed an ostracism, 
 Somewhat too learn'd for me I must confess 
 Far better suited for his Holiness 
 The Pope ; pious or impious, 'tis all the same, 
 The simple ratio is but the name : 
 You know what Juliet conceived aright 
 But hush, that Play of Romeo 's so trite ; 
 I heard a tapping at my Study door ; 
 4 Come in,' Come in,' my answer as before : 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 In came the liveried Slave, and in a manner 
 Which Soldiers to a victor stoop their banner, 
 Inclined his starched neck, and soon presented 
 ( A Card of Invitation' sweetly scented 
 With rose and lavender which DO delusion, 
 Had been some beauty's phial's soft tranfusion 
 'Twas to a dinnery^te from Lady G - 
 
 A most unusual hour, at half-past three; 
 
 To give, as it most courteously expressed, 
 
 Time for the Ladies to be gaily dressed 
 
 In Evening costume, whatever it might be 
 
 Pourtrayed in that sweet Book ' La Belle Assemblee. 
 
 I'm too attached to Veuere et vino, 
 
 I mean a Beauty and a Glass of Wine O, 
 
 To let the occasion pass ; so, a la mode, 
 
 When the time came, to Lady G's 1 rode. 
 
 I handed to her seat, as other men, 
 A black ey'd nymph, just landed from Ardennes ; 
 She was, by Heaven, a most enchanting creature, 
 A perfect Hebe in each look and feature ; 
 Her hair was dressed in ringlets and her brow 
 Was white as one might think Sithonia's snow. 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 We each soon understood, as folks would say ; 
 
 Nor we alone but as all others may 
 
 Who have a very little time in France been, 
 
 And are aufait in language and in dancing. 
 
 But she was only one among a many ; 
 
 Tho' by the way as beautiful as any ; 
 
 For all were lovely, and one might have thought 
 
 Diana's train from Delos had been brought ; 
 
 Or Venus' Choral Sylphs, such as are seen 
 I; In the recesses of Olympus' sheen, 
 
 Who Bacchus, Jove, and Pythian Apollo 
 
 On the soft down of Heaven's azure follow 
 , All were perfection, and i' faith not one 
 
 Was what a Greek had called an Amazon. 
 
 The dinner passed, at which each one was toasted ; 
 
 And as the game so much in Flattery roasted ; 
 'When all the Ladies in a trice conspire 
 
 To leave the table in a word retire. 
 t A custom which is worthy execration, 
 
 A horrid stain upon the English nation ! 
 
10 WOMAN. 
 
 We sat till about ten, when in entered 
 A bobwigged Gentleman, who having centered 
 The lofty Hall, with simpering voice proclaimed 
 The Chandeliers were lighted and en flamed : 
 The Band arrived, and nothing else deficient 
 (Methought it was a circumstance sufficient) 
 But Partners for some Ladies who were fainting; 
 Yes, 'twas e'en manifest despite of painting ; 
 Such being the case and such being the inj unctions, 
 Tho' sad the giddiness of mental functions, 
 
 We hasten to the Ball, and there behold 
 
 
 What just before the powdered Helot told. 
 
 The pencilled floor and the Lydian lute, 
 The jocund tabor and the am'rous flute 
 (Marsias, say, would such a concert suit) 
 Were all in readiness, and each one eyed 
 The Girl which most his vision gratified. 
 Anon we move within the dance's maze, 
 Make our obeisance and the chaine anglaise, 
 And all the motion of the eye regard 
 While they perform the Demie promenade, 
 
WOMAN. 11 
 
 L'ete, La poule, La Trenise, yet in vain 
 To mention more we dance till La Finale. 
 Then with our partners linked hand in hand 
 We whisper all that flattery can command ; 
 Procure Sauterne, Bucellas, Lemonade, 
 And what are else on such occasions made. 
 
 But most young Ladies always take it ill 
 Merely to figure in a stale quadrille: 
 It for a time may all be well say they, 
 But we soon weary of the Balancez ; 
 There 's something very cold in dos a dos, 
 En donnant la main droit is but so so ; 
 Oh La' indeed, 'tis monstrously inane 
 To exercise the prudish Chaine des Dames ; 
 Lucy, dear, ask that beautiful Young Man 
 To join the Waltz, or Spanish Saraband. 
 'Tis said, 'tis done; the viol's wanton sound 
 Tunes the gay measure as they lightly beund ; 
 They move along like waves when gently fill'd 
 With tepid warmth from Thetis' breast distilPd : 
 Now on his arm she softly leans her form ; 
 Now on her bosom he is gently borne : 
 
12 WOMAN. 
 
 Breast touches breast, ringlets 'mong ringlets stray* 
 
 Eye beams on eye, voluptuously gay : 
 
 Now lip meets lip, and gives impassioned kiss, 
 
 The sweetened foretaste of consummate bliss ; 
 
 While perfumed Zephyrs from the loosened hair, 
 
 Fan the soft bosom delicately fair, 
 
 As if they knew the emotion treasured there. 
 
 Again they rise, and fall, and rise again ; 
 
 Now each one whispers what he can't contain : 
 
 Intoxication swells within the breast, 
 
 With love's excitements overcome, o'erprest, 
 
 She lovrly begs her last, her wished for boon, 
 
 His manly arms support ; and in a swoon 
 
 Entranced by Frenzy see behold her lie 
 
 Convulsed in all desire's agony. 
 
 Upon the Couch's kind alluring aid, 
 
 In a dim niche conveniently laid, 
 
 Prostrate behold her 'ere you sympathize 
 
 Pray let indignant feeling moralize : 
 
 Behold her now, how pallid is her cheek, 
 
 Loud palpitates her heart her pulse is weak. 
 
 Oh ! ( cut her lace asunder' 'ere is rent 
 
 The fold which keeps her heart so closely pent, 
 
WOMAN. 13 
 
 Oh ! mercy ma'am, was ever face so placid : 
 Hand hither quick your Aromatic acid. 
 And other stuff: but I'm a dullish hand 
 To melt the soft expression and the bland : 
 To make the matter short, she 's very soon 
 Gently supported to the Anti Room ; 
 And very right, one does not like to catch 
 The Lyncean eyes which ever are on watch 
 In such disasters, and 'tis better suited 
 To youthful spirit now so much diluted 
 There let her rest for some half hour or so, 
 Gallantly lackeyed by her taper beau 
 I mean a living one, not the dull light 
 Which may be seen at Cambridge every night 
 Beam from the Walls of Trinity or John 
 The quiet lodging of some studious one ; 
 But such as is without so much evasion 
 Every way suited to the sweet occasion : 
 And till she may be called herself again, 
 We '11 shroud them, if you please, in Venus* veil. 
 
 Oh, Woman, blush ! Oh blush whilst I betray 
 
 What sad experience proves every day ; 
 c 
 
14 WOMAN. 
 
 Oh blush ! Oh blush, ye Daughters of our Isle, 
 Well may morality your ways revile ; 
 Well may the modest, prudent and the wise, 
 Your heart-aches scorn, your wretchedness despise. 
 Oh diffidence, whose grateful odour sheds 
 Beauty on youthful and on matrons' heads ; 
 But most, Oh most, that tender blushing grace 
 Whose tints suffuse the bashful virgin's face : 
 Where are ye sped say why your influence 
 Ceases to be of beauty her defence ? 
 Ye Asiatic beauties, ye who might 
 In Persian revelry consume the night, 
 Methinks, despite of manner and of clime 
 (But that 's a very awkward word for rhyme,} 
 Ye would have blushed thus to expose to view 
 Those charms, which visible, can ne'er renew 
 That beauty which must doubtless always be 
 Among the hidden gems of secrecy. 
 
 So much for dancing : now to come to talking ; 
 The vesper promenade the matin walking 
 
WOMAN. 15 
 
 Behold a belle lounging in Fashion's park, 
 No matter if her hair be light or dark ; 
 Deformed or beautiful, 'tis all the same, 
 They each alike assume that lovely name ; 
 You'd think her some gay bird, which one may see 
 By paying for in Shaw's Menagerie : 
 You never would suppose I do assure you, 
 That you beheld a human form before you ; 
 The case of cards, the reticule the glass 
 Chapeaux so corpulent, one cannot pass 
 Unless their contour putting in sad plight, 
 And every thing like elegance to flight ; 
 With all the other follies which appear, 
 To say at least a dozen times a year, 
 Truly convince you, though 'tis rather droll, 
 That you espie ' an Idle bird' or doll. 
 
 Are these the beings from whose forms arise 
 The men to execute what toil supplies ! 
 Protect our shores, and with a valiant hand 
 Preserve from foe our Liberty and Land ; 
 Quell insurrection, and with classic sense 
 Unveil the enchanting charm of Eloquence ; 
 
16 WOMAN. 
 
 Stem the deep torrent of a nation's rage, 
 
 The breath of Faction mitigate assuage. 
 
 Messenian Warrior ! Aristomenes, 
 
 Wert thou the issue of such loins as these ? 
 
 Or ye, who on Etruria's turgid sea 
 
 Preserved the wreck of Troja's dignity ; 
 
 Or ye, who perished at Thermopylae ! 
 
 Had Grecia's sons been such say had they stood 
 
 The rolling violence of Persia's flood ? 
 
 Athene ! had thy hardy Prowess shone 
 
 In the famed plains of gory Marathon ? 
 
 Had Rome the splendour of her power displayed ! 
 
 Whose brightness dazzled and whose arm dismayed ; 
 
 That mighty Empire, from whose shore arose 
 
 All that is noble ; in whose breast repose 
 
 What War, what Peace, what Grandeur, could disclose! 
 
 Nay, were they such who formed the manly Band, 
 
 When Edward burst upon proud Gallia's land, 
 
 When France her lordly standard had unfurled, 
 
 And at Britannia her Thunders hurled ? 
 
 No, they were not : far other was the breast 
 
 Which gave to them its nourishment and rest ; 
 
WOMAN. 17 
 
 Far nobler spirit from their bosoms ran, 
 That formed at once the Patriot and the Man. 
 " Fortes creantur fortibus et bonis," 
 To these belong the La urel and the donis : 
 'Tis not ordained by nature or by fate, 
 That Eagles from the Dove should generate ; 
 Dodona's crowd ne'er rose from out the stem 
 Whose slender form the pool's dead waters hem. 
 
 No wonder, then, so many Sons of Mars, 
 
 'Mong Infantry, or Lancers, or Huzzars, 
 
 Had rather war with kisses soft, and sighs, 
 
 And meet the radiance of Beauty's eyes, 
 
 Than nigh 'the Cannon's mouth,' whose madd'ning roar 
 
 Thunders the war to cry each distant shore, 
 
 With heart * in triple brass' begirt and brave 
 
 Seek the proud Laurel or a noble Grave. 
 
 1 always thought that Russell made a blunder, 
 
 In saying that in Dryden's Sigismonda, 
 
 The feelings of her heart were too excessive, 
 
 T' would have been truer to have writ expressive : 
 c 2 
 
18 WOMAN. 
 
 Dryden knew women well, and there's no doubt, 
 He just described them as he found them out 
 After much intercourse : It may have been 
 The less enchanting portion he had seen ; 
 But in that lady's character, in sooth, 
 He only spake of woman-kind the truth. 
 
 Few words define a Woman's fault tis true : 
 There 's nothing right they say, or think, or do ; 
 But still they are not frail, Oh no, but let 
 A Woman once but love, she'll ne'er forget. 
 Thus thought the bard of Avon, when he writ 
 The empassioned madness of sweet Anne's fit : 
 All know that Anne was prince Henry's spouse, 
 And when he died, you know, 'twas fit to rouse 
 Some rheum of respect one could not bear 
 To leave the Wife who scorned to lend a tear. 
 Behold her weeping in a public street, 
 Wo at her head and sorrow at her feet, 
 Her lord's base murderer now meets her eye ; 
 She gives him every word which may apply 
 
 To fiend,' < foul D ,' < minister of H ,' 
 
 Words which become a Lady's lip so well 1 
 
WOMAN. 19 
 
 Heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, 
 ' Oh, earth, gape open wide' and bite his head. 
 But Flattery, sweet zone ! can soon dispel 
 
 E'en Horror from a minister of H , 
 
 < Fairer than tongue can name thee,' when replied 
 
 The ' Hedgehog Richard,' soon she kinder eyed 
 
 Rather more softly this base * Homicide.' 
 
 ' In your sweet bosom could I rest an hour ; 
 
 * Teach not thy lip such scorn,' thou 'st not the power ; 
 
 And such nice words as these ; so in the end, 
 
 Her rage and sorrow somewhat quickly spend, 
 
 And to this f D minister of H ' 
 
 She taught her scornful lip to say * Farewell.' 
 
 Soon did her bosom suffer to be pressed 
 
 By the same hand, by which 'twas late distrest 
 
 Soon was the Dungeon for the Chamber changed ; 
 
 Soon were her vows of hatred disarranged. 
 
 Let any one now answer how it be 
 
 That Woman should be called frailty ! 
 
 There was a time, but now that time is gone, 
 When on a Woman's brow there only shone 
 
20 WOMAN. 
 
 One laurel of renown, Venus 1 or none. 
 
 I mean to say, that when a virgin found 
 
 She was not very likely to be owned 
 
 As a stray angel, or a wandering nymph, 
 
 Or Juno's messenger, bright blue-eyed sylph, 
 
 She gave up all pretensions to a name, 
 
 Nor strove for Myrtle in bright Cypris' game. 
 
 But now a woman, when she finds that Nature 
 
 Has not quite moulded her as sweet a creature 
 
 As in Creation dwells; why then, in spite 
 
 Of all that Mrs. H., or Oh can write, 
 
 She soon begins, with every machination 
 
 Which can inflame a maiden in vexation, 
 
 To plan a something which may compensate 
 
 For the unkindness of her cruel fate. 
 
 Thus beauty has let grow in her dominion, 
 (This is entirely new mine own opinion) 
 Deformed pride and squeamish affectation, 
 A sad misfortune, ma'am, to any nation, 
 Who e'en against their Aristocracy 
 Have founded firm a strong Democracy. 
 
WOMAN. 21 
 
 And what 's the consequence ? 'tis very plain, 
 Young men have now a-days too oft the pain 
 Of seeing at some distance a gay feather, 
 Bonnet, or gown, or parapleu, or whether 
 You choose, for it makes little difference 
 Either in metre, or perhaps in sense ; 
 They see them at some distance, I have said, 
 Oh say what then assails the heart and head ! 
 They meet, they stare ; La what a disappointment 
 What they thought bloom, they merely find an ointment ; 
 It was a bird no doubt, but only able 
 To find its genus in that very fable, 
 Ladies, I would not your fine feelings shock ;) 
 Where the jackdaw presumes to be a peacock. 
 But this is only half; one might have borne 
 3ur disappointed hopes, for if we 'd torn 
 The painted plumes, which vainly strove to cover 
 That which, alas ! was seen above and over, 
 Methinks the dictates of her little sense 
 Would have at least ashamed her impudence. 
 
 Simplicity ! soft as the breeze which blows 
 Mong lands unknown to tempests and to snows ; 
 
22 WOMAN. 
 
 Pure as the waters on whose saffron streams 
 The crescent moon her infant beauty beams, 
 Entrancing as the various tinted dress 
 That nature wears in springly loveliness. 
 
 Affectation ! soft as the breeze which blows 
 'Mid lands allied to tempests and to snows ; 
 Pure as the waters on whose muddy streams 
 The aged cow her dirty beauty beams ; 
 Entrancing too as is the knee-deep dress 
 That London wears in wintry dirtiness ! 
 
 I 'm almost sick of scribbling, though I fain, 
 Ere I depose my pencil, would obtain 
 The little favor that I once possess'd 
 Among the fair ones ; I should be distress'd 
 So far to violate all nature's laws 
 As wound a woman's heart without a cause. 
 
 I fancy, L , I see thy pretty mouth, 
 
 Which breathes so soft the accents of the south, 
 Distort itself; and in a sore vexation 
 Overwhelm me, Love, with every execration. 
 
WOMAN, S3 
 
 But words can never spoil so sweet a place ; 
 'Twill but impart a different kind of grace: 
 As ocean's waters only lose their form, ; 
 
 And not their grandeur, in the swelling storm ; 
 Nature is beautiful, or let her pass 
 Led by calm Zephyr or stern Boreas. 
 
 Ye azure nymphs, who on Britannia wait, 
 Who grace retirement or lordly state ; 
 Whose beauty is omnipotent, and stands 
 The brightest lustre of our golden lands ! 
 Ye, on whose cheeks are pencilled every ray 
 Which the gay form of Iris can display, 
 And in each other melt themselves away : 
 The rose's tincture and the lily's white, 
 (Embrace and kiss each other in delight ; 
 Whilst pale cerulean veins around the eye, 
 'So softly and so beautifully lie 
 SLike a calm even in Ausonia's sky ; 
 Giving more perfect loveliness than e'er 
 IThe sight could wish for, or the heart desire : 
 On ye I call ! on ye, who where ye stray, 
 Give spring to winter, and to night the day : 
 
24 WOMAN. 
 
 Oh let it not be said, that while the face 
 
 Has more of loveliness than mortal grace, 
 
 Your heiMrts are treacherous your feelings base ! 
 
 Oh ! seek retirement, whose envied shade 
 For virtuous culture seems most aptly made ; 
 There weave those garlands which may gently shed 
 Their modest perfume on the nuptial bed, 
 And give you joys when other joys are fled ; 
 For think not that alone < the desert air,' 
 Will see your beauty, or your accents hear ; 
 The gay coquette when struggling with her hand 
 Against the stream of age, her vessel manned 
 With hordes of flatt'rers^ sycophants, and beaux, 
 Hoping to lull her bosom's rending throes ; 
 As she sails past on waters dark and rude, 
 Oh, how she '11 envy your loved solitude ! 
 
 Thence from reflection you may well impart 
 What will adorn the mind improve the heart, 
 And treasure pleasures that know no decay ; 
 Which ne'er the world could give nor take away. 
 
WOMAN. 25 
 
 No flattery then will whisper in your ear, 
 
 Which, when 'tis heard, excites true virtue's fear ; 
 
 No miscreant monster then will dare deface 
 
 With his foul breath the sheen of virtue's grace ; 
 
 The storms of envy, passion, and desire, 
 
 And all that else 'gainst happiness conspire, 
 
 Will soothe their vengeance e'er they gain the bower 
 
 Sacred to beauty's and to virtue's power ; 
 
 Oh then ! your loved associates will be 
 
 Sweet Innocence, and white armed Charity ; 
 
 The Muses' train from Phocis will descend, 
 
 And Poesy her morn and even spend 
 
 'Mid your beguiling stillness ; and to these 
 
 Dian's bright chorus Hamad ryades. 
 
 When Hymen's torch the dreary night illumes, 
 And on your lord's proud breast each care consumes, 
 Joys will be yours which they can never bless 
 Whose hours consume in base voluptuousness ; 
 And often bring to light too oft display 
 What only ought to grace the bridal day. 
 Pure then your words, your actions purer still, 
 Virtue and Peace the scathless heart shall fill ; 
 
 D 
 
26 WOMAN. 
 
 Conscience approving at life's weary close, 
 Will whisper comfort and serene repose ; 
 Oh then receive what I would fain express 
 To her whom most I wished to iove and bless : 
 May ye be happy with the happy live 
 And learn to hate what Fortune will not give ! 
 
 You see from hence, 'tis hoped, that I'm not ready 
 To hurt the feelings of a * nice young lady,' 
 Unless the barbed arrows which I fling 
 May serve to heal the very wounds they bring ; 
 Upon my word, I speak as though I were 
 With head upon the block of Mulciber. 
 
 I 'm very tir'd, my fire is very low, 
 I cannot poke it to another glow ; 
 My wax, i' faith, is burning in the socket, 
 And both my hands are hidden in my pocket. 
 No, I mean one, the other 's on my head ; 
 My idle servant is asleep in bed ; 
 My pen and ink are finished, and my knife 
 (A cutting image of a scolding wife) 
 
WOMAN. 27 
 
 I cannot find ; 'tis blowing very high, 
 
 And the black heavens look melancholy, 
 
 So I must end ; Ladies, Good night,' * Good night, 
 
 Believe me, Beauties, I'm no anchorite. 
 
 Yet e'er I end, 1 have a word to say 
 To those kind souls, who on some future day 
 May say to me what I shall notjmuch matter, 
 For even words can sometimes maim and batter ; 
 I mean those Gentlemen, who having lost 
 Their reputation, and have since been toss'd 
 On disappointment, ever deem it right 
 Against a literary bark to strike. 
 I fancy, Hal, that you would say to play, 
 Though Heaven ward off such sportings from my way ; 
 Play on her broadside ; which, if they cannot sink, 
 They quickly chase to that most deadly brink, 
 Ycleped lost genius, then hurl their darts 
 
 Pity ! say, can these have human hearts ? 
 
 1 mean those verbal darts, those witticisms, 
 Those hourly, daily, monthly criticisms ; 
 Those salty gew-gaws, that so much of late 
 Infused their poison into Gallia's state, 
 
28 WOMAN. 
 
 And raised fell partisans, so that a man 
 
 Must be Girondist or Republican. 
 
 Yes ! I mean these ; yet to those gentlemen 
 
 I modestly would thus advise, that when 
 
 They take me underhand, to recollect 
 
 That their black poison will not much infect ; 
 
 No ! pale-faced gentlemen, ye herd of critics, 
 
 I have been dipped within the wave of Styx. 
 
 What I have said refers to very few, 
 
 Yet among those includes " the stockings blue :" 
 
 No ! by Apollo, there be some whose pen 
 
 Seems to express the thoughts of learned men, 
 
 Who are not to be gulled with any thing, 
 
 Nor think a white swan when a sea mew sing ; 
 
 To these, 'tis known, that I must stoop, and yield 
 
 My little scuta to their massive shield ; 
 
 I know by them I 'm either made or marred, 
 
 My fame is either beautified or scarred. 
 
 Take what's been said as kindly, and employ 
 
 Your heavy weapons as against a boy. 
 
TO LAURA. 
 
TO LAURA. 
 
 QH ! L , dear L , thou idol of my soul, 
 
 Base were his heart, his breath indeed were foul, 
 
 Whose venal vapours dared to raise to thee, 
 
 What might e'en dim thy dazzling purity. 
 
 Oh ! thou, too fair for earth, whose lovely form 
 
 Virtue's and Nature's simple hands adorn ; 
 
 Whose eye reflects the mild and fertile ray 
 
 That beams around the golden orb of day, 
 
 And nurtures every flow'ret in thy way ; 
 
 Thou, in whose bosom springs the fount of Song ; 
 
 Whose snowy fingers as they glide along, 
 
 Awaken every sense, loosen each tie 
 
 Which circles round the soul of melody 
 
 On thee I call, to whom my frenzied sense 
 
 Hath offered oft impassioned eloquence. 
 
 Think not, my sweetest, that my heart though rude, 
 
 Though poisoned by the sting ingratitude, 
 
 E'er hints at thee, thy name my theme supplies, 
 
 That thou art she whom now I satirize. 
 
32 TO LAURA. 
 
 Forbid it, Heaven ! Oh, may the darkened crowd 
 
 Whom Stygian horrors everlasting shroud, 
 
 Enwreath upon my brow their snaky hair, 
 
 And feed upon the blood which burneth there ; 
 
 May the dread dark which now upon the sky 
 
 Sits desolate in frowning majesty, 
 
 Ever be mine ; may some deep, sounding shore, 
 
 Dashed by the tempest's storm-excited roar ; 
 
 May wood and den, and dreary wild and cave, 
 
 Where Woe and Care their habitation have ; 
 
 May Hope revolt, and in her form appear 
 
 Heart rending disappointment and despair ; 
 
 May these be mine nay, more than my weak lyre 
 
 Dares to express or tempteth to aspire, 
 
 If in these lines I willingly impart 
 
 What may disturb thy rest, or wound thy heart : 
 
 No ! no ! tkou mirror clear of purity, 
 
 'Twas by such spotless excellence in thee 
 
 I saw reflected other's vanity. 
 
 I ve watch'd thee, L , through many a changing 
 
 year, 
 And while I gazed, have felt a trembling fear; 
 
TO LAURA. 33 
 
 ihy diffidence my opening lips did press, 
 I dared not to unfold my tenderness ; 
 I 've seen thee from thine infancy arise, 
 As Luna doth in her nocturnal skies ; 
 Whose gentle form first as a crescent beams, 
 And only half her brother's lustre gleams ; 
 Then soon in modest fulness slowly glides, 
 With golden seraphs kneeling at her sides, 
 Who, when she passes, and her brow they see, 
 Shroud their bright faces in obscurity. 
 
 Thou art so risen, L , and now I gaze 
 
 Upon those charms foretold in earlier days ; 
 
 Those tinctured blossoms that proclaim'd thy youth ; 
 
 Should found her dwelling on the throne of Truth: 
 
 As softened showers and zephyrs smooth the bed 
 
 Where Flora may repose her perfumed head, 
 
 As Hope allures, and with a soothing ray 
 
 Points from the present to a future day. 
 
 Look, my dear L , say, dost thou see yon cloud, 
 
 Whose amber arms around pale Cynthia crowd, 
 
 A.S if Endymion had his presence sent 
 
 To guide her through the boisterous element ; 
 
34 TO LAURA. 
 
 To guard her where the Lion and the Bear, 
 And the fell Scorpion, their heads uprear ; 
 
 Oh ! if thou dost, my L think, think that I 
 
 Will thus defend thy spotless purity. 
 
 I 've watch'd thee, L , through many a varied year 
 
 When, emblem of thyself, the days appear 
 Waiting as Spring's gay loveliness, and shed 
 Sweet heavenly scents on nature's infant head. 
 Yes ! I have seen thee tripping o'er the lawn, 
 As full of freshness as the blushing morn ; 
 Oft I have viewed thee, too, at eventide, 
 Pensively wandering by the streamlet's side 
 Thyself as limpid as their waters glide ; 
 I've seen thee, too, when Winter's chilling night 
 Has warmed and softened in the festal light, 
 Swell the gay garland dance, and beam 
 As truant spirits when on earth may seem ; 
 I 've seen thee, too, when in the giddy waltz, 
 Yet not indulging in its sensual faults ; 
 No ! gently leaning on a sister's breast, 
 Or by a brother's arm thy form was press'd ; 
 Not spouting fashion's silly ribaldry, 
 No ! ne'er could that find audience with thee, 
 But words as chaste as Angels' minstrelsy. 
 

 TO LAURA. 35 
 
 Say, dearest L , but Heaven forbid the thought, 
 
 That e'er a Woman's heart with gold were bought 
 
 Say, L , when in the glittering, gaudy world, 
 
 Honour and Power their standards have unfurl 'd ; 
 Wilt thou be captur'd by that sparkling glare, 
 And war against the crest thou once didst bear ? 
 O, power and wealth, and monarchy and state, 
 Soon bow before the iron throne of fate ! 
 
 Behold yon thund'ring, rolling avalanche, 
 Whose foaming waves in savage beauty branch 
 On the rock's bosom, and with horrid crash, 
 Down the white precipice their waters dash ; 
 The cannon's voice is 1 ost within their rage, 
 Jove's sacred bolt, their fury would assuage ; 
 The wreck of matter' would e'en calm the sense, 
 When listening to that hissing violence. 
 From rock to rock it boundeth, and its roar 
 Echoes and howls till it can howl no more 
 But look upon the tiny lake, whose bed 
 Receives its waters from this fountain's head ; 
 How calm, how clear, how still, how placidly, 
 Upon its form the marble waters lie 
 
36 TO LAURA. 
 
 Say, who could think that e'er such calm did spring 
 From such a boisterous, crashing origin ? 
 Thus 'tis with power : the Syren fame and pride, 
 Youth, Beauty, Wisdom, or whatever may glide 
 Upon the world's broad basis ; in each dress 
 The mind of man to dazzle and distress : 
 'Twas thus with Gallia's son, whose breath was fire, 
 Such as Pelorus' rugged breasts respire; 
 Whose voice, was as the ocean when a storm 
 Swells in her veins and horrifies her form ; 
 Whose arm was as the lightening, whose hot sting 
 E'en scathes and blasts the trophies it may bring ; 
 Whose mad ambition earth could not contain, 
 Yet toss'd him high upon her boiling main, 
 Then proudly soar'd to boundless space again. 
 
 My L , excuse me, dear, I know that oft 
 
 To thee I've sung more tenderly, more soft ; 
 But Oh ! my fancy will not let me lie 
 Where once I lov'd to slumber placidly ; 
 It burns to soar, on higher wings to rise 
 On what more thought and energy supplies ; 
 
TO LAURA. 37 
 
 But if I soar above that orb, where ne'er 
 The heart hath sadness, nor the eye a tear, 
 Still shall my lyre attune its chord to thee, 
 Thou meekest, fairest, child of purity. 
 Think not that I'll forget : No, all the wo 
 From every poison'd spring of life may flow ; 
 
 Still, L , with thee enclasp'd within mine hand, 
 
 Upon some storrn-girt rock I'll firmly stand : 
 That hold I'll ne'er relinquish No, I'll have 
 With thee a mutual, tho' a deathly cave; 
 What envious wave shall wrench thy form from me, 
 That wave I'll hail as my Divinity. 
 
 But hush ! this heavenly flame will soon consume, 
 Exhaust the fancy which it won't illume ; 
 Soon will this eye, within whose orb now burn 
 Pride and Ambition, in their hellish turn ; 
 Soon will this eye, I say, have ceas'd to shew 
 The frenzied fires that in my bosom glow ; 
 Soon will this heart, so petrified, so stung, 
 Whose^ender covering every wo hath wrung, 
 Ceasing to palpitate within my breast, 
 
 Bestow on me what others deem not rest : 
 E 
 
38 TO LAURA. 
 
 Soon will this glowing-, burning, flaming breath, 
 Congeal within the frozen one of death. 
 
 o 
 
 Well, be it so ! Oh ! I should hail e'en this, 
 Deem it the rudiment of endless bliss, 
 If I had ne'er known thee ; but, Ah ! thy form 
 Swells my rough bosom with a deadlier storm, 
 Whene'er I think a nobler arm will share 
 The union of thine happiness or care; 
 Another voice thy sadder hours shall cheer, 
 Enhance each pleasure, and dispel each fear. 
 
 Say, L , wilt thou from the funereal pile 
 
 My youthfnl ashes raise, when tauntings vile 
 On every hand assail thee and the sneer 
 Of the World's laugh ? I hesitate 1 fear. 
 
 Say, wilt thou, L , upon my bosom throw, 
 
 Not the pare streamlets but thine eye -balls flow ? 
 
 Say, wilt thou, L , my parting eye-lids close, 
 
 And lull me to Elysian repose ? 
 This be my Epitaph this let it be 
 Ambition's vassal slave of Miserv. 
 
CHILDISH 
 
 REMINISCENCES. 
 
CHILDISH 
 
 REMINISCENCES. 
 
 WRITTEN IN SICKNESS. 
 
 I. 
 
 OH, 'tis a luscious sweet, and soother far 
 Than gaudy Hope e'er gave, to roam awhile 
 
 'Mid joys of other days ; to mount the car 
 Of mild Euphrosyne, and leave the vile 
 
 The selfish cares, which man's creation mar, 
 His Virtue and his Goodness all defile ; 
 
 To bask alone in the gay sunniness, 
 
 That raised so many sweets to love and bless. 
 E 2 
 
42 CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh, happy hours ! when Reason's infant dawn, 
 Breathed Arab perfume on the soul, and gave 
 
 The modest tincture of the blushing morn : 
 Whilst the chaste heart translucently did lave 
 
 In pearly drops of Innocence forlorn 
 To think on ye when now we have 
 
 Lost all such virtues, and we only find 
 
 Mirror'd in your clear form, a baser rnind. 
 
 III. 
 
 Yet 'tis a joy, such as the Lover feels, 
 
 When his endearments meet the warm return : 
 
 It is the hidden mystery, that reveals 
 
 The grot of Happiness, where brightly burn 
 
 The spicy flames of Mirth ; a balm that heals 
 The broken spirit and the hearts which mourn- 
 
 Yes, 'tis an ecstasy to travel o'er 
 
 Those rosy lawns that we have hailed before. 
 
CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 43 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sweet * * * , how oft within thy dell, 
 
 And bourne, and crowded copse, and mount and glen, 
 In childhood did I stray ; fain would I tell 
 
 Thy beauties, how they cheered me, when 
 My heart was all untried by the fell 
 
 The sad disquiet, which the breasts of men 
 Tears and torments, when first they tempt the tide, 
 Upon whose billows worldly interests glide. 
 
 V. 
 
 How often have I chased the butterfly 
 Over thy meads, whose golden-tinted wings 
 i Beamed as a little Iris : while the sky 
 
 Re-echoed faintly to the bird, which sings 
 Rising ad rising, then, with fluttering sigh, 
 
 Leaves those fair regions and as quick begins 
 To cleave the yielding air o'ercome, o'erpressed- 
 And sinks all weary on her grassy nest. 
 
44 CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Sad emblem of those joys, which oft in life 
 Rise near us, and with gaudy plumage fair, 
 
 Allure our vision : then with eager strife 
 To chase the sure deceivers we repair : 
 
 We throng amid our rivals thick and rife ; 
 
 We gaze, we sigh, we touch Oh what despair ! 
 
 That touch has soiled its beauty, and it stands 
 
 As the dull night on Scythia's desert lands. 
 
 VII. 
 
 How often have I in thy limpid brook 
 
 Thrown my gimped cord ; then with a trembling hand 
 Watching the little Minnow take its hook, 
 
 Have drawn it proudly to the damasked land ! 
 How often have I watched the sombre rook, 
 
 Upon its oaken habitation stand ; 
 Oft have I heard the swallow twitter by, 
 And woo thy stillness with its minstrelsy. 
 
CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 45 
 
 VIII. 
 
 That Cot I well remember; at whose feet 
 The rose and lavender in worship fell ; 
 
 Whose reedy covering the breeze did greet, 
 
 . 
 
 ! Kissing the dwelling which it loved so well ; 
 On either side a silvery stream did meet. 
 
 And murmured softly ; on whose banks did dwell 
 The miiky-lily ; while its riplings pet 
 The tender bosom of the violet. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Calm shades of Innocence ! how oft have 1 
 On Summer's even, when the heavenly blue 
 
 Smiles with the pink, the saffron, and the dye 
 That melts its beauty among every hue ; 
 
 How often have I, calm and placidly, 
 
 Chaste as the breezes which about me blew 
 
 .Listened in pleasing sadness to the tale 
 
 That Echo whispers from the Nightingale. 
 
46 CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 
 
 X. 
 
 Sweet Philomel ! whose honied cadence flows 
 Soft as the waters from the glassy stream, 
 
 Which over Tempe all its beauty throws ; 
 Or feasts the brightness of the solar beam ; 
 
 Oh ! say, what lyre to tell thy sweetness knows ! 
 Soft as the sprinklings of that heavenly cream 
 
 Which Juno's breast distilled, when beaming on 
 
 The infant splendor of her Jove-born son.* 
 
 XL 
 
 Lov'd shades ! oft have I tripp'd along your way, 
 When the green meadows sparkled in delight, 
 
 And raised their incense to the fane of day, 
 Seeming to triumph o'er the reign of night 
 
 With the blithe dairy-maid, chaste as the ray 
 Of diamond dew that kiss'd her in her flight, 
 
 To hear her carelessly breathe forth the song 
 
 That Cloe lisped to love-lorn Coryuon. 
 
 * The Lactea via. 
 
CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 4? 
 
 XII. 
 
 I 've strayed through gayer scenes have seen the hall 
 Scorning dull night, with festal torches shine, 
 
 Which gaily figured on the burnished wall 
 
 Those tender forms that life's dull hours beguile 
 
 Woman's sweet countenance : I've seen the tall 
 The stately beauty, in the dance's wile, 
 
 With silken-woofed garb, and hair unzoned, 
 
 Glide as a seraph, when the minstrels toned. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 I 've quaffed the golden cup, whose vintage gushed 
 In Bacchanal profusion, and inspired 
 
 The flagging spirits as they slowly rushed 
 Along their fleshy courses, worn and tired : 
 
 Have srrfelt the spicy perfumes, such as frushed 
 From cedar'd Lebanon the maid required 
 
 To touch her velvet tunic, or adorn 
 
 The snowy costume of her bridal morn. 
 
48 CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 I've strayed in richer lands ; have seen the streaks 
 Of the red East transfuse their beauties o'er 
 
 The mingling summits of the blushing peaks 
 That high 'mid Cumbria's lofty regions soar : 
 
 Have seen the silver hand of Luna break 
 
 The thund'ring dissonance of Neptune's roar, 
 
 And with the soothing which her eyes disclose, 
 
 Lull him in calmness to a still repose. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Yet, Oh ! loved * * * these ne'er afford 
 
 So bland a retrospection as is thine ; 
 Their luscious nectarines, pomegranates, and gourd, 
 
 Are not so sweet within these lips of mine, 
 As thy wild berries and thy milky curd, 
 
 Thy rustic flowers and thy sycamine : 
 These were the nurses of all feelings holy ; 
 Those the soothers of my melancholy. 
 
CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 49 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Ah ! soon from such, Elysia, are we torn ! 
 
 Envy, ambition, pride, and sickly woe, 
 Each long to have us on its billows borne, 
 
 And soon upon those billows do we go ; 
 Soon do we stagger 'mid the waves forlorn 
 
 Soon is our little canvass rented through ; 
 Soon are our skiffs upon their Scylla toss'd, 
 Their sails all shattered, and their compass lost. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Oh, Melancholy ! raise thy snaky head ; 
 
 Oh, Music, Music ! echo mournfully ; 
 Oh, Discontent ! thy poisoned essence shed ; 
 
 Oh, Sadness ! heave thy mirth-destroying sigh : 
 Ye note^of Wo, all hither quickly sped ! 
 
 Hasten, hasten, lone Melpomene ! 
 Ye wreaths of Yew and Cypress, quickly bind- 
 Oh ! with your shadows tinge, my gloomy mind. 
 
50 CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Soul of my being ! Blood, too, of my blood ! 
 
 Flesh of my flesh ! another yet myself ! 
 Where art thou, Isabel ? all holy, good, 
 
 Where art thou now ? Oh ! say, what wandering elf 
 Has seized thy loveliness ? Or say, what flood 
 
 Has borne thee haughtily its stolen pelf? 
 Where art thou, Isabel ? to thee I '11 come 
 And make thy prison-house my fairy home. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Oh ! surly Death, with timid, envious, hand, 
 
 Say, couldst thou not have quelled thine appetite 
 
 Upon some kindred carrion, and let stand 
 A being so fair, so worthless of thy bite ? 
 
 The Lightning's terror, which ignites the land, 
 Disdains the Jasmine or the Rose to blight : 
 
 It seeks a nobler victim ; it would scorn 
 
 To wear a garland from the Myrtle torn. 
 
CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 51 
 
 XX. 
 
 But thou, insatiate monster, seem'st to leer 
 In grim delight, and from thy hellish lip 
 
 To simper in disdain with taunting jeer, 
 What time the blood of virtue it may sip ; 
 
 Oh ! how thou mock'st the tender, anxious fear ! 
 Say, what delight, to see the bosom dip 
 
 In Circean wretchedness ! To thee, what joy 
 
 To watch the mother weep her infant boy ! 
 
 XXL 
 
 Oh conquest too supreme for Pallas' vest ! 
 
 No worthy Psean may the Poet sing : 
 To tear the maiden from her lover's breast, 
 
 To blast with poisonous breath the buds that bring 
 To the young Mother all her joy and rest, 
 
 And mar the smile of * Hope's imagining.' 
 Oh ! potent Fiend, to stretch thy mighty hand 
 O'er dimpled cheeks and virgin beauties bland r 
 
52 CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 My Isabel, my Sister, 'twas to me, 
 
 Though in those moments when scarce Feeling feels, 
 A burning Auster to the soul, when thee 
 
 The monster seized oh 'twould reveal 
 Too much of sadness and of misery ; 
 
 'T would probe the sore that ne'er alas ! can heal, 
 To tell how much thy loss my bosom wrung, 
 How it has blighted, blasted, bruised, stung. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Well I remember thy calm dying hour : 
 
 I see thee lying on thy weary bed, 
 Weakened and pale, without the wished for power 
 
 To draw thy pillow from thy feverish head ; 
 Thou spaked'st not, moved'st not as the summer flower 
 
 When Night falls pressing on its spirit fled 
 Thou swooned'st away, away, and not a sigh, 
 Disturbed thy bosom fainting placidly. 
 
CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 53 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 My Isabel, my Sister ! say how oft, 
 
 If e'er thou thinkest on thy brother now 
 
 Do I at midnight, when the billows soft 
 Of jetty darkness swell Creation's bow, 
 
 Breathe a warm prayer to thee so high aloft ? 
 
 I dream those dreams thy day-thought visage shews ; 
 
 I start, I wake, I clasp, thou art not there ; 
 
 I wake to what ? to weeping and despair. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 My Isabel, my Sister ! all that left 
 
 A pleasing painful relic of thy being, 
 Was soon snatched from me soon was that relic reft ; 
 
 The only solace that I had in seeing 
 Thy curly Phillis ; oh, 'twas a cruel theft ! 
 
 That little favorite for whose well being 
 Thou used'st to tend so much that found no rest 
 
 Unless t' were pillowed in thy downy breast* 
 
 F 2 
 
 
54 CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 My Isabel, my Sister ! Oh, that sound ! 
 
 Oft have I sworn to utter it no more, 
 For to its whisper echo doth rebound 
 
 Seeming to falter as she speaks a sore 
 A rending cadence, such as round 
 
 The charnel cavern moans, when through its door 
 The sickly breezes fan the holy glare 
 That weeping Misery sadly burneth there. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 My Isabel, my Sister ! look and bless 
 Thy weary brother ; let thy Seraph tear 
 
 Cool the sick bosom which thou can 't caress; 
 Oh ! gently, Isabel, dispel my fear ; 
 
 Thou image bright of purest godliness, 
 Inform, O tell me, when shall I appear 
 
 And claim with thee, all pure, all chaste, all good, 
 
 The glorious honours of thy sisterhood ! 
 
CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 55 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 IV] y lids are flaming, yet I cannot weep : 
 
 No, that would cool their burning ; and the soul 
 
 So swellingly compressed with Sorrow's deep, 
 
 Would find some opening, whence might gently roll 
 
 Those stormy waves, and haply have a sleep 
 A short repose upon its tossings foul : 
 
 As Ocean when the storm has swollen her breast, 
 
 At last composes in the slumber's rest. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 fime wings along in a resistless flight : 
 Infancy, youth, proud manhood, hoary age, 
 
 Almost a single morning brings to light ; 
 And yet do each give something to assuage 
 
 Life's weariness, or perhaps they might, 
 
 Could we but only quell the bursting rage, 
 
 That strife and envy, malice and desire, 
 
 Igniting in our hearts, inflame and fire. 
 
 
56 CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 When youth excites us, how we urge along, 
 Heedless and blind, resisting all the force 
 
 That Reason fain would tender ; and the song 
 Of sad Experience, who, at every source 
 
 Where pleasure riseth, tells us who have gone, 
 Hating the moral of her sage discourse 
 
 Careless of all her precepts ; and too late 
 
 Have mourned they might have known a happier fate. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Yes, Youth is as the prancing martial steed 
 Shorn of its rider: rushing mid the crowd 
 
 Where roars the cannon and where thousands bleed, 
 W T ith streaming mane and fiery snortings loud ; 
 
 Onward it rushes blind to fear or heed, 
 
 And dashes through the thick volcanic cloud : 
 
 It pauses now, it rears, now starts again, 
 
 And dyes its hoof within the bloody plain. 
 
 
CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 5? 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 'Tis sweet to think upon those hours, when first 
 Virtue's inspiring beam, and the warm sun 
 
 Of pure affection, all unclouded burst 
 Upon our guileless bosoms : when begun 
 
 Those little cares and foibles, which at worst 
 Only refine the veins through which they run ; 
 
 The air may be too pure ; the stream too clear ; 
 
 Joy must have surfeit Hope must have a fear. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Dear * * * to whom kind Nature well has given 
 A form more exquisite, than e'er pourtrayed 
 
 The Godlike Phidias, when a soul of heaven* 
 He breathed in lifeless marble ; and o'erlaid 
 
 Inaninfation with a softness riven 
 
 From grand perfection ; that since has made 
 
 Amazed myriads kneeling at its shrine, 
 
 Worship the stone and sculptor as divine. 
 
 * Apollo Belvklere. 
 
58 CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Or he of Argos' band, who when he drew 
 The springing water, felt a silky hand 
 
 Embrace his snowy neck, that soon him threw 
 Amongst the azure kirtled Naiades, who bland 
 
 Gave him to Thetis : or the youth who knew 
 The tender Goddess famed in Cypris' land : 
 
 Or who impassioned Luna as she shone, 
 
 The Parian whitened lorn Endymion. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Dear * * * 1 say, we once were wont to find 
 A kindred feeling glow within our breast ; 
 
 Our hearts were one, tinctured alike our mind, 
 And the same sorrows had disturbed our rest ; 
 
 Our sports were elegant ; our ways refined ; 
 
 Our joys had then by misery ne'er been press'd : 
 
 Say why the laurels of Forensic lore, 
 
 Make thee forget whom thou didst love before ? 
 
CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 59 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And thou, dear M , who now dost calmly stray 
 
 On Isis' flowery banks, upon whose side 
 
 Philosophy sits smiling night and day ; 
 
 Upon whose waters Fame and Fortune glide : 
 
 We oft, conjoined, have trod a weary way ; 
 
 Oft have we soared through Fancy's regions wide : 
 
 Receive my benison : Oh ! may'st thou be, 
 
 The child of Fortune and the friend of me. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 And thou, my E , whose worth no poet's ly 
 
 Though fraught and stringed by the very Nine ; 
 
 Though its bright chords were hot with heav'nly fin 
 Could sound deservingly, so justly thine : 
 
 Being of my being ! flame of my desire ! 
 With whom I joy, without whom I repine; 
 
 Oh, thou, too pure !^Oh, spirit, too refin'd 
 
 Bright gold amid the dross x)f human kind. 
 
60 CHILDISH REMINISCENCES. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 My sweet Maecenas, Patron, Guide, and Friend, 
 Each tender sympathy, my all required ; 
 
 Fain would my flagging spirits strive to lend 
 The thrilling essences to be inspired : 
 
 Fain would my lyre its sweetest cadence blend, 
 And sound the canzonet to be admired : 
 
 It sounds -in vain, in vain, no sound can tell 
 
 How I adore thee : Oh ! I love too well. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Here must I end : no other name is fit 
 
 To follow thine, Dear E : I feel the flame 
 
 Is almost lambent ; yet, what I have writ 
 Let it remain : I ask not for the fame 
 
 Of the base world, for then must I remit 
 
 Those lofty thoughts that hide my Nature's shame ; 
 
 Then must I simper, flatter, fawn, and lie 
 
 Yet, Man, remember thou art born to die. 
 
AMABILIA. 
 
AMABILIA. 
 
 i. 
 
 O, Heaven ! how sweet it is when first we glide 
 
 Over the lucent waters of the world ; 
 Fair youth and beauty sitting at our side ; 
 
 Our silken canvass streaming all unfurled, 
 Which virgin's sighs impregnate; while preside 
 
 Gay Mirth and Gladness, pointing to the wold 
 Among whose plains there's all to joy and bless : 
 Rosy lipp'd Pleasure, bright eyed Happiness. 
 
 
64 AMABILIA. 
 
 II. 
 
 Delirious frenzy presses on the mind ; 
 
 No beacon pales us, nor do rocks dismay ; 
 Alluring Hope assures us we shall find 
 
 Flowers without thorns, and regions all of day ; 
 Onward we press, our little reason blind, 
 
 We chase reflection and 'dull care' away ; 
 We fear no Cyclops, heed no Circes' land ; 
 Our hearts with boldness and with youth are manned. 
 
 III. 
 
 But soon, alas ! the veil deserts our eye ; 
 
 Soon do we hear the wind and billows roar ; 
 Soon do we see the dark brows of the sky 
 
 Knit, frowning on us all around before ; 
 Soon do the waters rise, and angerly 
 
 In snowy mountains from their regions soar : 
 Horror creeps within our breasts we weep, we rave ; 
 And oft despairing seek an eager grave. 
 
AMABILIA. 65 
 
 IV. 
 
 Still Hope allures; and with her silvery hand, 
 
 Beckons to fairer regions, where repose 
 All those famed beings, and that fairy land 
 
 Which golden days are wonted to disclose ; 
 Still we pursue, for when her magic wand 
 
 Touches the thorn, it soon becomes a rose : 
 Onward we press, and on, and on, and on, 
 Till he forsakes us, and our peace is gone. 
 
 V. 
 
 Still have we happy moments, such as press 
 
 Mellifluous odours which will soothe the hour 
 Of desolate repining wretchedness : 
 
 Oh ! there are Friends, and Beauty, and the power 
 Of the World's greatness, which we all would bless ; 
 
 And then there is, too, Love's sweet Jasmine bower, 
 Tinctured with Cassia, Lavender, and Myrrh, 
 
 To dulcerate the youthful wanderer. 
 G 2 
 
66 AMABILIA. 
 
 VI. 
 
 * 
 
 Yes, there are bosom friends although too rare, 
 
 That as the icicles on mountains stay, 
 Who with us e'en the world's cold scoff will bear, 
 
 And when they part, go weepingly away ; 
 And there be festal evens, where repair, 
 
 Maidens more lovely than the smiling May ; 
 Where Music breathes her nectar and her balm, 
 And fondles loved Terpsichore in her arm. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And Gala days, too ; such as bridal mornings, 
 
 When spirits beam so brightly, and the heart 
 Enrobes itself in Pleasure's gay adornings, 
 
 And clings to happiness as ne'er to part : 
 No sighs are heard, nor any uncouth yawnings ; 
 
 But every word is soft, and kind, and smart ; 
 Soft as the couch where blushing eve reposes ; 
 Or brooks meandering gently among roses. 
 
AMABILIA. 6? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And there is whispering to some much prized girl 
 
 The tender tale of warm impassioned love ; 
 Whose hair is ebony, and teeth are pearl, 
 
 And voice as soothing as the turtle dove : 
 O yes ! 'tis sweet, when first allowed to twirl 
 
 The silky tresses ! O tis far above 
 All the conception of ideal bliss, 
 When first we seal our offerings with a kiss* 
 
 IX. 
 
 And then, you know, 'tis sweet upon the eve 
 
 When boys put off their boyhood, and presume 
 The tender care of Guardians to relieve 
 
 To see lov'd faces on our hearth illume; 
 And even, too, 'tis sweet sometimes to grieve ; 
 
 For one grows giddy 'mong the thicken'd fume 
 Which Pleasure in her incense burns to Mirth ; 
 Oft after Luxury there comes a dearth. 
 
68 AMABILIA. 
 
 X. 
 
 'Tis sweet to join a party, too, of pleasure 
 
 At Margate, Scarbro', Filey, Derwent, Brighton, 
 Or where you will, if you've but gold and leisure, 
 
 And mind the collocation be a right one ; 
 For it in truth requires above all measure 
 
 Of true politeness, when we chance to light on 
 Those sexagenary maidens, who are fainting 
 At every cap of wind, and cow, and painting. 
 
 XL 
 
 'Tis sweet, too, when we spur the fiery steed, 
 
 Whose smoking nostrils curl the shining fold, 
 To break thro' gate, and barrier, and mead ; 
 
 And hear the compliments that we are told : 
 'Tis sweet to fetch the long neglected weed, 
 
 Whose kindred sisters deepest caverns hold 
 In some dark water ; and to laugh the brine, 
 That woos the lip 'mong billows of the Rhine. 
 
AMABILIA. 69 
 
 XII. 
 
 'Tis sweet to hear the creaking of one's door 
 
 Unfold to view an unexpected friend; 
 One whom we've much admir'd in days of yore, 
 
 And always ready both to give or lend. 
 *' Come in, dear fellow ; what, I say, once more 
 
 " Whoever dreamt of seeing you ; 'Twould rend 
 " A smile from Sorrow. Oh indeed, what bliss ! 
 " Ne'er did I think on such a treat as this :" 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And so forth, for about a dozen stanzas ; 
 
 Then sitting down before a merry fire, 
 To pick the soft meat of a brace of ganzas ; 
 
 And then with Hock and Burgundy inspire, 
 Till one might almost dance the reel Fandanza, 
 
 And ne'er the viol nor the lute require ; 
 Oh yes, this is a pleasure if you please; 
 But Heaven knows there's not too much of these. 
 
70 AMABILIA. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And then, tis sweet, too, when we have a card 
 
 To swell the circle of a widow'd lady ; 
 Where we meet many ( bearded like the pard ;' 
 
 And every portico is cool and shady ; 
 We own in such a case His somewhat hard, 
 
 To keep our cranium from being heavy ; 
 But then, you know, 'tis sweet to roam abroad, 
 W T here one shall meet no prying, quizzing, Lord. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Inspiring Tea ! but stay, we'll have no song ; 
 
 Tho' Kings have sung thy virtues as being witty- 
 I mean the Chinese Emperor Kien-long, 
 
 Who said 'twas soothing and indeed 'tis pretty 
 To share the little simperings which belong 
 
 To a ' tea party :' Yet 'tis a pity 
 That Byron did not say so for, Oh then ! 
 How great thy praise among the sons of men. 
 
AMABILIA. 71 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Yet by the way forgive it is to me 
 
 A pleasure far above all else geotic,, 
 Whether I 'm sipping Hyson or Bohea ; 
 
 Tho' Lardner says it brings on fits narcotic ; 
 'Tis very true, we all know this may be ; 
 
 But 'tis as true, you know, a good hydrotic : 
 All must love tea who are termed scholastic, 
 The * Helluo Librorum,' or monastic. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 There is ar^ertain place, where often I 
 
 Of Hospitality receive the rite, 
 Where one tastes Hyson which, by Jove, would buy 
 
 The company of the Muses for a night : 
 It is the very fount of Hippocrene : 
 
 Wherein your pen once dipped, you would e'en write 
 As many Lines as hath Sir Walter Scott, 
 With this rude ratio they J re all forgot. 
 
72 AMABILIA. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And 'tis a pleasure of no meagre kind 
 
 To see one's wardrobe nice refitted all 
 From Stultz, or any Stultus, when you find 
 
 A twelve month gone before he dares to bawl : 
 'Tis sweet tho' not a taste the most refin'd, 
 
 To curb Thessalians from Tattersall : 
 One that is a tolerable hedger, 
 Or knows the Jockey who must win St. Leger. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 'Tis very sweet to make an Attic speech 
 
 Which all the news-mongers approve and laud ; 
 'Tis very sweet to rid one of that leech., 
 
 I think in Flaccus you will find the word 
 A tiresome friend who's always at one's breech, 
 
 Yet not the least amusement can afford ; 
 Like ballads old, or e'en a late one, 
 Of high cognomen baptised < S .* 
 
AMABILIA. 73 
 
 XX. 
 
 But Oh ! the sweetest, sugar-candied sweet, 
 
 And without which, we ne'er can taste of joy ; 
 But stay, I think this subject you may greet 
 
 Some stanzas back nay, every ' beardless boy,' 
 And sometimes man 's an Amorist complete ; 
 
 To tell the truth, the theme begins to cloy ; 
 One can't take up a book wherein 's not writ 
 The heart's enlargement from some lover's fit. 
 
 J XXI. 
 
 Whose metres generally thus will rhyme : 
 The word which ends a line with simple thee,' 
 'Mong any nation, language, people, clime, 
 Is sure to meet its * Soul's divinity :' 
 speak the fact ; nor does it e'en confine 
 Its idol to this world's infinity ; 
 Lnd when one's just upon the point of < sleeping,' 
 
 wonder if the bard begins a * weeping.' 
 H 
 
74 AMABILIA. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 I think I see thee, Laura, lying now 
 
 Beneath the Beech and Sycamine in sleep ; 
 The hinds no more their little antics shew ; 
 
 The founts all murmuring about thee weep ; 
 Sad minstrels sit upon the bush, and low 
 
 Despondenly they mournful vigils keep : 
 Thy sickly heart was faint, and its lone sigh 
 Whispered thy bosom's pain Inconstancy. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Oh, she was beautiful ! But ne'er had art 
 
 That loveliness defiled ; which is the ore 
 Of true perfection ; she was the mildest part 
 
 Of Nature's handy-work, who ne'er before 
 Forming such beauty, clasped it to her heart : 
 
 The moulden brake its form was lost, no more 
 Could she renew its image ; but confessed 
 She stood her prime production, first and best. 
 
AMAB1LIA. 75 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 She was not tall, but such proportion met 
 
 Each sinew and compartment, that the whole 
 eemed as the marble which in gold is set 
 
 To some divinity an offered dole ; 
 )ne might not scarcely look but with regret, 
 
 E'en when her limbs were covered with the stole ; 
 
 nd when her Chian garb was loose and free, 
 7e gazed with fear, and almost tremblingly. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Scarce eighteeiwsprings had shed their odours o'er 
 
 Her youthful blandishment ; her marble brow 
 Pas calm and smooth, as is the sapphire floor 
 
 Of high Olympus, yet did faintly shew 
 ome tender characters of Love's sweet lore ; 
 
 Science most easy, and for all to know ! 
 Jpon which fell in soft and glossy plight, 
 ler ebon hair, as snow looks when 'tis night. 
 
76 AMABILIA, 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Still was her hair dishevell'd, and it spread 
 
 Its silky softness in a stream behind, 
 While Zephyrs whispering round her sped 
 
 Rarifying the air 'till all refin'd ; 
 And Oh ! her breasts were as the budding head 
 
 Of a spring rose, about whose blush we find 
 The mossy leaves, which do as yet conceal 
 What only full luxuriance may reveal. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Dishevelled was her hair, I say, it strayed 
 
 Among the breezes, as the Almond tree 
 Waves in the wind ; or as the vine when played 
 
 With by soft Auster, and its ringlets free 
 Purfled with Jasmine, were so neat arrayed, 
 
 They swam about as soft and tenderly, 
 As one might think the skiffs, which touch the stream 
 From whence the rays of little Cupid beam. 
 
AMABILIA. .77 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The words which breathed from out hr vermil lip, 
 
 Told of the pearls and rubies whence they came ; 
 They were as sweet as the Ambrosial sip 
 
 Which Power drinketh at the feast of Fame : 
 And often, too, a dimpled smile would tip 
 
 Their candied coverings, lisping the name 
 Of purest Faith, Felicity, and Joy, 
 With vow of giving ne'er the least alloy. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 A Bald rick girded, too, her slender waist, 
 
 Embossed with diamond, and every gem ; 
 Yet still of Envy had they seemed to taste 
 
 Of all the rest the most accursed wem ! 
 For when the beaming of her eyelids chaste, 
 
 There trembled, as does dew upon the stem 
 Of the Acanthus one might soon perceive 
 Their brightness fading, and their visage grieve. 
 
 H 2 
 
78 AMABILIA. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Her eye, indeed, was brighter than the bright 
 
 Renowned Cestus; and where'er it shone, 
 Despondency was joy, and darkness light, 
 
 And grief's Chaotic sadness broke upon 
 The choir of Hope, all sporting in delight, 
 
 Leading young love with myrtle crown along ; 
 Bright as the herald of the starry train 
 When first she twinkles in the Eastern plain. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 I mean ye not indeed to understand 
 
 That 'twas all fire, disdain, and haughty pride ; 
 Beaming as Jove's to threaten or command : 
 
 Oh no ! within its ebon orb did glide 
 The milder star of Hesperus ; so bland, 
 
 So eloquent, so asking to confide, 
 That while stern rays of Chastity appeared 
 We loved, admired, and were awed, and feared. 
 
AMABILIA. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 The Graces touched her feet, and as the steed. 
 
 Gold linked in Thessalian car, she trod ; 
 Or, as Diana, when she past the mead 
 
 Watered by dimpling Eurotos; whose nod 
 Dismays the libbards which around her feed ; 
 
 Or she of old, whom that high vaunting God 
 Pursued, and swore that she should ever be 
 The proud insignia of his Deity. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 I must apologize w this digression : 
 
 But as I'm writing now of sweetened things, 
 I thought 'twas very meet to give expression, 
 
 To that which most of all a sweetness brings ; 
 This must indeed be every one's confession, 
 
 He who rules, speechifies, proses or sings ; 
 For tell me, pray, who would not think it bliss 
 To be the all of such a soul as this ? 
 
80 AMABILIA. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 J Tis sweet, too, when famed wines our cells replenish, 
 
 Sauterne, Champaigne, Bucellas, or e'en any 
 Which a blithe Bacchanal would hail as Rhenish, 
 
 Or but now a-days there are so many 
 Different * sorts and kinds,' and tastes and relish 
 
 The grape 's almost as common as a penny, 
 And should one call ( a bottle of Madeira,' 
 The ladies would pronounce it a chimera. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Sweet is the voice of Fame ! not any lyre 
 That Orpheus ever strung could sound as this : 
 
 It is indeed the true Promethean fire 
 
 , Which kindles in one's soul the flame of bliss ; 
 
 It is indeed the hope of all desire ; 
 
 Almost as sweet as even Love's first kiss ; 
 
 It forms the Poet, Warrior and King ; 
 
 'Tis to gain this that e'en the Muses sing. 
 
AMABILIA. 81 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 . .>' 
 
 'Tis sweet, too, when one 's tired to go to bed, 
 
 And gently dose in slumbers still and warm, 
 To feel old Morpheus shower upon one's head 
 
 The luscious balsam of somniferous balm 
 Particularly so, when we have read 
 
 Eight hours before and done no one no harm ; 
 So if you please haste, Harry, bear a light, 
 I wish you, Lords and Ladies, all ( good night,' 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
TO THE 
 
 SPIRIT OF POESY. 
 
 Me vero primum dulces ante omnia Musae, 
 * * * , ingenti perculsus amore, 
 Accipiant. VIRG. 
 
 SWEET Spirit of the fairy bower, 
 Where Fancy revels all alone ; 
 
 That sway'st the mind with softest power, 
 Smiling when other joys are gone 
 
 Bland spirit ! that distill'st each part 
 
 To gild the mem'ry and the heart ; 
 
 Whose ray elicits richer sweets 
 
 Than May-born Flora ever greets ; 
 i 
 
86 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Whose pinions bear to fairer skies 
 Than Nature's dull realities 
 To thee my simple lyre would fain 
 Attune the tribute of its strain. 
 
 In every garb in every dress 
 
 In russet vest, or bright array 
 Conspicuous is thy loveliness ; 
 
 And none have milder charms than they : 
 When wand' ring nigh the haunted stream, 
 By matin dawn, or Luna's beam ; 
 Or when the midnight breezes swell 
 Their sad response to day's farewell 
 Whate'er thou art, where'er thou be, 
 How cheering is thy minstrelsy ! 
 
 A thousand joys each long to share 
 The mien, the visage, that are thine 
 
 How many opiates prepare 
 The crystal essence to refine ! 
 
 It cannot be ! no power can tend 
 
 Thine own peculiar grace to lend : 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 87 
 
 E'en Laughter falters to a sigh ; 
 Pleasure bloometh but to die ; 
 Memory's store could n'er disclose 
 A garland woven with the rose 
 'T may flatter thus yet oh ! a thorn 
 Amid its gayest wreath is borne. 
 
 Not so with thee ! thy magic wand 
 Beckons to fancy 's golden land, 
 Where every hour and season smile 
 Benignly on her blessed isle. 
 Unnumber'd forms may 'st thou assume 
 In each to brighten and illume ; 
 Nor does thy presence please the less 
 When sighs proclainarthy wretchedness ; 
 When Melancholy shares with thee 
 The union of her ministry ; 
 When cares about the bosom spring 
 Unknown their cause or origin]; 
 In each in all dost thou inspire 
 The Soul's most chaste, most hidden fire. 
 
88 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 But Oh ! much lov'd thou dost appear 
 
 Gently presiding smiling o'er 
 Twin hearts, whose only care is fear ; 
 
 Whose only crime is to adore. 
 Oh yes ! thou dost exalt the flame 
 Which lightens Love's most hallowed fane 
 Far soother are the drops that shed 
 Their perfumes on the youthful head, 
 When thou dost touch its Syren stream, 
 And add thy brightness to the beam. 
 
 Entrancing are thy virtues, Love ! 
 
 Thou first from Heaven didst kindly bring 
 Those secrets of the realms above, 
 
 Beyond e'er Man's imagining. 
 With Poesy conjoined, thy way 
 Is beaming in an endless day ; 
 Eternal Summer tints the sky. 
 About thee halcyon murmurs hie ; 
 Celestial raptures mildly veil 
 The mis'ry of this worldly vale, 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 89 
 
 And bid the earth-bound soul to soar 
 
 Where regions dulcerate each sense ; 
 Where tears and anguish are no more ; 
 
 But Nature's maiden innocence. 
 
 Holy Elysium ! such as might 
 Enrapture seraphs with delight : 
 Whose healing spirits softly shed, 
 When all around is withered dead, 
 A balm to cheer each wan alloy, 
 And raise the drooping form of joy 
 1 Sweet Poesy ! fain would I raise 
 The Paeon worthy of thy praise. 
 
 I Descend, descend ! no form is here ; 
 
 Descend, in Fancy's airy car 
 [Descend, Euterpe, hasten near, 
 
 And let me soar with thee afar. 
 Oh ! let me muse where, heretofore 
 IT he exiled Ovid heard the roar 
 Of Ocean's wave, that seem'd to sigh 
 In pity as it passed him by : 
 I 2 
 
 
90 FUGITIVE PIECES* 
 
 Or where great Maro lov'd to be 
 For Genius famed Parthenope; 
 Where Ariosto's vivid lyre 
 Consum'd the brain it did inspire : 
 Or let me stand, where Byron stood, 
 Musing o'er the ^Egean flood 
 Whose every thought, and hope and care, 
 Breathe of the sweets he gathered there- 
 Maiden, Adieu ! 'tis not for me 
 
 To woo thy spirit to my cell ; 
 Far nobler lyres have sung to thee, 
 
 Far louder strains thine anthems swell. 
 Bear me but lowly I shall feel 
 What none but thou could'st e'er reveal. 
 For say, what minstrel may express 
 The thrilling feelings that possess 
 The darkest bosom, when its rage 
 Is softened by thy tutelage. 
 Maiden, Adieu ! 'tis not for me 
 
 To woo thy spirit to my cell 
 Far nobler lyres have sung to thee, 
 
 Far louder strains thine anthems swell. 
 
TO LAURA. 
 
 LIKE the fairy Nymphs that dwell 
 In woodland height, or mountain dell ; 
 Or of whom the poets sing, 
 Walking in the pomp of spring ; 
 Or in Pindus' sunny bower 
 Wile with Pan the luscious hour ; 
 Or who laughingly do weave 
 Fillet of the Ivy leaf ; 
 Longing for the time to deck 
 Pallid Bacchus' ivory neck ; 
 Or they who that pretty boy 
 In their bosoms to enjoy, 
 Stole away, and laid his head 
 In their diamond studded bed ; 
 Or she whose soft kiss to share 
 Hellespont the youth did bear, 
 Heedless of a wat'ry grave, 
 Cutting fleet the turgid wave, 
 
92 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Reckless of fatigue or rest, 
 While his arm sweet Hero prest ; 
 Art thou nay more, say what lyre 
 Tho' its cords seraphic fire, 
 Could lay, Laura, at thy feet 
 The tributary strain that's meet? 
 
 O bear me on Pegasus' wing, 
 Where high Hippocrene doth spring, 
 And let me from its streamlets sip, 
 That I may cool my burning lip, 
 And from it dash such inspired song, 
 As ne'er did yet to lip belong : 
 Apollo, lend to me thy lyre ; 
 Prometheus, give to me thy fire ; 
 Ye Nine, ye ever honor'd Nine, 
 O hover round this brain of mine, 
 And make imagination high 
 Thrill thro' my soul true poesy. 
 O ye, who have an honor'd name ; 
 O ye, who have a deathless fame ; 
 Whose lyres tho' mute, yet still around 
 The echoes of your praise resound : 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 93 
 
 Thou Tean bard, and thou whose lyre, 
 Warm with the flame of Lesbic fire, 
 Tuned to thy dearest Lydia's praise 
 The soft and sweetest of its lays ; 
 Or thou, whose shell did well express 
 The sever 'd lovers' wretchedness ; 
 How Cypris for Adonis wept 
 When on the dreary mount he slept : 
 Or thou whose due was ill repaid, 
 And by stern power's mandate made 
 In exile sad thy life to bear, 
 Whose only solace is a tear ; 
 Who showd'st how favorites might err 
 In thy lone strains of " Tristia" 
 Ye glorious bards, let me inherit 
 Some glimm'ring of your daring spirit. 
 
 What art thou ? shall I call thee one 
 Whose form from dastard mortals sprung ? 
 Or art thou she whom Venus said 
 Should be the joy of Paris' bed I 
 Truth, thou art beauty fully fraught 
 Nothing too much, too little naught ; 
 
94 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Each sinew in perfection swells, 
 And grace in ev'ry moment dwells 
 Beauty's own centre, for from thee 
 Can only come equality. 
 
 As ocean looks when dark and deep, 
 All fury hushed, each wave asleep 
 It basks among the matin sun 
 To hail his journey just begun ; 
 And Phoebus on beloved Thetis 
 Imprints his last, his parting kiss : 
 Such is the darkness of thine eye, 
 Such its splendid oriency 
 Dark and bright as tho' it were 
 The choicest work of Mulciber : 
 Sure to that eye it must be given 
 To be the very gate of Heaven ! 
 
 Thy lips are as the dewy rose, 
 And with a rubent smile disclose 
 Thy pearly teeth, which budding through, 
 Unfold their softly glossed hue : 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 95 
 
 While from thy tongue the accents fall, 
 Proud Eloquence attentive all, 
 Learns of thee her honied strain, 
 Hoping their sweetness to obtain : 
 Unmeaning task Presumption vain ! 
 Oh ! 'tis as soft as Damon's reed, 
 When gladsome o'er the verdant mead, 
 The nibbling fl^ck in frolic gay, 
 Bid their adieu to parting day ; 
 And blushing streams and sylvan throng, 
 Re-echo glad the fainting song. 
 
 But soft, ah soft ! thou art not mine, 
 And I may never, dear, be thine ; 
 The sweet Anemony to bend, 
 And make it with the Thistle blend, 
 Though lifeless, say, who would not grieve 
 And strive, its mis'ry to relieve ! 
 What would be said to see a mind, 
 A heart too pure, a love too kind 
 Link'd in firm Hymeneal tye, 
 With one with whom ? but pass it by. 
 
THE FORSAKEN. 
 
 CEASE thy weeping, gentle maiden, 
 Wipe those silvery tears away ; 
 
 Thy heart tho' now with sorrow laden, 
 Perchance may know a lighter day. 
 
 The wind doth rudely blow thine hair, 
 The snow beats heavy round thy neck, 
 
 And the chill cold destroys that fair 
 That lovely hue upon thy cheek. 
 
 Alonzo, my Alonzo dear, 
 
 Was all the weeping maiden said ; 
 When on her bosom, lily fair, 
 
 In anguish fell her aching head. 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 97 
 
 Tell me, gentle maiden, tell me, 
 What thy pain, and why thy grief? 
 
 Then will I strive to comfort thee, 
 And to thy mis'ry bring relief. 
 
 'Twas on this fatal, fatal shore, 
 Where I and my Alonzo stood ; 
 
 We kissed and parted here, before 
 His gallant bark saiPd o'er the flood. 
 
 Why did he leave thee, maiden, why ? 
 
 What cause could make him part from thee ? 
 Where has he gone to, asked I, 
 
 And sadly thus she answered me : 
 
 Oh ! cruel, cruel, cruel war, 
 
 Though hidden in my bosom deep, 
 
 Still thy mad voice allured him far, 
 And roused him from a peaceful sleep. 
 
98 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Ambition beckon'd with her hand ; 
 
 He started, kissed me, sighed and wept 
 But ah ! he sought another land, 
 
 And me of every hope bereft. 
 
 Then soon, too soon, Fate's icy breath, 
 Froze the warm current of his soul ; 
 
 And now he lies embraced by Death 
 Now raging billows o'er him roll. 
 
 Alonzo, my Alonzo, hear ! 
 
 Thou once my voice would 'st have obeyed ; 
 Oh ! let me on thy gory bier, 
 
 Beside thy wounded heart be laid. 
 
 Grief broke her words : she rent her hair, 
 And strewed its tresses on the ground ; 
 
 Her rolling eyes with ghastly stare, 
 In frenzy wandered all around. 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 99 
 
 Oh Death ! I love thee, then she said, 
 
 Oh Death ! come quickly, smile on me, 
 
 For to thy arms Alonzo fled, 
 Hasten, hasten, seize on me. 
 
 She rose ; a deathlike shriek she gave, 
 And with resistless force she fled ; 
 
 She pluug'd, and soon a watery grave 
 A solace o'er her misery shed. 
 
TO LAURA, 
 
 NAY turn not, thou., away thine eye, 
 Tis all the solace I have left, 
 
 Mine only choice will be to die, 
 If too, of that I am bereft. 
 
 'Tis known I never told my love, 
 Perchance thy heart may never know 
 
 -How mine its dear delight would prove, 
 If it that love dare only shew. 
 
 But if the speaking glance the sigh, 
 When passing, may a token be 
 
 Looking confused and blushing why 
 Then thou know'st my love to thee. 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 101 
 
 My heart 's too proud a slave to be ; 
 
 I would not stoop before a King- 
 Yet oh ! to be a slave to thee, 
 
 Heaven no greater joy could bring. 
 
 Then turn not ihou, away thine eye, 
 Tis all the solace 1 have left, 
 
 Mine only choice will be to die, 
 If too, of that I am bereft. 
 
 K 2 
 
ON LEAVING 
 
 BELOV'D scenes of my Childhood, adieu ! 
 
 The mountain, the glen, and the shade 
 I must tarry no longer with you, 
 
 Ye loveliest regions e'er made. 
 
 I've sat on your mounts when no one was near, 
 
 No being to disturb my repose, 
 No idol to love no demon to fear, 
 
 Save what from my fancy arose. 
 
 For methinks that to dwell with the storm 
 To ride on the hurricane's wing, 
 
 Yes, to soar in the Eaglet's form, 
 That scorns with the linnet to sing 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 103 
 
 Promise far richer joys to the mind, 
 
 A manlier solace impart ; 
 Then can Earth, with its axis confin'd, 
 
 Conceive for the desolate heart. 
 
 But, lov'd scep'r of my Childhood, adieu ! 
 
 The mountain, the glen, and the shade 
 I must tarry no longer with you, 
 
 Ye loveliest regions e'er made. 
 
THE STANDARD'S UNFURL'D. 
 
 THE standard 's unfurl'd the clarion is sounding ; 
 
 The hoof of the war-steed is scorning delay ; 
 The song of the bard o'er the mountain is bounding, 
 
 And summons the brave to destruction or prey. 
 
 Dash the bowl from each lip ! let a Warrior's glory 
 
 Excite to the hazards of danger and fame- 
 Resolve to repose on a bier though gory, ; 
 
 Or brighten the sheen of your Country's name. 
 
 Let the lust of applause every bosom containing, 
 Urge on to the trophies of prosperous war ; 
 
 Unheard be the sigh or unmanly complaining- 
 Let the Hall and the Bower be scouted afar. 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 105 
 
 Oh ! shame on the heart that deems 'tis deserving 
 To win the embrace of Britannia's fair, 
 
 Unless when aroused its sinews all nerving 
 At the voice of Ambition it pants to repair. 
 
 For think how the maiden will laud and admire 
 The laurel that waves on her votary's brow ; 
 
 Oh think ! for the thought would e'en cowards inspire 
 At the fair feet of Beauty some trophy to throw. 
 
 Haste to the plain where the battle is raging, 
 Urged on by the smile of the fair and the brave ; 
 
 Haste where each rank is for glory engaging 
 Seek the wreath of the Victor or Patriot's grave. 
 
A FRAGMENT. 
 
 POOR midnight Weeper ! 'tis with thee I find 
 A kindred spirit ; and tho' others, now 
 Wallowing in luxuries of Earth, ne'er mind 
 A wounded heart's lament, nor deign to shew 
 Pity for what themselves too soon may know ; 
 Yet, Oh ! to me such sounds are far more sweet 
 Than those which from the lips of mirth can flow ; 
 I 'd rather in this vale mine ear should meet 
 The sacred tale of woe, than that of pleasure greet. 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 107 
 
 But why ? is there no secret joy on Earth ? 
 Have all the moments that are past, ne'er given 
 Some blossom of delight ; which at the birth 
 Of huge Creation, was hurled down from heaven, 
 To solace Nature's agony ? Or was that riven 
 By our progenitors ; who us have nothing left 
 But the dry root, which has so oft been driven, 
 That now of freshness, and of bloom, bereft, 
 We rear not wither'd, sapless, broken, bruised cleft. 
 
 Has not the bright eye, nor the ruby lip, 
 Some heart exhilarating balsam ; such 
 As may cheer ? Is it not sweet to sip 
 The bowl o'erflowing with the nectar's touch ? 
 These may delight, but Oh ! it is not much, 
 The eye grows dim, the lip grows pale ; Alas ! 
 Who may not from experience avouch, 
 The grape soon bitters. No ! we cannot pass 
 ?ar among Zephyrs, 'ere we meet rough Boreas. 
 
108 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Youth may have pleasures when the buoyant heart 
 Swells with exulting ardor ; when the mind 
 Can revel in the flowers of Hope apart 
 And on each leaf some unsought balsam find i 
 We then are happy but because we 're blind 
 To what may be; Our passions bear us high 
 Above the storm ; arid thus we leave behind 
 The vortex of Reflection placidly 
 To glide on curling streams, from thought and reason 
 free. 
 
 " He lives the best who liveth as he can :" 
 So sang that Grecian bard,* and so sing I ; 
 But Oh ! 'tis hard for thought-revolving man, 
 The stern reproach of conscience to defy 
 That only remnant of our purity. 
 Were ours a golden age, each Zephyr balm ; 
 Could Innocence from tali Olympus fly ; 
 Still man would have to feel the horrid qualm 
 Which his own mind engenders pride, disdain, alarm. 
 
 * Sophocles. 
 
 i 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 109 
 
 White-steeded day is mounting in the sky 
 Her burnished chariot ; on either side 
 The clouds of darkness sever ; see ! they hie 
 With dull primeval chaos to reside : 
 My eye is weary, and I fain would hide 
 The tear that dims it, from Aurora's gaze ; 
 Oh Heaven ! in thy great mercy I confide ; 
 Protect me safely, through the knotted maze 
 Of this rude world, let me know better, happier days. 
 
THE WALTZ. 
 
 IN loose-clad garb the slender form they fling, 
 Awaking perfum'd Zephyrs at their sides; 
 
 Joy hovers o'er them with her downy wing ; 
 And floating music softly past them glides. 
 
 Now gently poising on the light-plac'd toe, 
 The pliant waist invites the tender palm ; 
 And eyes alternate smiling as they go, 
 Excite soft pressure of the trembling arm. 
 
 Dishevell'd ringlets pendant on the neck 
 Fan the fair bosom where they darkly fall ; 
 
 And fain would hide that blush upon the cheek, 
 Which tender looks and sighs are wont to call. 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. Ill 
 
 Delightful Waltz ! when most ourselves we feel, 
 
 In true enjoyment of the festive hour : 
 Pleasure her hidden sources doth reveal, 
 
 And fascination sheds enchanting power. 
 
TO MELANCHOLY. 
 
 DARK visaged maid ! within whose train appear 
 The rending heart-ache and the burning sigh, 
 
 Repining discontent, affliction's tear, 
 
 And all the woes that mis'ry can supply ; 
 
 Around whose sombre brow the cypress rear 
 Their shady forms, and kissing tenderly 
 
 The kindred yew, unfold their murky bloom, 
 
 And revel in the denseness of its gloom. 
 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 113 
 
 Oh Melancholy ! still art thou beloved 
 By the sweet Nine, their sad, their only child ; 
 
 Kind nurse of genius ! who hast ever proved 
 The fond attendant of her offspring mild 
 
 Unless for thy restraint it would have roved 
 
 On plains too boundless and on heaths too wild : 
 
 It would have soared too high, and in its flight 
 
 Have rushed too soon into an endless night. 
 
 We know thou lav'st within the limpid streams, 
 
 Which bound so smoothly thro' the veins that swell 
 
 Along the banks where Youth's bright flambeau beams, 
 Checking the pleasures that would fain rebel : 
 
 We know thou joy'st to mar the smile that gleams 
 From Mirth's ambrosial lip, whene'er she'd tell 
 
 The pleasure she has known among the bowers, 
 
 Where jollity consumed her festal hours. 
 
114 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Still dost thou touch the soul's most hidden spring, 
 And raise seraphic feelings to the mind 
 
 Feelings beyond its own imagining, 
 
 All pure, all chaste, all holy, all refined : 
 
 Thou soar'st with Fancy on her golden wing ; 
 Bland Poesy's soft spell dost thou unbind, 
 
 Raising the spirit to those regions high, 
 
 That fan the brow of her divinity. 
 
FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 OH ! there is a sorrow which saddens the heart, 
 And o'er our enjoyment a gloominess sends ; 
 
 'Tis when we are absent, or fated to part 
 
 From the bosom of those whom we call our friends. 
 
 'Tis as the darkness which falls on the ocean, 
 
 When clouds are portentous of tempest and storm ; 
 
 Calmness departs, and a turgid emotion 
 Swells in the breast of its terrible form. 
 
 Tis as the rose which in summer and smiling, 
 Redoles with its perfume the ambient air ; 
 
 When pluck'd by some rude hand its beauty reviling, 
 Or envying the joy that it looketh on there. 
 
116 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Oh Friendship delightful ! thou all that art left 
 In this world of sadness, to solace our pain ; 
 
 For say what is life when of thee 'tis bereft ? 
 A. nauseate breath none would wish to retain. 
 
 Fair pilot of life ! without thee at the helm, 
 We are toss'd in the waters of discord and woe; 
 
 A Boreas of sadness our sails overwhelm, 
 
 And the soft gales of peace we must ever forego. 
 
 I sigh not for wealth I covet not power ; 
 
 I pray not for nations to crouch at my feet : 
 No ! let me repose but in Friendship's sweet bower, 
 
 And others the proud wreaths of glory may greet. 
 
ON 
 
 -Thymo mihi dulcior Hyblae 
 
 Candidior cycnis, hedera formosior alba. 
 
 Virg. Buc. 7. 37, 
 
 SCENE of my youth ! when the untainted blood 
 Bounds through the veins with gladness, and the heart 
 Guileless and unsuspecting, pure and good, 
 Clings to each joy as if it ne'er would part : 
 Scene of my boyhood ! where the stores of art 
 Have strewn themselves in plenty ; while I view 
 Once more thy soften'd stillness, as thou wert 
 In days of youthful merriment ; a new, 
 A long unfelt emotion doth my mind imbue. 
 
118 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 When last I looked : but ah ! why touch the chord 
 Whose rising murmurs waken woe long past. 
 Which while they to my breast some joy afford, 
 Around my soul a murky shadow cast, 
 And with reflections chain my mem'ry fast ; 
 When I bade thee Farewell, I left my joy ; 
 With thee I first had happiness and last 
 For since I left thy peaceful shades, alloy 
 Hath crept around my heart : 1 am no more a boy. 
 
 Oft have I thought on thee and now I stand 
 Where once my gambols were, and tread the spot 
 Which I so oft have trodden, hand in hand 
 With her, tho* lost to me, yet ne'er forgot : 
 How often have I paced yon lowly cot, 
 Whose modest covering rises 'mong the trees, 
 And woos the Zephyrs' balsam : Time may blot 
 From memory's tablet all that else can please, 
 But never what I feel whilst I'm beholding these. 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. ] \ 
 
 Oft have I viewed the pale blue tinted sky, 
 Whose silky canopy o'er-hangs the shore, 
 Where gently rises once fam'd Italy ; 
 By Fancy lov/d, though known to Fame no more, 
 As lowly now as she was proud before ; 
 Whose classic earth to dying patriots gave 
 Those manly souls that scorn'd a tyrant's roar, 
 A country's plaudits, and a martyr's grave, 
 Idols to be ador'd but by the wise and brave ! 
 
 I've climb'd thy tow'ring mountains, Cumberland, 
 With a firm knee, and on their summits proud, 
 Have given thought freedom, touch'd by Fancy's 
 
 wand, 
 
 To soar awhile above the sordid crowd 
 That dwell on earth 'mong passions base and loud ; 
 Skiddaw, Helvellyn, ye, whose peaks arise 
 Among celestial regions ; such whereon 
 Egypt's great lawgiver beheld the skies 
 Clad in Olympian splendor ; while they shone 
 Reflecting His bright visage Israel's Holy One. 
 
120 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 But, as the bird, which from its parent nest 
 Some cruel hand hath plundered, and confin'd 
 Within a wiry cell; sad and distress'd 
 If e'er it may that prison door unbind, 
 Its little wings are restless till it find 
 Their wonted circuit ; and from spray to spray 
 Fearfully boundeth : Thus 'tis with the mind, 
 Howe'er from once lov'd pleasures it may stray, 
 Their memory ne'er departs, their beauties ne'er 
 decay. 
 
 Oh for a Poet's lyre I then would I raise 
 Each chord euphonious ; and thou shouldst be 
 Torn from the wreck of Time ; and this thy praise, 
 To be espoused to Fame's sweet melody 
 But weakly burns the heav'nly flame in me : 
 Adieu, adieu ! I must not longer dwell 
 'Mong your beguiling stillness : when on thee 
 I fondly gaze, ambition doth rebel : 
 Yet ere I go, receive my benison Farewell. 
 
MUSIC. 
 
 Minuentur atrae 
 Carmine curae. 
 
 Hor. 
 
 DELIGHTFUL fount ! that round the troubled heart 
 Meander'st gently with a Syren stream ; 
 
 tAnd o'er the grief-worn spirit dost impart, 
 
 A comfort calmer than Hope's brightest gleam. 
 
 How brightly beams the ray from Beauty's eyes, 
 When airy Music round them wanders near 
 
 The witching Cestus that upon them lies, 
 Aroused by melody sits smiling there. 
 
122 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 When barb'd with music's charm, how sure the dart 
 Touches with love the bosom where 'tis aim'd ; 
 
 How quickly then it triumphs o'er the heart ! 
 How soon the youthful passion is enflam'd. 
 
 O soften'd ecstasy ! Oh Halcyon sweet ! 
 
 Joy to be felt, but never to be told, 
 What bard may honor thee with numbers meet, 
 
 Who thy sense-stirring virtues may unfold ? 
 
ON RETURNING A TO 
 
 LADT, receive this loan of thine ; 
 
 Why act not thou as j ust a part ? 
 Oh ! restore that which once was mine 
 
 My weak, my lost, my love-sick heart. 
 
DIES FESTALIS. 
 
 Misce stultitiam consiliis brevem. 
 
 Hor: 
 
 Go and cull in Pleasure's bower 
 The bright hue of ev'ry flower, 
 
 And let their woven garland be 
 To gird the brow of Revelry : 
 Go into the Muses' choir, 
 
 Hasten, L and there require 
 
 She who chords the dulcet lute, 
 
 She who breathes the am'rous flute 
 
 Hasten, hasten, L , away, 
 
 This shall be a festal day. 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 125 
 
 Hie thee to yon verdant plain ; 
 Lead along its maid and swain, 
 
 And let with each a garland be 
 To gird the brow of Revelry : 
 Go, and seek the rustic dance ; 
 Bid her with her nymphs advance, 
 And with wreaths of myrtle crown'd, 
 Let them circle on the ground. 
 
 Hasten, hasten, L , away, 
 
 This shall be a festal day. 
 
 Hie thee to yon rubent vine ; 
 
 Lead along the purest wine, 
 
 And bring its pallid leaf with thee 
 To gird the brow of Revelry : 
 
 Hie thee quickly, let us shew 
 
 How our golden cups o'erflow ; 
 
 Then each frenzied brain shall bless 
 
 Grief's mild balm forgetfulness. 
 
 Oh ! Insensibility, 
 
 Hither blandly smile on me. 
 M 2 
 
126 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Hasten, hasten, L , away, 
 
 This shall be a festal day. 
 
 Bind our grotto with the thorn : 
 Then invoke the rosy Morn 
 Not to raise her drowsy head 
 From lov'd Tithon's saffron bed ; 
 
 Or if she do Oh ! may it be 
 
 To join amid our revelry : 
 Hie thee quickly and if Care 
 Then shall at our gate appear, 
 Smiling sweetly, softly say 
 No one is at home to-day. 
 
 Hasten, hasten, hither L 
 
 This festivity is well. 
 
FORBID THAT T EVER BEHOLD 
 THE EYE. 
 
 O ! woman's heart was made 
 For minstrel hands alone j 
 
 By other fingers play'd 
 It yields not half its tone. 
 
 Moore. 
 
 FORBID that I ever behold the eye, 
 
 Though its ray be bright as the solar glare, 
 
 That deign'd to beam on what gold may supply 
 When the heav'nly sounds of the lyre were near. 
 
 What are the gewgaws that wealth may entail 
 To soar in the regions round Fancy's shrine ? 
 
 The weight that lies in its pinions would fail 
 
 To rise 'bove the grov'lling bounds of the mine ! 
 
128 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 The wreaths of Wealth in a moment decay 
 The wreaths of Wit are for ever in bloom ; 
 
 The flow'rs of her chaplet are fresh and gay 
 'Neath Chloris's sky or hibernal gloom. 
 
 The proud gates of Thebes shall open no more, 
 Yet the lay of her bard survives their fall ; 
 
 Gold never was found save tarnish'd with ore 
 Oh ! the gift of song is noblest of all. 
 
 Then grant that I never behold the eye, 
 
 Though its rays be bright as the solar glare, 
 
 That deigns to beam on what wealth may supply 
 When the hea/nly sounds of the lyre are near. 
 
CONCEALED LOVE. 
 
 HER cheek was faded ; and no longer glowed 
 Her vermeil lip : Her beaming eye was dim : 
 A gloom the gloom of Melancholy, sat 
 Brooding on her brow ; whose dark and sombre wing 
 Veiled her dejected form. No more the smile 
 Dimpled her cheek ; for when a smile she called, 
 The sigh rejoined. Each wonted joy that 'erst 
 Could cheer, was cheerless. Music charmed no more 
 The dance was toil the pencil lay disused ; 
 The world was loathsome : and, when kindred Night 
 Bowed at pale Cynthia's shrine, she sat, apart 
 From song and revelry, to weep alone. 
 
130 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Say, whence this change ? She whom festivity 
 Crown'd with her wreaths ! In whose young bosom once. 
 The streams nectarean of pleasure sprung ; 
 Whose eye was mirth's bright orb, and raised around 
 The rose of flattery. Say, whence this change ? 
 She faded as the flower that drooping, dies 
 When Phoebus sinks beneath the farthest West : 
 She sighed she wept ; she felt each vein conceive 
 The chilling languor every nerve distend 
 She died ! But Oh ! she never told her love. 
 
TO LAURA. 
 
 Tu Dea certe. 
 
 Virg. 
 
 WHILE the elm supports the vine ; 
 While the mid-day sun may shine ; 
 While e'er beats this heart of mine 
 
 I will love thee, Laura. 
 
 While the night is clothed in dark ; 
 While ascends the matin lark ; 
 While rough ocean laves the bark 
 
 I will love thee, Laura. 
 
132 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 While the bee feasts on the flower ; 
 While the rose blooms in the bower ; 
 
 While slowly creeps Life's weary hour 
 
 
 I will love thee, Laura. 
 
 When the thunder shakes the sky ; 
 When the lurid lightnings fly ; 
 When thy peerless beauties die 
 
 I will love thee, Laura. 
 
 Though fell cares my mirth destroy ; 
 Though my pleasures bring alloy ; 
 Nor thou a maid nor I a boy 
 
 I will love thee, Laura. 
 
 When hoary age shall tinge thy hair ; 
 When wrinkles touch that visage fair 
 Sublim'd on joy, or sunk in care, 
 
 I will love thee, Laura. 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 133 
 
 Though thy heart may prove unkind ; 
 Though thy vows may never hind ; 
 Will I forget ? No ! thou shalt find, 
 
 I will love thee, Laura. 
 
 When around the bed of death, 
 
 The Parcse wave their cypress wreath ; 
 
 What shall be my latest breath ? 
 
 I have loved thee, Laura. 
 
IMITATION OF HORACE. 
 
 BOOK IV.- ODE 7. 
 
 THE snows are fled the fields are green, 
 The leaf adorns each bough ; 
 
 Nature in vernal garb is seen, 
 The streams their banks o'erflow. 
 
 The Graces dare to trip the lawn. 
 Their virgin choir attends ; 
 
 No vests their beauteous limbs adorn, 
 No zone their form defends. 
 
 O ! think on Death the days and years 
 
 An admonition give ; 
 Winter dissolves when spring appears, 
 
 And spring but shortly lives. 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 135 
 
 Then Summer soon about to die, 
 
 Pomiferous Autumn sends ; 
 Yet scarce does she her fruits supply 
 
 ? Ere Winter's coldness rends. 
 
 Monthly the Moon her light relumes, 
 
 But when as each one must ! 
 We go where every thing consumes, 
 
 We are, but shade and dust. 
 
 Who knows if e'er the Gods intend, 
 
 To add another day ; 
 Thine heir may not those treasures spend, 
 
 Which thou desirest he may. 
 
 When once thou diest, and the decree 
 
 Of Minos hath been made; 
 Birth, virtue, wisdom, ne'er can thee 
 
 Restore above the shade. 
 
 Dian, her lover ne'er could gain 
 
 From the infernal dark ; 
 Theseus could never break the chain 
 
 Which bound his other heart. 
 
TO A WEEPING WILLOW. 
 
 CALM are thy regions, soft is thy pillow ; 
 
 Cool are the breezes that round thee blow 
 Tell me why art thou weeping, sweet Willow, 
 
 When all is so still above below ? 
 
 The^bird as she passes gives thee her song ; 
 
 Hark ! how its music whispers repose ; 
 And the brook which murmurs so faintly along, 
 
 Seems to sigh at thy wo as it goes. 
 
 Tell me why art thou weeping, sweet willow ? 
 
 Say, what pain can disturb thy young breast? 
 Calm Zephyrs woo thee, and thy sleek pillow 
 
 Is the down of a streamlet at rest. 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 137 
 
 Ah ! too true emblem of life for when oft 
 
 All around us is happy and fair, 
 Ourselves are unknown to those feelings soft ; 
 
 Ourselves are the slaves of despair ! 
 
 N 2 
 
TO LAURA, ON HER BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 Ah ! may'st thou ever be what now thou art, 
 Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring ; 
 As fair in form, as warm, yet pure in heart ; 
 Love's image upon earth without its wing, 
 And guileless beyond Hope's imagining. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 BEHOLD yon blush suffuse the eastern sky ! 
 
 Behold yon tear that dims Aurora's eye ! 
 
 'Tis Morn, 'tis Morn. Oh ! Fancy, plume thy wing ; 
 
 Thy brightest stores, Imagination bring ; 
 
 Ye maids ^Eolian, supply each flower 
 
 That blooms in Pindus' consecrated bower; 
 
 And let your wreaths with every petal gay, 
 
 Transfuse their balm o'er Laura's natal day. 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 139 
 
 Fair bud of Innocence, whose blushing hue 
 Bath'd in the lymph of Virtue's mildest dew, 
 In pendant coyness bashfully reclines, 
 And fain would hide each charm that in it shines ; 
 Around whose perfume, Genius, Beauty flow, 
 And linger all enamoured as they go, 
 Oh ! may no chill 'neath Sorrow's icy reign 
 Blighten that bloom, that purity distain 
 Spirit of song, Soul of poetic fire, 
 Too fair to love, yet formed but to admire; 
 Oh ! beam benignly, smile upon the lay 
 That bows in worship at thy natal day. 
 
 What shall I sing ? what essences divine 
 Adorn thy bosom, and thy mind refine ? 
 When didst thou hear the tender tale of wo, 
 And feel thy breast without a kindred throe ? 
 When did the orphan's or the widow's prayer, 
 Meet without pain, without relief, thine ear ? 
 When did revenge within thy bosom burn ? 
 When from affliction did thine eye-lid turn 
 
140 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Unless to shed unseen, unknown, the tear 
 That Pity bade, through feeling, glisten there. 
 
 Oh ! could such innocence reverse the doom, 
 Dispel the darkness of terrestrial gloom ; 
 Did joy alone from virtuous deeds ensue, 
 What bliss thy lot what happiness thy due ! 
 Each year of time such excellence would bless, 
 Each moment fondle, and each hour caress. 
 
 And may, Oh ! may each fleet-revolving year, 
 From off its wing some downier moulting bear ; 
 May Mirth unfold for thee her brightest store, 
 And on thy brow her choicest phial pour ; 
 May Hope ne'er lure to but ideal joy ; 
 May Pleasure ne'er disclose her sting alloy ; 
 May all most lov'd, most hallow'd, and most dear, 
 Bow at thy mandate, and thy will revere. 
 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 141 
 
 Time wings resistless in a headlong flight : 
 The steeds of day soon pierce the realms of night ; 
 The flower whose scent redoles the breath of spring, 
 Soon droops decayed in bloom but withering : 
 Soon does the rigour of life's chilling age 
 The buoyant rush of youth's full veins assuage ; 
 Soon will those tresses that dishevelled stray 
 Like dusky clouds along the Milky way, 
 Change their bright vesture for a garb of gray ; 
 Soon will those eyes, whese orbs of Vestal fire 
 Would Stoic charm, or Anchorite inspire, 
 Lose their bright beam when mists of age arise, 
 And claim its brightness for their sacrifice ; 
 Soon will that brow, as cloudless as the sky 
 That smiles o'er Cashmere or o'er Italy, 
 Receive the furrow from Time's ruthless share 
 That severs all, weak, proud, sublime or fair ! 
 
 
 Let these decay, the gems of heart and mind 
 Receive from time a lustre more refin'd : 
 
142 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 When the rose dies, the balm that scents its tomb, 
 
 Is sweeter far than in luxuriant bloom ; 
 
 When reft the flowers that once the vase did fill, 
 
 Their fragrance lives, their perfume lingers still. 
 
 Thus, thus, with thee : thy youth's refulgent ray 
 
 Will gild with brightness life's declining day ; 
 
 As golden streaks enamelling the West, 
 
 Tho' Phoebus worn his wat'ry couch hath pressed, 
 
 Thy twilight splendour of its blaze beguil'd, 
 
 Tho' not as lustrous, still will beam more mild: 
 
 Oh ! oft shall Mem'ry with a refluent tide 
 
 Meander gently round the flowery side 
 
 Of bye-gone bliss, and on her bosom bear 
 
 The lingering sweets that still are blooming there. 
 
 And should'st thou, maiden, when the purling streams, 
 Upon whose riplings youth's bright flambeau beams, 
 Yield to the storms the hurricanes of strife, 
 That beat around the destinies of life ; 
 When o'er the bark the turgid foam is toss'd, 
 Each canvass shatter'd, and its compass lost : 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 143 
 
 Oh ! should'st thou bear amid that howling roar, 
 The voice which hailed thee on youth's peaceful shore, 
 Those strains, then feigned, which to the youthful lyre 
 The scathless heart and pensive mind inspire ; 
 Oh ! should'st thou hear this heave not thou the sigh, 
 'Twould venom more the shaft of misery ; 
 'T would lure to shades of comfort and repose, 
 Yet found their prospect from a sea of woes. 
 
 What mean these strains that tremble on my lyre, 
 Yet trembling die inaudibly expire ? 
 What mean these flames that in my bosom glow, 
 And parch the streams of fancy in their flow ? 
 What are those strains ? still must I strike my chords ? 
 Oh ! could but Echo murmur thoughts as words ; 
 Or could the heart by look, by sigh, confess 
 What tongue mayn't utter, eloquence express, 
 
 Methinks 
 
 Ye idols of my worship, Fame 
 Shall I invoke thee as my praise or shame ? 
 
144 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Ambition ! thou to whose dread shrine belong 
 My matin, noon, and eve-tide orison 
 
 * * * * 
 
 My harp is broken on its sever'd wires, 
 Though passion lingers, melody expires ; 
 Hear its last murmurs, hear their parting lay 
 Hark ! Echo lisps them as they fade away ; 
 Receive their sounds reveal not what they say. 
 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 'Twas ever thus from childhood's hour, 
 I J ve seen my fondest hopes decay ; 
 
 I never lov'd a tree or flower, 
 But 'twas the first to die away. 
 
 Moore. 
 
 AH me ! 'tis sad, where'er we roam, 
 To find nor resting place nor home ; 
 Within the world to creep along 
 Its tired, its * wearied denizen ;> 
 To kiss the joys that others press. 
 And still elicit wretchedness : 
 Say, O ! Genius, tell me why 
 Thou hast ordain'd thy votary 
 To be the slave of misery 
 Ah me ! 'tis sad, where'er we roam, 
 
 To find nor resting place nor home. 
 o 
 
146 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Just to step in Pleasure's bower, 
 
 Sacred to the festal hour ; 
 
 And then some woeful lip to tell : 
 
 " Away, away, nor longer dwell ; 
 
 Dost thou not see how Mirth's bright flame 
 
 Begins to deaden and to tame ? 
 
 o 
 
 Away, away, 'tis not for thee 
 To feast amid our revelry " 
 Ah me ! 'tis sad, where'er we roam, 
 To find nor resting place nor home. 
 
 Philosophy, with thee I've strayed ; 
 . Sweet Poesy, with thee I 've played : 
 I 've quaffed the Vine from bowls of pearl ; 
 I've danced with many an envied girl ; 
 My youthful brain has felt the sense 
 Of Flattery's perfumed frankincense : 
 But fumes that gave to others joy, 
 Did only lend to me alloy ; 
 And thus in each in all of these, 
 Nought could my youthful fancy please ; 
 
FUGITIVE PIECES. 147 
 
 Or if they pleased, then envious fate 
 Did soon my breast intoxicate ; 
 And thus I lost the softened sense 
 Of their benignest influence 
 Ah me ! 'tis sad, where'er we roam, 
 To find nor resting place nor home. 
 
 I 've loved, I 've loved ; say who has not ? 
 
 But e'en its joys were ne'er my lot ; 
 
 It gave a smile to some to me 
 
 Its iron sneer, Inconstancy : 
 
 1 swear my vows were offered true 
 
 As infant cherub his could do 
 
 Ah me ! tis sad, where'er we roam, 
 
 To find nor resting place nor home. 
 
 I know my heart 's been ill of late, 
 Perchance deserved such cruel fate ; 
 But Oh ! that wo is hard to bear, 
 Which scorns the solace of a tear 
 
148 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Away, away, sleep, sorrow, sleep ; 
 Though e'en a boy, I will not weep : 
 Those storms that now my bosom rend 
 Shall break its spirit ere it bend 
 Ah me ! 'tis sad, where'er we roam, 
 To find nor resting place nor home ! 
 
 T. INKERSLEY & CO. PRINTERS, BRADFORD. 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 18th page, line 13, read 
 
 All know Prince Henry was fair Anne's spouse. 
 23d page, line 11, for "are," read is. 
 34th page, line 7, for "as," read on. 
 76th page, line 3, read whispering around. 
 124th page, lines 7 and 8, for " she," read her.