THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ■^ ,^.^ .^^=5^ r:t I MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, AND OBSERVATIONS, WITH OTHER MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS, IN PROSE AND POETRY, BY THE LATE W. C. SMITH, Author of "■Rambles round Guildford,'' "History of Farnham" Sfc. GLOUCESTER : Printed and Published by Jew and Bnant, Westgate Street. LONDON: SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL. 1834. ?R PREFACE. In sending this little volume forth into a world so bestrewed with the jjroductions of the talented and the good, it may perhaps be neces- sary to offer a few brief remarks, to prepai-e the reader for any defects that may be found in it. Tliat it was not originally intended by its author for publication in the present form is certain; this will account for the imfinished state of many of the pieces ; and its not being prepared for the press by the author himself, will, it is hoped, be considered an apology for many en'ors that may have escaped notice. 86'7084 . IV PREFACE. The Maxims and Reflections were written at various times, and with a pure hope of con- veying some httle instiuction to mankind ; they will not, perhaps, fail to do this, from their be- ing the genuine sentiments of a self-taught mind. Many of the Poems, written very eaily in life, were, probably, never intended for the public eye; it is, however, confidently hoped that both amusement and instruction will be found by those who may peruse them. It will at once be seen, from the circumstances under which the volume is published, that a thirst for fame is not the motive. To the critic much need not be said; there is, doubtless, room for censiu-e to those who read with a view of setting forth the faihngs of a work, which presumes not to compete witli many others of the like nature; at the same time, its merits will not be lost upon those who view them mth an impartial eye. PREFACE. V Much might be said to the Subscribers who have given their names in support of the publi- cation of the vohime ; it is earnestly hoped they will, in some measure, be repaid in the perusal of its pages, and their kindness will ever be remembered with gratitude, By their obliged and obedient Servant, ANN SMITH. WottoH, July 1, 1834. CONTENTS. MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, AND OBSERVATIONS. PAGE On Acknowledgment of Error Address .... 1 1 Affections . . . . . 1 Ambition .... 2 Anger Avarice ..... 3 3 Author . . . . . 3 Beauty Benevolence . . . . 4 5 Braggart .... Christianity . . . . Contempt .... 5 6 6 viu CONTENTS. PAGE On Contempt of the World ... 7 Censure ...... 7 Coquets ...... 7 Courao;e — animal and rational . . 7 Death ...... 8 Dissimulation .... g Drunkards and Drunkenness . . 9 Duties of Mankind ... 9 Education 10 Enemies . . . . . 10 Faith 10 Fame . . . , . . 11 Fanaticism . . . , .11 Fashion . . . . . 13 Fortune . . . . . .13 Genius of Burns .... 14 Genius and Taste . . . .16 Happiness . . . . . 16 Home . . . . . .18 Hope . . . . , . 19 Hospitality 20 Indiscretion and Cowardice . . 20 Industry ...... 20 Labour . . . . . . 20 Love. — Connubial Love ... 22 Love and Admiration . . . 23 CONTENTS. IX PAGE On Love to Mankind 24 Man, — a handsome one 24 Mankind — estimate of . 24 Melancholy .... 25 Memoirs ..... . 25 Metaphysics .... 25- Nature ..... . 25 Obligation .... 27 Oratory ..... . 27 Passion 27 Pathetic Writings . 27 Philosophy .... 28 Pity . 28 Poetry ..... 28 Poetaster . . . ' . . 29 Pride 29 Poverty ..... . 30 Predestination .... 30 Pleasures ..... . 31 Providence .... 31 Religion ..... . 32 Riches 33 Rivalry . 33 Secrets ..... 34 Self-love . . . 34 Shame 36 X CONTENTS. PAGE On Sight .... . 36 Slander ..... 37 Sorrow . . . . . . 38 Solitude 38 Vanity . . . . . . 38 Virtue ..... 39 Uncertainty . 40 Wisdom .... 41 Wit 41 Wisdom and Folly 42 Woman .... 42 Worship — Public 42 Youth .... . 43 Youthful Impressions 44 PROSE MISCELLANIES. The Travels of Reformation, an Allegory 47 On Profusion and Avarice ... 57 Cheerfulness ..... 62 CONTENTS. XI PAGE On Thanksgiving ..... 65 A Fragment ..... 67 Rhapsody ...... 70 The Keepsake 74 The Seals 77 Sorrow ...... 79 Boadecea . . . . . .85 POEMS. Lays of the Village . . . 91 The Sabbath 93 Recollections of Summer . . . 103 Morning 104 Noon 108 Evening . . . . . .113 Night 117 Norbiton 123 Ode on the Uncertainty of Wealth, and the Pleasures of Retirement . . 135 XU CONTENTS. PAGE Fairy Glee 139 Extempore Answer to a poetical invitation to take wine after dinner on the first day of the week . . . 142 A Festive Ode 143 Poesy ....... 145 The Moonlight Hour, (a Fairy Song) . 147 Anacreontic . . . . . 150 The Smile of Good Nature . . .152 Morning in May . . . . . 153 To * * * * 155 Introduction to the Practice of Peace . 156 Invocation to Peace . . . . 158 To Time 160 To Mary 161 Come twine the Wreath . . . 163 To Miss Georgina Brigstock . . .166 Sonnet on a Sky-lark shot in the month of April, 1818 167 To Mary 168 A Birthday Ode to the Queen . . 169 The Hebrew Mother . . . .173 Lines on the Death of the Duke of * * * * 176 Patronage . . . . . . 178 To * * *, with a packet of court plaister 179 I've Proved the Wine Cup . . 180 CONTENTS. xiii PAGE To Mary 182 fp|, ****** 1 Q^ Ballad, " Come hither fair maidens, and list to my lay" 186 To a Neglected Piano . . . .188 An Autumnal Scene . . . , 190 Lines, written in the Winter of 1816 . . 192 Morning 193 To a Young Lady jealous of her Sister's Beauty 195 A Prayer 196 Farewell to France . . . . .198 A Living Character .... 200 See Modest Spring, &c 204 Anacreontic, "When Night throws her sober veil, &c. " 206 I love mid Hills and Woods, &c. . . 208 An Elegy, addressed to his Mistress . . 209 To a Lady, with a copy of "the Literary Souvenir" 212 On the Loss of a Vessel, which was sunk on her passage from Ireland to England, when every soul on board perished . 213 Anacreontic, — To Eugenius . . .216 Epistle to Atticus (A Satire on Woinan) 217 Anna, when I'm far away .... 222 XIV CONTENTS, " PAGE Serenade ..... 223 This Evening Light . 225 when thou art before me 227 The eye with rapture beaming . 229 Fragment ..... 231 The Smile of her I love . 233 When Dews descend 235 Three Sonnets, suggested by a visit to the Ruins of Waverley Abbey . . 237 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, AND OBSERVATIONS. MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, AND OBSERVATIONS. Acknowledgment of Error. It requii'es exercise of the gi'eatest self-denial to acknowledge having committed an injmy; but to do so is one of the noblest actions of which a man is capable. Address. A pleasing adch-ess often conceals a want of understanding. Affections. How often, when the evils of the world press heavily upon us, but for these sacred and tender ties, should we at once shake off the galHng B 2 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, fetters of mortality. To a man of generous feeling, fiolf is but a remote consideration : he thinks upon his wife, liis children, his parents, the friend of his bosom, and his native comitiy, and in the hoiu" of soitow, gentle affection aiTcsts the hand of despair, and whilst it holds him to this transitory life, inspires him mth fortitude to bear those evils which would be otherwise too powerful for the frailty of his natm-e. It is easy to root up an affection of yesterday, ])1 anted in the loose and unstable soil of admi- ration ; but it is a work which defies time and exertion to tear fi-om the heart a long-nourished attachment which has been continually watered with the dew of hope, and has taken deep root in the bosom of sincerity. Ambition. Shakspcare, by the mouth of Falstaff, hath declared Jionour to be air : I aver that amhition is a balloon, whence the rich ajronaut is often reduced to the necessity of tlu-owing out his golden ballast to secm-e his ascent, which if effected, hke that of the asreal voyage, is always attended with difficvdties and hazard. AND OBSERVATIONS. 3 Anger. Anger is imquestioiiably a species of mad- ness, else men would never be guilty of that which is, nine times out of ten, followed by disgust and self-accusation. ■'D' Avarice. You may as well bestow your eloquence upon the rocks of the ocean, as plead the cause of feeling to an old man whose past hfe has been spent in the accumulation of riches. He who winks at and cncom-agcs the avarice of another, is guilty of as manifest an injmy to society, as if he were himself the miser. Author. People in general are more aj^t to appreciate the merits of an author fi'om the amusement they derive, than fi-om any instruction ^\llich his works communicate. There is this, only this difference between a bad author and a good one : — the former can make nothing of a good subject, and the latter can make a good subject of nothing. 4 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, Beauty. Man is so apt to be captivated with what is in appearance lovely, that his ideas of beauty and virtue have become imperceptibly associ- ated. Who can look ujDon a beautiful culprit and believe her to be guilty ? Who can behold the tear trembling in her eye and not feel that his reason is fast giving way to the subduing emotion of pity ? In the long run, however, the beauty has the worst of it ; for her appeai'ance generally leads us to expect virtues we do not find ; whilst the good qualities of the ordinaiy woman please us in proportion as they appeal- imexpected. Changeful as it is, there is a certain en- chantment attendant upon beauty which few men are able to resist: though all know that it is intiinsically worth nothing, and that time will some day fix his plough upon the fairest countenance. I have sometimes seen beauty of that peculiar description that I have felt it impossible to look upon it, even for a moment, without feeling an AM) OBSERVATIONS. 5 instantaneous melancholy. It presents nothing for the voluptiiary, but there is a soul-speaking sadness written upon it, which awakens a feel- ing in the sensitive heart not unlike that which we experience when we walk out in the calm moonhght of a summer's night, and every object we behold tends to dispose the heart to medita- tion and serenity. Benevolence. The earth and all it contains are the pro23erty of him who made them : he hath appomted the rich man his stewaixl upon earth. O son of wealth, disgrace not thyself by withholding the portion of the poor. Is there not enough for him and for thee. Go, give mito thy neighbour his share and take thine own, so shall thy bosom become a sti'anger to inquietude — so shall thy name be blessed among men, and honom'ed among angels. Braggart. The braggart boasts of his com'age, because, feeling his miserable deficiency, he endeavours to shelter himself behind the appearance of a quality which he does not possess. 6 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, Chrisiianily. No men turn impostors who do not expect to reap some earthly advantage by their im])()sture. Christ expected none : despised and reviled, his whole life was a series of patient endm'ance and exalted fortitude. Examine his doctrines: they Avill bear the strictest scrutiny ; even those who profess not to believe the divinity of then- au- thor, acknowledge their beauty and unifonnity: can sound reasoning be the offspring of enthu- siasm ? The manifest purjiose of the Christian Religion, is the gloi-y of God, and the present and futm-e happiness of mankind. If this one obvious consideration fail, a direct revelation would scai'cely convince the man who professes to disbelieve the tiaith of the Gospel. Contempt. I cannot conceive a more proper object for contempt than the contemptuous man himself : pufied up with egotism, he esteems eveiy man his inferior, he believes his own judgment to be infallible, and by tyrannical and overbeaiing conduct, justly incms from the mse man that censme wliich lie so liberally bestows upon others. AND OBSERVATIONS. 7 Contempt of the World. If tlie woiicl denounce thee fool, and thou wouldst be happy, swear that the world's an idiot till thou from thy heart believest it, and thou wilt put on ai'uiour which will assui-edly protect thee. Censure. Censure not an old man who condemns in the rising generation those follies to which he was himself once adthcted : who can be a better judge of then* e\il tendency, than he who has smarted for his own misconduct ? Coquets. 'Tis often the case with coquets, that they care not a straw for a man whilst they are sm'e of liis affection : but, the moment there is any fear of losing him, for very jealousy they miite themselves to the object whose cUsregard of them would, they fear, lessen the world's opmion of theii' attractions. Courage. Courage is of two kinds — animal and ra- tional. Animal courage is that recklessness of 8 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS danger which wv led in cunnnon with ihe bnilc creation, many of whom are, in that respect, infinitely om- superiors. Rational courarje I conceive to be an innate intrepidity enabhng ns not only to conduct oui* animal comagc with propriety, but also to overcome those soitows of the mind, which we axe by natme rendered more capable of feeling, than any class of created beings which holds its rank beneath us. Death. He that considers his body as himself, may w^ell tremble at death ; but he who believes it to be only his habitation, and would fain act as vu'tuously as he may, is superior to its feai's. Dissimulation. There can scarcely be a greater pain to an honest man, than to be obliged to assume the appearance of pleasm'e in the society of those he despises : so much at variance are nobleness and dissimulation. Drunkard. The chunkard wastes fom- things : his time, his understanding, his estate, and his health. AND OBSERVATIONS. 9 Drunkard. A tli-mikai-d is a volimtaiy maniac, who piu'- chases hollow eyes and aching bones at the expense of his reason. Drunkenness is the very summit of selfish- ness, although destructive to self. Perhaps the least useful member of society is the drmikard, since, by his excesses, he not only desists fi-om domg good, but by destroying the active energies of his mind, renders himself incapable of doing society a futm'e service. Duties of Mankind. The period of youtJi should be emj^loyed in reapmg infonnation from the experience of those who have hved before us, or who are more advanced in years than ourselves : that of man- hood, in exercising our talents for the benefit of om- fellow creatm'es : and that of old age, in admonishing the yomig to persevere in the paths of rectitude, in laying before them the result of our own experience, and m makmg preparations for our last and most serious jommey. c 10 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, Educalion. If there be any tiling grateful to tlie heart of man, it is surely that of seeing his exertions for the welfare of his offspring crowned \\\\\\ success, and the son of his old age entertaining those principles, w Inch, while they shed a lustre upon his character in this world, are registered to his eternal honour in the records of a better. Enemies. We caimot love our enemies, in the literal acceptation of the word ; but we can make a near approach to the observance of this gi-eat commandment, by refraining to do injury to those we may esteem such, and by not refusing to confer a kindness when it is in om* power to bestow it. FaitJi. As the first care of a skilful architect is to see that his foundation is capable of sustaining the stiaictiire he designs to raise upon it; so the earliest precaution of the man who would raise his faith upon a finn basis, should be to examine diligently the principles upon which he intends to build, lest, having neglected the most material AND OBSERVATIONS. 11 of all considerations, in the midst of his fancied secuiity, the pile of instabihty he has erected descend upon his head, and destroy him it was meant to protect. Fame. All earthly monuments decay : — the gilded mausoleum and the peasant's grave soon re- semble each other; but the fame of the wise man descends to posterity with his labom-s, and liis name shall be spoken ^^-ith reverence long after the most celebrated cities of liis day shall have been mingled again mth that parent earth from which they were taken. Fanaticism. Of all the t}Tants who have stalked tln-ough the world to mislead mankind, and to spill the blood of the innocent, I know of none so cruel, so bhnded by prejudice, and so relentless, as fanaticism under the assumed name of rehgion. She has erected standards bearing a thousand diiferent defaces, and her deluded adlierents have hewed each other in pieces vriih. the most inhuman barbarity. The infatuated Mussidman has steeped his sword in the blood of the 12 -MAXIMS, ItKl-LKCTIONS, Guebre, and the Christian held uj^ the cross of his Redeemer, af him who was the 'pattern of humility and meeknefis, as a signal to hew in pieces the unliappy Saracen, deeming the l)lood of the no less deluded follower of Mahomet an acceptable sacrifice in the eyes of that Being, who is the unalloyed essence of chai'ity, benevolence, and mercy. Shall I go on with this melancholy picture ? Alas, my heart bleeds to say, that the followers of our Lord, upon a slight difference in certain inconsiderable points of faith, have gratified the sanguinary thirst for blood, which has ever been a prominent featm'e in the character of fanaticism, in the prepai'a- tion of the most homble cruelties upon each other wliich imagination can conceive. The more reflective part of mankind have long since fliscarded prejudices so disgi'acefiil to human natm*e, but a vast number still remains to whom enthusiasm has exclusively promised the bles- sings of eternal happiness. One would scarcely believe that a being endowed with reflection, could harbour- ideas so repugaiant to common understanding, and which derogate so materially from the benevolence of providence. Doth not the Supreme Ruler of events manifest equal AND OBSERVATIONS. 13 tenderness to all his creatures ? Hath he not amply provided for their several necessities ? And shall the errors of that judgment which he himself bestowed upon man be made a pre- text for his destruction ? — Beware ye who are too easily persuaded : the denmiciations of the enthusiast carry with them destruction to the eyes of the human miderstanding. Fashion. There is no sterling value in the cold com- phmentary esteem of fashionable society. I would not give a whiff of tobacco for every butterfly acquaintance of a modem beau. Honest natural feeling becomes chilled when it comes within the vortex of mincing fashion : the finer sensibilities of the heail give place to a new train of imaginary sensations, created and inde- fatigably sustained in the atmosphere of the beau monde. All is languor, fi'ozen civility, and busy nothingness. The affection of one warm heart is worth it all, — if these trifles only are to be the sacrifice. Farewell fashion ! Fortune. Who does not know that fortune, like Shak- 14 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, speare's Fairy Queen, falls sometimes in love \nth an ass ; Avhilc she leaves honour, honesty, and merit, to — oblivion, poverty, and contempt. Genhis. In proportion as a man is gifted with genius sliould he be acquainted with learning. With- out learning, your true genius is apt to overstep the bounds of propriety : with too much, his energies become clogged, and he is rendered incapable of exerting them with his w^onted vigour. It is only when the iiatmal quahty and the acqim*ed one are justly proportioned, that we behold the productions of hterature in then" highest perfection. This quality, thovigh it is always discovered in a man's productions, is never to be truly estimated. The waitings wliich a man leaves behind him cannot certainly assist us in om* admeasurement: for, during his life, so many circumstances operate to tm'n genius from its natm'al channel; — so many circumstances unite to oppose its unlimited exercise ; that it is next to impossible to say of any two men which possessed the larger share. I conjecture (but AND OBSERVATIONS. 15 the \s'hole business is no more than conjecture) that Burns possessed as great a proportion of this quahty as has fallen to the lot of any indi- vidual. Let us consider for a moment the disadvantages luider which he laboured, and behold what he has effected ! He was born in rustic obscmity, — a stranger both to the advantages of science and of society, — con- demned to the fatigiies of manual labom*, and destined, dming a great part of his life, to straggle ^Wth indigence and misfortime ; but his mighty genius could triumph over all these powerful obstacles: sensible of the beauties of nature, and with the spirit of poesy in his heart, he gazed upon the scenes which smTomided liim, and, in lays ever to be admii-ed, smig the channs of his native home. What can exceed the excess of feelmg and pathos of his elegiac pieces, the charming simplicity of his songs, or the sportiveness and vivacity of his humoiu'ous productions ? Had the temple of learning been open to his researches ; had labom- given way to leisure, and the bright smishine of affluence supplied the nipping blasts of poverty and mis- fortmie ; what might we not have expected ? Yet with this same genius, under other circum- 16 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, stances he miglit have effected less: had he been consigned to an employment which left him less leisure even than he had; had he been for the gi'eatcr part of his life stretched upon the bed of sickness, although he might have produced enough to convince us that the true sparks of genius lighted up his imderstanding, we should have had no evidence of the extent of that genius, nor can we come to a conclusion upon a subject over which the Creator has drawn a veil of too close a contexture to be seen through by the fallible discernment of man. Genius and Taste. Genius is the gold ore of poesy, ^\"l^ich taste refines and improves. Hajypiness. I beheve, from my soul, that perfect happi- ness is unattainable by any human beuig; yet I am as frmily of opinion that a certain serenity of mind, a certain cheerfulness vmder the dis- pensations of our Creator, may be attained, and that this is the offspring of piety, and i)iety onlv. AND OBSERVATIONS. 17 Happiness. Happiness is like a rainbow, to which you are as near, Avhilst at home, as if you travel half over the world in search of it. Think not to find happiness in the transient career of pleasure : a passing joy may glance upon the mind, a gleam of mirth may persuade thee that thy search is not in vain ; but, if thou wouldst be truly happy, turn thy back upon the evils of this world, set misfortune at defiance, and lay fast hold of those things which the mutability of earthly events hath not the power to destroy. Considering the short stay man is destined to make in this world, it is surprising to witness the pains he takes to be miserable. Would we but remove our attention fi-om the shaded side of the picture of life, would we but examine the agreeable images its brighter side presents, we should find abundant causes for contentment, and discover that we ourselves are the chief enemies of our owti happiness. D 18 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, Happiness. If there be any thing which, after all, can be termed human happiness, I think it must consist in anticipaiion : had we not something continually to wish for, how flat and insipid would be the monotony of our lives. The statesman, the warrior, the philosoj)her, and the poet, place their ideas of it upon the pinnacle of fame ; but no sooner have they attained the summit of their wishes, than the enjoyment is at an end, and, like the first traveller upon TenerifTe, they perceive that they have only attained height enough to discover the inefficacy of their attempts. Perhajis few acquire know- ledge sufficient to convince them of this truth, whilst the major part, still anxious to accomplish the end of their researches, and animated by a new hope, continue to build upon their former structure till the closing scene veils them in eternity, and convinces them, in one instant, that permanent happiness is to be attained only by a fulfilment of our duty. Home. With its calm and placid enjoyments, what pleasui-es can be put in competition .'' But the AND OBSERVATIONS 19 casuist T\ill say, "Where is home?" and the travelled man of the world will ajiswer, " Every where." I 'will tell you where I think it is. It is that spot of the vast creation where we are completely at our ease, where fonnaUty and fashion are forbidden to enter, and which con- tains those whom we beheve have claim upon our best affections. Hope. The gods, at the formation of man, knowing his real wants, denied him foresight, but, having a concern for his contentment, presented to him the bauble — hope, which has ever since been the favorite plaything of the childi'en of mor- tality. To every man, upon his entrance into this world, is presented a toy of this description, accommodated to his particular temperament : its varieties are endless : upon the philosopher's is written " happiness ;" upon the poet's, " fame ;" some bear the inscription, " wealth ;" others, "power;" whilst some, still more delusive, display the attractive name of " love ;" but, however great their variety, they all answer the same end ; namely, the reconciliation of man to his perishable state of mortality. 20 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, Hospitality. To pertoim the duties of hospitality with credit, a man must not only afford plenty to his guests, but also partake bountifully at his own table : to do less looks something like a hint to his friends that his circumstances would be eased by their following his example. Indiscretion and Cowardice. Speak not ill of the living, lest upon thy remarks reaching their ears, thou findest thyself suiTounded by more difficulties than thou hast calculated upon meeting with. Speak not ill of the dead, because it is the part of a coward to attack those who have no means of vindi- cating themselves. Industry. Every thing in nature, — animal, vegetable, and mineral, manifests a tendency to mingle witli the general mass of creation. To day, a man lays out the most beautiful gardens in all the elegance of classic taste, and erects the most superb, and apparently durable, edifices ; but the former require his continual cai'e, long to bear any resemblance of their original AND OBSERVATIONS. 21 beauty ; and the latter, after a few short years, exhibit a desire to mingle again with the dust, and thus afford fresh cause for his industry and labour. Labour. Humjin beings, in a state of nature, cannot exist ^\'ithout labour, and being all children of one parent, it is just that every man should per- form his proper proportion. Perhaps if an equal distribution of manual labom- were made, but a small portion would of necessity fall upon each individual ; but as this cannot be done in the present state of society, and, moreover, as men differ widely from each other, both in respect of intellect and of bodily strength, it seems that the intelligent part of the community were designed by Providence to relieve the athletic from mental exertion, and these, in their turn, to render an equally desirable assistance to the thinkers, by perfonning their share of bodily labour as well as their o\^ti. But one class of men yet remains. What shall we say for the indolent and wealthy? What can we say, save that they are unjust as well as useless? — use- less, since they do nothing for the advantage of 22 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, others ; and unjust, inasmuch as they lay their portion of exertion, l)oth mental and bodily, upon the shoulders of their neighbours. Love. The most casual and unimportant circum- stances sometimes give birth to this bewitching passion : two persons, under similar circum- stances of ill or of good fortune, are often endeared to each other for the remainder of their lives. Two successful partners in a game at whist may contract an intimacy, which will end only with the existence of the one or the other of them. That is a just maxim which says — "without an alliance with pain there can be no pleasure." The heart which has drank deepest at the foun- tain of misfortune is generally sensible to the most perfect emotions of joy; hence it is that love, which is capable of communicating the most exalted bliss, is also subjected to the severest and deepest torments. Those who have remained all theu- lives invulnerable to the attacks of this powerful AND OBSERVATIONS. 23 passion, must be wholly unaware of its efleets upon the human mind, and may be pardoned when they speak contemptuously of its victim. Ignorance is no crime, and we can neither feel nor believe more than our mental faculties will allow. If a man once suffer this delicious poison to enter his cranium, all the musty scraps of philosophy he can gather together will stand him in no stead. hove — Connubial. I am inclined to believe that connubial love oftener inhabits the poor man's cottage than the prince's palace : wealth and honours generally determine the latter in his choice : the former seldom bargains for any tiling beside industry and vutue. Love and Admiration. Let us ever be careful not to place our love upon those things which are entitled to our admiration. Beauty and intellect (the free gifts of natm-e) have certainly no claim but upon 24 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS. the latter: virtue, which is the voluntary act of the creature, is alone justly entitled to our affection. Ij)re to Mankind. The more sujjerior the natural sense of a man, the more boundless is his love to mankind. Mim — a handsome one. A handsome man with an uncultivated mind is like a barren tree covered with beautiful leaves. Mankind — Estimate of. If the estimate of men were made in propor- tion to their usefulness, how far behind in the pathway of reward would be the modern fine gentleman, the child of laziness and luxury ! There is not a cobbler, or a ploughman, a chau-- mender, or a razor- grinder, who does not more toward the welfare of mankind than this self- conceited witling ; who, because education, forsooth, has given him a taste for what the world designates refined pleasures, thinks him- self dealt with right scurvily if they are not at all times ready, like a ripe plum, to drop into his hand. AND OBSERVATIONS. 25 Melancholy. The only ciu-e for melancholy is to keep the mind actively and constantly employed. Memoirs. No man onght to be accused of vanity who keeps a memorial of his past life ; since, by a calm reflection upon past events, he may the better be enabled to meet futm-e ones with credit and satisfaction to liimself. Metaphysics. It is no part of om* duty to metaphysicalize away oin- senses: let us rather, since life is so short, seek happiness in the performance of our duty, and, for the rest, leave it to the direction of that Great Bemg, who stands in no need of any interference on our part. Nature. "How wonderful is nature!" has been the exclamation of milhons. It is the first ejacula- tion of the novice in philosophy, and the last of the accomplished student. In vain have the most learned men spent their lives in an inves- tigation of the primary laws which regulate her E 26 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, mysteries. The end of all their studies has been to discoA'cr that she has raised a bamer to their enquiries which is never to be broken down. Ages have passed away since the creation, during which system has been erected upon sys- tem, and the whole have eventually fallen to the ground. Our own age has not been deficient in industry; but another will succeed, and our successors will probably take as much pains to overturn our opinions as we have done to throw down those of om* fathers. And what shall be said for the new order of things which will then take place? What can be said but that, in its turn, it will give way to another which is to succeed it .? Of what avail then is this reason, about which we aiTogate so much to ourselves, if we cannot, by its assistance, perpetuate our opinions for one generation. Of what intrinsic value are all our jsompous discussions, if in the end we know not with certainty, on om- side, that we have approached nearer to truth than at our first setting out-f* Instead of becoming the mis-led votaries of hypothesis, let us rather, with the wise man, repose oru* whole confidence in heaven ; and, with a quiet and humble mind, exclahn — "All is vanitv!" AND OBSERVATIONS. 27 Ohliyaiion. When a man reminds his Mend of a kindness he himself has confeiTed upon him, sm-ely the obligation ceases: the kindness of the former action being more than counterbalanced by the meanness of the latter. Oratory. An orator is by natm'e a poet with the gift of speech in a supereminent degree. Passion. Shew me a man who is never in a passion, and I will pronounce him to be either a rogue or a philosopher. Pathetic Writings. I know of no passion wliich is so imiversally felt as pity. There is something so seducing attached to it, that men, whose hearts ai'e not steeled against A'irtue, must in some measm'e be subject to its influence. I can give no gi'eater proof of this than the taste which prevails in all civilized coimtries for writings of a pathetic description. They speak to the heail, — they address to one of its finest emotions, — and till 28 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, a complete revolution shall have taken place in om- natures, can never fail to call forth that applause which it is not in our power to withhold. Philosophy. Be not too confident of thy security from son-ow, O philosoj^her ! Like Achilles thou hast a vulnerable pai't about thee, and he exists who can, ^\^thout difficulty, find it out. Pity. Few hearts are insensible to the powerful and subduing emotion of pity ; if an author would disann censm-e, let him, at the outset of his narrative, awaken this j^assion; and the mind, thus overcome, \^dll insensibly throw aside the the sjDleen of criticism, and follow the hero of his tale through a detail of his melancholy adventmes, unconscious of the little molehill of errors AA'hich the critic, wide awake, ever takes care to magnify into mountains. Poeiry. If poetiy be deemed an acquirement, then may we allow proportionate degrees of merit to AND OBSERVATIONS. 29 its professor; but if we consider it the offspring of genius, then can we admit of no mediocrity. A Poetaster. A trivial poet may be compared to a flying fish, whose Avings having expended their mois- ture dm'ing a short flight, is compelled to dis- continue his aerial jomiiey till he has soused himself in the water, again to procui'e a fresh supply of the necessary element. Pride. Pride is, perhaps, in a poor man, the greatest enemy to his advancement. The hand of fortune lavishes her favoiu-s upon the child of pride, and men regard him with homage: he is imperious, yet they obey him. Behold him hurled fi-om the pinnacle of greatness, a miserable outcast, with no claim to the pity of his fellow beings. His contempt is repaid with scorn, and he is a i^o^'etched being; for he has taught himself to believe that happi- ness exists only in the palaces of the powerful and wealthy. 30 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, Pride. He who suffers pride to make him forget an old friend has become the servile slave of the meanest of masters. Poverty. If men would be contented \nth the common necessai-ies of life, and forget the fancied w^ants which a debilitating luxury has introduced, every man might come in for his share of enjoyment, and poverty would have, at most, but a fairy existence; But w'herever exti'avagance holds her coml, poverty as certauily makes her appear- ance: — two sorts of people are immediately formed: — monopoly gathers into the rich man's bam, and industiy with a broken heart is goaded to hojjeless exertion by selfishness and cruelty. Predestinaiio)t . To say the least of predestination, it is a sublime conception of the omnipotence of the Deity : how forcible an idea does it convey ! — AVhat majestic subhmity exists with the thought that God could not only create a world, — not only give being to millions of rational creatui'es, but could make them subservient to the minutest AND OBSERVATIONS. 31 of his commands; and in so hidden and mys- terious a mamier, that every distinct being imagines himself jnu'suing the bent of his own TPill, while he insensibly \^'orks that of his gi*eat Creator, totally unconscious of that power which directs his most trivial actions, and works all together for the completion of its own grand and secret designs. Pleasures. The soberest of pleasm-es certainly afford the most lasting rapture. ^Vllat can equal the calm and placid feeling which a fine day in winter produces in the contemplative mind : it recalls to recollection the beauties of summer ; touching ujDon all the chords of memory at once, it causes the heart to vibrate with the sweetest emotions of joy. Providence. At the same time that nature provided for the gratification of mankind, she acted the part of an impartial mother toward the animal crea- tion. To the deer, she gave fineness of form and beauty of skin ; upon the peacock, she bestowed stateliness of carriage and richness of 32 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, plumage, which hitter she denied iVoiii the swan, because, being an inhabitant of the water, his milk-wliite feathers display hira to most advan- tage, in contrast with the blueness of that element ; while to the nightingale, wlio scarcely ever jjresents herself to our sight, she gave a voice that infinitely compensates for the beauties which fall not to her share. Reliyion. True religicm delights in secrecy. It is the communion of man with his Creator, its seat is in the heart, it is the offspring of gratitude and love, and a consolation of which the misfortunes incident to this transitory existence have not power to deprive us. He who makes a jest of religion for the sake of displaying his wit, shoots a fool's bolt into the heavens that will some day recoil upon his own head. It is not only desirable, but absolutely neces- sary, if a man would be successful, that he AND OBSERVATIONS. 33 should make liimself well acquainted with the principles upon which he intends to act in his commerce with mankind ; — how much more then is it requisite in liis intercom'se with the Supreme Being, whose kingdom is everlasting, and who, having created in man an immortal soul, must hold communication Mdth it to all eternity. He -svho neglects this precaution, may with gi-eat justice be esteemed an object of pity, — he has no settled opinion — no determi- nate rule of conduct ; but, like a bark tossed upon the ocean helmless and without a compass, piu'sues liis com'se at random, becomes the plaything of every wind that blows, and is liable to split upon every rock to which he approaches. Riches. How can the treasures of this world be valuable, when the meanest human being can, in one moment, if he seek the opportunity, send me from their possession for ever. Rivalry. In cases of rivalry, that vengeance must surely be misdirected which we turn upon our F 34 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, fellow candidate for favour, who is, perhaps, perfectly innocent of any intention to injure us. Let us rather conquer the bad feeling which prompts us to resentment, and by oiu- attempts to excel each other in all that is praise-worthy, at least prove that we deserve the favoiurs it is oiur ambition to attain. Secrets. The man who confides his friend's secret to another, must either be a scoundiel or a block- head : — a scoundrel if he betray it with the design of creating mischief; a blockhead if he possess not discernment enough to see that there is as great chance of its escaping from another as himself, and one who, most probably, is less interested in the consequences that may ensue from its publicity. Self-love. Self-love alone is capable of sustaining a man in utter sohtude. No man can fonn a just estimate of his own works, or an impartial one of those of his AND OBSERVATIONS. 35 rival. Self-love, in the first case, induces him to search for the beauties of his own perform- ance, and, in the latter, to discover those imperfections which will sink the laboiirs of his competitor below the level of his own. No man can be contented, be his sphere what it may, who is not upon good terms with himself. So materially averse are men to acknow- ledge any error in themselves, that we generally find the unfortunate supporting the doctrine of predestination ; and so delighted are they to calculate upon their own merits, that we as generally find the successful treating it as a chimera, and arrogating to themselves the whole merit of their advancement. Pity is said to afibrd delight fi'om the idea it gives us of security fi'om the sorrows of the object we commisserate, — it is more especially so, when (as is sometimes the case) we feel how much superior we are to him whose sorrows call forth our commisseration. 3() MAXI.MS, KEFLKCTIOXS, Self-love. We love others ( I speak not i)f the love of the sexes) because they make us love oui'selves. Hence then, the golden rule to be loved, is to make men pleased with themselves. Self-love, in moderation, is a necessary virtue ; earned to excess, one of the most baneful of evils. Shame. A dread of shame is sometimes as great an incentive to crime, as to be lost to all sense of it. Siglit. Who is there that does not behold with sen- sations of the purest pleasm^e, the soft tints of morning as they rise from the blue bosom of the waters, or from behmd the summit of some distant hill, which fades as it were into the sky ? Who does not mtness vn\\\ delight a sight still more glorious, when the clouds of the west pre- sent to his organs of vision a bright sea of gold, interspersed va^h. precipices of every shape which imagination can invent, and whose picturesque beauty inspires us with an enthusiastic idea of the hal)itations of the blessed } AVho is he that can walk forth at the solitary hour of mid- AND OBSERVATIONS. 37 night, and behold the vast hemisphere adorned with millions of orbs sparkling in all the splen- doui* of silent majesty, and not acknowledge the inestimable value of that sense which procures him so many enjoyments ? Alas ! numberless are the mstances of men, who never allow themselves to think upon the blessings which every side sun'oimd them. Deprive one of these creatiu'es of that sense upon wliich he appears to place so httle value, and he exclaims, O that I might, like other men, behold the beau- tifid earth clothed in her green vestments ! and feast my full soul in the investigation of her beauties ! Slander. A man who traduces the character of another in order that he liimself may appear more con- spicuously virtuous, is hke the moon dm'ing a solar eclipse, which by endeavouring to hide the face of a superior luminaiy, only displays her own blackness and inferiority. Sorrow. I heard the assm-ances of the enthusiast, and the boasting of the philosopher; but the horn- of 38 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, trial came, and they wept, like other men, over their afflictions. Religion, O man, can only palliate thy son'ow; philosophy, teach thee to disguise it. Heaven hath awarded thee sorrow as thy portion, and till thy eternal soul shall return to its Maker, thou shalt in vain endea- vom- to escape it. Solitude. Man was evidently intended for society; solitude is, therefore, only good as it qualifies us to be more useful and agreeable to ovu" fellow creatures. Vanity. Many words are not necessary to shew the inconsistency of vanity, but I believe volumes would be necessary to induce either sex to lay it aside. I can blame no man who is tenacious of his honoiu: and his integrity; nor can I accuse any woman who proudly commands the respect due to her modesty and her virtue : but it is not these qualities ujion which the sexes pride them- selves. Men are generally ambitious to be thought wits ; and women, beauties : and there are those of the former who, without a blush, AND OBSERVATIONS. 39 can hear the most abandoned vices laid to their charge, that would resent, \Wth the utmost in- dignity, any attempt to turn then* mtticism into ridicule; and soiry am I to say that there are instances of ladies, (too frequent,) who would rather bear a stain upon their reputation than hear the slightest assertion derogatory to their charms. This feeling attends a man through every vicissitude of life, and tinctures his opinions under every circumstance. Is he luifortunate — unwilling to acknowledge himself in error, he advocates the cause of predestination. Is he prosperous — ^villing to take to himself the merit of his o^^Ti advancement, no one is louder in railing against it. Virtue. Virtue is of such celestial loveliness, that vice, while plotting her blackest schemes against her detested rival, pauses to admii-e the godlike quality which supports man amidst so many dangers and difficulties, and beai's liim tri- umphantly tlu'ough all his misfortunes; and 40 MAxnrs, reflkctioxs, beholding how hideous she appears beside the iin])lemished beauty of her competitor, bursting with envy, and wrought up to the highest pitch of determined detestation, lays, with intermin- able hate, fresh schemes for the destruction of those quahfications which she can never possess. Uncertainty. How full is this world of uncertainty ! To- day a man may be tmniing up the furrows of his held; to-morrow, seated upon a throne, invested with all the privileges of ermined royalty. — To-day the monarch beholds his most imperious commands obeyed Avith trembling, nay, his very wishes anticipated; to-morrow, asks the pittance of a morsel of bread of the very meanest of his subjects. — To-day health sparkles on the cheek of youth, and man exults in his strength; to- morrow tinges his countenance with the pale hue of sickness, and languor stretches his limbs upon the bed of soitow. Has not the site of the once famous Tjtc become a place whereon the fisherman hangs his net.? and has not Eng- land, a solitary island in the Atlantic Ocean, become mighty m the annals of history? AND OBSERVATIONS. 41 Wisdom. There is more wisdom in being religious without learning, than in being learned without religion. Every body will admit that he exhibits most wisdom, whose foresight empowers him to avoid futm-e dangers, and ensm-e future enjoy- ment. Experience daily tells us, how little happiness learning can commimicate, even in this world; but, at best, it aims only at a sub- limaiy good : yet the truly religious man, however small liis stock of hterary knowledge, seeks for a higher enjoj-ment, while he resigns himself to the misfortimes incidental to oiu- frail state of existence, and secures himself eternal happi- ness in the kingdom of heaven. Wit. A wit, like a cramp-fish, is best left alone; since, by touching him, we only biing pain upon oiu'selves. Wit bought is said to be better than wit taught. This may be true, if they who become pm-chasers make a proper use of their bargain ; but experience shews us that men exist, whose whole lives are spent in acquisitions of this 42 MAXIMS, REFLECTIONS, descriplion. Such people are like the wiseacres of the present day, who amass hiiudreds of volumes without profitin<^ one iota by their con- tents, which seldom, indeed, become the subject of their investigation. Wisdom and FoUy. If the sons of Minerva have more sound sense and deliberate judgment than those of Momus, that deficiency is more than made up to the latter by the qualities of cunning and artiiice. The wise man may starve in the midst of his learning, whilst the quick-sighted fool draws all into his net, and sees the blessings of this world proffered m every shape for his acceptance. Woman . Though man erect the firmest arguments, she beats them down with her smile ; and when she raises the eye in supplication, who can Avithstand it. Worship — Pithlic. ^Vliy, says Deislicus, can I not as well adore ray Creator in my closet, as in the midst of an AND OBSERVATIONS. 43 assembled multitude, and reap instruction from the ^-ritings of ^Wse men with as much advan- tage as from the mouth of a preacher ? To the first pai-t of this I reply by a question, would not the evil passions of the heart, which are ever most triumphant when the mind is left to itself, sometimes induce us to forego the per- foi-mance of our duty? and to the second, in a similar manner, by enquuing, whether it be necessary frequently to study those things wliich we have already learned ? If so, 'tis as neces- saiy that a man should be constantly reminded of the duties which he owes to his Creator and mankind ; and if he w^ould wish to perform his duty, he cannot do better than avoid the tempta- tions which are continually throwing themselves in the way of the unemployed and indolent, and of those whose employment is liable to be tlu-own aside for any new one that may present itself. Youth. Youth is the gay season of romance, and hearts of a sanguine temperament, too often de- lude themselves wdth hopes created only by the ATgom' of imagination. Dissimulation and flat- 44 MAXIMS AND REFLECTIONS. tery, servants of avarice and pride, often keep np the delusion in the mmds of the wealthy ; but the poor man, as he advances in life, be- holds the beautiful flowers of hope either at his approach, and instead of being cUsinterested, open-hearted generosity and unlimited freedom is forced to the painful contemplation of cold calculating self interest, covetousness, and op- pression. Do not accuse me of misanthropy, — is it not truly a soul-sickening prospect to look ai-ound and discover that I have no kindred heart neai- me to whom I may commmiicate my feehngs ; or a wonder that my spirit tm*us from this comfortless scene of miexpected sterility, and, disgusted with the world, seeks a melan- choly gi'atification in its own solitary reflections. Youthful Impressions. A man's chai'acter always beai's in it some colour of the sentiments he imbibed in early youth. PROSE MISCELLANIES, PROSE MISCELLANIES. THE TRAVELS OF REFORMATION. An Allegory. At a remote period of society, when Sin, the mortal enemy of the human race, had ah'eady begun to invade the peaceful habitation of man, appeared Reformation : she was the daughter of Reflection and Regret, and brought up under the immediate tutelage of the goddess Minerva. Before she was born, it was predestined by Jupiter, that she should perform a pilg-rimage to the kingdom of Happiness ; and, accordingly, when she had arrived at a competent age, she took for her guide Perseverance, to whose care she was affectionately committed by her bene- factress, and, forsaking the flowery pathway of Pleasure, began her journey. 48 TRAVELS OF REFORMATION. As she was about to quit that enchanting valley, which is everywhere thronged \\'ith altars teeming with sacrifices to the wanton deity, and was entering a solitary pathway pointed out to her as the only road leading to the land of her researches, she was accosted by a group of young females attired in all the splendour of eastern magnificence ; on their heads they wore garlands of tlie finest Circassian roses, and alter- nately danced and sung to harps of gold, upon which they continually played the most capti- vating music. They informed her that they were going on a visit to the palace of Mirth, and Avai'nily pressed her to accompany them; but Reformation, who had been previously cau- tioned by Minerva, saw plainly that they were no other than the Alhu'ements, v^hose employ- ment was to betray the unsuspecting traveller, and clinging closely to her guide, she hastily declined their invitation and passed on. These ladies, however, were not so easily shaken off as our way-faring novice fondly imagined, and continued to present themselves at intervals during the whole of her jomniey, varying their attractions, and appearing every time more enticingly attired than before ; but TRAVELS OF REFORMATION. 49 what was most pei-plexing, it often proved that when they were thought to be at the farthest distance, they were nearest at hand. Howbeit, the councils of Perseverance counteracted all their endeavours ; but, alas ! a more powerful enemy of the bewitching goddess remained yet to present himself. One evening, after a wearisome journey through briery woods and over flinty rocks and precipices, as om- adventiu'ers were recluiing upon a mossy bank to recruit that strength which was now far spent, having before them a dark tangled copse overgl•o^vn with thorns and weeds, and presenting but a melancholy pros- pect of their next day's travel, they obsen ed a person making towards them with great haste. His youtliful covmtenance, which was any thing but displeasing, appeared flushed from the heat of his jom-ney, and liis manner altogether be- tokened great hmTy and confusion. He was not long in sohciting an acquaintance with Reformation and her companion, for whom he professed the profoundest regard. His name he informed them was Procrastination, and that like theirs, his object was to reach the kingdom of Happiness, and that it was his intention to H 50 TRAVELS OF REFORMATION. recommence his journey after a few days spent in the abode of Pleasure, of which he gave the most florid and captivatmg description, and whither he brought them to accompany him, adding that they might then resume their jour- ney together. The yomig heart of Reformation, inexperienced as it was, could but be susceptible of delight at such com'teous behaviour, and so busy was her mind in contrasting the pleasiu-es proffered with the difficulties she must encounter, that she scarce listened to the admonitions of her preceptress, who would fain have repre- sented to her the folly of losing sight, even for a moment, of theii* important undertaking. At tliis time a rustling among the trees gave warning that a storm was approaching, and Procrastination readily availed himself of this circumstance as an occasion for offering to accompany the adventurers to the cottage of Labour, of whose industry and bounty he had been already for some time taking advantage. Perseverance, though she would fain have been well rid of their dangerous companion, was yet willing to seize an opportunity of recruiting the strength necessary to a renewal of exertion, and, therefore, readily accepted his offer. TRAVELS OF REFORMATION. 51 Upon their arrival, the door was opened by Hospitality, the son of Labour and Tranquillity : the former of whom (a hale old man, whose white hau's falling upon his shoulders formed a strong contrast with his simbumt countenance,) sat near a fire blazing upon the hearth, mending his spade : — the latter, who was seated near him, cheering liim with her smiles, arose as they en- tered to bid them welcome, and to offer such refi'eshments as their homely but tranquil dwel- ling afforded. After a hearty repast, a separate apartment was assigned to our female travellers, to effect which. Hospitality insisted upon giving up his share of repose. They had not long reclined upon their hum- ble pallet, before, overcome by the fatigues of the day. Perseverance fell asleep. Not so her youthfid companion, who in vain com'ted repose, and continually shifted her position in a delirium of uneasiness occasioned by the disturbed state of her imagination, which was constantly pic- tm'ing the graces, and easy familiarity of their new acquaintance and fellow adventurer, find- ing sleep a stranger to her pillow, she arose and paced the naiTow chamber in melancholy silence. 02 TRAVELS Ol' RKFORMATION. Ill this agitated condition she had not long re- mained, M'hen suddenly by the light of the moon, wliicli slione brilliantly into the chamber, she beheld the object of her meditations in the garden below, looking intently toward the lattice of her window. He commenced a low prelude on a lyre which he constantly caiTied with him, and with a silver voice sung the delights of the palace of Pleasure. The concluding words of his song called upon Reformation by name to forsake her guide, and to sojourn with him at the temple of enjoyment. Om' pilgrim looked upon Perseverance, — the slumbers of her guide were unbroken, she tmiied towards the window, and, spell-bound, opened it and stepped forth. In an instant Procrastination was at her feet, and gently taking her by the hand, ^vhispered in her ear such persuasive entreaties that the inexperienced maiden yielded to his entreaties. Ah'eady had she placed her hand in his, and turned roimd to bid a silent but melancholy adieu to the faithfid attendant of her travels, when suddenly a mist rose before her, and she beheld the spirits of her parents arising in the midst of it. The eyes of her mother. Regret, were more than usuallv bedimmed ^A-ith tears ; TRAVELS OF REFORMATION. 53. but the manly brow of Reflection, her father, was bent upon her with the austerity of an oflended parent, and while he held up the finger of admonition, his hps seemed to mutter a ciu-se upon the head of liis disobedient child. At this instant, by the will of Jupiter, Perse- verance awoke, and perceiving the danger of her yoimg charge, climg fast to her garments, which Procrastination no sooner observed, than he made a precipitate reti'eat. No sooner had he depailed, than Refonnation, who had become fiilly sensible of her folly, bm'sting into tears, sincerely enti'eated, pardon for her misconduct, and faithfully jjromised that no futiu-e tempta- tion should induce her to tmia aside from the important object of their jomney. HaA-ing thus offered up the sacrifice of an ingenuous heart, encom-aged by Perseverance, she again threw herself on her pallet, and courted repose which now stole upon her senses ^-ith double s^weet- ness of enjo}Tnent. As the morning began to da^^^l, she was awakened by her faithful guide, who proposed to set off with all possible speed, lest they should again be annoyed by the importmiities of their troublesome companion, and, accord- 54 TRAVELS OF REFORMATION. ingly, first bidding a hearty farewell to the hospitable cottagers, they proceeded on their percgiinations. Nothing now occiuTcd worthy of remark till about noon, when they beheld a middle-aged person seated in a recumbent pos- ture upon the projecting root of an overspreading oak tree ; his eyes, beaming with thankfulness, were directed towards heaven, — his figure was that of muscular strength and manhood. They no sooner caught sight of this person, than Perseverance recognized her beloved helpmate Fortitude, (who had just directed his steps to the confines of the abode of Hapi^iness, to be present at the departm-e of a virtuous man, and to cheer him on his entrance into eternity,) and rushing into his arms, she implored Ills pro- tection of her young adventurer during the remainder of their jomniey. Of all the adventures of Refonnation, this was the most fortunate. They now advanced fearlessly forward ; the fatigues of the day, which habit began considerably to diminish, being invariably recompensed by the repose of the night, till, O day of dehght ! they arrived at the abode of Happiness, — the long-wished- for termination of their wanderings. Here they TRAVELS OF REFORMATION. 55 were afJectionately received by the placid Deity, who, bidding them a sincere welcome, gave in- structions to her attendants to conduct Reforma- tion through the abodes of bliss, and recompensed the dangers and difficulties she had overcome, by uniting her in marriage to Virtue, the most lovely of terresti'ial beings, and assigning them a de- lightful residence near to that of Contentment. Here Reformation now dwells, having the pleasing duty assigned her of obtaining pass- ports to eternal felicity, for those smners who apply for them, and so accessible is she, that she has never been known to deny her assist- ance in any instance where it has been solicited. To her habitation, there is no way but that which she herself travelled, — it is visible to the eyes of all men, but frequented by few. The abode of Fortitude and Perseverance, is erected at the entrance of the narrow way, and they also are ever willing to render their aid to all who seek it; but Procrastination and the Alhu*e- ments, are so continually on the alert to lead men back to their former vanities, that, compa- ratively, few knock at the gate of their venerable mansion. 56 TRAVELS OF REFORMATION. Yet, SO gi'eat in some minds has been felt the necessity of accomphshing this journey, that hunckeds upon their death-beds have ex- pressed a wish to be carried to the dwelUng of Refonnation ; but, alas ! the greater number have been so exhausted before they could come to a determination, that they have died upon the road, and thereby lost all hope of accom- plishing their intention. ON PROFUSION AND AVARICE. Of all the sayings of Solomon, there is none with ^^'hich I am better pleased than that which tells us "There is nothing better for a man, than that he should eat and drink, and that he should make his soul enjoy good in his laboiu :" and here I cannot forbeai" to remark, that for the greater part of our soitows, we are indebted to ourselves. Continually alert to discover fresh causes for uneasiness, we tmii aside from the enjoyments that he scattered in our way, and voluntaiily destroy that peace which a pru- dent moderation of om* desfres would ensure us. If we look around us, do we not behold on every side the productions of natm*e bountifully scattered by the hand of our Creator ? Do not every green hill, every little valley, call forth our gratitude to the Author of our being ? The picturesque beauties I behold, the melodies I 58 PROFUSION AND AVARICE. hear, the refreshing breeze that blows upon me, the perfume of the flowers that sun-ound me, and the dchcious flavour of the pulpy fruit ripening within reach of my hand, — all speak in a language not to be niisinteipreted. Who can behold thi.s, and accuse heaven of unldnd- ness ! Behold yon solitary chamber, it contains the unfortunate Menalcas. Born in the lap of aflluence, he passed his infant years without a cloud, the hue of health played upon his cheek, and, as he grew to manhood, his heart panted in anticipation of happiness : he became the votary of pleasure, the companion of wit, a reveller with luxury, an enemy of restraint, and flew with abhonence from the temple of reflec- tion. Observe him now : the flush of health has given place to the pale hue of melancholy, the strength of his limbs have yielded to the languor of sickness, and his sunken eye pro- claims with what pain he lifts even his head from his pillow. The God of Mercy beholds his agonies, but extends not his hand to remove them even in death : — hath INIenalcas reason to complain } Tell me, shall the man who abuses the blessings of heaven become its accuser .'* PROFUSION AND AVARICE. 59' But let us withdraw our attention jfrom this desti"oyer of his owti peace, and direct it towards a very different character — the penurious man, one whose soul is locked up w'iih. the perishable treasures of this world, who is ever on the watch to take advantage of the inexperience or want of foresight of his neighbour, and whose pliant mind ^^ill bend to any indignity where gain presents itself as the reward of liis com- pliance. Need I say aught to prove the conduct of this uuT^'orthy man offensive in the sight of heaven } Though nature has covered the valley and the hill with profusion, though the trees of the orchard bend with the weight of their fruit, the hand of the covetous gathers all into his gamer ; his eye dwells without shame upon the the poverty of the cottager: he imposes fresh tasks of labom", but reiDlenishes not the table of the hungry. Profusion may in some measure be an error of the understanding, but this — this is tlie fault of the heart. Him shall the poor man cm'se in the hoiu* of calamity, and the honest man shall despise him, though his coffers teemed with the ti'easures of Golconda. We have reviewed his conduct, let us see the advantages it affords him. He is the 60 PROFUSION AND AVAIUCE. possessor of wealth — has he the power to enjoy it ? Though with his ill-gotten gain he pur- chase honoiu" and renowai, though men pcrfonu homage before him, yet while tlic detested fiend avarice is the god of his idolatry, the mild spirit of peace shall disclaim him, and the magic of an evil imagination clothe with thorns every (lower that is sti*ewed along the pathway of life. Behold what restlessness peiplexes him : his fears keep him perpetually in agitation, doubt and distrust are ever conjiu-ing up the anticipa- tion of loss ; he is ever stretched upon the rack of suspicion, for, conscious of his own deceit, he is ever concerting schemes to preserve his own possessions from the presiuned rapacity of his neighbour. Shall such a mind hold com- munion with happiness? — as soon shall the turtle's nest be found in the biuiiing bosom of Vesuvius. There is a mean in all things, and happy is he who has taught himself to tread only upon it. Avarice and profusion, both displeasing in the eyes of om* Creator, cany with them their own punishment ; and happiness is so situated, that it is only by pursuing the straight line of our duty, that we can attain it. A good man PROFUSION AND AVARICE, 61 views the productious of nature as so many blessings sent for the enjoyment of all mankind ; he partakes of them with temjDerance, and for- gets not the wants of his poor neighbour; neither does he regard them as imperishable things, but remembers that all he possesses must some day pass from him. Such a man may be compai'ed to the traveller who stops to take refreshment only when he requires it, and who steadily jDm-sues his course, having always the end of his pilgiimage in view, and who, should he meet with a fellow pilgrim in distress, proffers him all the assistance in his power. The rew^ard of such, in this life, shall be equanimity and cheerfrilness ; and, in the w^orld to come, PEACE. CHEERFULNESS. Give ear unto me, O child of earth, and weigh my words in the balance of thine under- standing. Forsake the pathway of heedlessness and destruction, and follow me : I will lead thee to the paradise of cheerfulness ; thou shalt become a stranger to depression of heart. Prepare thy soul \^'ith fortitude, and thou shalt be strong in the hour of adversity. Consider the providence of thy Creator, and make manifest thy gratitude ; place thy confi- dence in HIM only, and he will not forsake thee. Hath he not clothed the earth with the gar- ments of beauty ? at his mandate doth not thy food spring up at thy feet ? The fruit-tree droppeth its fruit into thine hand ; the vine asketh only thine industry, and it yieldeth a beverage which shall recruit thy strength. CHEERFULNESS. 63 The bee filleth her cells with honey for thy use ; the cow and the goat proffer thee thy milk. Doth not the horse assist thee in thy labour, and is not the dog a faithful reward unto thee ? Who gave thee the strong ox, and stocked thy pasturage with lambs .'' Thy basket is filled mth the inhabitants of the waters : the fowls of the air are in submis- sion unto thee. In the dark bosom of the earth, lie the im- plements of thy labour ; there also, and in the trees of the forest, may'st thou find materials for thy habitation. Cast thine eyes aroimd thee, O man ! and confess the goodness of thy Maker : he hath provided all things for thy use, he hath given thee an helpmate, fair as the lilies of the field, her eyes sparkle with beams of intelligence, fi-om her lips fall the accents of tenderness and love. Hearken not to the voice of the vain man, regard not the complainings of his folly. He puffeth up his mind with conceit, and despiseth the hand which feedeth him. Turn thine ear to the counsels of truth, and behold the wisdom of the Most High. 64 CHEKRFULNESS. Contract not thy perception to this sublu- nary world, but extend it to that where only is tlie abode of happiness — where only thou may'st rhink of the immingled fountain of bliss. Meditate on the horn- of thy dissolution, and consider what thou hast to regret : the cup of felicity has not been given unto thee ; hast thou its loss to deplore ? thou shalt leave a world of unkindness to become a sti'anger to its coldness. Elate thy soul \nth hope, for thou shalt visit the kingdom of peace ; where also thou shalt shortly be rejoined by thy dearest com- panions. Thine eyes shall behold the friends of thy childhood, the associates of thy youth, the ob- jects of thy afiection, who have gone before thee. O turn fi-om the deluding hope of happiness on earth : eidist thyself under the banners of virtue, and become the inheritor of eternal peace. THANKSGIVING. O lift up your hearts, children of mortality ! let us exult in the good things of this earth, and giA^e thanks unto the throne of mercy. Thou who art hidden in the splendoiu: of thy majesty, who hast fixed the sun in the fir- mament, and directest the moon in her course, give ear unto the song of thy children : hsten to the accents of their gratitude : When the cool breeze of the west cometh upon the mountain, when the first blushes of morn appear on the eastern sea : In the shelter of the wood at noon, and when we contemplate the beauties of evening. In the solemn stillness of night, shall the praises of the sons of Albion come unto thee. K 66 THANKSGIVING. For thou, O God, art merciful, wonderful are thy ways ; our tongues cannot enumerate thy blessings. Wheresoever we tmni, the earth is full of thee ; we are unworthy of thy benevolence ; yet withdraw not thou thine hand from among us. Be unto us still a father, still gather us vmder thy paternal care ; so shall we laugh at the malice of our enemies, and despise the man who is strong in his o^^ti conceit. O give thanks unto the Lord, sons of my country: praise his name from the island of yom- fathers ; in the midst of the dark sea, sing unto him the song of thanksgiving. FRAGMENT. When ! O deluded man, when wilt thou begin to assume a humble opinion of thyself ? Wilt thou continually give ear to the dictates of vanity and pride ? Wilt thou for ever shun an examination of thyself through the just medium of humility ? Thus was I musing, gentle reader, as, a few hours since seated upon one of the benches of Richmond TeiTace, I beheld part of the fashion- able world walking in procession before me. A mind accustomed to indulge its oMna solitary reflections, is ever busied in contrasting its pre- sent ideas with others which have previously presented themselves to it, and I could not help placing beside the gay pictiure before me, a 68 FRAGMENT. simple and more picturesque sketch of the plcasiu'es of humble life. What is this refine- ment, thought I, which the whole world makes such a riot aboiit ? sui'e 'tis a nearer road to happiness, that people hunt after it with so much avicUty. O that some genius would bestow upon me the faculty of reading the great book of mankind, miinfluenced by the weakness of my own understanding, unbiassed by my oa^ti prejudices. I felt an indescribable sensation stealing upon me, as I beheld j)ass- ing towards me from the crowd, a being whose appearance plainly indicated an inhabitant of a superior world : he seemed to glide unperccived amongst the crowd of gay visitors, and advanc- ing towards me, with a benignant smile, thus addressed me : — Thy wishes, O child of solitude, are known, and they have received the approbation of heaven inasmuch as they ai'e the offspring of humility. I should have prostrated m^'self at the feet of my celestial visitant as he spoke, but a slight motion of the hand forbade me, and restored that confidence which I had so recently lost. Being encouraged by the deport- ment of Truth, for so the behig was denominated FRAGMENT. 69 who had now placed himself beside me, I could not help expressing my astonishment, that a being so seraphic should pass tln-ough the votaries of the gay goddess seemingly unnoticed. Cease your astonishment, replied Truth, Ambi- tion, Avarice, and Prejudice, have so blinded the eyes of mankind, that not one in a thousand beholds me in the the splendour with which I now appear to you. If they catch a faint glimpse of me, the honours and wealth of this life appear in their eyes so much more alluring, that they turn eagerly from an interview with one who neither flatters their follies nor glosses over their vices, till they assume the resem- blance of virtue. RHAPSODY. Who has not felt that inefiable sensation of dehght, which the prospect of a fine fertihzed country affords ? If it boast not the subhmity of the wild uncultivated plain, vast forests, stu- pendous rocks, and brown shaggy heath, it presents to the imagination a pictiu-e far more delightful. To the eye of the poetical admirer of natm'e, at every turn it gives a new gratifica- tion, he beholds the various productions of the most distant, as well as of the neighboming kingdoms of the globe, rising in luximance at his feet ; one beautiful object follows another in continual succession, and he examines the vegetative productions of nature \vith untired satisfaction. Nor is his eye the only vehicle which communicates pleasure to his soul, the RHAPSODY. 71 gi-eeu foliage of the forest spreads a tempting shelter to the plumy inhabitants of air: how delightful the harmony wliich sweetens the hour of his meditation : in the bravura of the lark, tlie dulcet tenor of the blackbu'd, and in the soft piano of the solitary nightingale, he hears music whose melody the inventions of man can never express. 'Tis not that he alone hears the enchanting haimony, he feels it fall deeply into his heart, his thoughts rise in successive grada- tions to the gi'eat Author of his being, whose life-iniusing breath blows on him in every zephjT, and whose attention to man's minutest gi-atifica- tion, he confesses as he mhales the honied fragrance of the flowers wliich suiTound him. Different from these, yet not less dehghtful, are the emotions of the philosopher as he turns rormd upon the exhilarating picture. Prone ever to dive deeply in his researches, and to weigh all things in the balance of consideration, his exclusive mind travels through past ages ; he compares the felicity of mankind at different periods of society, and teaches himself to esti- mate the real value of every object to which he turns his attention. England ! thou paradise of fertility and beauty, what wert thou once ? 7-2 RHAPSODY. \\liere were those noble edifices, the dwelling places of science and ai't, those nurseries which pour forth the w amor, the statesman, and the pliilosophei- ? Where was the sacred temple of religion? and where the neat comfortable cottage, the quiet habitation of the shepherd and the husbandman ? Melancholy picture ! The very hill upon which I stand now teeming with plenteousness, boasted scarcely a juniper bush upon its side. What was the distant jjrospect ? a desert ! a baiTcn wilderness ! If cultivation appeai'ed upon its face, 'twas but in the vicinage of some miserable hut, which gave a wretched shelter to the barbarian who, urged by the im- perious calls of nature, taught himself to cultivate such esculant plants as this almost desolate island produced, for his own support and that of his untutored progeny. To what then are we to attribute this mighty change ? and whence do we derive the unbounded bless- ings of civil society } Ilaply some skilful mariner by adverse winds cast upon oiu* shores, and appealing to the hospitality of our savage ancestors, first planted the social seeds of com- merce. Into how beautiful a tree have they expanded, we need only look around us to RHAPSODY. 73 become sensible. See what a bright scene of fertility and beauty, blooming upon a soil left by nature scarcely capable of bringing forth the common necessaries of life, and how much more delightful to the soul of man, when he re- flects that all is the effect of his o'^^ti industry. Thus reasons the contented philosopher, dwelling with encreased satisfaction upon every idea which presents itself to his imagination. Thou art indeed lovely, O nature ! All men through thee pay adoration to the omnific God who formed thee : the laborious husbandman, though he constantly observes thee, is never weary of beholding thee : thy beauty constitutes his fehcity ; when he walks upon the hill "wdth his companions, he points out the little field he has himself cultivated, and exults wdth a fiill heart in the work of his o^^^l hands. THE KEEPSAKE. And this lock, said I, which Fanny has given me, shall be kept as a memorial of her, while I can afford half-a-cro\vn for a pocket book to contain it. Lovely pledge of our friendship ! exclaimed I, as I gazed i^dstfully at the little present, I derive more heart-felt satisfaction fi'om thee, than the proudest honours this world coidd confer. How empty appear* the pleasures which attend the fulfilment of ambition, when placed in competition with those delicious en- joyments wliich the esteem of a valued friend implants in our bosoms, and how tenderly doth the Father of mankind deal with his childi-en, when he places the fi'uits of enjoyment where they await only the elevation of the hand to en- sure us their possession. I still continued to gaze pensively at my new acquisition, and ray mind mounting into enthusiasm, I could not help fancying that I was enjoying a foretaste THE KEEPSAKE. 75 of that felicity wliich awaits the virtuous in a better world ; yet I still felt that my happiness might admit of encrease. Sweet Fanny ! thought I, were this but bestowed as an earnest of a warmer affection, how lovely did she look, mth what an ineffable smile of sweetness did she present it. O beauty, beauty ! when thou art coupled with modesty, thou art beautifiil indeed ! Whether tliis train of reflection was displeasmg to an all-seeing providence, as giving too much vigour to a hope which ought to be extinguished for ever, or as placing too high a value upon that which passeth away, I know not; but at this instant, my eye, by some involuntary- move- ment for which I could never account, fell upon a little ring I constantly wear : it contains also a lock of hair ; she, of whose tresses it once formed a part, sleeps in the cold gi-ave for ever ! Ye only, unto whom it is given to indulge the reveries of a melancholy mind, can tiidy tell with what force the comparison smote me. Poor Farniy, said I, a fate like my dear Mary's, must some day be thine ! Imagination was not slow in picturing the last moments of life at an end, and the dark ciutain of eternity closed upon them to be undi*a\\Ti no more. Sweet blossom 76 THE KEEPSAKE. of innocence ! hast thou also perished a victim to the insatiate destroyer? How shall we all lament thee. I behold thy amiable family hang over thy grave in heart-broken despondency: I see tears glitter in the eyes of thy once-loved companions as they bid thee everlastingly fare- well ! as for me, all that once sweetened the fountain of existence, is no more, a draught of bitterness is all that remains, till, like thee, I sink also into the chill slumber from which nothing less than the voice of a Deity can awaken me. My soul recoiled within me at the pictvire I had dl•a^^^l : it was too highly coloured for the weak vision of my intellect, and I turned my attention to that Being who alone can shed flowers in the pathway of misfortune, and instil into the mind those pleasing sensations, without which, the toilsomeness of our journey were insupportable. THE SEALS. " Mv bunch of seals," said I, " had been but slightly fastened to my ribbon by the lady who had presented them to me." As I addressed this to her father, who sat next me, I stole a look at Narcissa. She had hitherto been look- ing me full in the face, but now her eye fell upon the book she was holding in her hand. " As I moved hastily along," I continued, " by some mishap they were jolted from my fob, and I saw them no more." As I ejacidated this, a smile suffused the coimtenance of my beloved — it was like a soft swell upon a fine toned flute — it approached gradually to laughter, and then sunk gently back again into its primitive smile. I knew not whether to consider this as intended to cover the confrision which the mention of a 78 THE SEALS. rival had occasioned, or as a triumph over the lost memorial of another, I was willing however to place it to the account of affection, (a mind circumstanced as mine was, seldom fails to per- suade itself to that which is most consonant wdth its wishes) and I would not have been un- deceived, though the vast treasures of India had been my recompense. SORROW. Son'ow, O child of mortality, hath heaven allotted unto thee as thy companion. Wliether thou movest in the pathway of glory, or the secluded shades of private life ; whether thou rechnest in the lap of affluence, or hast found thy habitation in the lowly cottage, — Sorrow, thy necessary attendant, is never far distant from thee. Ever at hand to sm-prise thee, she awaits thy departure fi-om the doorway of fes- tivity, and when the world seems most alluring to thy imagination, secretly watches an oppor- tunity to shed her influence upon thee. Man is ever apt to set too high a value upon his own fallible discennnent, nor can the elo- quence of the preacher, the arguments of the philosopher, or even his own dear-bought expe- 80 SORROW. rience, convince him how incapable he is of providing for his own happiness, or of discover- ing what is most necessary to his welfai'e. It is from this misplaced reliance in our reasoning faculties, it is from this arrogant self- dependance, that we murmiu- under the hand of our Creator. Could we for a moment, with justice on our side, question his goodness and benevolence, some excuse might be offered on our behalf; but, when his mercies are written in the heavens, when they descend with the rain upon our fields, when every breeze whispers to us the name and tenderness of our Maker, how unpardonable must be those ideas which would oppose oiu weak discernment to the omniscience of that Being to whom we are indebted for life itself, and every blessing we enjoy. Every object in nature, to a reflective mind, presents a pictme of the affection of God to man ; the more deeply we examine, the more sensible do we become of his mercies, and of our own insufficiency to judge of them. Those things, which before investigation seemed in their own natures indifferent, are even prejudicial to mankind; have ever, upon due examination, presented something necessary to our enjojonent SORROW. 81 of life, and often essential even to our existence. Is it then reasonable to except misfortmie, since we cannot doubt the omnipotence of our universal Father, since, at his command, every misfortune incident to human natui'e, must cease for ever, — how can we but admit that all sublunarj'^ evils exist by his ^;erwm/o;? ? And, if w*e reason thus, who can deny that it is our duty to submit to them with patience and resignation ? Let us then humble our opinions of om\selves, and while we acknowledge our owti bhndness, ^dth hearts gratefiil and resigned, confess his superior goodness who hath made notliing in vain. Having thus endeavoured to prove the duty of resignation, let us next proceed to shew how this state of mind is to be acquired. And here it may not be amiss to examine the methods men usually adopt to set aside, or to overcome, their misfortunes : these appear to be three, — by forgetfulness, by philosophy, by rehgion ; and, of all these, the most inefficacious is for- getfulness : it is, in tiiith, nothing more than procrastination of pain, to which the mind inva- riably retm-ns with increased sadness, after having contemplated the gay objects it had conjured up for its own delusion. M 82 SORROW. That pliilosophy may, in some measure^ blunt llie arrows of misfortune, we cannot doubt; but years are required for its acquisition, and few minds are capable of entertaining it with sufficient confidence to overcome their calamities. Which way then shall we tuni l)ut to i-eli- gion ? — it is the balsam that heals all human sorrows, and, though bad men would have us believe it surrounded with gloominess and melancholy, yet is in itself of such native loveliness, that, if we can be once brought to gaze upon it with earnestness and attention, so striking are its truths, so enchanting its beauties, that we can but exclaim — this, this is happi- ness : to thee will I fly in the hour of affliction. To the fool who cannot bear the weight of a serious reflection, religion may indeed appear clothed in ten'ors : the light of her countenance is too bright for the gaze of his weak vision ; but to the wise and prudent, she is a kind fi-iend and pci-petual consolation : there is no grief so poignant that she cannot administer to it, nor any pleasure so elated that she cannot heighten it. Examine the enjoyments of the man who flies fi'om reflection. Are they not like the SORROW. 83 passing of a meteor ? One brilliant glance of intoxicating joy, and his soul sinks into its habitual darkness and desolation. How differ- ent are the gratifications of the children of piety, accustomed to consider themselves ever in the presence of the Deity : in their pleasures they outstep not the boundaries of prudence; and in their son-ows, find a consohng fiiend ever ready to poiu- that reviving balm into their hearts, wliich, while it disperses the shadows of darkness, beautifies their reflections with a per- petual sunshine. And here let me advise you when you seek religion, to let it be as a duty, in the exercise of which, you anticipate pleasure ; not confiising yom* understandings with intricate points of faith, but comforting yom* souls by the practice of the duties wliich it enjoins : to these, alas ! how many are there, whose whole lives are spent in learned disquisitions upon religion, who ai'e almost entire strangers ; and without these, all is of little avail. Teach then your hearts to be humble before God, and you shall find consolation. " Come to me," saith the Saviour of mankind, " and I will give you rest." Turn your steps into the pathway of humilitv : it is the way he hath trodden before 84 SORROW. you, — follow him, and he will teach yon that resignation which leadeth to eternal life. And remember, that " the eye of the Lord is ever upon them that feai* him — upon them that hope in his mercy." Humility, how lovely art thou ! thy placirhty and cheerfulness, tliy calm endurance of the evils incidental to mortality, have all claims upon our reverence and admiration. When thou livest in prosperity, all virtuous men regard thee ; and when thou smartest under the hand of adversity, what good man but hath a tear for thee ? BOADECEA. Hark ! the loud clangor of war ! the shrill somid of the trumpet ! Boadecea, queen of the Iceni, seeks the field. Behold her chariot : the sharp steel glitters at its side, and she leads for- ward the sons of Liberty to battle. She lifts the javelin of Freedom : it is pointed at the foe, and the glad hearts of her followers glow with hopes of victory. She has placed the daughters of Prasatagus before her, lovely are they as the sky of morning, when the first beams of day appear on the hill. She speaks and her voice, noble as the silver sound of the clarion, rouses her countrymen to deeds of glory and revenge. 86 BOADECEA. Behold ! men of my country, the proud foe is before ye — even Surtonius oiu enemy : his sword is dyed %\-ith the blood of innocency, and his soul fattened with the spoils of the field ! Iceni, exult ! for the hour of victory is nigh, aheady the red hand of the oppressor trembles before the glitter of om* arms. Think on the time of oiu- fathers, bear in mind the days \\'hen ye were nm'sed in their anns. Heard ye not then of the glories of theii* battles, and that the courage of woman led them forth to victory ! Behold Britons, I claim your valom' as my due ! my tongue shall not tell what my fathers have done for you, neither shall it declare the brave deeds of my ancestors : my words shall not dwell on the power of my dominions, neither shall they be clamorous in boasting of my riches ; as a fond mother of my country I come, to avenge the loss of her liberty, my own stripes, and the violated chastity of my cliildi'en. Al- ready have the gods declared for our cause : our enemies have fallen before us, or fled to the strong fortresses for protection. The proud foe will scarce endure the terror of oiu* shouts, how then will they fly before the phalanx of liberty ! Reflect, O ye children of freedom, on the hea- BOADECEA. 87 viness of your yoke, and on the chains of your childi'en ; and m the valom- of youi- hearts, shake your fetters to the gi'ound. Ponder on the days yet hidden in the mist of futm^ity. If we conquer, the blessings of our progeny shall be on us ; if we fly, the sons of coming days shall execrate our names. The hour of decision is come ! Let every coward play ^^'ith the fetters of slaver^-. The eyes of your sovereign shall behold the re-animation of liberty, or for ever close in the dark sleep of the grave. Forward, Britons, to victory or death ! POEMS. N o LAYS OF THE VILLAGE. Home of my childhood ! in the miisefiil hour, ^Vhen memory wakes, and fancy wanders free ; And gentlest visions o'er the mind have pow'r, My freshened spirit fondly turns to thee. Thy verdant vales, thy thyme-besprinkled hills, The devious windings thro' thy woods I trace : A tranquil feeling all my bosom fills. Nor time, nor sorrow, can thy channs efface. Still shines the sim upon thy peaceful breast. And cherish'd friends, long lov'd, yet Unger there : Tho' more beneath the aged yew-tree rest. Which spreads its branches near the house of prayer. 9*^ LAYS OF THE VILLAGE. The eye that sparkled, and the cheek that smiled, Ai-c dim and withering, life's poor race is o'er; The voice whose tale the winter's night beguiled, Shall fall upon the list'ning ear no more. But memory wakes remembrance of then* mirth. As erst, the happy circle do I see : The turf-propped faggot blazes on the hearth, And sheds its ruddy light on them and me. Urged by a thirst for glory, valom- leads His slaught'ring thousands to their sanguine fame ; And poesy records the daring deeds. Which shape the title to a hero's name. And shall no chronicler memorial keep. Of christian worth which lowlier hearts esteem ? Shall memory with their simple relics sleep .? Rise humble muse, be thine the grateful theme ! LAYS OF THE VILLAGE. The Sabbath. I sing the day of all the sev'n most blest, To fashion, languor ; but to labom*, rest : The day when cherub j^eace wdth healing wings, The bhss of leisure to the village brings. This peaceful mom, the step of orient light. Treads joj-fiil on the laggard heels of night ; For now the sweets of liberty impart A brighter sunshine to the peasant's heart. While yet the holly bears its crystals clear, Behold the son of exercise appear, To pace with anxious eye, and look profound, The narroAv precincts of his garden round. 94 LAYS OF THE VILLAGE. Meantime, the busy house\Nife's ready zeal Prepai'es ^Aithin the Sabbath morning's meal, Of broth, or milk, but if good times prevail, Perchance a cup of cider or of ale. The table spread, a happy father sees His lisping offspring climbing to his knees. And whilst his arms one infant j^rattler bear. The simple group their homely viands share. The moments ended of the brief repast. The bitter hour of dire ablution's past, With book in hand, and laughter in each eye, Forth to their school the merry urchins hie ; "Wliere one, an aged man, Avho knows to spell. To read the scriptures, and to Amte, as well. Smooths the white locks wliich deck his reve- rend head. And hears due portions of the gospel read. The hour for chmxh arrives, and, two by two. His infant protegees their way pmsue, And as they reach the venerable pile, Assume their seats along the narrow aisle, THE SABBATH. 95 AVhile in neat gi'oups the villagers appear, And take their station on the benches near. The rm-al squire, perchance, for 'tis liis due, Enjoys the honour of a curtain'd pew ; The yeoman too, to please his Sunday's guest. Has some slight privilege above the rest, — An oaken panel carved in days long gone, And hassock for his wife to kneel upon. The preacher comes — no pompous priest is he, But one whose life is all, simplicity : His hope to teach the ening soul to kiss The avenging rod, and point the way to bliss. The clerk, who sees his reverence at the door, Now stops the bell which he has toll'd before. Coils up the lengthened roj)e, and ready stands To yield the surplice to the preacher's hands ; A hallowed silence reigns, the priest begins To speak God's pardon for repented sins. Absolves the penitent, and meekly prays For heaven's forgiveness of man's ening ways. The man of office next, with elbows squai-ed. 96 LAYS OF THE VILLAGE. Glances above to see that all's prepared ; Then gives aloud, with music on his tongue, Tlie psalm apf»ointed to be said or sung. The pray'rs for morning closed, the preacher next Tnvokes his blessing, and gives forth his text. To puzzle ignorance, j^erhaps averse, (If the plain outline may be told in verse,) He reasons thus : — Man should be taught to know The blessings which God's bounteous hands bestow : His mighty mandate gave thy organs sight To view the varied beauties of the light : He gave the tender nerve the power to feel. Whence instant touch doth to the sense ajDpeal : For thy enjoyment too, he formed the power To scent the perfume of the opening flower, To taste of earth the life-infusing fruit. And catch the nicest sound with sense acute. But yet a greater, nobler gift is thine, A living essence of the pow'r divine, — THE SABBATH. 97 A vestal spark of life that never dies, AVliose mounting thoughts can reach the bound- less skies. Death's grisly hand may lay the body low, But man's ethereal soul evades the blow. Disdains his sting, feels not his massive chain. And seeks the realms of pleasure or of pain. Condemn'd if he the paths of trath forget, To linger thro' long ages of regret ; Or fondly clinging to a Saviour's love, Blest mth the raptiu-e of the saints above. Days of delight ! still, still within my heart, The simple truths I once so loved to hear, With their o'er-pow'ring influence impart : Tho' since I heard them many a rolling year, Have dimm'd life's simshine with forebodings drear ; And still in fancy do I mark the way Down which the group on that thrice-hallow'd day Pass'd from the house of God, with footsteps slow, Into the sandy lane which woimd below. 98 LAYS OF THK VILLAGE. But now the sun has passed tlie middle sky, And sheds his goklen rachance from on high. This day at least the choicest viand drest, Smokes on the oaken table with the rest, And eager eyes, and smiling looks reveal, How health and hunger sweeten every meal ; An hour for converse, and the sacred fane Receives the pious villagers again : In solemn tone the vesper service read. The anthem chanted, and the blessing said, In meek and grateful silence they depart, Wliile heavenly fervom* cheers each humble heart. Ah, who the pleasures of the eve shall sing, "VVlien all the balmy treasures of the spring. From every hedge, in every lone retreat. Exhale then* odoui's at the wanderer's feet. Think not, O wealth, that all the charms you see On natitre's face were only made for thee ! Little, I wot, the raptm*es they convey, To those which cheer tlie poor man's holiday : THE SABBATH. 99 Behold him now, and all that clahn his care, Forth issuing the evening walk to share ; A cleanly wife the younger babe sustains, The next in age a father's grasp contains, By turns it walks, by turns within his arms. He gazes on the prattling infant's charms. Parts its wild ringlets, and with home-felt bliss. Prints on its glowing cheek affection's kiss, — The rest in men*y gambols run before. And every well known bank and bush explore, Cimnmg the bird's most secret ways to Imow, Or where gay daffodils or violets blow. Devious the walk, and as they listless stray, Some neighboming gossip comes perchance that way ; Then all the village news is canvass'd o'er. And tales rehearsed, tlio' often told before ; Wliat maid has leam'd to love instead of pray, What farmer's horse or cow has gone astray ; Who still upon the bed of siclmess lies, And with what holy faith the Christian dies ; 100 LAVS OF THK VILLAGE. AVhat biitlis liavchappcn'd, who shall next be wed, AVlio since they met are number'd with the dead ; With thousand topics as they onwardroam, Till some secluded pathway brings them home. Think not ye proud there is no joy in this, As shadows light, so contrast heightens bliss ; The fettered slave, if Fate unlocks his chain. Mad with delight, leaps wildly oe'r the f)lain ; And labom* thus the pleasing rest receives, AVhich tranquil leisure to his bosom gives. But tho' staid quiet, elder folks may please. Eve sheds her light on other joys than these. The village maid, half wond'ring why she feels Such inward throbbings, to the woodland steals : Where one who loves her pauses oft to hear The well known footstep fall upon his ear. Sweet is the hour with cheering hope imprest, ^\Tien all the lover rises in his breast ; And she, confiding, owns with falt'ring voice The future husband of her humble choice. thp: sabbath. 101 Unseen thro' meads and flow'rj walks they stray, And dally evening's ti'anqiiil hours away ; Till all the landscape dims upon the sight, And night's pale crescent sheds her milder light ; Yet lingering still he holds her to his heart, Till prudence prompts, and ^vith a sigh they part; Then slowly homeward j)ensively she liies, Calming those anxious thoughts that will arise : And, as she lifts the latch, prepares to hear The gentle chidings of a mother's fear : Then joins the list'ning gi'oup, where each in turn, Some hope to know, some sacred truth to leam, Reads from the Book of Life with sober mind, Of tender mercies which he hopes to find : — Last comes the meek petition, — at the close Each seeks the lowly pillow of repose. 10-2 LAYS OF THE VILLAGE. Changed are these scenes, for busy time hath UTOUght Full many a change since that tlu-ice-happy day, And wild philosophy, and anxious thought. Have chased their meek simphcity away ; But such remembrance paints them, and we may In memory's glass their tranquil reign renew : The task is mine, and gratefully I pay This simple tribute to their memory due. RECOLLECTIONS OF SUMMER. Now gloomy winter holds his reign, And binds the lake in icy chain ; While brightly glows the cheerful fire, My lowly muse shall wake the lyre, And weave in softly flowing rhyme The tale of summer's smihng time : Tell of the lonely sylvan shade. The mossy bank, the lengthening glade, The verdant hill, the narrow dell ; For still fond fancy loves to dwell On pleasures fled, as hoary age Joys in his youthful pilgrimage. RECOLLECTIONS OF SUMMER. Morning. Not yet the opening beams of light Have chased the spangled ti'ain of night ; But still her distant meteors gleam Along the heavens in silver stream ; And still in twinkling orbs on high, Shed their mild splendom- o'er the sky. But mark ! Aurora's blushing ray First rises in the eastern way, Fast flies around the trembling shade, The gems of light successive fade. Save one, the goddess' favorite star, Which smiles in bright-eyed beauty still Till Phasbus, in his blazing car. Emerges o'er the easteni hill. MORNING. 105 O now to climb the craggy height, And view the quivering rays of light That fall on mountain, glen, and tree. Is sui'e the purest ecstacy. The lucid clouds of morning now Hang o'er the distant mountain's brow ; And wafted by the fi'eshening gale, Swift o'er the fertile country sail ; Till dropping down in dewy rain, The crystal drops obscure the plain. But hark ! within yon briery brake The warblings of the woods awake ; The speckled thrush, with echoing throat, Strives with the blackbird's sweeter note ; The goldfinch too, with cliirping lay. Rivals the linnet on the spray ; And oft between their songs are heard The 'plainings of tlie woodland bud : The show'r descends, — on fluttering wings Aloft in air the lark is borne. And as he rises, sweet he sings, 106 RECOLLECTIONS OF SUMMER. To liail the morning's glad return ; Nor ceases he his blithsome strain Till sinking to the eai'tli again ; He sits beside his gi'assy nest, With wearied wing and panting breast. Come let us seek the silent shade Where senseless gi'ows the dewy blade, Where as in morn of early spring, The young eyed flow'rs are blossoming : There, deep in nature's fragrant bow'r That sparkles with the crystal show'r. The wild rose still unfaded blooms, The lily still the gale perfumes ; But see, from yonder woodland spot, AVhere stands the chesnut shaded cot, Round which in gay luxurious t^\dne, Cm"I the rich branches of the vine. The lab'rer comes, ^^•ith quick'ning tread He hastens to the yellow mead ; The scythe across his shoulder hung, On which his wooden keg is stiomg ; MORNING. 107 And stopping oft, with anxious gaze His eve along the horizon strays, To mark if dark'ning clouds arise, Unwelcome to the summer skies. When Phoebus at her window peeps, The village maid no longer sleeps ; But, blushing hke the op'ning rose That blossoms in its natal soil. She round her neck the kercliief throws, And follows to the hay-field's toil. Hark ! 'tis the bell, the hour repeats, TVliich calls me fi-om those green retreats To which my fancies ever cling, WTiere memory, aye, is lingering. Farewell then to the lowly dell. The mossy bank, the rugged cell, The grassy vale, the waving grove, Where oft at morning's hour I rove ; Determined fate points out the way, And I her vassal must obey. RECOLLECTIONS OF SUMMER. Noon. Tis noon — look round — the landscape bright, Beneath the sun's obscuring beam, Shines one resplendant blaze of light: Meet subject for the poet's theme. Not now, as when the rising light First da^^^l'd upon the eastern sky, The lark ascends in devious flight. Or west wind gently mm-murs by ; But from on high the brilliant beam, Parches the rolling mountain stream ; NOON. 109 And the broad fields that 'neath it lie, Tinctures with golden majesty. On yonder hill the yellow ear Waves rip'ning to the Irequent gale ; And brown the distant meads appear, Thick scattered o'er the fertile vale : There mai'k the peasant laboming blytlie, With stm-dy arm and glittering sythe ; While, underneath the shady tree, Recline his infant family. Oft do his boys with swelling pride. And mimic strength then* playmates tell. That they shall help their sire beside, One day to mow the mead as well : And oft his girls, whose cheeks embrown'd Are flush'd with health's enliv'ning glow, Loiter the fi-agrant hay-field romid, To cull the flow'rs that fairest blow. And mark the titt'ring village maid Lean on her rake, while standing by 110 RECOLLECTIONS OF SUMMER. The youth, his arduous task delay'd, Breathes in her ear " the soul-felt sigh." How kindly natiu'e hath bespread Her leafy verdiu*e o'er the grove, To shade the shepherd's weary head, And form his canopy above. There, on the hill, beneath the bough Of j'on tall beech, he sits to 'tend His flock that peaceful graze below, Or round the hill their courses bend : Lightly he spends life's fitful hour, Nor listen to the voice of care ; But sings within his shady bow'r As naught but rest and peace were there. Where coolest fans the whispering breeze Thro' the rich foliage of the trees ; At inten'-als is heard the blow Which lays the forest's monarch low : There the industrious woodman plies From morn till evening shades the skies ; NOON. Ill And ever and anon beneath His tottering victim's aged shade, He pauses to regain his breath, Or sharpen his imerring blade. Behold to yonder rushy brook The drowsy cattle have betook, To cool the raging heat they bear, And bathe their limbs in lux'ry there. Now love I lonely to rechne Where woodbines roimd the boughs entwine ; And the young ivy, dai-kly green, Its viny tendiils hangs between ; Where nature hath her moss o'erspread, To form a pillow for my head ; And underneath my feet the wave Winds gently on its pebble course, Till ruder rocks its waters lave, And rush aside with headlong force : There would I rest the livelong day, And dream my waking cares away- 11'2 RECOLLECTIONS OF SUMMER. But mine may not be peace and rest, 'Tis will'd, 'tis register'd in heaven, With sorrows fatal seal imprest, And to the hand of fate 'tis giv'n. Rest then my soul 'till brighter days Shine m eternal beams of bliss ; Nor hope for rapture's lasting rays In worlds as cold, as drear as this. RECOLLECTIONS OF SUMMER. Evening. When the faint sunbeams gild the west, Wlien the hoarse raven seeks her nest, When the bhthe milkmaid warbles sweet, The tale of love in unscann'd rhyme, When neighbouring gossips throng the street. Begins mild ev'ning's sober time; And first the mountain, pale and blue, Th' horizon of the varied view Attracts the eye ; along its sides The golden ray of evening glides, Deep shedding o'er the piUar'd sky Its streaming tints of vermeil dye. 114 RECOLLECTIONS OF SUMMER. Oft have I watch'd the close of day, AVlicn her faint beams expiiing shone, And gaz'd upon the heavenly way, 'Till ev'ry tie of earth seem'd gone, And my fi-eed soul, in wanton flight, To hover round the glorious light. Now in the air disporting free, The light-wing'd insect nation see, Full often doom'd to fall a prey Where the pied swallow skims its way; Within the bush, or on the tree, Hear'st thou the thrush's minstrelsie ; And that sweet lark to whom is given To chaunt his vesper song to heaven. Where browze the cattle on the plain. The cowherd's voice is heard again; Up-rising, and without delay. Instant his charge that call obey. And round the heathy hillock wind. While playfully he lags behind, EVENING. 115 'Till bordering on the daisied green The rustic residence is seen ; Where leaning on the open'd gate, He sees th' impatient master wait, And, reading anger in his face. Changes respectfully his pace : Across the moor, and o'er the plain, The wearied hinds return again. The frequent laugh which rends the air Proclaims the bosom free fi'om care ; Content to labour, and be blest With homely meal and early rest. AMiere smoothly rolls the river's sti-eam, Enliven'd by the evening beam ; The angler stands Avith baited hook To tempt the tenant of the brook ; Now phes he with the silken fly. Of artful form and varied dye, Then, twining round the barbed snare. Torments the reptile worm must bear ; 116 RECOLLECTIONS OF SUMMER. He heeds them not, but tries till night Fresh schemes to tempt the appetite ; Wliat raptm'e sparkles m his eyes As forth he draws the finny prize ; He views it bleeding gasp for breath, And triumijhs as it tastes of death. As falls the eve, within the fold The shepherd's fleecy charge are told ; And see the bat in devious flight (Dark herald of approachmg night,) Unfolds in air his leathern wings. And hark ! 'tis Philomela sings Sweetly, in melancholy lay, Her farewell to declining day ; Soon shall night spread her cmlain o'er And modest evening reign no more. RECOLLECTIONS OF SUMMER. Night. The gentle evening lingers still, High on the brow of western hill, As if she lov'd to stay behind. And softly soothe the pensive mind : But who is that in shadowy car, When the last ray of twilight dies, That lights the blue ethereal star, And tints with sombre hue the skies : — 'Tis night, from gloomy chaos spmng, When first this rolling world was young ; O'er heav'n she tln-ows her dark'ning veil, And bids the orb of lustre pale 118 RECOLLECTIONS OF SUMMER. Shed o'er the hill her welcome ray, To cheer the traveller's lonely way. Cynthia ! fair queen of silver light, I love to watch thy dawning beam, When first it rises on the sight, And gilds the bosom of the stream : O then 'tis sweet alone to stray Wlierc the eddying waters play ; Where the high o'erhanging steep Beetles above the boundless deep ; Or where reflection takes her seat. Deep in the woodland's gi-een retreat ; But most where rolls the torrent wide Adown the wild rock's craggy side. Oh ! there ai-e balmy houi's of bliss. That recompence an age of care ; And such a sootliing hour is this. When smiles of peace the heavens wear. See faintly o'er yon distant hill The rising ray of azure hue ; NIGHT. 119 It brighter glows — now brighter still, One cloudless light of j^ui-est blue. Through the dark firs on yonder brow, Seest thou the smiling crescent peep ; And in her silver chariot, now Night's queen ascend the spangl'd steep } Now is it sweet to take our way Beside the river's ripphng stream ; And, as alone we musing stray, To cheer oiu' hearts with hope's fond dream ; Or where the mould'ring wall decays. To pace the desolated aisle; And, while we think on other days, To catch the gentle moonbeam's smile. Now dance the meteors o'er the heath, Or hang above the dang'rous swamp; Pointing the wanderer's road to death : And now is seen the glow-worm's lamp, Sparkhng with self-emitted light, Bright only in the reign of night. 120 RECOLLECTIONS OF SUMMER. Here might the muse, affrighted, sing Of deeds that shun the eye of day; Where Satan spreads his crimson'd wing, And hst'ning murderers wait their prey. Unskill'd such sanguine tale to tell; To peace and love her numbers swell. Mark with \\ hat light enraptm"'d tread The lover hastens o'er the mead. To steal a kiss — to heave a sigh. Unseen by envy's blasting eye ; To whisper the inspirmg tale, Secluded in the breezy vale ; Or seated in the flower}' grove. Drink deep the joys of virtuous love: — Heart-thrilling joy, of all supreme. To which all others are a dream. Hail fi-iendly night ! the bliss I taste When thou hast shaded o'er the sky, Shall be in mem'ry's volume placed. When youth's wild transjDorts are gone by ; NIGHT. 121 And should misfortune's current How, Calm thoughts of thee shall soothe my woe ; For there are scenes in sorrow's hour, On which rememb'rance loves to dwell; — The lonely grove, the well-known tower, The oft-climb'd hill, the peaceful dell: Then when I muse on pleasures fled. And dream those raptm'es o'er again, The tender tear of memory shed. Shall ease the throe of present pain. O Memory! by Omniscience given. The child of sorrow to befriend ; Pecuhar gift of bounteous Heaven, Do thou upon my steps attend. Blest pri^ilege, whene'er I rove To high estate, or low degree, Be mine the various joys to prove Which virtue tastes, inspired by thee. NORBITON. Season, Spring; — Time, Mortiing; before and after Sunrise. Mother of peace, retirement blest. Awhile receive thy pensive guest; Nor let unhallow'd feet invade These haunts of silence and of shade. This sacred hour doth heaven decree. Blest goddess ! to the muse and thee; The muse, who, when the queen of light Silvers the shadowy wings of night. Best loves within thy glades to stray, And chamit her happy roundelay. As with delighted step she roves Thy flowery walks, thy echoing gi'oves; 124 NORBITON. Or with sublime reflection dwells Within thy gi'ottos' rustic cells. Enchanted scenes 1 w^here some believe The lightsome fairies dance at eve, When daylight's trembling glories die, And soft Vermillion streaks the sky. Ah ! little di-eam the thoughtless crowd, The gay, the vulgar, and the proud, Of tranquil joys so calm, so sweet. As those the musing poet gi'eet; While thro' the hour of midnight dim. Unseen he chaunts liis lonely hymn To that great Cause, whose high behest The wond'rous whole in beauty drest ; The earth beneath, the heaven above, — Glory ! Sublimity ! and Love ! Thrice-hallow'd goddess ! still with me, Thy faithful votary, deign to be. As o'er these beauties wandering, By turns their changeful channs I sing; NORBITON. 125 Till rosy-footed mom appear Once more the waking world to cheer. Oh ! he that could yon moonbeam view, Reflected on those waters blue, Thro' yonder graceful arch descried, Which sweeps above the silvery tide. And listen to that thrilUng tone The nightingale poui's forth alone In sad'ning strain, yet feel unmov'd. Is sure unloving and unlov'd: Blest tears Avhich pity's eyes bedim, Soft sympathies are not for him : In duller tides his feelings flow, Untouch'd by aught but selfish woe : To gentler souls the power is given On earth to taste the joys of heaven. From crowds and vulgar noise to fly. And converse with the Deity. Come thou, who canst thy couch forego, Foretaste of heaven's delights to know, 126 NORBITON. Tenant with me this peaceful cell, And hear the tuneful Philomel — There, Avhere the willow fomis a shade, She sings her trembling serenade; Note after note successive sent Across the wavy element; Yet as the sound in distance dies, You hear repeated echoes rise, Like scenes of that transporting pain. Which memory oft repeats again. How oft when all is hush'd in sleep, Would I my watchful musings keep, Here, where the wall-flow'rs clustering bloom. Yields to the breeze its sweet perfume; And I might hear within that cell The di'oppings of the crystal well, As bead succeeding bead they fall. From the fantastic mossv wall. NORBITON. 127 Thus the uncertain human race, Like falling drops, each other chace ; Awhile they meet the mortal eye. Then mingle mth eternity. Behold yon little craggy height, Wliere falls the moon's uncertain hght: — Its ragged base the water laves; Soft verdure on its summit waves ; Whilst viny plants that love the tide, Curl do^vn its flow'r-besprinkled side. But come, to vonder smnmit haste, Fresh joys to prove, new charms to taste ; For see, mysterious night retires With all her awe-inspiring fires; While rising morn salutes the sight, In robes of dazzling gold bedight ; Swift o'er the heavens what beauties fly. As Sol, impatient, mounts the sky; A\liile earth puts on her emerald vest. And day's bright empire stands confess'd. 128 NORBITON. So when chill death, at heaven's decree, Sets the eternal spirit free ; As earth's uncertain shades she leaves. Her eye the dazzling truth receives, "While from the Almighty's throne on high Beam peace, and love, and pmity ! Hail to thee ! hfe-infusing light, That doth th' enraptured eye invite, Untired to rove the verdant scene. O'er earth's gay charms of cheerful green, Now smiling in their full array. In honour of the tuneful May : Where thy first beams their lustre shed Upon the lUy's bending head. And on the dew^' blossoms shine Of the sea-pink and columbine, Will I the fleeting hour improve, And tune my happy Ijie to love ! Can human eye those tints behold, Of azure blue, of bumish'd gold. NORBITON. 129 Of every hue the shower displays, lUuniin'd by the solar blaze, And not ^\'ith eyes em-aptured dwell Upon each flow'ret's opening bell r Ah sui-ely not ! but if there be A soul so void of ecstacy ; So dull to feel, so slow to hve, Not Pai-adise could raptm*e give : — Cold heart, I thee commiserate; To me it seems the milder fate Eternally to cease to be. Than Uve inanimate as thee. Thy grateful sweets, enliv'ning Spring, I feel the ambrosial zephjT bring; Thy budding flow'rs on every tree, Awaking into life I see ; Wliilst Uvely songs, wliich natui'e cheer, Amid th}' leafy bowers I hear ; The early lark begins the strain, And every songster on the plain, 130 NORBITON. Soon as the inspiring summons rings, To heaven in hymning chorus sings. Ye who the midnight revel wake, Draughts of convulsive joy to take, Or fi'om the wanton's loveless lip The dew of damning pleasiu'es sip, To soothing peace perversely bhnd. Ye leave the balmiest cuj) behind. Give me amid these bower's to stray. And meditate my cares away ; Wliile in each op'ning flow'r I prove Some object of eternal love ! Behold what blending tints unite To give the wondering eye delight ; The young labimiam's yellow bloom. The lofty lilac's purple plume. The hawthorn white, (in whose retreat The bullfnich sings his ditty sweet ; ) The iris blue, and oj/ning beU Of the day-bloommg asphodel ; NOEBITON. 131 The maiygold, of shining hue. Anemone begem'd ^^dth dew ; The rocket white, the crimson rose Who 'gins her lavish sweets disclose, While, as the soft'ning blush ajjpears Still lovelier thi'o' those pearly teai's. All mark her j)roud majestic mien. And hail the summer's peerless queen. Thus, when the flush of ripening years Fu'st on the vu-gin's cheek aj)23ears. When simny smiles her love bespeak, And charms new-mantling gi-ace her cheek, From their full blaze we turn in vain. And gaze ! then tiurn to gaze agam ! Now damsel, all the world to thee Is festive mirth, and revehy ; Thy name adorns the poet's lays. And every tongue proclaims thy praise ; Even envy \vith forbidding eye. Owns thy perfections with a sigh : 132 NORBITON. But trust not thou the flattering tale, Nor let the ghttering cheat prevail, Ahis ! the rosy charms you wear, Should but augment your watchful care ; The flower which most dehghts our eyes, Is soonest pluck'd and soonest dies ! But let me not thy channs forget Thou modest seeming violet. That, hke the vuiassuming maid. Contents thee with the humble shade ; Pleased miderneath some leaf to lie Secm'ely hid fi-om vulgar eye. Thus she who flies the world's ajoplause To life's serener shades withckaws. Where shelter'd from the driving stomi. Fearless she rears her gentle form ; "Wliile all aromid her charms confess Her modesty, and loveliness ! Come let us sit beneath tlie shade By th' o'erhanging woodbine made ; NORBITON. 133 "Wliere humming bees, Avith mom-nflil soimd, Tlie honey-dew collect aromid ; Where, spai'kling in the sumiy ray, The fomitain's ceaseless waters play, Which art hath taught by hidden spell To flow from out the Triton's shell. Here could I sit throughout the day And sing thy sweets, delighting May, Or my reflective thoughts engage, Shakespeare, AAdth thy inspuing page, Till evening's tints of softening liglit Mellow'd again the landscaj)e bright ; And each successive horn- would seem The raptures of a fauy dream. Children of avarice, count your store Of glittering wealth and wash for more ; Son of ambition, coimt the hour Which fills thy graspmg hand wdtli pow'r ; Thro' varying life, where'er I rove. Still shall my soul look back mth love 134 NORBITOX. On scenes that peaceful life adorn, On blooming llowers which bear no thorn ; While I my passing woes beguile With memory's tranquillizing smile, And, as I cheat the lingering pain, In fancy tread those shades again. ODE On the uncertainiy of wealth and honours, and the pleasures of retirement. When whispering faint the winds of eve, Prond Thames, thy silver breast invade. Be mine their coolness to receive, Beneath some aged oak tree's shade ; Or, silent Ham, thy groves among. To listen to the blackbird's song, AVliere he sweetly pom-s his strain Thro' the spring's melochous reign. Mark ! what various ills betide Sateless avarice and pride ; 136 UNCERTAINTY OF WEALTH, Watchful care, the first annoying, Every sweet of lil'c destroying, Tremblingly he eyes his store. All his wishes bent on more ; Angry fate denies the prize. Hopeless avarice di'oops and dies ! And thou, O piide, of ills the worst, Pompous, peevish, self-accm*st. Every glance of man's disdain, Every simper yields thee pain ; Should clouds of poverty invade, Thou diest beneath their honest shade. In tranquil meads, mnlirageous bowers, Mossy banks bedeck'd ^vith flowers, Verdant fields, and woodland ways, Where the flock for shelter strays ; Scenes wliich th' Almighty's hands adorn, Blooms life's rose without its thorn. Hail, retu'ement ! suited best With lone solitude and rest : AND PLEASURES OF RETIREMENT. 137 He who flies the pomp of pow'r To woo thee in thy peaceflil bow'r, Plants his iovs where woiicUv ill Never may then* blossoms chill. Spring, when first he pays liis vows, Twines a chaplet for his brows ; Smnmer, woods his steps in^-ite, Where the coohug gales delight ; Jmey Auturon, on the tree Hangs tlie fruits of luxury ; Even Winter, cold and chill. Hollow howling fi'om the liill, Tho' she bid liis steps retire, Trims within the blazing fire. Reflection now his thoughts engage As he tui-ns th' historic page ; Or the extatic bUss receives, "Wliich poesy or music gives. And mark, where social friends at night Meet around the cheerfid bowl. 138 UNCERTAINTY OF WEALTH. Every eye with rapture bright, Joy insph-mg every soul ; Friendship here untaught to feel Custom's manacles of steel ; Cheerfulness with health combined, Shedding sunshine o'er the mind : Pleased, and striving all to please, These are raptm*es, only these Give to life that rapt'rous zest Which fills the heart with love and rest. FAIRY GLEE. The moon shines bright on Catln-ine's tower, And the night is still and clear ; Hark ! from the still shades of the mjTtle bower, The elfin lay I hear ! Now, while the dews of heaven descend On the green sward's velvet way. In many a round their light footsteps they bend, Till peeps the morning ray. 140 FAIRY GLEE. Song . — Red (a five. Hail, smiling mom ! thy pensive mien, Thy beaming- light, thy ray serene, Are welcome to the elfin throng. For now, the dewy mead along, We'll chaunt our meiTy moonlight song. AIR. 1st Sylph. Sisters, come with me, we'll stray To the margin of the wave, And, with young eyed flow'rets gay, Deck the slumbering sailor's grave. 2nd Syljih. I to the lonely woodland hie, To hear the lover's flattering talc. To play in the beams of the maiden's eye. And sing as I float on the balmy gale. FAIRY GLEE. 141 Srd Sylph. Wlio seeks with me the moimtain's side, With phrensicd Marian to abide, To weave in locks her flo^Wng hair That waves upon the zephyr's wings, To catch her looks of wild despair, And hear the plaintive song she sings. CHORUS. Sisters of air, to your revels away. Till the herald lark warbles approaching day ; Then, deep in the verdant greenwood bow'r. We'll sleep in the shade of the violet's flow'r ; Now, o'er the mountain, the forest, and dell. We'll revel till echoes the morning bell. EXTEMPORE ANSWER To a 'poetical invitation to take wine after dinner on the fir at day of the week. And would'st thou lead from wisdom's way- Two of heaven's chosen flock astray, And tempt them, sabbath-breaking sinner, To drink like heathens after dinner ? Poor unredeemed, rejected creatiue. How gi'eat's thy wickedness by natm'c ; O that Religion's ray would warm thee ! We'll come however to reform thee. A FESTIVE ODE. Bring hither, dame, the clmstmas log. And throw it on the fire. Lest with oiu- blood oui* senses clog. And mirth and wit expire. The freezing snow is drifted fast. The traveller shrinks beneath the blast ; Then fill the bowl ! let rosy wine Bright in the sparkling goblet shine. Come fiiends, to night leave care behind, The thorny path forsake, Let Bacchus banish thoughts unkind, And brightest visions wake. 144 FESTIVE ODE. Our souls shall laugh in festive joy, Dear woman be no longer coy, Farewell to soitow and to pain. Come kiss ! and drink ! and kiss again. The vpind which blows so loud and shrill Can never reach us here. Nor Avorldly griefs, nor worldly ill, While thus om- hearts we cheer. Then fill the sj)arkling bowl again, Ah-eady I the world disdain, My mounting thoughts shall reach the skies, And to the heav'ns in triumph rise ! POESY. Hath the dream of romance ere o'ershadow'd thy brain ? Hath the poet's lov'd lyre by thy fingers been strung? — Thou may'st ne'er sing the ditty of feelmg again, And that IjTe fi'om thy side may be heedlessly flung; But the fervom- which prompted will be with thee still, And often at eve in the woodland alone, Or at mom's early prime as thou chmbest the hUl, Thou wilt think with a sigh on the days that are gone. 140 POESY. Oh ! the visions of mcm'ry arc sweet to the soul, When tliey picture the season of youthful delight, The dawning of manhood that brooks not control And hope, cheering cv'ry dim prospect with hght. Wlien the gay reign of summer invites thee to roam, Tho' thou mourn'st that the fairy-wov'n chann would not last. O'er thy spirit the nnisings of fancy will come Like soft strains which awaken fond thoughts of the past. THE MOONLIGHT HOUR. (Fairy Song.) Come spirits, with me to the momitain away, Till our green robes are tinged with the morn- ing's first ray ; The low-sighing zephyi- shall fan our retreat, And the flow'rs as we dance shall spring forth at our feet : To man be the smilight — to fairies a dow'r More blessed, more enchanting, the moonhght hour. 148 THE MOONLIGHT HOUR. But the elfin alone shall not taste the delight Which breathes o'er the hill in the still summer's niglit, The friendless, the woe-worn, unbidden may rove, Tlie scoff" of the heartless, the victim of love, Tho' he pluck the sad Cyprus, yet scorn the gay flow'r, He shall share the delights of the moonlight hour. The lover who flies from his pillow of rest To mingle his sighs with the maid's he loves best, The poet, whose soul ev'ry beauty can feel, May drink deep of the bliss which that hour can reveal; But guilt, tho' he wear the rich ermine of pow'r. Shall ne'er know the joys of the moonliglit hoiu. THE MOONLIGHT HOUR. 149 Away to the moiintaiii, — the blue stai- is high, And the planet we love hath illumined the sky ; The owl from his nest is beginning to peej), And the butterfly lies in the myrtle asleep ; AVliere oui" sisters are watchmg the silver dew's show'r, With revels we'll welcome the moonlight horn-. ANACREONTIC. Wake Narcissa, ever dear ! Oil the briar hangs the tear ; Blooming roses, blushing fair, Gayest tints of summer wear ; Tmning jas'mines mingling grow: Myrtles balmy odoui's throw ; Thro' the mazy wood we'll stray, O'er the craggy mountain's way, Underneath the rugged steep, Where the winding waters creep, ANACREONTIC. 151 And when noontide's sultry beam Heats the clear pellucid stream, In the deep umbrageous shade Which the western winds invade, By the envious eye unseen. In the length'ning vista green, Will we tenderly recline. All my hopes, my wishes thine ! Wate Narcissa ! haste to prove Ecstacies of ardent love ! THE SMILE OF GOOD NATURE. (Acrostic)— To Miss C. F. " Come teach me," quoth woman, " a charm to provide, " Above all the rest which the heart can enthrall ;" Reflection consulting, experience replied, " O the smile of good nature surjjasses them all. " Like the meteor, wit dazzles awhile with its fires, " In her bloom but a season proud beauty appears ; No charm but the smile which good nature in- spires, Endm-es in its sweetness the mnter of years. A MORNING IN MAY. 'Tis rapture's hour — the sparkUng morn Lifts up the rosy Hght of day, Whilst zephyr, on the young breeze borne, Kisses the blooming flow'rs of May. No cloud obscures th' horizon clear, The dew-drop glitters on the tree, With sunny light, like rapture's tear, Thro' which she glances mirthfully. To gaze upon the painted mead. To mark the windings of the rill, To roam where whistling shepherds feed Their flocks upon the thymy hill ; This, this is joy the heart to fill, Its tranquil pleasures why forego, X 154 MORNING IN MAY. Come forth, and feel the gratefiil thrill Tliat in the soul of love must glow. Music more sweet than measured strain From nature's thousand voices rises, Yet sweeter echoes o'er the plain The eai" at cv'ry turn surprises ; The rook's hoarse voice, the small bird's song, The mellow humming of the bee, Are heard the woodland path along, To blend in pleasing harmony ; The peifume of the hawthorn tree The sweeter scent of spruiging flowers. And sparkling light and minstrelsie. Conspire to charm day's earlier hours. Stay not the fomitain of thy bhss. But let til' inspii'ing tide rmi free ; If there be raptiu'e it is this, The donor is the deity ! TO * * * * Hail favor'd of the tuneful muse ! Well pleased I mark thy rismg fame ; Nor thou these honest lines refuse, "Wliich breathe a welcome to thy name. I would not wear a flatt'rer's shame, With praise unmeet my verse imbrue ; Or offer, if thou might'st not claim, A tribute to thy genius due. Wealth, without worth, I hold in scorn. Have not a servile lie to give, WTiere poAver, by her slaves upborne. In sycophantic state doth Hve : But genius shall my praise receive, I will j)ay homage at her shrine, And with delight a chaplet weave, Aroiuid her sacred brows to tAvine. INTRODUCTION TO THE PRACTICE OF PEACE. fAti unfinished Poem hy the Author.) O ye, who know to wake at that still hour "When contemplation reigns with magic pow'r, Her silent musings o'er the soul to cast, And waken dreary visions of the past ; When sighs of woe pei'vade th' o'erburthcned breast. And conscience sinks with its own weight opprest ; When heai'tless avaiice learns at length to sigh, And the tear stands in proud ambition's eye ; When pleasure feels that all her joys are vain, And faintly sees the bUss she might attain : THE PRACTICE OF PEACE. 157 Attend my song, nor deem that wilful fate, Thy heart to sorrow doth predestinate ; With partial hand alloting woe and bliss, That man to misery — to enjoyment, this. No high-flown doctrines shall my numbers teach. Which fools believe, and frantic zealots preach. The ways of peace I sing, nor idly dream, For common sense inspires the T\alling theme. INVOCATION TO PEACE. Daughter of piety, and friend of truth, AVliose placid smile th' o'erbui-thened breast can soothe. The pure delights of sacred love augment, And cheer the humble bosom with content. Without thee, learning opes her stores in vain, Labour is sorrow, and profusion pain, Each hour with fearful retrospection fi-aught. Or hopeless futm-e fills the sickening thought. Beloved of heaven ! whose hallowed reign was simg, * Wlien earth and skies mth Jesu's mission rimg; * Luke II, xiv. INVOCATION TO PEACE. 159 Now, when the man of quietness has fled, * And discord rears aloft her hated head, With lying Hps the fondest friends to part. And strangle pleasure ere it reach the heart ; Whispers of truth to drown with, clamorous din, And sink the fallen soul in deeper sin ; Do thou illume om- path witli steady ray, Direct om- footste23s, and delight our way. * Micah vii, ii. TO TIME. Alas ! old time, how swift thy wing- Moves in the spring-time of our bliss, AVhen rapture's flow'rs are blossoming, And joy invites us with her kiss. Thy tardy pinion, ah ! how slow, Thy welcome flight, how long delayed, When come the envious clouds of woe To dim our prospects with their shade. A fig, old grey-beard, for thy hate, Ev'n as you list, or go, or stay, For resignation mocks at fate. And thou must even fate obey. TO MARY Maiy dear ! wilt thou but love me Tenderly as I love thee, By that pow'r that sits above me, Faithflil to that love I'll be : Wealthier suitors may address thee, Men of brighter talents bow, But not one, whose love can bless thee, More than his who woos thee now. If inconstantly I leave thee, ^Vhile thy heart to mine is tnie. May my fau'est hopes deceive me. And each bliss elude my view ; May the lamp with pleasure lighted, Near me ever cease to bimi ; May my fondest \%'isli be blighted. And thv woes on me return. 162 TO MARY. When the chcOi-ms which nature gave thee Shall, like others' chamis, be flown, (Fate from which no art can save thee,) Shall my love be fullest shewn ; In the horn- of sickness, neai' thee. When thy sorrows sink thee low, Will T be at hand to cheer thee, And with love assuage thy woe. Should prosperity sliine on me, Thou shalt bask beneath its ray ; Should misfortune fi'own upon me. Thou canst chace my cares away. Mary dear, wilt thou but love me Tenderly as I love thee. By that pow'r that sits above me, Faithfiil to that love I'll be. COME TWINE THE WREATH. Coine tmne the wi-eatli of flowery May, And place it in the shade ; Let rapture sportive lead the way, And new-blown chaplets braid ; Delusive fancy, be thou there With thy invitmg visions fau', And bring that ever welcome guest — Hope, who shall cheat the tedious day, And weai- the pensive houi's away, By sorrow's hand imprest. 164 COME TWINE THE WREATH. Such pleasing pictures let me see As early life could paint, Friendship from sordid interest fi'ee, And love without restraint ; Honour, and heaven-beaming truth, Unbittcn by detraction's tooth, Nor withering envy, nor despair, Nor wrath, nor self-consuming pride, Nor jealousy with hell allied, Nor avarice, were there. Ah happy days ! enraptm*ed still A trembling glance I cast. When memory cheats prevailing ill With visions of the past. come anticipation sweet, 1 bend me at thy sacred feet ; Bid all thy flattering train appear. Fame, \\ith her loud resoimding breath. Love, with triumphant rosy wreath, This amorous heart to cheer. COME TWINE THE WREATH. I(j5 Come twine the wreath of flowery May And f)lace it in the shade, Wliere chesnut blossoms deck the spray, And fresh'ning mnds invade ; Where, sheltered from the furious beam. Low bending o'er the sedgy sti'eam, The fragrant cowslip scents the gale, — Let music strike her golden Ip'e, My glowing thoughts to heaven aspire, And dreams of bliss prevail. TO MISS GEORGINA BRIGSTOCK. WTiat hcighleus the chamis that are given To infancy's innocent cheek ? 'Tis the eye when up-raised to our father in heaven, And the accents which gratitude speak. What adonis the gay summer of youth ? What affords to the aged delight ? 'Tis the heart that receives the bright maxims of truth, And the head which determines aright. Ere the tear of affliction shall How, Ere the feelings of innocence cease. Let Georgina her thoughts on religion bestow. And her tranquil reward shall be peace. SONNET On a Sky-lark shot in the month of April, 1818. April in smiles had clad the rosy mom, The brilliant east unbai-'d her golden gate, Aloft in air the flutt'ring lark was borne. And sang imconscious of approacliing fate. With eager eye the watclifiil gunner stood. And mark'd the warbler as he wing'd his way In wanton flights above the waving wood, Chamiting loud welcomes to the op'ning day. He sunk, and hov'ring o'er his gi'assy nest, Hail'd his lov'd offspring with a father's pride ; The fatal tube was level'd at liis breast. And near his young the bleeding parent ched. Reflect, O man ! — as soon death's certain dart. Unheeding thee or thine, may pierce thy boimd- ing heait. TO MAR^' Say what is love, which can control The loftiest and the stormiest soul, Change fools to sages, and can make Ev'n sages fools for woman's sake. Say what is love, for thou must kno\^-, Tho' from its chains thou may'st be free, Since all I have, or ever had, My Mary, still remains with thee. A BIRTHDAY ODE. (To the Queen.) Though poesy is out of date In this reforming nation, And the poor Muses have of late Had little occupation. Though he who fans Parnassian foe, For want of work grows thinner ; And Dan Apollo's pawn'd his lyre To buy himself a dinner; And I (who whilome sung of kings, And queens, and lords, and ladies,) Have left the Heliconian springs, So profitless the trade is. z 170 A BIRTHDAY ODE. Yet since ye long have niggard been Of all your bright revealings, Aid me, ye nine ! to Britain's queen To tell a Briton's feelings. Not mine the strain the lam'eat sings, With pliant flatt'ry in it; But from an honest heart it springs, Th' effusion of a minute. And so, heav'n bless your majesty, Now tliirty-nine's completed; And grant that yc may live to see That tliu'ty-nine repeated. Pleasiu-e, and pageantry, and pow'r, May please us for a season; And even monarchs o^^^l the horn- When conscience wakens reason. A BIRTHDAY ODE. 171 It whispers in the ear of pride, " Wealth's but of Fortune's giving ;" It asks, nor will it be denied, " For what have we been living r" Happy the heart that can reply, With conscious guilt unshaken, "To diy the teai* in iniserj-'s eye, "And comfort the forsaken; "To silence bickering and strife, "To break the bondman's fetter, " To lead a pm-e unblemish'd life "AVith hopes to find a better." None but yom- majesty can say, (So sti-ange the lines I send you,) Wliether the verses of my lay Do censure or commend you. 172 A BIRTHDAY ODE. They are not pcnn'd in courtly mode, Or English, French, or Gennan ; For I, instead of buth-day ode, Have given you a sermon. But blessings on yom- bonny smile, I once beheld the blink on't; Such never sprang from breast of guile, — It warms my heart to think on't. Long may the deeds good men approve, In our affections raise ye ; So shall the people own then- love, And future ages praise ye. THE HEBREW MOTHER. 'Twas night, deep night! and the hour of fear, With no friendly star its gloom to cheer ; The wind was hush'd, and the wave was still, And the falUng dew of the clime was chill; But bright was the distant city's glare, For frantic mirth held her revels there. And the murderer sought, with guilty fear. The silent gloom of the suburb near ; And, urg'd by the prince of darkness, crept To the couch where the infant Hebrew slept, 174 THE HEBREW MOTHER. 11" it pcrish'd not by woman's hand ; For the curse of crime filled the fated land.* But one voice arose in the silence deep, Where a mother watch'd her inllmt's sleej? ; f Which lay in the ark which her hand had wove, With the anxious care of a mother's love; % She imprinted, with feelings no tongue could speak, One farewell kiss on her baby's cheek; Then forth with a limTied stej) she hied To the sedgy banks of the Nile's broad tide. Cautious yet swift was her fearful tread. As one elder child in her hand she led. And many and wild were the looks she cast, As the slumbering guard on her Avay she past; But she stay'd not, till fast by the river's side, The ark of her sleeping babe w as tied. * For an account of the bondage of, and cruelties practised upon the Israelites, see Exodus, Chap. i. t Tlie Mother of Moses. J See Exodus, Chap, ii, v. 3. THE HEBREW MOTHER. 175 She has left with the faith of one holy pray'r The infant deliverer of Israel there; And that sacred faith hath hush'd the fear Of the Hebrew child that Watches near, * Till the rising Hght of the mom shall see How boimdless the mercies of God can be. * * See Exodus, Chap, ii, v. 4. LINES ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF * * * * Hark! 'tis the solomn toll, AVliicli mounis a spirit fled; Peace to the Christian's soiil, Who mingles with the dead ! Not mine the servile strain That changes with the tide ; Or woe, which man can feign. To please a nation's pride. Untaught these griefs to know, I mark life's shorten'd span; And moum, whilst tears of feeling flow, A brother and a man. LINES. 177 The awflil cannon's roar With solemn diige may blend ; The martial sound no more Shall wake the soldier's friend: His was the gen'rous heart, By filial duty wann'd; His was the noble part, Which promis'd and perform'd: Praise ye, who know to praise As sen'ile spirits can; I weep, as on his bier I gaze, A brother and a man. Hush thou unmeaning peal. The soul thou canst not move ; The heart alone can feel For those who claim its love! Mortal, the man I mourn. Had failings such as thine; 2 a 178 PATRONAGE. Sorrow, and love, and scorn, Shall mingle at his shrine. Art thou I'rom lailings free, A prince's frailties scan ; But lowly Christian, mourn with me, A brother and a man. PATRONAGE. O patronage ! how potent is thy sway, How dost thou lead our judgment by the nose; Thou mak'st a foggy night a sunny day, A dandelion seem a damask rose. xo * * * With a Packet of Court Plaistcr. A thousand pangs are by my gift allay'd, 'Twill cure all wounds save those which love has made; The slights of beauty may'st thou never feel, Or know the only wound it will not heal. TO * * *. With the like. This panacea is with wonders rife, 'Twill stick as closely to thee as thy vnie ; Should it not with thy temp'rament agree, 'Twill prove a blister too, as well as she. I'VE PROV'D THE WINE-CUP. I've prov'd the wine-cup sparkling high, The joys that wealth can yield; The plaintive charms of melody, The triumphs of the field: Retirements, pleasures, and the toys Ambition loves to wear; But these were self-deluding joys. Nor happiness was there. I've revel'd in the wanton's smile. To shun the sense of ill; It was, alas ! a pm-chas'd wile, And peace was wanting still. I've proved the wine-cup. 181 Where shall my soul for comfort seek ? What shall absorb my tears ? One vktuous smile on Anna's cheek Dispels the doubts of years. To press that httle hand, to pait The locks upon thy brow, Awakens rapture in this heart It ne'er has felt till now ; In joy, my soul responds to thee ; By fortune's froA^Tis deprest, Thy smile dispels my misery ; Thy love hath made me blest. TO MARY. Since thy heart thou canst not yield nie, Since my hopes I must forego, Since my arm may never shield thee In this world of doubt and woe : Yet, let friendship, holier feeling, Light nie on my downward way, Till kind fate, the arrow dealing, Change my frailties into clay. Think not, JNIaiy, that I blame thee, Tho' my hoj)es thou hast o'crthronTi ; No ! the deed shall never shame thee, Thou canst loie but one alone. / TO MARY. 183 May the man with thee united, Love thee as 1 would have done ; And the tree which love hath blighted, Soon be T\dther'd, lost, and gone. Peace, my heart ! in silence rest. Thou of grief hast drunk thy fill ; Life hath lost its only zest. Be thou now for ever still. f o * ***** As sleeps the \^ald rose on its thorny tree, Amid the tangled mazes of the grove; So didst thou bloom, sweet child of minstrelsie, And shed those sweets the muse must ever love. The hand of chance a worthless footstep led Beside thy dwelling in an evil hour; The tyrant spied thee on thy humble bed, And pluck'd thee to adoni a richer bower. LINES. 185 Awhile thy beauties deck'd the summer's day, Till j^overty, hke mj)ping winter, came; Thy promis'd patron left thee to decay. And fix'd a lasting stigma on his name. Long shall those sweets be priz'd which fame distill'd From the decaying ilowr's thy branches bore. Long shall the generous cup to thee be fill'd ^Vhen memory lisps that jjatron's name no more ! V 2 b 13ALLAD. Come hither, fair maidens, and list to my lay, You may learn from mv song, and go wiser aw ay ; If with love and A\ith pity your bosoms can thrill, Hear the tale of poor Lucy the maid of the hill. The moss-rose, when op'ning her buds to the gale, And the meekest of ilow'rs that enamel the vale, When in clusters it hangs its white bells o'er the rill, Form an emblem of Lucy the maid of the hill. BALLAD. 187 The blackbird is blithe when he sings on the thorn, And the lark when he hails the first blush of the mom, The red-deer whilst roaming the forest at will, But a blither than all was the maid of the hill. The lord of the castle, one eve from the grove, Transplanted a flow'r to the garden of love ; 'Twas caress'd, but soon left to the wintry wind chill, And that flow'ret, alas ! was om- maid of the hill. Now all that was lovely ere noontide decay'd. At the foot of yon yew-tree poor Lucy is laid; And the shepherd at night, when the hamlet is still, Drops a tear on the gi'ave of the maid of the hill. TO A NEGLECTED PIANO. Farewell to thy music ! neglected and lone, Despised and forgotten, thy strings must remain ; To a fav'rite more favorVl thy mistress is flo\^^l, And she jDasses thee by with an air of disdain. I remember the time when thou wert not for- saken, — The time when thy music was sweet to the ear; When the sounds of delight which she deign'd to awaken, Could this heai't in the midst of its loneliness cheer. TO A NEGLECTED PIANO. 189 Oh ! were but my fiugers endow'd Avith the skill, O'er thy key's, like my Mary's, delighted to rove ; Thy disconsolate wires should no longer be still, But re-echo with strains which I ever must love. Farewell ! as I roam thro' this life's desert vale, Should some notes, as I pass, thy remem- brance recal, I will pause with a sigh her neglect to bewail. And remember thy lays so much dearer than all. AN AUTUMNAL SCENE. When welcome Ceres her autumnal store Had shed prolific o'er Britannia's shore, When dusky twilight did preside again, And the sun sank beneath the western main ; Loud carol'd forth the lark his evening song, The bleating sheep were slowly driv'n along; Behind them walk'd, with laggard pace, the swain, "Wliose meny whistle echoed o'er the plain ; Forth from the fields the sturdy reaper hied, With ruddy face the mid-day sun had dyed; A jacket loose, his braAvniy shoidders grac'd; A hat of straw, upon his head was placed; AN AUTUMNAL SCENE. 191 Round his brown neck, his kerchief loosely hung; And, as he loiter'd home, his song he sung : The gleaners next the empty field forsook, And clam'rous children sought the noisy brook. And quafl"'d the weedy stream o'er which they bent, As though 'twere nectar which the gods had sent. Would'st thou view nature, seek not her abode Amid the bustle of life's hacknied road. But hie thee to the fields, and there alone Peruse her in a language of her own. Mark yonder urchin, with wliat hardy pride He bears her burthen by his grandam's side ; His futm-e years a parent's care shall bless. Who weaves his duty with his happiness. In splendid cities, where imperial state Attends the lordly footsteps of the great. Where every passion prompts the varying mind. An ample feast may contemplation find; 19-2 LINES. But, in the hamlet, where the lab'ring swain Consumes his days to cultivate the plain, Is spread, unseason'd by the hands of art, A banquet wliich more interests the heart. LINES Writ fen in the Winter o/" 1816. The holly lives upon the heath, 'Tis ever green and gay ; Nor autumn's Avild bestrewing breath Can bear its leaves away. The trees which form the forest's shades, May boast a liveher green ; But baiTen are the fairest glades When A\nnter strips the scene. MORNING. 193 Here read a moral ye who may, Nor choose the fairest flow'r ; Its gaudy tints must soon decay, When comes the wint'ry hour. Virtue, the plant which bides the storm, Ctasp fondly to your breast; Then sorrow's winds shall ne'er deform The gi'eenness of your guest. MORNING. When dark-brow'd night her ebon throne forsakes, And di'ives her sable chariot from on high : With bat-wing'd coursers down the western sky, The blue-eyed morning in the east awakes. 2 c 194 MORNING. On azure clouds her fairy steps she takes, And hieing to the misty mountain's steep, Unlocks the leaden manacles of sleep. Then, ^vith a gentle hand, man's slumbers breaks. Hail goddess! in thy chariot bright. Source of genial heat and light; Where thy earliest rays are streaming, Where thy warmest smiles are beaming, To bid thee welcome will I stray, Parent of enUvening day ! TO A YOUNG LADY, JEALOUS OF HER SISTER'S BEAUTY. Can the eyes which beam brightly e'er shine with a tear Of regret that another's more pensive appear ? Do we scorn the fair rose as we gaze on its hue, Because nature denies it the violet's blue? Should the sun make complaint that his rays are too bright, If night's crescent send forth a less powerful light ? To the dictates of reason dear Brenda appeal, 'Tis contrast that heightens each pleasm'e we feel. A PRAYER. O Thou! who to man's restless mind A stedfast boundary has given, Thus rendering prying reason bUud To the mysterious ways of heaven ; Forgive the life-consuming sigh, I heave when miseries oppress; Forgive the tear which dims mine eye In sorrow's loneliness. Often the choicest earthly things Increase the miser's ill-got store. While wealth plumes not her gaudy wings Within the just man's door: A PRAYER. 197 Often the gay seducer's cheek Is flush'd with health's enlivening glow, Whilst poverty and sickness seek The good man's house of woe. 'Tis just O God; but man is frail And sinks beneath the load of grief; Droops, ere his innate strength should fail. And weeps when he should ask relief. FAREWELL TO FRANCE, Suggested hy a descriplion of the departure of the Princess Royalle. Adieu ! thou fairy land of fond delight, Thy glittering spires above the rolling sea. Still break upon my melancholy sight; A last farewell to all my hopes in thee. Ere now, my country boasted liberty, But ruthless tyranny hath rung her knell. Nations remote no more shall hail thee free, But ev'ry wandring mariner shall tell. How Gallia once was great! — how humbled Galha fell ! Still do I love thee, and my aching sight, Dimm'd by the tear my heart would fain evade, With the full ardour of supreme delight Dwells on thy parting beauties as they fade. FAREWELL TO FRANCE. 199 Alas ! that fiend-like war, ^vith gory blade, Should wildly riot in thy fertile breast; The rural plenty of thy swains invade ; Thy throne become the murd'rous eagles nest; Who dares, unaw'd, to lift his blood-besprinkled crest. Land of my birth, tlio' from thy charms I rove, A cheerless exile wheresoe'er I fly ; Thou still shalt claim my dearest, fondest love, And with thy fate be wove my destiny. In His protection shall my soul rely, Whose instant hest the storm of war can quell, Hush to repose the patriot's deep-drawn sigh, The crimson stain fi-om Gallia's fame dispel : Farewell ! dear France, my long-lov'd home, Farewell ! A JJVING CHARACTER. Let every sound be liush'd, and silence reign! Be dumb yc oxen of the daisied plain ! Silence, proud mill-stream, thy tremendous roar, He stmms the l}Te who never strumm'd before! While mightier bards, in loftier strains rehearse The wan-ior's triumph in majestic verse; While ev'ry line the startled soul alarms. And in each verse is heard the clank of arms ; Immortal hypocrite, be thou my theme ! Shade of a shadow in the world's esteem ! But by thyself less intimately known, Conceiv'd a very giant in thine own! 'Tis said, sev'n cities in the land of mirth, Music, and myrtles, claim the hero's birtli ; A LIVING CHARACTER. 201 He names them all, and, therefore, which to fix on. Would puzzle all the learned down to Nixon ; Howbeit the muse hath heard, the sable wight First from suburban hovel saw the light, Where nurs'd in filth, and train'd to cheat and lie. The infant Judas wallow'd in his sty : Arrived at riper years he comes and goes, And brushes shoes that ne'er confin'd his toes. A valet next, the wretch no longer starves. But apes the English bully whom he serves; Skill'd in cosmetic arts, the ready liar Soon makes a dandy of the booby squire ; So smart his repartee and ready hit, Om* ignoramus wonders at his vrit; Receives with tickled ears the servile cant. And dubs the puppy, pimp and confidant. Now thro' the simny chme this precious pair Inhale the odours of Italian air, 2 D 202 A LIVING CHARACTER. Sighing, Anth lovesick lungs, to that sweet tunc Some worn-out Cypi'ian warbles to the moon; Or, lost to manhood, aping as they roam. The mawkish manners of dcgen'rate Rome. Tired of debauch, of half his strength bereft, And longing for the home he lately left, Back comes om- polish'd 'squire, with oath sublime. To curse the fogginess of northern clime ; His fille-de-joie and valet, on the way, Have quaiTcird on their perquisites or pay; Exposure follows — madam makes a rout. And Whiskerando is at length kick'd out. Deception for liis trade, the cunning slave Has still his old resource — to play the knave, And, though the kick still smarts upon his br — ch, With shameless front forth salhes he to teach ! The lion's skin now hides the meaner beast. Our blustering Signer is a Count at least ; A LIVING CHARACTER. 203 But driv'n from home, wife, cliildren, friends, dinAfame, For secret reasons must conceal bis name. Destin'd again on flatt'ry's wrings to soai", He praises wit which none e'er saw before ; Some shallow coxcomb hears the stupid Ue, And gulphs the bait with imdiscemiug eye. First satiates vanity, then recommends Claudius Count Wliiskerando to liis friends. On whom our sycophant contrives to call, Just as the dinner passes througli the hall; With thanks and bows accepts the vacant seat. To fa^vn — to vend his falsehoods — and to eat. SEE MODEST SPRING. f Published in the ^^ Gentleman'' s Magazine''\for June, 1820J See modest spring again her mantle throws O'er the wide landscape, deep ^^^thin the grove The young-eyed vi'let with the primrose blows, And all creation breathes once more of love. And list! — how sweet from yonder hawthorn brake The blackbird warbles her resounding lays, Wliile more remote her plaintive strains awake, Which lovers hail, and musing poets praise. But does no heart amid this vernal joy Pine silently away in ceaseless pain ? SEE MODEST SPRING. 205 Does pleasure triumph without one alloy, And pure felicity unrivall'd reign ? O no ! — delight \^-ithin the lonely soul May never dwell, whilst unrelenting fate Darkens life's sunshine as the moments roll, And leaves the bosom drear and desolate. Then haste away in pity, O ye hours, For not the seaman, toss'd upon the wave, More longs again to hail his native bow'rs. Than I to rest in peace within the silent grave. ANACREONTIC. When night tlirows her sable veil O'er the landscape of dehght, And the orb of lustre pale Sheds her modest sih^er light; Where the rippling waters glide Slowly through the silent scene ; ^Vliere the willows kiss the tide, Clad in drooping robes of green ; 'Underneath their weeping shade I tliink of thee, mv blue-eyed maid ! ANACREONTIC. 207 O say, at evening's thoughtful hour, Dost thou ever wake the lay Withm thy lonely moonlight bow'r, And think of him that's far away ? Yes! and when thy tender strain Breathes affection wild and free, Thou think'st upon Orlando's pain. Whose only wishes dwell with thee. I LOVE MID HILLS AND WOODS. I love mid hills and woods to rove, By mead and wandering stream ; To hear the limiet's lay of love, And list the wood-man's theme. The lordly hall, — the corn-tier's lot, — Tlie pomp my youth has seen ; T leave them all to seek the cot, Where dwells my village queen. The high-born fair may seem more gay, With pearls upon her breast ; But lovelier is the queen of May, In flow'ry chaplcts drest : Blythe as the Avild-deer, bounding free Amid the sylvan scene, I seek that happy vale \\"ith glee. Where dwells my village queen. AN ELEGY. (Addressed to his Mistress.) Hast thou, when wand'ring thro' the sunburnt vale, In summer's reign the di'ooping flowers sur- veyed ; When the sweet rose is blanch'd with deadly pale, And e'vn the lily droops within the shade ? Hast thou beheld the sober evening close, When southern winds their humid treasures bear ; When gentler gales betake them to repose. And sudden coolness freshens all the air ? 2 E •210 AN ELEGY. Hast thou e'er heard the angry storm contend, When Av-ildcring sleep thy roving thoughts addrcst ; Hast thou e'er heard the pattering rain descend, Till wearied nature pillow'd thee to rest ? Then, with the morning's dawn thou may'st have seen The sickening flower assume its wonted hue ; Its bloom contrasted with reviving green, And leaves all glittering with the pearly dew. No more it sickens on its dewless bed, Dejected tenant of the thirsty plain ; But lifts aloft to heav'n its grateful head. Owns the reviving shower, and lives again. So doth the youth, whom thrilling love inspires, 'Gainst parching scorn and coldness vainly strive ; AN ELEGY. 211 Till pity her relenting soul inspires, Who cheers his heart, and bids liis hopes revive. The smiles of joy relume his wasted cheek, Returning hope becomes his peaceful guest ; Ecstatic joys his amorous sighs bespeak, And life seems thrilHng thro' his happy breast. TO A LADY, IVii/i (( copy of " The Literary Souvenir.'^ Tho' far from thee I roam, love ! A happier home to seek ; Yet not one tear for pleasures past Shall steal adown my cheek : For pleasures, like all earthly things, A transient hour alUu'e; But in a brighter sphere alone These raptures can endiure. Wlien gazing on this pledge, love! Thou ponderest on my fate; Think not a heart, by thee approv'd, Can be unfortunate: ON THE LOSS OF A VESSEL. 213 Break but thy plighted faith, the heart Though lov'st may broken be ! Love still, and heav'n the wand'rer's feet Shall turn again to thee ! ON THE LOSS OF A VESSEL, Wliich was sunk on her passage from Ireland to England, ichen every soul on hoard perished. Serene in their hammocks the passengers lay, Their eyes in sweet slumbers were closed; On the rolling wave sparkled the moon's silver ray. In the sails of the bark did the sea-breezes play, And nought her swift progress opposed. 214 ON THE LOSS OF A VESSEL. TIr' watch on the deck view'd the scene with delight, Where perchance o'er the main he espied The isle of his forefathers break on his sight, Or Hibernia's blue hills, on the bosom of night, Sinking 'neath the blue waves he descried. His heart pants with joy as his home he draws near, And he pictm-es his happier state. When he the lov'd voice of his Mary shall hear. When his cot and his rosy-cheekVl children appear. Who in anxious exjjectancy wait. But soon this delight from the deep shall depart. To distraction and hon-or give place; — Shall the cchct of fate mock the mariner's art, — Shall desjDair all the feelings of teiTor impart, And the angel of death shew his face. ON THE LOSS OF A VESSEL. "215 A rock rears its head in the midst of the waves, Unseen by the mariner's eye; She strikes ! — 'tis too late ! — no assistance she craves ! * The virtuous — the wicked — sink deep in their graves, Wliere unheeded, unhonour'd, they he ! How vainly doth man in this world fix his care, And the schemes of to-morrow divine ; Tho' this morning his prospects are brilUant and fair, Ere the evening may death, or the hand of despair, To oblivion his projects consign. * No signal of distress was fired. ANACREONTIC— TO EUGENIUS. Once like thine, my heart was gay, Cheer'd by hope's enhvcning ray; Pleasure strew'd her blooming flowers Over life's too fleeting hours : Then, at rapture's fountain bright, I quafi'd the stream of wild delight ; Fancy, then, the garland wove Round the smiling bro^^"s of love : But alas ! no more I see Scenes that wake my soul to glee ; Fate the c}^3ress wreath is weaving, Hope this throbbing bosom leaving, SorroAV drops the pitying teai", And desjjair is welcome here. Welcome ! for life's lingering ray 'Neath his glance shall soon decay. EPISTLE TO xiTTICUS. fA Satire on Woman.) Dear Atticus, thou still art youiig, Thy lays of love are yet unsung ; But people say thy lyre's in tune, To sing them ere another moon : Weigh well the matter, and depend Upon the covmsels of a friend, Think not that learning e'er will prove A stimulus to woman's love ; Or thou must lay thy books aside. Or lose thy labour and thy bride ; No longer, then, at midnight pore O'er manuscripts of antique lore, 2 F 218 EPISTLE TO ATTICUS. But hie thee to the gentle dame, AVho sees nor disapproves thy flame ; Tliere press her hand, and gently kiss ller balmy hps, her cheeks of bliss; Nor fancy that, when thou art gone, The same will be by others done. When mom unbars her gates of gold. When flow'rs their tender leaves unfold, — Flow'rs which thy various beds have graced, In Linnajan order nicely placed ; Heed not their kinds, — the names they bear, But cull a posy for the fair : Be sure the op'ning rose to seek, "Which blushes like thy Lydia's cheek; But, ah ! beware the cruel thom, Equivalent to Lydia's scom: Hearts-ease within thy posy bind. But sav 'tis what thou ne'er canst find. EPISTLE TO ATTICUS. 219 But wouldst thou know tlie step, the air, That must attend thee to the fair. Read Chesterfield, and rightly scan What trifles women's hearts trepan; Yet chiefly know, whate'er the di'ess Fantastic fashion doth profess, Thou must comply, nor need repine, For woman's love is surely thine. In this the art of pleasing hes, — To ridicule the good and ^^dse; To change, by talismanic power. The vilest weed to sweetest flower : Seek thou with critic eye to find The vices of thy mistress' mind. Then, with the subtlety of art. So nicely vanaish ev'ry part, That to her all-enraptm-ed eyes She sees as many virtues rise : Leam all the small talk of the day, — What colonel's wife has run away ; '2-20 EPISTLE TO ATTICUS. What fortune-hunter has been seen With chaise and four for Gretna Green j AVliat Mendship all the world can see 'Twixt Mr. A. and Mrs. B.; Create and utter lies by dozens, And scandalize your aunts and cousins. Should one, more honest than the rest. Dare doubt the falsehoods } ou exprest, The die is cast! — or you or he Must travel to eternit}-. You meet, — 'tis fate directs the ball, Behold a fellow-creature fall; Then, as you mark the blood apace. Steal from his temple o'er his face, And hear the short convulsive breath Which marks the trembling work of death. Does pity bid thy bosom bleed, Relentful of the sanguine deed, Shame on thy weak unmanly soul! Go whei'e, around the midnight bowl, EPISTLE TO ATTICUS. 221 Thy gay companions heedless still Dispel th' unwelcome sense of ill; 'Tis but a transitory sense of pain, And soon will wear away again. Now lay aside thy timorous air, Thou art the idol of the fair : Thy virtues have been fully tried, And thou hast but to choose thy bride. ANNA, WHEN I'M FAR AWAY. Anna, when I'm far away INIusing o'er the moonlit sea, Nm'sing hopes that will decay, — Hopes that cling to home and thee; Wliile my rude messmates careless sleep. Upon the gloomy deck I stand, And pensive eye the foaming deep. Which bears me from my native land. The tear that fell adown thy cheek, Affection's smile but half represt; Which told what language could not speak,- The feelmgs of a faithful breast : All these in fancy's visions rise, Wlien mem'ry waves her magic wand, And bid my bosom dearer prize My home and thine, — my native land! SERENADE. Let me gaze in thine eye Wlien the summer moon's liigh, And the workl I'll defy as I bask in its ray; In the dew of thy hp Let my fond kisses dip, And the nectar I sip shall chase son'ow away. Oh ! the speU of thy smile Would a holv monk wile, From the cloister's dull aisle to the bower of love ; The perfumes that rise From thy odorous sighs Would tempt from the skies even seraphs above. 224 SERENADE. By the fern-covered hill Let us wander at will, Where the winds with the heather-bells wantonly play; On this bosom recline, Only say ' I am thine,' A long life of grief would such moments repay. Let philosophers preach, That the learning they teach. From the mind cv'ry dark cloud of doubt can remove; With profmidity vain I'll ne'er trouble my brain, For the science for me — is the science of love. THIS EVENING LIGHT. This evening light, how cahn it shines Above the green and wavy sea; Wliicli, as its quivering ray declines, Mourns its departure mournfully. With startling shriek the curlew flies, The home-bound vessel glides along; And echo's gentle voice replies Unto the jocund boatman's song. 2 G 226 THIS EVENING LIGHT. Now, dearest Anna, let us roam With lightsome foot the shelly shore. Or the lone spirit's rocky home,* With wild and cm-ious gaze explore: Then should a sigh unbidden start, Own thou the influence divine; 'Tis nature acting on the heart. And we will worshij) at her shrine. * Popular superstition peoples the romantic caverns by the sea-side with a supernatural being, whose voice is Echo. >> O WHEN THOU ART BEFORE ME ! A SONG. O when thou art before me, And no one else is nigh, A brighter light comes o'er me, This world to beautify ; More sunny is the rural plain, More balmy is the rose. And music's spirit-stining strain In sweeter accents flows. 228 O WHEN THOU ART BEFORE ME. But when thou art not near me, Tho' wit and mirth be there, Their briUiance cannot cheer me, Or chase my bosom's care; The beams of kindling hght have fled. And cheerless is the plam ; The flow'rs no more their sweetness shed, And music's pow'rs are vain. THE EYE WITH RAPTURE BEAMING. A SONG. Set to Music by John Merriott. The eye with rapture beaming May boast its power awhile ; Its bright ray Avildly gleaming Along the sunny smile. Like love, the floweret on its bed Rejoices in its light, And ev'ry brilliant day-beam shed Awakens new delight. 230 THE EYE WITH RAPTURE BEAMING. But flow'rs too brightly shone upon Will hasten to decay, And woman's love, too lightly won, Wilt ofttimes fade away ; Yet dewch-ops shed from zephyr's wing The sinking flow'r sustain And woman's smile can always bring Her lover back again. FRAGMENT. (Set to Music hy E. Merriott.J The splendour of day Has faded away, The shadows of night are stealmg ; In the element clear WTiat beauties appear, The glory of heaven revealing ! Come, wander with me By the still smooth sea. Where the snow-white sail is gliding, And hear the lone note Of the mariner float. As his devious barque he's guiding. 232 FRAGMENT. Come, breathe the perfume Of the jessamine's bloom Round thy balmy bower entwining ; Come watch where the light Of the moonbeam bright On the sparkling wave is shining. O haste to thy bower This favoui'ing hour, The world and its cares disdaining For the season to prove The elysium of love Is when tranquil night is reigning. G ' THE SMILE OF HER I LOVE. A SONG. Set to Music hy E. Merriott. How sweet, when dew-eyed morning breaks. Appears the dappled sky; And sweet the timid tear which breaks From heav'n-bom pity's eye: 'Tis sweet to sit where roses twine In clustering blush above; But Mary's sweeter smile be mine, — The smile of her I love ! 2 H 234 THE SMILE OF HER I LOVE. II When Cynthia from her azure throne Plajs wanton on tlie stream, 'Tis sweet to meditate alone, And watch her dawning beam ; Yet, while o'er exhy dale and hill With blithesome foot I rove, i One beauty makes them sweeter still, — The smile of her I love! I WHEN DEWS DESCEND. A SOXG. Set to Music by E. Merriott. When dews descend, and flow'rets close, And whispering breezes creep ; When night her starry mantle throws Along the shaded steep; When heaven the soUtary hour To silence doth ordain, When hght is glimmering from thy bow'r, I'll come to thee again. 236 ^VHEN DEMS DESCEND. Then \Wlt thou hst'ning bless the gale Which wafts, on zephyr's wings, The artless unassuming tale Thy amorous lover sings ; Or say but thus, — ' life's darker hours 'We'll leave in fate's abyss, 'And gaily plucking rapture's flow'rs, 'We'll live and love in this.' THREE SONNETS, Suggested by a visit to the Ruins of Waverley Abbeij. INTRODUCTORY SONNET. Hail, once majestic ! silent now and drear ! Thy mouldering beauties wake a tlieme sublime, And, musing deep, I love to linger here To mark the hands of nature and of time. One, all destroying, with a frown severe. Sits like the monarch of this sinking pile ; And, ceaseless labovuing from year to year. Atom by atom he disjoins the while.* * "Thus to time The task was left to whittle thee away With his sly scythe, whose ever nibbling edge. Noiseless, an atom and an atom more Disjoining from the rest, has, unobserved. Achieved a labour, which had far and wide, (By man performed,) made all the forest ring." cowper's yardley oak. 238 SONNETS ON WAVERLEY ABBEY. The other, ever yoiuig, with buxom smile, Hangs her green chaplct on the cloister-wall, And bids the mcny birds with songs beguile The tedious hours till summer leaves do fall ; Then decks with berries red the hawthorn tree — Fit wages for the warbler's minsti'elsy. TO TIME. Sage chronicler of days for ever flown ! When on this crumbling mass the moon shines pale, Fain would I sit by thy romantic throne To mark thy work, and profit by thy tale. To mortal eyes thy myst'ries deign unveil — Thy treasured legends of this lonely spot. Where priestly pomp and pow'r did once prevail. And prayer was heard where piety was not ; SONNETS ON WAVERLEY ABBEY. 239 What long processions thro' this peaceful vale Have niov'd in tyrant superstition's reign ! What solemn vespers on the evening gale In measured cadence echoed o'er the plain ! How oft the proud ambition thou hast seen, Allied with feigned humility has been ! TO NATURE. And thou, creative goddess, in whose eye Beams expectation of the coming hour, Teach me, whilst pondering upon years gone by. To mark the source which gave thy hand its power ; To read a moral in each humble flower, That with the spring its beauties doth renew, That lifts its head to hail the coming shower, And drinks, ^vith thirsty leaves, the grateful dew. 240 SONNETS ON WAVERLEY ABBEY. With hope's lov'd thrill thy wond'rous works I view, And tiuTi my musings to this mortal clay : — He lives whose pow'r my body shall renew, When all that forms it now has j)ast away. O ! may that grace, which makes the spirit fi'ee. Like fresh'ning dew-drops to the flow'ret be. THE END. GLOUCESTER : TKINTED BY JEW AND BRYANT, ■WESTQATE STREET. * ^* The Publishers much regret being imuvoidably obliged to omit, in the annexed List of Subscribers, the greatest part of the Names from Guildford, Farnham, and other parts in Surrey, in consequence of not having received them at the appointed time. Gloucester, July 1, 1834. SUBSCRIBERS. Mr, T. F. Addison, Gloucester Mrs. Ames, Barnwood, near Gloucester Major Ball, Spa, Gloucester Miss Barnes, Corse Court, Gloucestershire Mr. Edward Barnes, Tirley, ditto Mr. Charles Bartlett, Spa, Gloucester Mr. Francis Bedwell, Cirencester, — two copies Mr. J. R. Bedwell, Gloucester Mr. H. Bedwell, ditto Mrs. Bogue, Guildford Mrs. Bolland, Barnwood Court, near Gloucester Mr. John Bretherton, Gloucester Mrs. W. Brydges, Tewkesbury Mr. Henry Bubb, Bentham Mr. Robert Bussell, Gloucester A Friend, (Mrs. B.) ditto LIST OF SUBSCRIBKRS. Mrs. Carpenter, London Road, Gloucester Mrs. Carter, Horsham, Sussex Charles Church, Esq. 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