'^ ''^aiMN ] J\"^ ^'9A;iVHHn-i'^^ oMl!BR^R^ r> J!7 -'5r;'-;;i;^M J^^^ l\l .''^'\. - ^^ >v M\rV CA't^f^'^-' IV r^ ' c-^. fviWi:/v-l:'.{ ]v f:i; > BRITISH MELODIES, CONTAINING SOME OP THE Minor IHttc^, AND OTHER EXTRACTS, FROM THE WORKS OF THE MODERN POETS, IKCLUDING MANY ORIGINAL PIECES NEVER BEFORK PUBLISHED. PRINTED FOR THE EDITOR, (Not for Sale J BY JOHN STACY, NORWICH. ADVERTISEMENT. THE FOLLOWING SELECTION from the Minor pieces of the principal MODERN POETS, has been made with a view to exhibit in one volume some of the best specimens of tlieir Genius, To accomplish this object the Editor has in general made choice of those pieces which seem to hate been most impressed with the mark of popular favour. The accompanying little Essay on their respective merits, has been inserted, not because it accords altogether with his oun sentiments, but on account of the general beauty of its style and the talent displayed in it, and also, because he conceives it to be the most appropriate introduction which could be fouitd for a work of this class, It first appeared in one of our daily journaU. R'0285 CONTENTS. We may roam thro' this World, . . T. Moore, 1 Soldier's Dream, .... Campbell, 2 Cypress Wreath, .... Walter Scolt, 3 1 enter thy Garden of Roses, . . Lord Byron, 5 Eyeleeu's Bower, . . , . T. Moore, tt Wounded Hussar, .... Campbell, 7 The Legacy, T. Moore, 8 Exile of Erin, Campbell, 9 Fare thee well Lord Byron 10 Friendship, Love, and Truth, . . Mmtgonwry 1$ The Recluse, Reader, 14 Wellington's Name, . . . . T. Moore, 15 Night is fallinj^ o'er the dark heath, . Reader, 16 Wandering AVillie, .... V/aUer Scott 17 Fong of the Pirate's Isle . . . Lord Byron 18 Tis gone and for ever, . . . T. Moore, 20 Napoleon's Farewell, .... Lord Byron, 21 There's not a Joy the World can give . Ibid, 2i I'arcwell to my Harp, . . . . T. Moore, *JS And thou art Dcrd .... Ijfrd Byron, .'f Vl CONTENTS. On the Burial of Sir John Moore, . Anonymous, 27 ^' Execution of General Lacy, . Ibid, 28 Death of Sir Peter Parker, R.N. Lord Byron, 29 ^ Lament on the Princess Charlotte, . Anonynutus, 31 Ode on the Funeral of ditto, . . Rev. L. Bowles 32 The Bard's Incantation, . . . Walter Scott, 33 Lochiel's Warning, .... Campbell, 35 To the Invisible Girl .... T.Moore, 39 Hohenlinden, ..... Campbell, 41 // On a black Marble Bowl that belonged ) ^ I Braine, 42 to Burns, . . . . ' Monody on C. J. Fox, . . . Rogers, 46 Sheridan, . . . Lord Byron, 48 7 On the Anniversary of Mr. Pitt's Birth- j ^y^^^^^ ^^^^^^ ..^ Day ' Oh think not my Spirits are always ) rp m_ -., as light, ' When he who adores thee, . . Ibid, 54 Friends far away, .... Horace Tu-iss, 55 On visiting a Scene in Argylfeshire, . Campbell, 56 ^^ Fly not yet, T. Moore, 58 Nature, Anonymous, 59 A Poet's Tomb, Horace Twiss, 61 On parting, ..... Lord Byron, 62 Song of a Scottish Emigrant, . . Horace Twiss, 63 '' Our Prince's Day, . . . . T. Moore, 61 / Tlie Grotto, ..... Sheridan, 66 A Wish, Rogers, 68 This Life is all chequered, . . . T. Moore, 69 Hunting Song, ..... JValter Scott, 70 CONTENTS. Love's Young Dream, To-Night, Farewell, Mariners of England, . The last Rose of Summer, To T, MooTty 71 / Horace Twisa, 72 T. Mmre, 73 . Campbell, 74 * T. Moore, Lord Byron, I saw from the Beach, . , . , T. Moore, Genevieve, a fragment, . . , Coleridge, Portugueze Hymn to the Virgin Mary, . Leyden, Vale of the Cross, . , . . Roacoe, Dear is the Hour, . . , . T. Moore, Penshurst, Southey, It is not the Tear at this moment shed, T. Moore, Inscription for a Column at Newberry, SoiUhey, a Cavern that o'erlooks } j,^ the River Avon , i Monument at Silbury 1-X)ve Address to the Moon, . Lines in a common Place-Book, Send round the Wine, . Battle of the Baltic, Poor Susan, . , . , Kemembrance, Come rest in this bosom. Lines to commemorate the 21st of March, 1801, Harp of Sorrow, . The Traveller's Return, W rjttcn while sailing m a Boat at evcuin 76 77 79 80 85 88 88 89 90 91 91 -HiH, Ibid, 92 . T. Moore, 93 . Anonymous, 91 . T. Moore, 94 . Ibid. 95 . Campbell, 96 ^ . Wordsworth, 98 '' . Soutliey, 99 . T. Moore, 101 / Campbell, 102 Montgomery, 104 Southey, 1 0(i Wordsworth, 107 Ul CONTENTS. On leaving School, Caroline, Part I, Part II, To Thyrza, . . ' . Morning, Woman's Empire, . The Last Minstrel, Bendemeer'g Stream, . Autumn, The Mole Hill, . The Picture, The Nightingale, . Sublime was the Warning, Translation from Euripides ('aptivity, Love, .... The Lily, To a Lady with flowers from a man Wall, The Violet, . The Cast away Ship, The Sequel to ditto. On receiving a branch of Mezereon, Sonnet on the approach of Death, Lines on the Death of Sheridan, Frederic, A sketch from Private Life, On the lifting of the Banner of the i House of Bucclench, . . 5 Doina de Clyde, .... Ro- Wordsworth, Campbell, Ibid. Lord Byron Mrs. Tighe, H. Twiss, fVaUer Scott, T. Moore, Southey, Montgomery, Mrs. Tighe, Wordsworth, T. Moore, Rogers, Ibid. Southey, Mrs. Tighe, 108/^ 109 110 112/ 114 116 117 120 121 123 131 132 / 136 137 138/ 138 V 139 ' Walter Scott, 141 Ibid. Montgomery, Ibid. Mrs. Tighe, Ibid. Anonymous, Soutliey, Lord Byron, WaUer Scott Bcrgucr, 141 142 ' 146 147/ 149 150 ! 152 155 The Kitten, . The Poor Hindoo, Address to Contemplation, Sonnet to his Wife, Harp of tlie North, Music, On the approach of Winter, Sonnet written in a Storm, Fare>Yell to the Mnse, . 'ITiis. World is all a Fleeting Show, Ode to an Indian Gold Coin, Thou art oh God 1 It is tiie Hour, To a Brother, Oh thou whoDry'st the Mourner's If that high world. The Sailor, The Pauper's Funeral, To a Young Man, She Walks in Beauty, . The Eve of Death, Living without God in the World, Lines on a Cup formed from a Skull, I'd Mourn the Hopes that leave me, An Evening Walk at Cromer, On the Destruction of Jerusalem, Weep not for Those, The Soldier's Funeral, Epitaph on his Wife, Sketch of Holland, Joanna BcdlHe, 162 Mrs. Opie, 167 H.K. IVhite, 168 Sotheby^ 170 WaUer Scott, 171 H. K. WMte, 172 WestaU. 174 H. K. White, 176 WaUer SeoH, 177 Tear, T. Moore, Leyden, T. Moore, Lord Byron, Lloyd, T. Moore, Lard Byron, Rogers, Southey, Lloyd, Lord Byron, 178 178 180 181 182 ie 184/ 185 186 187 189 H. K. White, 190 Lloyd, Lord Byron, T. Moore, Mrs. Opie, Lord Byron, T. Moore, Southey, W. Mason, 191 193, 194 196 1U8 199 200 202 Rev. Mitford, 29a CONTENTS To the Sabbath, . Troutbeck Chapel, The Tomb of Genius, . The Mourner, Monody, on Nelson, Pitt and Fox, On Visiting Tintern Abl)ey, Modern Greece, . The Love of Country, , My Country, On the Death of H. K. White, Twilight, The Field of Waterloo, Sir Leoliue, . On the Princess Charlotte, Conclusion, . Lloyd, Wilson, Anonymous, Crabbe, Walter Scott, Wordsworth, Lord Byron, Montgomery, Walter Scott, Lord Byron, Montgomery, Walter Scott, Coleridge, Lord Byron, Walter Scott, 205 206 209 211/ 211 220. 225 231 233 235 // 236 237 240 'f 241 24a OF LIVING POETS to the STREAM of CASTALY. Who now shall give nnto me words and sounds Eqnal nnto this hangbty euterprlze. Speiuer B. 2. C. s. Sir, I am one of those unfortunate youths to whom the Muse has glanced a sparkling of her light, one of those who pant for distinction but have not within them that immortal power which alone can command it. There are many, some Sir may be known to you, who feel keenly and earnestly the eloquence of heart and mind in others, but who cannot from some inability or unobtrusiveness clearly express their own thoughts and feelings ; whose lives are but long and silent dreams of romantic pleasure and poetic wonderment ; who almost adore the matchless fancies of genuine bards and love them as interpreters and guardians of those visionary delights which arc the per- petual inmates of their bosoms. I know not whctlier I make mysdf clear to you ; if I do not you will see that my confusion arises rather from a defective power than a defective will. I love the poets, 1 live in the light of their fancies. It is my best delight to wander forth on summer evenings when the air is fresh and clear, and the leaves of the tree are making music with it, and the birds are busy with their wings, fluttering themselves to rest, and a brook is murmuring along almost inaudibly, and the Sun is going quietly down ; it is at this time delicious to muse over the works of our best bards. Some time last year I had roamed in an evening like to one of those I have spoken of, and after dwelling on the fairy beauties of Spenser, and from thence passing to the poets of my own time, and to comparing the latter with some that had gone before, I cast myself on a romantic bank by a brook side. The silence around me, save the home-returning bee with its "drowsy hum," and the moan- ing sound of distant cattle and the low sullen gurgling of waters, lulled me into a sleep. The liglit of my thoughts gilded my dreams, my vision was a proof of mental exist- ence when the bodily sense had passed away. I have a great desire to attempt giving publicity to my dream, but I be- fore told you how limited are my powers of expression so I must rely on your goodness in receiving this crude de- scription or not. Methought (this I believe is the established language of dreams) methought I was walking idly along a romantic vale which was surrounded with majestic and rugged mountams, a small stream struggled through it, and its xin waves seemed the brightest crystal I had ever witnessed. I sat me down on its margin which was rocky and beantifai. As I mnsed a female figare rose like a silvery mist from the waters and advanced with a countenance full of light and a form of living air ; her srarments Hoated ronod her like waves and her hair basked on her shoalders "Like sunny beams on alabaster rocks." There was a touch of immortality in her eyes, and indeed her visage altogether was animated with a more than eartli- ly gloi-y. She approached me with smiles, and told me tliat she was the guardian of the stream that flowed near, and that the stream itself was the true Castalian which so many " rave of tho' they know it not." I turned with fresh delight to gaze on the water, its music sounded heavenly to me. I fancied that there was a pleasing dao tylic motion in its waves. The Spirit said from tlie love I bore to her favourite Spenser she would permit me to see (myself unseen) the annual procession of living bards to fetch water from the stream on that day. I looked her my thanks as well as I was able, it was out of my power to express them. She likewise informed me tliat it was customary for each poet, as lie received his portion, to say in what manner he intended to use it. The voice of the Spirit was such as fancy has heard in some wild and lovely spot among the hills or lakes of this world at twilight time. I felt my soul full of music while listening to it and held my breath in the very excess of delight. Suddenly I heard the Sonne's of a; proachiii footsteps and a con- fused mingling of voices. The Spirit touched me into in- visibility, and then sioftly faded into svnny nir htrclf. xlv In a Httie time I saw a motley crowd advancing con- fusedly to the stream. I soon perceived that they were each provided with vessels to bear away some portion of the immortal waters. They all passed at a little distance from the spot on which I was reclining, and then eacli walked singly and slowly from the throng, and dipped his vessel in the blue wild waves of Castaly. As well as I can recollect I will endeavour to describe the manner and words of the most interesting of our living poets on this most interesting occasion. The air about the spot seemed brighter with their presence, and the waves danced along with a livelier delight. Pegasus might be seen coursing the winds in wild rapture on one of the neighbouring mountains, and sounds of glad and viewless beings were heard at intervals in the air, as if troops of spirits were revelling over head and rejoicing at the scene. And first metliought a lonely and melancholy figure moved slowly forth and silently filled a Grecian urn. I knew by the look of nobility and the hurried and turbulent plunge with which the vessel was dashed into the stream that the owner was Lord Byron. He shed some tears while gazing on the water, and they seemed to make it purer and fairer. He declared that he would keep the urn by him untouched for some years, but he had scarcely spoken ere he had sprinkled forth some careless drops oh the earth he suddenly retreated. There then advanced a polite personage very oddly clad, he had a breast-plate on and over that a Scotch plaid, and strange to say, with these silk stockings and dress slioes. This gentleman brought an old helmet for his ves- sel : I guessed him to be Walter Scott. His helmet did not hold enough for a very deep draught, but the water it contained took a pleasant sparkle from the warlike metal which shone thro' its shallowness. He said he had dis- posed of his portion on advantageous terms. Next came T. Moore. Yon might have known him by the wild lustre of his eye, and the fine freedom of his air. He gaily dipped his goblet in the tide and vowed in his high spirited manner that he would turn his share to nec- tar. He departed with smiles. I heard the wings play pleasantly in the air, while he was bending over tlie stream. I now perceived a person advancing whom I knew to be SouTHEY. His brow was bound by a wreath of faded laurel which had every mark of town-growth. He ap- peared quite bewildered and scarcely could remember his way to the inspiring stream. His voice was chauntingthe praises of kings and courts as he advanced ; but he dropped some little poems behind him as he passed me which were very opposite in tone to what he himself uttered. He was compelled to stoop before he could reach the water and the gold vessel which he used procured but little at last. He declared that his intention was to make sack of what he had obtained. On retiring he mounted a cream-coloured horse and set off in uneven paces for St. James's. t- Then appeared Rogers with a glass in his hand which, from the cypher engraved thereon had evidently belonged to Oliver Goldsmith. He caught but a few drops and xvi these he meant to make the most of by mingling them with common water. Crabbe with a firm step and steady countenance walked steadily to the stream, and plunged a wgoden bowl into it ; he observed that he should make strong ale for country people of all that he took away, and after the first brewing he should charitably allow Mr. FiTxeERALD to ir.ake small beer for his own use. In a pensive attitude Montgomery sauntered to the waters' brink; he there mused awhile, uttered a few somethings of half-poetry and haif-prayer, dipped a little mug of Sheffield-ware in the wave and retired in tears. With a wild yet nervous step Campbell came from the throng light visions started up in the fair distance as l:e moved, and the figure of Hope could be faintly discerned amidst them. She smiled oh him as he advanced. He dipped his bowl in the stream with a fine bold air and ex- pressed his intention of analizing part of the water that he procured. Next came Hunt with a rich fanciful goblet in his hand, finely enamelled with Italian landscapes, he held the cup to his breast as he approached and his eyes sparkled with frank delight. After catching a wave, in which a sunbeam seemed freshly melted, he intimated that he y', uld water hearts-ease and many favourite flowers with it.- The sky appeared of a deep blue as he was retiring. Lord Strangford would now have advanced but the voice of the Spirit forbad him, as he did not come for the water on his own account. CoLERiDCE, Lamb, and Lloyd, walked forth arm-in- arm and moved gently to the stream. They conversed as they passed on the beauties of the country, on its peace- ful associatioos and on the purity of domestic affections. Tlieir conversation then turned to poetry, and from the simplicity of the remarks of Lloyd and Lamb I found that their very hearts were wedded to innocence and peace. Coleridge talked in a higher strain but he at last confu- sed himself with the abstruseness of his own observations. He hinted at a metaphysical poem which he was about to write in one hundred books. Lamb remarked to him that he should prefer one of his feeling and affectionate sonnets to all his wanderings of mind. Each of these poets held in his hand a simple porringer declaring that it brought the finest recollections of frugal fare and country quiet. Lamb and Lloyd dipped in a bright but rather shallow part of the stream. Coleridge went to the depth, where he might have caught the purest water had he not unfor- tunately clouded it with the sand which he himself distur- bed at the bottom. These three poets left the stream in the same manner as they approached it. Last came a calm and majestic figure moving serenely towards the stream. Tlie celandines and small flowers sprang up to catch the pressure of his feet. The Sun- light fell with a finer glow around, Spirits rustled most mirthfully and musically in the air, and a wing every now and then twinkled into sight (like the Autumn leaf that trembles and flashes up to the Sun) and its feathers of wavy gold were almost too sparkling to be looked upon. 1 he waters of Castaly ran brighter as he approached, xviu and seemed to play and dimple with pleasure at his prc" sence. It was Wordsworth. In his hand he lield a vase of pure crystal and when he had reached the brink of the stream the wave proudly swelled itself into his cup. At this moment the sunny air above his brow became embo- died, and the glowing and lightsome Spirit shone into being, and dropped a garland on his forehead. Sounds etherial swelled, trembled and revelled in the air, and forms of light played in and out of sight, and all around seemed like a living world of breathing poetry. Words- worth bent with reverence over the vase and declared that tlie waters he had obtained should be the refreshment of bis soul. He then raised his countenance which had become illuminated from the wave over which he had bowed and retired with calm dignity. The sounds of stirring wings now ceased, tlie air be- came less bright, and the flowers died away upon the banks. No other poet remained to obtain water from the Castalian stream, but still it sparkled and played along with a soul-like and melodious sound. On a sudden I heard a confusion of tongues behind me. On turning round I found that it arose from a mistaken set of Gentle- men who were chattering and bustling and dipping at a little brook which they deemed was the true Castauan. Their splashing and vociferation and bustle can only be imagined by those who have seen a flock of geese wash themselves in a pond with gabbling importance. There was Spencer, with a goblet lent to him by a Lady of qual- ity, and Hayley simpering and bowing and reaching with a tea-cup at the water, and Wilson with a child's pap- XIX spoon, and Bowles laboriously engaged in filling fourteen nut-shells, and Lewis slowly and mysteriously plunging an old skull into tlie brook, while poor Cotton fumed and angered but scarcely reached the stream at last. There were no encouraging signs in the elements, no delightful sounds of attendant Spirits, no springing up of flowers to cheer these worthies in their pursuit ; they seemed per- fectly satisfied with their own greatness, and were flatter- ed into industry by their own vanity and loudness. After some time the perpetual activity of tongues fatigued my car and I turned myself from the noisy crowd towards the silent heavens. There to my astonished and deliglited eyes appeared Shakespeare surrounded with excessive light, witli Spen ser on one hand and Milton on the otlier. One glance of his eye scared the silly multitude from the brook. Then amidst unearthly music he calmly ascended and was lost in tlie splendours of the sky. At this mo- ment I awoke. The evening was getting chill around me. The breeze was coldly whispering thro* the foliage, and the deer were couching to rest on the spangled grass. I arose, and musing on the wonders of my dream slowly bent my way homewards. J. H. R. SOXGS AND MINOR POEMS. WE MAY ROAM THRO' IBIS WORLD. T. Mwyte. W E may roam tliro' this world like a child at a feast, Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest. And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, We may order our wings, and be off to the west; But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile, Are the dearest gifts that Heaven sui)plies, We never need leave our own Green Isle For sensitive hearts and for sun-bright eyes. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, Thro' this world whether eastward or westward you roam, ^Vhen a cup to the smile of slept. That the ganleu's but cartiessly watcli'd, after all. Oh! they want the wild swcc t-!)riery l\ iice. Whicli round tiie flowers of l',rin ducIN, ^\ hicli warns tlie touch wliile winning tiie sen*e. Nor charms us least when it most repels. Then remember, vherever your goblet is crown'd, Thro' tills world whether eastward or westward you roam, AV^hen a cup to the smile of dear woman f^oes round, Oh ! remember the smile which adorns her at home. In France, when the heart of a woman set sail, On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try. Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail. Hut just pilots her otf, then bids her good bye! While! the daughters of Erin keep the boy Ever-smiling beside his faithful oar. Thro' billows of woe and beams of joy. The same as he look'd when he left the shore. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, Thro' this world whether eastv. ard or westward you roam. When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, Oh! remember tuc smile which adorns )kt at home. THE SOLDIERS UIlEAiM. T. V.tiii)ltl!. OUR bugles sang truce for the ni!;ht-cloud had losv'r'd. And the ccntinel stars set their watch in the sky ; And thousands had sunk oii tiie grouiul ovt r^'on'r'd; The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain; At the deavl of the iu^;'it a sweet vision I sa\v. And tluice ere the morning I dreamt it again. ^lethought fiom the battle-field's dreadful array. Far, fir 1 had roasu'd on a (iesolate track : 'Twas antumn and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcom'd me back. I flew to the pleasant fields travers'd so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledg'd we the wine cup, and fondly I swore, From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. Stay, stay with us rest, thou art weary and worn, And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay JJut sorrow returu'd with the dawning of mom, \nd the voice in my dreaniiug car melted away. THE CyPRtSS WREATH. ti alter Scot I. O LADY twine no wreath for nie, Or twine it of the Cypress Tree ; Too lively glow the lillies light. The varnish'd holly's all too bright, The May flow'r and the eglantine May shade a brow less sad than mine; Rut Lady weave no wreath for nm, Or weave it of the Cypress Tree' Let dimpled mirth his temples twiiift V\ ith tendrils of the lau','hiug vine; Tlic manly oak, the pensive yew, To patriot and to saic be dne ; The myrtle bough bids lovers live But that Matilda would not give! Then Lady twine no wreatli for me, Or twine it of tl>e Cypress Tree I Let merry England proudly rear Her blended roses bought so dear : Let Albin bind her bonnet blue With heath and harebell dipp'd in dew. On fiivour'd Erin's crest be seen The flow'r she loves of emerald green ; But Lady twine no wreath for me, Or twine it of the Cypress Tree! Strike the w'ild harp, while maids prepare The ivy meet for minstrel's hair, And while his crown of laurel-ltavcs With bloody hand the victor weaves ; Let tlie loud trump his triumph tell. But when you hear the passing bell Then Lady twine a wreath for me. And twine it of tlic Cypress Tree ! Yes twine for me the Cypress bough, But O >Iatilda, twine not now ! Stay till a few brief months are past, And I have look'd and lov'd my last. Vv hen villagers my shroud bestrew, W'iiii piiiisios, rosemary, and rue, 'I'Iki) lady weave a wreath for me, Auu weave it of the Cypress Tree! I ENTER THY GARDEN OF ROSJES. Lor4 Byron- I ENTER thy garden of roses, Beloved and fair HmdeC', Each mornhig wliere Flora reposes, For surely I see her in thee. Oil, Lovely! thus low I implore thee, Receive this fond truth from my tongue, Which utters its song to adore thee, Yet tremhles for what it has sung; As the branch, at the bidding of Nature, Adds fragrance and fruit to tlic tree, Tiirouijh her eyes, tlirough her every feature, Shines the soul of the young Haidee. iiut the loveliest garden grows hateful \V hen Love has aljaudon'd the bowers Bring me hemlock^ since mine is ungrateful, Tiiat her!) is more fragrant than flowers. The poison, when pour'd from the chalice. Will dee|)ly embitter the bowl ; IJiit when drunk to escape from thy malice, Tiie (lraii;;iit shall be sweet to my soul. 'I'iio cruel I in vain I imjilore thee My heart from these horrors to save: Will ncjuiflit to my bosom r!sti)re thee? 'J'Ik II oj)!!! the gates of the irrave. As the chief who to combat advances Scciirc ot" his coii(|iu'.st before, Tims tlioii, with those eyes for tliy lances, Ila^t pierc'd through my heart to its core. 6 All, tell me, my soul ! mnst I perish By pangs which a smile would dispel? Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish, For torture repay nie too well? Now sad is the garden of roses, Beloved, but false Haidee! There Flora all wither'd reposes, And mourns o'er thine absence with me. EVELEEN S BOWER. T. Moore. OH! weep for the hour When to Eveleen's bower The Lord of the Valley with false vows came; The moon hid lier Hglit From the Heavens that night. And wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's shame. The clouds past soon From the chaste cold moon, And heav'n smil'd again with her vestal flame ; But none will see the day When the clouds shall pass away. Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame. The white snow lay On the narrow path way Where the Lord of tlie Valley cross'd over the moor ; And many a deep print On the white snow's tint Shew'd the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door. The next sun's ray Soon melted away Er'ry trace on the path where the false Lord came ; But there's a light above, A\ hich alone can remove That stain upon the snow of fair Evelecns fame. THE WOUNDED HUSSAR, 7'. Camphdl. ALONE to the hanks of the dark-rolling Danube, Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er: Oil wiiither, slic cried, hast thou wander'd, my love? Or here dost tliou welter, and bleed on the shore? A\'liat voice did I hear? 'twas my Henry that sigh'd! All mournful she hasten'd, nor wander'd she far, AVhen blecdiujr, and low, on the heath she descried, V>\ the light of tlie moon, her poor wounded Hussar! From Ills bosom that heaved, the last torrent was streaming. And paie vas his visage, deep mark'd with a scar; Ami tlim was that eye, once expressively beaming, That melted in love, and tirat kindled in war! How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at tlie sigiit! Moiv bitter slie we|>t o'er tlie victim of war! Ila^t tliou (-{une, my fond Love, this last sonowfid niglit^ To cheer t!u^ lone heart of your wouiuied Hussar? Thou >hait live, slu- replied, Heaven's mercy reli(;viug Each an^rui'-liiug wound, shall t'orbid me to mourn! Ah, no! the last pang in my bosom is heaving! No light of the morn sluUl to Henry return! 8 Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true! Ye babes of my love that await me afar! His faultering toa;ue scarce could murmur adieu, When he sunk in her ai'ms the poor w ounded Hussar ! THE LEGACY. T. Moore. WHEN in death I shall calm recline, O bear my heart to my mistress dear ; Tell her it liv'd upon smiles, and wine Of the brightest hue, while it linger'd here: Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow To sully a heart so brilliant aud light ; But balmy drops from the red grape borrow, To bathe the relic from morn to night. When the liglit of my song is o'er, Then take my harp to your ancient hall ; Hang it up at that friendly door Were weary travellers love to call: Then if some Bard, who roams forsaken, Revive its soft note in passing along. Oh! let one thought of its master waken Your warmest smile for the child of Song. Keep this cup, which is now o'crflowing. To grace your revel when I'm at rest; Never, oh! never, its balm bestowing On lips that beauty liatii seldom blest! But when some warm devoted lover To her he adores shall bathe its brim, u oh! then my spirit around shall hover, And hallow each drop that foams for him. XIL OF EUIN. T. Campbell. THERE came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin, The dew on liis thin robe was heavy and chill: Tor his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing To wander alone by the wind-leaten hill. But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion. Tor it rose o'er liis own native isle of the ocean, \\ liere once, in the lire of liis youthful emotion. He sang the bold antliem of Erin go bragh. Sad is my fate! said tlie heart-broken stranger, The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee; But I have no refuge from famine and danger, A liome and a country remain not to me. Never again, in tin; green sunny bower*;, A\ here my toretatlier's liv'd, shall I spend the swc(;t liour"-. Or (.-over my liarj) with th(? wild-woven flowers, Ami stiiki- to tiie luimbers of l^rin go liragli! I'l'iii my couni'.y! tlioug'n sad and forsaken! In ilreaiiis 1 re\ivit tliy sca-'oeatcn shore; But ala>! in a far toreign land I awaken. And si^'li for the iVicnds who can m(;el me no more! Oil cruel late! wilt thou nt'ver rejilace me In a nr.in>i(iii of [nacc -\\li'iiall live, hut every morrow Wake us from a widow'd bed. Ami ulicii thou woul(l>t solace gather, \\ licii our cliild's liisl acc( i.ts flow \\ ill tlidii tiacii her to sav " liitliei !" 'I'lio' Ills ciiic slic mii.''t forc'o' 12 When her little hands shall press thee, When her lip to thine is prest, Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee. Think of him thy love had bless'd! Should her lineaments resemble Those thou never more may'st see, Then thy heart will softly tremble Witij a pulse yet true to me. All my faults perchance thou knowest, All my madness none can know ; All my hopes, where'er thou goest, Wither yet with tlice they go. Every feeling hath been shaken ; Pr'ule, which not a world could bow, Bows to thee by thee forsaken ; Even my soul forsakes me now : P,ut 'tis done all words are idle Words from me iU'C vainer still ; But tlic thougl'.ts we cannot bridle Force their way without the will, Tare tlice well! tliu=! disunited, 'J'orn from every nearer tie, Keaicd in heart, and lone, and !)lighted More than tliis I scarce can die. 13 FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AM> TRl'TH. Montgomtrij, \\'IIEN '-Friendship, Love, and Truth" abound Among a hand of Brothers, The cup of joy goes gaily round, Each shares the bliss of others : Sweet roses grace the thorny way Along this vale of sorrow : The llowers that shed their leaves to-day Shall bloom again tomorrow: How grand in age, how fair in youth. Are holy "Friendship, Love, and 'J'ruthI On halcyon wings our moments pass, Life's cruel cares beguiling; Old Tinjo lays down his scythe and gla'^^; In gin good humour smiling: U lib ermine beard and forelock grey. His reverend front adorninir, \\v looks like M inter turn'd to ^lay, Niglit soften'd into morning! Hou tiand in a::e, how f.iir in youth, Are holy "Friendship, Love, a;id Truth '" From tlu"-e (hlL'litl'nl fountains flow Anihro^la! lilis ot" pleiisurc: Can man (Ir^ire, can Heaven bestow, A iii'TC resi'lendenf treasuicr ^I!^l!''i \\.!li i;t'iiis so ri< lily bii:;h1, \i ( li foiiii a Constellation, 14 Where every Star, with modest light, Shall fjild his proper station. How o;raiul in age, how fair in youth. Are holy "Friendship, Love, and Truth!" THE RECLUSE. f!'. Header, Jim. OH! come thou not near my hallow'd liomc. Tlio' thy bosom's as lair as ocean's foam ; Tho' tliy voice to my ear sheds wizard chime. Like the wild wistfid lay of a former time; Yet come thou not near my hallow'd cell, For thou art not she who sliould break my spell. Tlio' thou art so like the girl I knew, i'liat my mem'ry loses her form in you; Tho' the page of tliy heart may be fair and true. As the heart slie gave me once to view; Yet come thou not near my hallow'd cell, For thou art not slie who shouid break my spell. Oh! that bosom be thine, if fair its hue; Andtl;ine be that heart, if the heart is true; And list to tlie voice, if thou lov'st it's chime, For thou liast heard it in former time : And take nw liomc to thy liailow'd cell, 'I'he only shc\\lio can break thy s];eil. The stars in t'.ie lake sliinc pale, and blue, And the stag he is couch'd amid the moup.tain dew 15 The moss-cover'd paths night shadows o'et , But the lady returns from tlie wilds no more ; He has taken her home to his hallow'd cell, The only she who could break his spell. WELLINGTON S NAME. T. Moore. WHILE History's Aluse the memorial was keeping Of all that the dark hand of Destiny w eaves, Beside iiei the Clenius of Erin stood weeping, For hers was the story ti\at blotted the leaves. But, oh! how the tear in her eyelids i;rew brii^ht, \V'hen, after whole pa^es of sorrow and sliame, She saw History write AV ith a pencil of light, riiaf illmn'd all tlie volume, her Wellington's name! " I Jail, Star of my Isle ! " said the Sj)irit, all sparkiinhonourinjr blot 'On the wreath that encircles my U'i:i,i.i.\gton's name! ' And still the last crown ot" tliv toils is remainiiiir, ' ri'.i- L'iaii'lcsf, llic pure-t e'en thou hast \i't known; 'Tiio' [M-();id v\;ts thy t;;-k, otiier nations uis.li-ainintr, ' \':n prtMHler to heal the deep wounde of thy owa. 16 " At the foot of that throne, for whose weal thou hast stood, " Go plead for the land that first cradled thy fame " And bright o'er the flood " Of her tears and her blood " Let the rainbow of Hope be her Wellington's name ! IXIMAN MELODY. If. Header, Jun, NIGHT is falling o'er the dark heath, Our wild path looks drear; Winds are howling round the couch of death ; Rain patters o'er the bier. Few, ah ! few have parted from the red moor. Where we fought the dcathful fray ; And whilst we chant thy fome o'er, Scarce a voice shall swell the lay. The beam of thy youth has shone ; We shall bear thee to thy hills; Tliy fi\Icon eyes are dim, and wan. And our lips thy cold cheek chills. When the dun-deer starts at evening's wind. Thro' his branchy horns that sighs ; Vv'licn near liim cow'rs the timid hind, And scarcely breathing lies; When the broad moon redd'ning thro' the mists shall rl'-c. Let thy dim form be near; Let a smile be in those pale eyes, Tliy drooping friends to cheer. 1^ N'o sound in thy desolate halls Shall break the twilight gloom ; But the ravens in their dank walls Shall find a boding home. VVANDEIUNG WILLIE. U'alUr ScQtt, ALL joy was bereft nie the day that you left me, And climbed tlie tall vessel to sail yon wide sea; O weary bctulc it! I wandered beside it, And banned it for parting my Willie and me. Tar o'er the wave hast tliou followed thy fortune, Oft fought tlic squadrons of Fiance and of Spain; Ac kiss of welcome's worth twenty at parting, Now I hae gotten my Willie again. When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were wailing, I sat on the beach wi* the tear in my e'o, And thought o' tlie bark where my Willie was sailing. And wished that the tempest could a' blaw on me. Now that tliy gallant ship rides at her mooring, Now that my wanderer's in safety at hamc, ^lusic to me were the wildest winds roaring, 'Jhat ( 'er o'er Inch Keitli drove the dark ocean facm. When the liglits they did blaze, and the guns they did ratllp, And blithe was each heart for Die great victory, In secret I wept for the dangers of battle, And t!i y glory itself was scarce comfort to mc. 18 But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen. Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar ; And, trust me, I'll smile, thous;h my een they may glisten ; For sweet after dangers the tale of the war. And oh, how we doubt when there's distance 'tween lovers, When there's naething to speak to the heart thro* the e'e ; How often the kindest, and warmest, prove rovers. And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea. Till, at times, could I help it? I pined and I pondered, If love could change notes like the bird on the tree Now, I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wandered. Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me. Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel, Hardsliips and danger despising for fame. Furnishing story for glory's bright annul, Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame ! Enough now thy story in annals of gloiy Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain; No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou leave m^, I never will part with my Willie again. THE pirate's song. J.ord Byrmi. O'ER tjie glad waters of the dark blue sea. Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, . Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam. Survey our empire and behold our iiome! Tiu'sp iiie our rpalms, no limits to their sway Our iiag the sceptre all who meet obey. 19 Ours the wild life in tumult stiil to range From toil to rest, and joy in every change. Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave! M'hose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave ; Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and easel Whoui slumber soothes not pleasure cannot please Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried, And damped in triumph o'er the waters wide, The exulting sense the pulse's maddening play, 1 Imt thrills tlie wanderer of that trackless way? That for itself can woo the ap])roaching fight, And turn what some deem danger to delight; That seel s what cnivens shun with more than zeal. And where the feoUier faint can only feel Feci to the ris'nl narrow cave,. 20 And they who loatlied his life may gild his grave : Ours are. the tears, though few, sincerely shed, When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres onr dead. For us, even banquets fond regret supply In the red cup that crowns our memory ; And the brief epitaph in danger's day, When those who win at lengtli divide the prey, And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow, How had the brave who fell exulted now! 'tis gone and for ever. 7'. Afoorr. TIS gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking, Like Heaven's first dav/n o'er tlie sleep oftho dead. When man, from the slumber of agt's awaking, Look'd upward and bless'd the pure ray, ere it fled! 'Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning, But deepen the long night of bondage and mourning, That dark o'er the kingdoms of Ciirth is rciuruiug, And, darkest of all, hapless Erin! o'er thee. For high was thy hope, when those glories were dartinj Around tiiee,thro' all the gross clouds of the world; When Truth from fier fetters indignantly starting, At once, like a snn burst, Ltr I)anner unfurl'd. Oh, never shall earth see a moment so splendid! Then, then, had one Hymn of Deliverance blended The tongues of all nations, how sweet had ascended The first m.te of Liberty, Erin! from lliec. 21 But, shame on those tyrants, who envied the blessing? And shame on the light race, unworthy its good, Who, at Death's reekinij altar, like furies caressing " The young hope of Freedom, bapliz'd it in blood! Then vanish'd for ever that fair, sunny vision, Which, spite of tlic slavish, the cold heart's derision^ Shall long be remember'd, pure, bright, and elysian, As first it arose, my lost Erin! on thee. NAPOLEON S FARE^\TELL. JJird Byron, FAREWELL to the land, where the gloom of my glory Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her name She abandons me now, but the page of her story, The briuhtest or blackest, is filled witli my fame. I hjivc warred with a world wiiich vanquished me only Wlien the meteor of conquest allured me too far; I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely. The last single caplive to millions in war. Farewell to tlioe, France! v. hen thy diadem crown'd me, I made thee the tjem and the wondtu' of earth, IJi't thy weakness decrees I siiouid leave as I found thee, Decayed in thy irlory, and t-uiik in thy worth. Oh! for the veteran heaits that were ^^asted In strife with tlte storm, when their battles were won Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted^ iiad stiil soared with eyes fixed on victory's sun! 22 Farewell to thee, France! but when Liberty ralHes Once more in thy regions, remember me then The violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys; Tliough withered, thy tears will nnfold it again Y<3t, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surronnd us, And yet may tliy heart leap awake to my vv'ic^ There are links which must break in the chain that hath bonnd us, Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice f THERE 3 NOT A JOY THE WORtD CAN GIVE. Lord lirjron. THFRE*S not a joy the world can give like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay ; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the Mush alone, which fades so fa-t, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere yonth itself be pa&t. Then the fs^w wliose spirits float above the wreck of hap- piness, Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess : The magnet of their course is oue, or ouFy points in vaiu The sh'.re to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself com^s down ; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own; Tliat heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And tho' the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice ap- pears. Tlio' wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest ; *Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath, AH green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey be- neath. Oh could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene: As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish tho' they be, So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me. THE FAUEWEI.L TO MY HARP. T. Moore. DEAR Harp of my Country ! in darkness I found thee. The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long. When proudly, my own Island Harji! I unbound thee, And gave all tliy chords to light, freedom, and song! ftte warm lay of loVe and the light note of gladness Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill ; But so oft hast thoti echoed the deep sigh of sachicss, That cv'n in thy ihirth it will steal from thee still. Dear Harp of my Conntry ! farewell to thy nimibers, This sweet wreath of song is the last we siiall twine ; Go, sleep, with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers, Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than mine. If tile pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone; J was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over. And all the wild sweetness I vVak'd was tliy own I AND TIIOX! ART DEAD. lord B'-noiK AND thou art dead, as young and fair As aught of mortal birth; And form so soft, and charms so rare, Too soon returned to Earth! Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed, And o'er the spot the croud may tread In carelessness cr mirth, "^rhere is an eye which conld not brook A moment ou that grave to look. I will not ask where thca licst low, Nor gaze upon the spot ; "There flowers or wci'ds at will raiy grow, Sol behold tJ(C;nnoh 25 It is enough for me to prove Tliat what I lov'd and long mnst love Like common earth can rot ; To me there needs no stone to tell 'Tis Nothing that I lov'd^o well. Yet did I love thee to the last As fervently as thou, Who didt not change through all the past, And canst not alter now. The love where Death has set his seal, >ior age can chill, nor rival steal, Nor falsehood disavow : And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault iu me. Tiie better days of life were ours 5 The worst can he but mine: Tlie sun that cheers, the storm that lowers. Shall never more be thine. Tlie silence of that dreamless sleep I envy now too much to weep ; Nor need I to repine That all those charms have pass'd away : I liiisrlit have watch'd througli long decay. Tiie flower in ripen'd bloom unniatch'd Must fall the oarllost prey, Though by no hand untimely suatch'd. The leaves must drop away : 26 And yet it were a greater grief To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, Than see it pluck'd to day ; Since earthly eye but ill can bear To trace the change to foul from fair. I know not if I conld have borne To see thy beauties fade ; The night that follow'd snch a mom Had worn a deeper shade : Thy day without a cloud hath past, And thou wert lovely to the last ; Extinguish'd, not decay'd ; As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high. As once I wept, if I could weep, My tears might well be shed. To think I was not near to keep One vigil o'er thy bed ; To gaze, how fondly ! on thy face, To fold thee in a faint embrace, Uphold thy drooping head ; And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again. Yet how much less it were to gain, Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest thmgs that still remain. Than thus reiuember thee ! The all of iliine that cannot die 27 Through dark and dread Eternity Returns again to me, And more thy buried love endears Than aught, except its living years. ON THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORK, AitOHymnHS. ^OT a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, As his corse to the rami)art we hurried ; ifot a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero was buried. Ve buried hi>n darkly at doad of nijrht, The sods with our bayonets furiiiii.', ?y the struf^glinj^ moon-beam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. So useless coffin enclosed his breast. Nor in sheet nor i>i shioud wo bound him; But he lay like a wanior taking his rest, With his nrartiai cluak aiound him. Few and sliort were the i)rHyers wv said, And sve sjxtke ui/t a wnd in 'orryw ; But we st'idta-^ly ri/,:-.! on ri.e iaci- of the dead, And we bitteily thoi.giil on the morrow. We thou).^ht, as we hollowed his narrow bed. And sniooth'd down his lorudy pillow, That th*^, foe and tiie str-irL,'! v aulj tread o'er his head. And wc far away ou tlic btliow. 28 Lightly theyll talk of the Spirit that's gone, And o'er liis cold asiies iipbraid him, Bnt nothing he'll reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has iaid him. Bnt half of our heavy task was done, When the clock toU'd the hour for retiring; And we heard by the distant and random gun, That the foe was suddenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory : We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory. Sir John Moore, was killed by a eannon shot in the momeat of victory, at the battle of Coninna, Jan. llth, 1809. lie was buried the siune nii;ht on the r unparts of the Citadel of Corunna, a few tours before the British iroops embarked. ON THE EXECUTION OF GENERAL LACY, A no, ly mom, O MOURN not the hero with pitiful soriow. Or sully his niom'ry by weeping; But wild throbs of freedom indignantly bor; )-* From hearts that in glory are sleeping! His injuries stamp'd on the souls of the br ive, Thei: i'ree-born emotions to cherish, O mark not the awe-striking site of his grave With symbols that ever can perish' 2> But there let him lie ip his greatness alone, With the adainant rock for lijs pillow, And mourn'd thro' all time by the treiuulous moam. That conies from the shore stricken biilow. I There winds tiiat know none bnt Almighty controul Shall rage in dt'lighted commotion, I And waters shall johi in high dirge fur a soul, i As free as the masterless ocean. I His name tliey shall carry to regions accvirst, The stillness of slavery breaking ; j Till, in liberty's shunts of delight it shall burst j From nations in glory awaking. i I General Lacy, niiv h distinguished himself as a Patriot General i jhirins; the 5 of I8U4. ' Til* forctt of OU'iunorf i? hxmited by a jpii-it mIIciI riianKje.n^, Oi 1. 34 > Souls oi" the mighty ! wake and say , ."To what high strain your liarps were strung, " When Lochlin plouglied her t)illowy way, "And on your shores her Norsemen flunt;? " Her Norsemen, trained to spoil and blood, "Skilled to prepare the raven's food, " All by your harpin Culloden is lost, and my country deplores. i But where is tlie iron-bound prisoner? Where? For the red eje of battle is shut in despair. , Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banisli'd, forlorn, Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn? Ah no! for a darker departure is near; The war-drum is muffled, and' black is the bier; His death-bell is tolHng ; oh ! mercy dispel, Yon sight, tliat it freezes my spirit to tell ! life Hutters convuls'd in his quivering limbs. And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. Accurs'd be the faggots, tiiat blaze at his feet, M'here his heart shall be tlirown, ere it ceases to beat, With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale LOCH ILL. Down, soothlcss insiilter! I trust not the tale: For never shall Albin a destiny meet, So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat. Though my perishing ranks should be strew'd in their gore, Like ocean-weeds heap'd on the surf-beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains. While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low. With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe! And leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. ^ TO THE INVISIBLE filRl. T. Moore. THEY try to persuade my dear little sprite. That you're not a daughter of ether and light, . ; Nor have any concern Avith those fanciful forms, WIjo dance upon rainbows, and ride upon storms; r That, in short, you're a woman, your lip and your breast As mortal as ever were tasted and prest! JJut I will not believe it No, Science ! to you I have long bid a Jast, aijd a careless adieiu; Still Hying from nature to study her laws, And dulling delight, by exploring its cause, You forget how superior for mortals below Is the liction they dream to the trntli that they knoM . Oh ! wlio that has ev(ir ivad rapture complete, AVould ask how we feel it, or why it is sweet; How rays are confui'd, or how particles fly Through tlip medium refin'd of a glance or a sigh Is there one who but once woidd not ratlier have known it, Thau written, with Harvey, whole volumes upon it? No, n(j but for you, my invisible love, I will swear you are one of those spirits that rove By the bank, where at twilight the poet reclines, AV'hon the star of the wttst on his solitude shines, And the magical fingers of I'ancy have Innig F.vcry br{'ey;(' with a sigh, (;vcry leaf witli a tongue. (>h! whisper him then, 'tis retirement alone Can hallow his harp, orei;noble its tone! T,ike you. with a veil of seclusion bf^tween, His song to the world let him utter unseen. 4 And nke yon, a legitimate child of the spheres, Escape from the eye to enrapture the ears ! Sweet agent of mystery ! how I should love. In the wearisome ways I am fated to rove, For ever to have you invisibly nigh, Inhaling for ever your song and your sigh ! Mid the crowds of the world, and the marmnrs of care, I could sometimes converse with my Nymph of the Air, And turn with delight from the clamorous crew, To steal in the panses one whisper from ^ou. Oh come and be near me, for ever be mine! We shall hold in the air a communion divine. As pure as, of old, was imagin'd to dwell In the grotto of Numa or Socrates' cell : And oft, at those lingering moments of night, Where the heart is weigh'd down, and the eye-lid is light, You shall come to my pillow, and tell me of love. Such as angel to angel might whisper above ! Oh spirit ! and then, could you borrow the tone Of that voice, to my ear so bewitchingly known, Tiie voice of the one upon earth, who has twin'd Witli her essence for ever my heart and my mind ; Though lonely, and far from the light of her smile, An exile, and wearj', and hopeless the while, Coukl you shed for a moment her voice on mine ear, I will think at tliat moment my Clara is near ; That she comes, with consoling enchantment to speak. And kisses my eyelid, and sighs on my cheek, And tells me the night shall go rapidly by, For the dawn of our hope, of oar heaven, is nigh? 41 Sweet spirit! if such be yonr Magical power, It will lighten the lapse of full many an hour, And, let fortune's realities frown as they will, Hope, Fancy, and Clara may smile for me tiU. HOHENUNDEN. T CampbeH. ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow. And dark as whiter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night. Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenerv . By torch and trumpet fast array'd, Kach horseman drew his battle blade, And furious every charger neigh'd, To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riv'u, Tlien rush'd the steed to battle driv'n. And louder tiuui the bolts of heaven, Far iiash'd tlie red artiUerv, 42^ But redder yet that light shall gloVr, On Linden's liills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn, bnt scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery, Hun, Shout in their gulph'rous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, AVho rush to glory, or the grave! AVave, IMunich! all thy banners wave! And charge with all thy chivalry! Few, few, shall part where many meet! The snow shall be their winding sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. ON A. ELA( K MARI!I-E BOWL THAT BKI.OXGIiU TO lURNS. . Ifraint. \Vrni rcios crown the ALuotsiE and Gr^me; A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at their glory, And hallow the goblet that flows to their fame ! OJI THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARK ALWAYS AS LIGHT. OH! think not my spirits are always as light. And as free from a pang, as they seem to you now; Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night Will return with to-morrow to brigliten ray brow: No, lift! is a waste of wearisome hours, Whicii seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; ^Ild the heart that is soonest awake to the flown 5 I> aUvavs the first to be touch'd by the thorns! 54 But send romiil the bowl, and be happy awhile; May we never meet worse in our pilgrimage here Than the tear that enjoyment can gild with a smile. And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear! The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows! If it were not with friendship and love intertwin'd; And 1 care not how soon I may sink to repose, When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my mind ! But they who have lov'd the fondest, the purest, Too often have wept o'er the dream they believ'4; And the heart, that has slumber'd in friendship securest, Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceived. But send round the bowl; while a relic of truth Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine That the sunshine of Love may illumine our youth, And Ihc moonlight of Friendship console our decUiic! WHEN HE WHO ADORES THEE. T. Mnnre. ^fHEN he who adores thee has left but the name Of his fault and his sorrows behind, Oh! say, wilt thou weep wlien they darken the fame Of a life that for thee was resign'd? Yes, weep! and, however my foes may condemn, Tiiy tears shall efface their decree; For Heaven can witness, tlio' guilty to them, I hiive been but too faithful to thee! XVith thee were tlie dreams of my earliest love, Every thought of my reason was thine : In my last humble pray'r to the Spirit above, Thy name shall be mingled witli mine ! Oh! bless'd are the lovers and friends who shall live The days of thy glory to see; But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give Is the pride of thus djing for thee. FRIENDS FAR AWAY. Horace Tni "COUNT not the hours, while tiieir silent wings Thus waft them in fairy Hight; For Feeling, warm from her purest nprings, Shall hallow the scene to nigjit: And while the magic of joy is here, And the colours of life are gay. Let us think on those that have lov'd us dear Tlie friends who are far away. I'cw are the hearts, t!:at have proved the truth Of tiieir early afiection's vow: And let those few, the i)elovcii of youth, Be (ioiir in their ?,l)s.^nce now. (>!,! viiid loii;:^^ in the faitliful breast, iSliall the gleam of reinenibranre play, Like ti.e liiig'ring light on the crimson M'cst, U hen the sunbeam has pase'd a\\a% ! 5G Soft be the sleep of their pleasant houi'8> And cahn be the seas they roam ! May the way they travel be strew'd witli flow'rs, Till it bring them in safety home ! And if u'Cy whose hearts are o'erflowing thus, Ourselves should be doom'd to stray, May some kind orison rise for us, When we shall be far away ! LINES, Written on visiting a scene in Abgyleshire. T. CampbtU. AT the silence of twilight's contemplative hour, 1 have mus'd in a sorrowful mood, Oil the wind-shaken weeds tliat embosom the bowerj Where the home of my forefathers stood. All ruin'd and wild is their roofless abode, And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree ; And travell'd by few is the grass cover'd road, AViiere the hunter of deer and the warrior trode To his hills that encircle the sea. Yet wandering, I fotmd on my ruinous walk, By the dial-stone aged and green, One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk, To mark where a garden had been. Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race. All wild in the silence of Nature, it drew. 57 From each wandering son-beam, a lonely embrace ; For the night-weed and thorn overshadowed the place, "Where the flower of my forefathers grew. Sweet bud of the wilderness! emblem of all That remains in tliis desolate heart! The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall ; But patience shall never depart! Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright^ In the days of delusion by fancy combin'd, With the vanishing phantoms of love and deliglit, Aljandon my soul like a dream of the night, And leave but a desert behind. Bf hush'd, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns W'lien the faint and the fee!)lc deplore; Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems A tliousand wild waves on the shore ! Througli the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain, '^lay thy front be unaltered, thy courage elate! \'e:i! even tlie name I liavc worshipp'd in vain ">ha!! awake not the sigh of rcnictubran'jc again; To bear i^ to conquer our fate. 58 FI.T NOT YET. T. Moore. FLY not yet, 'tis just the hour When pleasure, like the midnight flower, That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night. And maids who love the moon! 'Twas but to bless these hours of shade That beauty and the moon were made ; 'Tie then their soft attractions glowing Set the tides and goblets flowing! Oh! stay, oh! stay, Joy so seldom weaves a chain Like this to night, that, oh ! 'tis pain I'o break its links so soon. Fly not yet; the fount that play'd. In times of old, thro' Amnion's shade. Tho' icy cold by day it ran. Yet still, like souls of mirth, began To burn when night was near; And thus should woman's heart and look' At noon be cold as winter-brooks, Nor kindle till the night, returning. Brings their genial hour for burning ! Oh! stay, oh! stay, When did morning ever break, And find su(;h beaming eyes awake As those that sparkle here! 59 NATURE. Anoni/moitf, 1 LOVE to set me on some steep, That overhangs the billowy deep, And hear the waters roar; I love to see the big waves fly, And swell their bosoms to the sky^ Then burst upon the shore. I love when seated on its brow, To look o'er all the world below, And eye the distant vale ; From thence to see the waving corn. With yellow hue the hills adorn, Bow to the rising gale. I love far downward to behold The shepherd with his bleating fold. And hear the tinkling sound Of little bell and siiepherd's lute, Wafted on zephyr's soft, now ninte, 'J'hen swell in echoes round. I love to range the \ alleys too, And towering hills from tlience to view, A\'liich rear their heads on high, \\'li( II nought besid(! around is y((j\ TJul one extended vale lutucfn, And overhead the skv. 60 I love to see, at close of day, Spread o'er the hills the sun's bright ray, While rolling down the west; AVhen every cloud in rich attire, And half the sky that seems on fire, In purple robes is dress'd. I love, when evening veils tlie day. And Luna shines with silver ray, To cast a glance around, And see ten thousand worlds of light Shine ever new and ever bright O'er the vast vault profound. I love to let wild Fancy stray. And walk the spangled Milky Way, Up to the shining height, Where thousand thousand burning rays iMingle in one eternal blaze. And charm the ravlsh'd sight. I love from thence to take my flight Far downward on the beams of light. And reach my native plain, Just as the flaming Orb of day. Drives night, and mists, and shades away. And lights the world again. 61 A poet's tomb. Horace Tulss, THOUGH my visions of life are soon to depart, Yet slj!;li not, dear Helen! thus deeply for nre: The ling'rinn; pulsations that throb in my heart Are only its fond apprehensions for thee. Oh! sad are the perils that compass thy way, For a season of sorrow and darkness is nigh : "When the glow-worm appears at the close of the day, Her lustre betrays her, aud dooms her to die. For me, love! no sv.eetwasting odours shall l)iirn, No marble invoke tlice to dock it with flow'rs; My ashes shall rest in a crystalline urn, And that urn be abroad in tlys sun and tlie sliow'rs. It shall lightly be swept by the cool-blowing gale, When the gay-coloured evening shines cheert'uliy tiiroui'.li : Around it the shadows of twilight shall sail, And the mists of the morning embalm it in dew. Sweet girl! may thy relics be laid in that shrine! For though death, we arc told, is unconscious of lo^c, \'vt it soothes me to hope they may mingle with n.inc, As (iiir spirits will minute for ever above. \nd il", when the race of our bciritr is nin. Any record renrdin of the loves ihist we boic. Our story shall be, that in life; wf; were v.r.f, And in dying we irief, to be parted no luore. 62 ON PARTINC. Lord Byron, THE kiss, dear maid ! thy lip has left, Shall never part from mine, Till happier hours restore the gift Untainted back to tliine. Thy parting glance, which fondly beams. An equal love may see ; ITie tear that from thine eyelid streanjs Can weep no change in me. I ask no pledge to make me blest In gazing when alone ; Nor one memorial for a breast, Whose thoughts are all thine own. Nor need I write to tell the tale My pen were doubly weak : Oh ! what can idle words avail, Unless the heart could speak ? By day or night, in weal or woe, That heart, no longer free. Must bear the love it cannot show, And silent ache for thee. 63 THE ONG OF A SCOTTISH EMIGRANT. Horace Tuiss, THE shadows are stealing on forest and brake, And again the chill desert is heavy with dew : And still the wide waves of the wearisome lake Roll, dim thro' the mist, on the heart-sick'ning view. Still, still, from the dawn till the last fading light, By the shores of Ontario I wander alone ; But the dream of fair Scotland has cheer'd me by night. And her plaid wrapp'd me warm on my pillow of stons. Yet not the long deserts, nor chill-falling damp. Have struck to my heart desolation so deep, As the ravage that swept through our colony's camp, When the Indians beset us in silence and sleep. Lost friends of my youth ! why escaped I alone. To traverse the dark heath, and listen behind, While the yell of the Cannibals drown'd your death-groan, And the fires of their banquet blazed high in the wind! How many, unconscious, in Scotland's sweet bow'rs, Even now breathe a pray'r for the friends who have roved 1 On the spots where we linger'd tliey cherish the flow'rs, And sing, in the evening, the songs that we loved ! Away, ye vain pliantoms of tender regret! Too fondly, too madly, ye crowd on my brain! Oh! no, do not fade I will welcome you yet, In your wild-fleeting visions of rapture and pain! 64 Eveu here, lovely Scotland! in want and in woe, With a proud recollection I muse upon thee ; For thy spirit is pure as thy mantle of snow, And firm as thy rocks that embosom the sea. ^lay the waters of Time, while their current shall pour, Ever nourish thy laurels, and brighten their hue ! ]May Frieudsliip and Feeling still hallow tliy shore. And the loves of thy children be tender and true ! Ol R PRINCE S DAY. T. Mnoir. "^i'lHO' dark are our sorrows, to day we'll for;;^et them, -Vnd smile thro' our tears, like a sun-beam in showers ; '] here never were hearts, if our rulers would let them, More form'd to be grateful and blest than ours ! But just when the chain Has ceas'd to pain, And hope has enwreath'd it round with flowers. There comes a new link Our spirit to sink ! Oh ! the joy that we taste, like the light of the poles, Is a flash amid darkness, too brilliant to stay; But tho' 'twere the last little spark in our souls, We must light it up now, on our Prince's Day. Coiitcm[)t on the minion, who calls you disloyal! Tho' fierce to your foe, to Vour friends you are true ; And the tribute most hih to a head that is royal, Is love from a heart, that loves liberty too. 65 While cowards, who blight Your fame, your right. Would shrink from the blaze of the battle array; The standard of green In front would be seen. Oh ! my life on your faith! were you summon'dthis minvte, You'd cast every bitter remembrance away, And shew what the arm of old Erin has in it, When rous'd by the foe, on her Prince's Day. He love's the green isle, and his love is recorded In hearts, which have sutfer'd too much to forget; And hope shall be crown'd, and attachment rewarded. And Erin's gay jubilee shine out yet! The gem may be broke By many a stroke, But nothing can cloud its native ray ; Each fragment will cast A light to the last. And thu!>, Erin, my country ! tho' broken tho\i art, There's a lustre within thee, that ne'er will decay ; A sjririt that beams thro' each sufCering jiart, \nd now smiles at their pain, on the Prince's Dav ! 06 THE GROTTO. Sheridan. UNCOUTH is this moss-covered Grotto of stone. And damp is the shade of this dew-dropping tree : Yet I this rude grotto with rapture will own ; And, Willow, thy damps are refreshing to me. For this is the grotto where Fanny reclin'd, As late I in secret her confidence sought ; And this is the tree kept her safe from the wind, As blushing she heard the grave lesson I taught. Then tell me, thou Grotto of moss-covered stone, And tell me, thou Willow, with leaves dropping dew, Did Fanny seem vex'd When Horatio was gone, And did she confess her resentment to you ? Methinks now each bough, as you're waving it, tries To whisper a cause for the sorrow I feel ; To hint how she frown'd, when I dar'd to advise. And sigh'd, when she saw that I did it in zeal. True, true, silly leaves, so she did, I allow ; She frown'd but no rage in her looks could I sec ; She frown'd but reflection had clouded her brow 5 She sighed but perhaps 'twas in pity to nici m Tlien wave thy leaves brisker, thou Willow of woe, I tell thee no rage in her looks could I see ; I cannot, I will not believe it was so Slie was not, she could not be angry with me. 1 or well did she know that my heart meant no wrong, It sunk at the thought but of giving her pain; IJiit trusted its task to a faultering tongue, Which en'd from the feelings it could not explain. \H oh ! if indeed I've offended the maid, If Fanny my humble monition refuse, .Sweet Willow ! the next time she visits thy shade. Fan gent'y her bosom, and plead my excuse. And thou, stony Grot! in thy arch may'st preserve Two lingering drops of the night-fallen dew. And just let them fall at her feet and they'll serve As tears of my sorrow entrusted to you. Or, k'>t they unheeded should fall at her feet, I^t tiiem fall on her bosom of snow; and I swear, Thp next time I visit thy moss-covered seat, I'll pay thee each dro|) in a genuine tear. So may's! thou, green Willow, for ages thus toss Thy branches so lank, o'er this slow winding stream ; \ii(l thou, stony (Jrotto, retain all thy moss, H'liile yet there's a poel to make thee his theme. 68 Nay more May my Fanny stLU give you her charms Each evening, and sometimes tlie whole evening long; Then, Grotto, be proud to support her white arms, And, Willow, wave all thy green tops to her song. A WISH. Rogers^ MINE be a cot beside the hill, A bee-hive's hum shall sooth my ear; A willowy brook, that turns a mill. With many a fall shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch. Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest. Around my ivy'd porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew y And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing In russet gown and apron blue. The village-church, among the trees, Where first our marriage-vows were given. With raerry peals shall swell the breeze, Aud point with taper spire to heaven. 69 THIS LIFE IS ALL CHEQUERED. T. Moore, THIS life is all chequer'd with pleasures and wocSj That chase one another like waves of the deep, Each billow, as brightly or darkly it flows, Ueflecting our eyes, as they sparkle or weep. So closely our whims on our miseries tread. That the laugh is awak'd, ere the tear can be dried ; Ar.i' a fast as the rain-drop of Pity is shed. The goose-plumage of Felly can turn it aside. I'ut pledge me the cup if existence would cloy, \V itii hearts ever happy, and heads ever wise, lie ours the light grief, that is sister to joy, And the .short brilliant folly, that flaslies and dies! . Witen Hylas was sent with his urn to the fount, Thro' fields full of sun-shine, with heart full of play, Light rnmbl'-'d the boy over meadow and mount, And neglected his task for the flowers on the way. 'I'lnis some who like me, should have drawn and have tasted The towntain, tliat runs by philosophy's shrine, Their time with the tlowcrs on the margin hive wasted, Ami ieft tlicir light iinis all as wnpty as mine! 1 1 111 pledge mc the go!)!et while Idleness weaves Her flowerets together, if VS'isdom can sec One bright drop or two, that has t'.dl'n on the leaves Krom her fountain divine, 'tis sr.fliciont forme. 70 HUNTING SONG. Walter Scott. WAKEN lords and ladies gay, On tbe mountain dawns tlie day, All the jolly chace is here, With hawk and horse, and hunting spear ; Hounds are in their couples yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, Merrily, merrily, mingle they, " Waken lords and ladies gay. " Waken lords and ladies gay, The mist has left the mountain gray, Springlets in the dawn are streaming, Diamonds on the brake are gleaming ; And foresters have busy been, To track the buck in thickef green ; N*w wc come to chaunt our lay, " Waken lords and ladies gay. " Waken lords and ladies gay, To the green wood haste away ; We can shew you where he lies, Fleet of foot, and tall of size. We can shew the marks he made, A' hen 'gainst the oak iiis antlers frayed ; You shall see him brought to bay, " Waken lords and ladies gay. " 71 Louder, louder chaunt the lay, Waken lords and ladies gay ! Tell tliem youth and mirth and glee, Run a course as well as we ; Time, stem huntsman ! who can baulk, Staunch as hound, and fleet as hawk ; Think of this, and rise with day, Cfentle lords and ladies gay. LOVE S YOUNG DREAM, T. Moore OH I the days are gone, when beauty bright My heart's chain wove; When my dream of life, from morn 'till night, Was love, still love! New hope may bloom. And days may come, Of milder, calmer beam, But there's nothini; half so sweet in life As love's young dream ! Oh! there's nothiii<; half .o sweet in life As love's young dream. Tho' the hard to purer fame may soar, When wild youth's past; Tho' lie win the vtIsc, who frown'd bcfoic, To smile at last ; 72 He'll neyer meet A joy 80 sweet In all his noon of fame, As when first he sung to woman's ear His soul-felt flame, And, at every close, she blush'd to hear The one lov'd nante ! Oh! that hallow'd form is ne'er forgot, Which first love trac'd ; Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot On memory's waste! 'Twas odour fled As soon as shed ; 'Twas morning's winged dream ! 'Twas a light, that ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream! Oh! 'twas light, that ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream! TO-NIGHT. I tor ace TwUi, OH! cast not a damp on this hour of delight, Nor check the glad pulse which is bounding to night : Tlie scene sparkles gaily, and bids us be blest, For fled are the visions of sorrow and fear: The sunshine of beauty is warm on the breast. And all that is lovely seems loveliest here. 73 To-night not a tear must be suffer'd to roll, But the drops that may fall from tha brim of the bowl : For though, like the bubbles that float in our wine, We rise on the surface, and fade with a breath. Yet the bubbles themselves have a moment to shine. And they dance on the wave, ere they melt into death. And perhaps, when the changes of time shall convey The joys, that are dearest, for ever away, When age will have shadow'd those glances of light, And the warm lips of Love may be silent and cold, The few who survive will remember to-night, And indulsre in a siarh for affections of old. FAREWELL. r. Moon Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour That awakens the niglit-song of mirth in your bower, Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too. And forgot his own griefs to be linppy with you : His griefs may return, not a iiope may remain Of the few tliat liave brightened his path-way of pain. But he ne'er will forget tiie briglit virion that tlirew Its enchantment around liim \\liile lingering with you. And still on that evening wlicii ph^isure fills up To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup. Where'er my path lies be it gloomy or bright My 5oul, happy friiui, shall be with you that night, 74 Shall join in your revels, your sports and your wiles And return to me beaming all o'er with your smiles ! Too blest if it tells me that mid the gay cheer Some kind voice had mnrmur'd "I wish he was here." Let fate do her worst ; there are relics of joy Bright dreams of the past which she cannot destroy, And which come in the night-time of sorrow and care To bring back the features which joy used to wear : Long, long, be my heart with such mem'ries filled ; Like the vase in which Roses have once be distill'd, You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will But the scent of the Roses will hang round it still. YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. T. CamjplnU YE Mariners of England ! That guard our native seas ; Whose flag has brav'd, a thousand years. The battle, and the breeze ! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe! And swep through the deep, \\ hile the stormy tempests blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow. The spirits of your fathers Shajl start from everv wave ! 75 For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave : Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell. Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep. While the stormy tempests blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow. Britannia needs no bulwark, No towers along the steep ; Her march is o'er the mountain waves. Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow ; When the battle rages loud and long. And the stormy tempests blow. The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific hum ; Till danger's tr()ul)!ed nigJit depart, And tiic star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean-warriors! Oiw son:; aiiii feast shall flow To the fa;ne of your name, When the storm has ccas'd to blow ; AV hen the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ccas'd to blow. 76 'tR the last rose of SUMMEIt. r. Moore. 'TIS the last rose of summer Left blooming alone ; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone; No flower of lier kindred No rose-bud is nigh To reflect back her blushes Or give sigh for sigh. I'll not leave tliee, thon lone one To pine ou tliy stem, Since the lovely are sleeping Go, sleep thou with tliem ; Thus kindly I scatter Tliy leaves o'er the bed Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I follow When friendships decay, And from Loves shining circle The gems drop away; When true hearts lie withered And fond ones are flown Oh! who would inhabit I'his bicak world alone? 77 Lord Byron. WHEN all around grew drear and dark, And reason half withhield her ray And hope but shed a dying spark Which more misled my lonely way ; In that deep midnight of the mind, And that internal strife of heart, When dreading to be deemed too kind, Tlie weak despair the cold depart ; \Vlien fortune changed and love fled far, And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, Tliou wcrt tlie solitary star Which rose and set not to the last. Oh! blest be tliine unbroken light! That watched me as a seraph's eye, And stood between me and the night, For ever shining sweetly ni;:;h. And when the cloud upon us ranie, Which strove to blacken o'er thy my Then purer spread its gentle flame, And dashed tlic darkness all avv;iy. Still may thy spirit dwell on mine, And teach it what to lirave or biook There's more in one soft word of thinr, ThfMi in the world's defied rebuke. 78 Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree, That still unbroke, though gentiy bent, Still waves with fond fidelity Its boughs above a monoment. The winds might rend the skies might pour, But there thou wert and still wouldst be Devoted in the stormiest hour To shed Jhy weeping leaves o'er me. But thou and thine shall know no blight, Whatever fate on me may fall ; For heaven in sunshine will requite The kind and thee the most of all. Then let the ties of baffled love Be broken thine will never break ; Thy heart can feel but will not move ; Thy soul, though soft, will never shake. And these, when all was lost beside, Were found and still are fixed in thee Vnd bearing still a breast so tried, Earth is no descit ev'n to me. frcciv.; i whilst thou in fancy lived Withlu^h-,;Mi(i oeauties and enamoured chiefs, Sharin'.' '.ii'.-ir hopes, and with a breathless joy Whose o.pectation touched the verge of pain FoUowiui; their dangerous fortunes i If such love Hath ever thrilled thy bosom, thou wilt tread As with a Pilgrim's reverential thoughts The groves of Penshurst. Sidney here was born, Sidney than wiiom no gentler, braver man His own delightful genius ever feigned, Illustrating the vales of Arcady AV ith courteous courage and with loyal loves. Upon his natal day tlie acorn here was planteil It grew up a stately oak And in tlie l)eauty of its str( nglli it stood And flourished, when his perishable pai t Had mouldered dust to dust. That stately oak itself hath mouldered NovN, -but Sit'oey's fame Ijuliueth in his own immortal work"-. 80 IT IS NOT THE TEAR AT THIS MOMENT SHED. T. Moore. IT is not the tear at Ibis moment slied Wlien the green turf lias just been laid o'er him; That can tell how belov'd was the soul that's fled, Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him. 'Tis tlie tear thro' many a long day wept Thro' a life by his loss all shaded, 'Tis the sad remembrance fondly kept, When all lighter griefs have faded! Oh! tlius shall we mourn and his memory's light, While it shines thro' our hearts will improve them. For worth shall look fairer and truth more bright, When we think how he liv'd, but to love them. And as buried saints the grave perfume, Where fadeless they've long been lying; So our hearts shall borrow a sweet'ning bloom From the image he left thore iu dying! 91 INSCRIPTION FOR A tOLU.u.V AT NEWBtKY. Southey. ART thou a Patriot, Traveller? on this field Did Falkland fall, the l)lam('le5^s and the brave, Beueath a Tyrant's bauners : dost thou boast Of loyal ardour? Hambden perished here, The rebel Hambden, at whose glorious name The heart of every honest Entilisliman Beats high with conscious pride. Both uncoirupt. Friends to their conunon country both, they fought, They died in adverse arinies. Traveller! If with thy neighbour thou shouldst not accord, In charity remember these good men, And quell each angry and injurious thought. INSCRIPTION FOR A CAVEUN THAT OVEELOOILS THE aiVER AVON. SoiUhiy. Enter this cavern, Stranger! the ascent Is lonf,' and steep and toilsome ; here awhile Thou mayst repose thee from the noontide heat, O'ercanopied by this arched rock that strikes A grateful coolness : clas[)ing its rough arms Round the rude portal, tiie old ivy hangs Its dark green branches down. No common spot Receives thee, for tlie Power who prompts the song Loves this secluded haunt. The tide below Scarce acndi the sounds of waters to thine eer ; g^ And yon higli-hanging forest to the wind Varies its many hues. Gaze, Stranger, here ! And let thy softened heart intensely feel How good, how lovely, Nature ! When frorti hence Departing to the city's crowded streets. Thy sickening eye at every step revolts From scenes of vice and wretchedness ; reflect That Man creates the evil he endures. INSCRIPTION FOR A MONUMENT AT SILBURY-HILL. Suut'.ey, THIS mound in some remote and dateless day Reared o'er a Chieftain of the Age* of Hills, May here detain thee. Traveller ! from thy road Not idly lingering. In his narrow house Some Warrior sleeps below : his gallant deeds Haply -at many a solemn festival The Bard has harped, but perished is the song Of praise, as o'er these bleak and barren downs The wiiid that passes and is heard no more. Go, Traveller, and remember when the pomp Of earthly Glory fades, that one good deed Unseen, unheard, unnoted by mankind, Lives in the eternal register of Heaven. * The Koitlicrn Nations distinguished the two ppiiods when the bo dies oT thi' dead were consumed hy fire, and when they vne buried beneath the tuinali sn common in this country, by the A%<: of Tire .iiid the Age of^lills. 93 LOVE. T. Moore. TO sigh yet feel no pain, To weep yet scarce know why, To sport an hour with beauty's chairv Then throw it idly by; To kneel at many a shrine Yet lay the heart on none. To think all other charms divine But those we just have seen; This is love, careless love, Such as kindleth hearts that rove. To keep one sacred flame, Thro' life unchill'd iinmov'd, To love in wintry age the same That first in youth we lov'd; To feel that we adore, To such rcfin'd excess, That tho' the heart would break with mor'^^ We could not live with less; This is love, fuitliful love, Such as saints niii;ht feci above. J)4 ADDRESS TO THE MOON, IN IMITATION Of WILSON. Ationyviotu. COME forth sweet spirit from thy cloudy cave, Far in the bosom of the starless night, And suddenly above tlie mountain lop, Lifting thy placid beauty, all at once Spread a still rapture o'er the encircling earth That seems just waking from some heavenly dream Hail ! soft-brow'd sovereign of the sea and sky Thee heaven and all its glories worship. Thee Worships old ocean with his million waves ; And the' mid fleecy clouds as still ae snow Or the blue depths of stainless sanctity Lies thy beloved way yet often thou Art seen careering on a throne of storms Seemingly borne on to eternity ; So wild the hurried glimpses of thy face, Perturbed yet beautiful. LINES, "V^RITTrN OS THE BLANK-LEAF OF A LADY'S COMMON PLACF-EOOS. r. Moore. THERE is one leaf reserved for me. From all thy dear memorials free, And here my simple song might tell The feelings thou must guess so well. But could I thus ^vithin thy mind One little vacant corner find, 95 Where no impression yet is seen, Where no memorial yet hath been ; Oh! it should be my sweetest care To write my name for ever there. COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE. T. Moore. COME, send roimd the wine, and leave points of belief To simpleton sages and reasoning fools; This moment's a flower too fair and brief, To be withir'd and stain'd i)y the dust of the schools. Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue; But, while tiiey are fill'd from the same bright bowl, The fool who would quarrel for difiVrcnce of hue Deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul. Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if Our creeds agree? Shall I give up the friend I have valu'd and try'd, If he kneel not before the same altar with me? I'rom the heretic girl of my soul shall I fly, To seek soiufw'icrc else a more orliiodox kiss? \o! perish the hearts and the laws tliat try Truth, valour, or love, by a standard like thi^! BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. T. CampbtU. OF Nelson and the North, Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the miglit of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone ; By each gun the lighted brand, In a bold determin'd hand, And the Prince cf all the land Led them on. Like leviathan's afloat. Lay their bulwarks on the brine ; While the sign of battle flew On the lofty British line : It was ten of April morn by the chime: As they drifted on their path, There was silence deep as death ; And the boldest held his breath. For a time. But the might of England flush'd To anticipate the scene; And her van the fleeter rush'd O'er the deadly space between. 'Hearts of oak,' our captains cried! when each gius From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. 9^ Again! again! again! And tlie havock did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back ; Their shots along the deep slowly boom ; Then ceas'd and all is wail, As they strike the shatter'd sail; Or, in conflagration pale. Light the gloom. Out spoke the victor then, As he hail'd them o'er the naye ; ' Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! ' And we conquer but to save : * So peace instead of death let us bring ' But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, ' With the crews at England's feet, ' And make submission meet ' To our Ring. ' Then Denmark blest our cliiel', Tliat he gave her wounds repose ; And the sounds of joy and grief. From her people wildly rose, As death withdrew his shades from lh While the sun look'd smiling bright O'er a wide and woeful sight, W liere the fires of furi'ral licM Died awav. 98 Now joy, okl England, raise f For the tidings of thy might, By the festal cities' blaze, While the wine cup shines in light ; And yet amidst that joy and uproar. Let us tlvink of them that sleep, Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep,, Elsinore ! Brave hearts! to Britain's pride Once so faithful and so true, On the deck of fame that died, With the gallant good Riou :* Soft sigh the winds of heav'n o'er their grav* f While the billow mournfully rolls, And the mermaid's song condoles. Singing glory to the souls Of the brave! CHptaiii Rioti, justly eutitlcd the giillant and the good, by l.oro >.'el?on, when he wrote home his dispatches. POOR SUSAN. Wor(hnort/i. AT the corner of \^'ood-stfeet, when day-light appears. There's a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years ; Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the Bird. 99 'Tis a note of enchantment ; what ails her? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, Down which she so often has tripped with her pall; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one oiUy Dwelling on earth that she loves. She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade, The mist and the river, the hill and the shade; The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, And the colours have all passed away from her eyes. REMEMBRANCE. Soutlity. ^lan hath a weary pilgrimage As thro' the world he wends ; On every stage from youth to age Still discontent attends ; With heaviness he casts his eye I' poll the road hefoie, And still remonibcrs with a %VJ^l Tlic days that are no more. To srhoo! the little exile goes Torn from his mother's arms. What then sliiill soothe his earliest wors, \Vhcu novelty hath lost its charms t 100 Condemn'd to suffer thro' the day Restraints which no rewards repay, And cares where love has no concerDj Hope lightens as she count the hoars That hasten his return. From hard controul and tyrant rulei The nnfeeling discipline of schools, The child's sad thoughts will roam, And tears will struggle in his eye While he remembers with a sigh The comforts of his home. Youth comes ; the toils and cares of life Torment the restless mind ; Where shall the tired and harrass'd heart Its consolation find ? Then is not Youth as Fancy tells Life's summer prime of joy ? Ah no ! for hopes too long delayed And feelings blasted or betrayed, The fabled bliss destroy, And he remembers with a sigh The careless days of Infancy. Maturer manhood now arrives And other thoughts come on, But with tlie baseless hopes of youth Its generous warmth is gone ; fold calculating cares succeed. The timid thought th weary df cd, 101 The dull realities of truth ; Back on the past he turns his eye Remembering with an envious sigh The happy dreams of youth. So reaches he the latter stage Of this our mortal pilgrimage With feeble step and slow ; New ills that latter stage await And old experience learns too late That all is vanity below. Life's vain delusions are gone by, Its idle hopes are o'er, Vet Age remembers with a sigh The days that are no more. COME REST IN THIS BOSOM. T. Mux. COME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer! Tho' the herd have ilcd from thee, thy home is still herf Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast, And the heart and the hand all thy own to the last. Oh I wluit was love made for, if 'tis not the same Thro' joy and thro' toimenis, thro' glory and sharr.e.'' I know not, I ask notif cuilt's in that heart I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art! 102 Thou hast called me thy angel, in moments of bliss, Still thy Angel I'll be, mid the horrors of this, Thro' the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there too ! UNES, Written to commemorate the 2isT or march, isoi, THE DAY OF VICTORY l.N EGYPT. T. Campbell. PLEDGE to the much lov'd land that gave us birth ! Invincible romantic Scotia's shore ! Pledge to the memory of her parted worth ! And first, amidst the brave, remember Moore ! And be it deem'd not wrong that name to give. In festive hours, which prompts the patriot's sigh ! Who would not envy such as Moore to live? And died he not as heroes wish to die? Yes, tho' too soon attaining glory's goal, To us his bright career too short was giv'n ; Yet in a mighty cause his phoenix soul Ro: e on the flames of victory to Hcav'n! How oft (if beats in subjugated Spain One patriot heart) in secret shall it mourn Fr,r him! How on farCorunna's plain Shall British exiles weep upon his urn ! 103 Pf ace to the mighty dead ! our bosom thanks In sprightlier strains the living may inspire! Joy to the chiefs that lead old Scotia's ranks, Of Roman garb and more than Roman fire. Triumphant be the thistle still unfurl'd. Dear symbol wild! on freedom's hills it grows, "Where Fins;al stemm'd the tyrants of the world. And Roman eagles found unconquer'd foes. Joj to the band* this day on Egypt's coast, Whose valour tani'd proud France's tricolor, And wrcnch'd the banner from her bravest host, IJaptiz'd Invincil)le in Austria's gore ! Joy for the day on red Vimeira's strand, When iMiyonet to bayonet oppos'd, First of Britannia's hosts her Highland band Gave but tlie death-shot once, and foremost clos'd ! Is there a son of generous England here Or fervid Erin? he with us shall join, To pray that in eteinal union dear, The rose, ihe shamrock, and the thistle twine! Typos of a race who shall fh'invader scorn, As rocks resist tlii' billows round their shore, T\pi's of a race who shall to time unborn Their country leave unconquer'd as of yore ! Ihr. *U(\ IIi:;lil:tnfl Rcgimcut. 104 HARP OF SORROW. Montgomery. I GAVE ray Harp to Sorrow's hand, And she has ruled the chords so long, They will not speak at my commund ; They warble only to her song. Of dear, departed hours. Too fondly loved to last. The dew, the breath, the bloom of flowers, Snapt in their freshness by the blast : Of long, long years of future care. Till lingering Nature yields her breath, And endless ages of despair. Beyond the judgment-day of death The weeping minstrels sings, And while her numbers flow, My spirit trembles with the strings. Responsive to the notes of woe. Would gladness move a spjightlier strain. And wake this wild Harp's clearest tones. The chords, impatient to complain, Are dumb, or only utter moans. And yet to sooth the mind With luxury of grief, Tiie soul to suffering all resign'd In Sorrow's music feels relief. 105 Thus o'er the light iEolian lyre The winds of dark November stray, Touch the quick nerve of every wire, And on its magic pulses play ; Till all the air around, Mysterious murmurs fill, A strange bewildering dream of sound, Most heavenly sweet, yet mournful still, () ! snatch the Harp from Sorrow's liand, Hope! who hast been a stranger long; <)! strike it with sublime command, And be the Poet's life thy song. Of vanish'd troubles sing. Of fears for ever fled, Of flowers that hear the voice of Spring, And burst and blossom from the dead ; Of home, contentment, health, repose, Serene delights, vvliilo years increase ; And weary life's triumphant cloe In fome calm sunset hour of peace ;- Of bliss that reigns above, f elcstial May of Youth, Inrhanging as Jehovah's lovr, Ar.d everlasting as Ilis truth;-- 100 Sing, heavenly Hope! and dart thine liand O'er my frail Harp, nntun'd so long : That Harp shall breathe, at thy comniand, IiHinortal sweetness through thy song. Ah! then this gloom controul, And at tliy voice shall start A new creiition in my soul, A native Eden in my heart. THE TRAVELLER S RETVRN. SWEET to the morning traveller The sky-lark's early song. Whose twinkling wings are seen at fits The dewy light among. And cheering to the traveller The gales that round hini play, "When faint and lic-avily he drags Alon^' his iioon-ti'lf way. And when beneath tlic unclouded sun Tidl wearily toils he, The flowing water makes to him A j)lea And love is never, never cross'd. Oh! gentle gale of Eden bovvers, If back thy rosy feet should roam. To revel with tlie cloudless hours. In nature's more propitious home Name to thy lov'd Elysian groves, That o'er fcnchanted spirits twine, A fairer form than cherub loves. And let the name be Caroline. CAROLINE. TART II. T. Campbell. GEM of the crimson-colour'd even, Companion of retiring day. Why at the closing gate*, of heaven, Beloved star, dost tliou delay? Ill So fair tby pensile beauty bums, When soft the tear of twilight flows. So due thy plighted step returns To chambers brightr than the rose; To peace, to pleasure, and to love, So kind a star thou seem'st to be, Sure some enamoured orb above Descends and burns to meet with thee. Thine is the breatliing, blushing liour, When all unheavenly passions fly; Chased by the soul-subduing power Of love's delicious witchery. Oh ! sacred to the fall of day. Queen of propitious stars, appeart And early rise, and long delay, AVhen Caroline herself is here. Shine on her chosen green resort, Where trees the sunward summit crown; And wanton flowers, that well may court An angel's feet to tread tlicm down. Shine on licr swcotly-srcnted road, Thou star of evening's pnr|)le dome! That lead'st the nighling;ilc abroad, And guid'st the pilgrim to his home. lis Shine, where ifiy charmer's sweeter breath Embalms thy soft exhaling dew ; Where dying winds a sigh bequeath, To kiss the theek of rosy here. Where, winnow'd, by the gentle air, Her silken trssses darkly flow. And fall upon her brows so fair. Like shadows on the mountain snow. Thus, ever thus, at day's decline. In converse sweet to wander far, Oh! bring with thee my GARauNE, And thou shalt be my ruling star! TO THYRZA. Lord Byron. WITHOUT a stone to mark the spot, And say, what Truth might well have ?a'iJ, By all, save one, perchance forgot, Ah, wherefore art thou lowly laid ? By many a shore and many a sea Divided, yet belov'd in vain; The past, the future fled to thee To bid us meet no ne'er again ! Could this have been a word a look That softly said, "We part in peace," Had taught my bosom how to brook, With fttiiiter sighs, thy soul's release. 113 Auil didst thon not, since Death for the* Prepar'd a light and pangless dart, t)nce long for him thou ne'er shalt see, Who held, and holds thee in his heart ? Oh! who like him had watch'd thee hert r Or sadly mark'd thy glazing eye, In that dread hour ere death appear, When silent Sorrow fears to sigh, Till all was past? But when no more "J'was thine to reck of human woe, Atiectiou's heart-drops, gushing o'er, Had llow'd as fast as now they flow. Shall they not flow, when many a day la these, to me, deserted towers, Ere call'd but for a time away. Affection's mingling tears were our* '. Ours too the glance none saw beside ; The smile none else might understand ; The whisper'd thought of hearts allied, The pressure of the thrilling hand ; The kiss so guiltless and refin'd That Love each warmer wisli forborr ; Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind. Lv'n passion blush'd to plead for morr. The tune, that taught me to rejoi'p. Wlien prone, unlike thee, to repiiu ; The song, celestial from thy voice, Rut sweet to me from none but tliiiir ; The pledge wc wore I wear it still, r>iit wlicic is tliincr- ah. where art Ihoii: <^)t't iiii\f' I Ikmuo llic ncighl of ill. 114 But never bent beneath till now ; AVell hast thou left in life's best bloom The cup of woe for me to drain. If rest alone be in the tomb, I would not wish thee here again ; But if in worlds more blest than this Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere, Impart some portion of thy bliss, To wean me from mine anguish here* Teach me too early taught by thee ! To bear, forgiving and forgiv'n : On earth thy love was such to me; It fain would form my hope in heav'n ! MORNING. Mrs. Tight. O MORN ! I hail thy soft, enchanting breezes, Thy soul-felt presence, and reviving light ; Thy glad approach my anxious bosom eases, And care and sorrow for a while take flight. Like youth's gay hours, or Spring's delicious season, To me once more thy balmy breath appears ; Lost hope returns, assumes the face of reason. And half persuades to flight oppressive fears. While darkened casements vainly light excluded, I wooed propitious sleep with languid sighs, Care through the glbom his anxious face obtruded, And banished slumber from my weary eyes. 116 Tlie tedious hours I told with watchful anguish, And oft, O Morn! accused thy long delay : I hail thee now, no longer vainly languish, But quit my couch, and bless refreshing day. Through the long night, impatient, sad, and weary, How melancholy life itself appeared ! I^I cheerful day illumes my prospects dreary. And how diminished are the ills I feared ! Though pleasure shine not in the expected morrow, Though nought were promised but return of care, The light of heaven could banish half my sorrow, And comfort whispers in the fresh, cool air. I hear the grateful voice of joy and pleasure, All nature seems my sadness to reprove. High trills the lark his wild ecstatic measure. The groves resound with liberty and love : Kro his glad voice proclaimed thy dawning early, How oft deceived I rose thy light to hail; Through the damp grass hoarse accents sounded thecriy, As wooed his distant love the wakeful rail. Oh, you! who murmur at the call of duty, And quit your pillow with reluctant sloth. For whom the Morn in vain displays her beauty, While tasteless \oi! can cifct her smiles so loth. 118 Yon canftol kno\V the charm which o'er me stealing^ Revives my senses as I taste her breath, Wliich half repays the agony of feeling A night of horrors, only less than death. woman's empire. Horace Tuitt, I) EAR giri, in my simple opinion, Your sex are to blame, when they pant To possess, as a right, the dominion, Which is not denied as a grant. Prerogative seems not the basis Best suited for women's command, When influence keeps them their places, And gives them the rule of the land. The proudest is far from a goddess : The brightest less bright than a star : And, as men are not heavenly bodies, i think you do best as you are. in your sweet, simple nature of woman, You have the ascendant you seek : Von are worshipp'd because you are human ; And potent because you are weak. 117 THE LAST MINSTREL, IJ'uUer Si 1,1 1. THE way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old ; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have known a better day ; The harp, his sole remaining joy. Was carried by an orphan boy ; The last of all the bards was he, Who sung of Border chivalry. 'or, well-a-day ! their date was fled, tlis tuneful bretliren all were dead ; And lie, neglected and oppressed, Wished to be witii them, and at rest. No more, on prancing palfrey borne, He carolled, ligiit as lark at morn ; No longer courted and caressed, nigh placed in hall, a welcome guest. He poured, to lord and lady gay, The unpremeditated lay : Old times were changed, old manners gone A stranger filled the Stuarts' tluoue ; The bigots of the iron time Had called liis harmless art a crime, A wanderinc Har[)er, scorned and pooi. He begKcd his bread from door to dooi ; And tuned, to please a peasant's car. The harp, a king had loved to hear. 118 He passed where Newark's stately tower Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower : The Minstrel gazed with wishful eye No humbler resting-place was nigh. With hesitating step, at last, The embattled portal-arch he passed, Whose ponderous grate and massy bar Had oft rolled back the tide of war, But never closed the iron door Against the desolate and poor. The Duchess * marked his weary pace, His timid mein, and reverend face, And bade her page the menials tell, That they should tend the old man well : For she had known adversity. Though born in such a high degree ; In pride of power, in beauty's bloom, Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb! When kindness had his wants supplied, And the old man was gratified, Began to rise his minstrel pride : And he began to talk anon, Of good Earl Francis, t dead and gone. And of Earl Walter, t rest him God I A braver ne'er to battle rode : Anne, Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth, repwsentative 'f the ancient Lords of BuccJench, and widow of tte nnXortnnMc Jan;c^, Duke of Monmouth, who was beheaded in 1C85. t Francis Scott, Earl of Buccleuch, f.tthcr of the duchess. T Walter, Ear! of Buccleuch, grandfather of the duchcsf, and a re kbrated warrior. 119 And how full many a tale he knew, Of the old warriors of Buccleugh ; And, would the noble Duchess deign To listen to an old man's strain, Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak, He thought even yet, tlie sooth to speak, That, if she loved the harp to hear, He could make music to her ear. The humble boon was soon obtained ; The Aged Minstrel audience gained. }5ut, when he reached tlie room of state, Where she, with all her ladies, sate, Ferchance he wished his boon denied : For, when to tune his harp he tried, His trembling hand had lost the ease. Which marks security to please ; And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, Came wildering o'er his aged brain He tried to tune his harp in vain. The pitying Duchess, praised its chime. And gave him heart, and gave him time, Till every string's according glee Was blended into harmony. And then, he said, he would full fain He could recall an ancient strain, He never thought to sing again. It was not framed for village churles, l!ut for high dames and mighty earls ; He had played it to King Charles the Good, >\ lien he kept court in Holyrood ; 120 And much he wished, yet feared, to try The long forgotten melody. Amid the strings his fingers strayed, And an uncertain warbling made, And oft he shook his hoary head. But when he caught the measure wild, The old man raised his face, and smiled ; And lightened up his faded eye. With all a poet's extacy ! In varying cadence, soft or strong, He swept the sounding chords along: The present scene, the future lot, His toils, his wants, were all forgot ; Cold diffidence, and age's frost, In the full tide of song were lost ; Each blank, in faithless memory void. The poet's glowing thought supplied ; And, while his harp responsive rung, 'Twas thus the Latest Minstrel sung. BENDEMEERS STREAM. T. Moore. there's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream. And the nightingale sings round it all the day long : In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. 121 That bower and Its music I never forget, But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think is the nightinfrale singing there yet? Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer? No, the roses soon witlier'd that hung o'er the wave, But some blossons were gather'd, while freshly they shone. And a dew was distiU'd from their flowers, that gave All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies. An essence that breathes of it many a year; Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes. Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer* Soiithey. NAY William, nay, not so ; the changeful year In all its due successions to my sight Presents but varied beauties, transient all. All in their season good. Tliese fading leaves That with their rich variety of hues Make yonder forest in the slanting sun So beautiful, in you awake the thought Of winter, cold, drear winter, when these trees Each like a fle^hh'ss skeleton shall stretch Its bare brown hoiiuhs; when not a flower shall sprrad Its colours to the (lay, ami not a I'ird f'arol its joyanci',. . but all nature wear One sullen aspect, bleak and desolate, To pyf, ear, fueling, conifcrtlcss alil.e. 122 To me their many-coloured beauties speak Of times of merriment and festival, The years best holiday : I call to mind The school boy days, when in the falling leaves I saw with eager hope the pleasant sign Of coming Christmas, when at morn I took My wooden kalcnder, and counting up Once more its often-told account, smooth'd off Each day with more delight the daily notch. To you the beauties of the autumnal year Make mournful emblems, and you think of man Doom'd to the grave's long winter, spirit-broke, Bending beneath the burden of his years, Sense-dull'd and fretful, "full of aches and pains," Yet clinging still to life. To me they shew The calm decay of nature, when the mind Retains its strength, and in the languid eye Religion's holy hopes kindle a joy That makes old age look lovely. All to you Is dark and cheerless ; you in this fair world See some destroying principle abroad, Air, earth, and water full of living things Each on the other preying ; and the ways Of man, a strange perplexing labyrinth. Where crimes and miseries, each producing each. Render life loathsome, and destroy the hope That should in death bring comfort. Oh my friend That thy faith were as mine ! that thou couldest see Death still producing life, and evil still Working its own destruction ; couldst beliold The strifes and tumults of this troubled world 123 With the strong eye that sees the promised day Dawn thro' this night of tempest! all things then Would minister to joy; then should thine heart Be healed and harmonized, and thou shouldst feel God, always, every-where, and all in all. THE MOLE-HILL. Montgomny. TELXi me, thou dust beneath my feet, Thou dust that once had breath ! Tell me how many mortals meet In this small hill of death ? The Mole, that scoops with curious toil Her subterranean bed. Thinks not she ploughs a human soil, And mines among the dead. But, O! where'er she turns the ground My kindred earth I sec; Once every atom of this mound Lived, breathed, ami felt like mf". like me these clf; Reclaim from ages fled ? AVhat realm-restoring hero chuse To summon from the dead - ^'onder his shadow flits away : Thou shalt not thus depart; Sta), thou transcendant spirit, staj. And tell me who tliou art ! 'Tis Alfred: In tiic rolls of Fauir, And on a midnight page, Blazes his broad refulgent tianic, The watch-light of his age. 130 A Danish winter, from the north, Howl'd o'er the British wild, But Alfred, like the spring, brake forth, And all the desert smiled. Back to the deep he roU'd the waves. By mad invasion hurl'd; His voice was liberty to slaves,. Defiance to the world. And still that voice o'er land and sea Shall Albion's foes appal ; The race of Alfred u-ill be free ; Hear it, and tremble, Gaul! But lo! the phantoms fade in flight. Like fears that cross the mind. Like meteors gleaming through the night, Like thunders on the wind. The vision of the tomb is past ;, Beyond it, who can tell In what mysterious region cast Immortal spirits dwell? I know not, but I soon shall know. When life's sore conflicts cease, When this desponding heart lies low, And I shall rest in peace. 131 For see, on Death's bewildering wave, The rainbow Hope arise, A bridge of glory o'er the grave, That bends beyond tlie skies. FTom earth to heaven it swells and shines, The pledge of bliss to man ; Time with eternity combines. And grasps them in a span. THE PICTURE. Mrs. Tigfie. VES, these are the features already imprest So deep i)y the pencil of Love on my heart ! Within their reflection they find in this breast: ^ et something is wanting: all ! where is the art That to painting so true can that sometiiing impart Oh! where is the sweetness that dwells on that lip r And where is the smile that enchanted my soul ' No sweet dew of love from tliese roses I sij), Nor meet the soft glance whicli with niagic control O'er tlic chords of my heart so Iwwitchingly stole. (old, cold is that rye! nnimpassioned its beaniN ; I'hey s|)eak not of tcnespair. THE SEQUEL. HE sought his Sire from shore to shore,. He sought him day by day; The prow he tracked was seen no more, Breasting the ocean-spray ; Yet, as the winds his voyage sped. He sail'd above his father's head, Unconscious where it lay, Deep, dep beneath the rolling main: He soujjrhthis Sire: he sought in vain. 147 Son of the brave ! no longer weep ; Still with affection true, Along the wild disastrous deep. Thy father's course pursue : Full in his wake of glory steer, His spirit prompts thy bold career, His compass guides thee through; So, while thy thunders awe the sea, Britain shall find tliy Sire in thee. ON RECEIVING A BRANCH OF MEZEREON, ^\HICH FLOWERED AT WOODSTOCK, DECEMBER, 1809. Mrs. TigUt. Ol50URS of Spring, my sense ye charm With fragrance premature; And 'mid these days of dark alarm, Almost to hope allure. Methinks with purpose soft ye come To tell of brighter hours. Of May's blue skies, abundant bloom. Her sunny gales and showers. Alas! for me shall May in vain The powers of life restore ; These eyes that weep and watch in pain Shall see her charms no more. No, no, this anguish cannot last! Beloved friends, adieu! Tlie bitterness of death were past, Could I resign but you. J 48 Rut oh! in every mortal pang That rends my soul from life, That soul, which seems on you to hang Til rough each convulsive strife. Even now, with agonizing grasp Of terror and regret, To all in life its love would clasp Clings close and closer yet. Yet why, immortal, vital spark! Thus mortally opprest? Look up, my soul: through prospects dark, And bid thy terrors rest ; Forget, forego thy earthly part, Thine heavenly being trust : All, vain attempt! my coward heart Still shuddering clings to dust. Oil ye! who sooth the pangs of death With love's own patient care, Still, still retain this fleeting breath, Still pour the fervent prayer: And ye, whose smile must greet my eye No more, nor voice my ear, Wlio breathe for me the tender sigh, And shed the pitying tear Whose kindness (though far far removed My grateful thoughts perceive, I'lide of my life, esteemed, beloved. My last sad claim receive ! 149 Oh! do not quite your friend forget, Forget alone her faults; And speak of her with fond regret Who asks your lingering thoughts. SONNET. Mrs. Tig/ie. As nearer I approarh that fatal day Which makes all mortal cares appear so light, Time seems on swifter wing to speed his flight, And Hope's fallacious visions fade away ; While to my fond desires, at length, I say. Behold, how quickly melted from your sight The promised objects yon esteemed so bright. When love was all your song, and life looked gay! Now let us rest in peace ! those hours are past, And with them all the agitating train IJy which Hope led tiie wandering cheated soul ; Wearied, she seeks repose, and owns at last How sighs, and tears, and youth, were spent in vain, M'hile lunguisliiug she mourned in Folly's sad cun'i' 150 UNES ON THE DEATH OF SHERIDAN. Anonpmous. YES, grief will have way but the fast falling tear Shall be mingled with deep execrations on those, Who could bask in that Spirit's meridian career, And leave it thus lonely and dark at its close : Whose vanity flew round him, only while fed By the odour his fame in its summer-time gave ; Whose vanity now, with quick scent for the dead. Like the Ghole of the East, comes to feed at his grave! Oh ! it sickens the heart to see bosoms so hollow, And spirits so mean in the great and high-born ; To think what a long line of titles may follow The relics of him who died friendless and lorn ! How proud they can press to the fun'ral array Of one, whom they shunn'd in his sickness and lorrow : How bailiffs may seize his last blanket, to-day. Whose pall shall be held up by nobles, to-morrow ! 151 *> Was this then the fate of that high-gifted man, "The pride of the palace, the bower and the hail, " Tlie orator dramatist minstrel, who ran " Through each mode of the lyre, and was master of all ! " Whose mind was an essence, compounded with art " From the finest and best of all other men's powers ; "Who ruled, like a wizard, the world of the heart, " And could call up its sunshine, or bring down its showers " Whose humour, as gay as the fire-fly's light, "Play'd round every subject, and shone as it play'd; " Whose wit, in the combat, as gentle as bright, " Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade ; *' Whose eloquence briglit'ning whatever it tried, " Whether reason or fancy, the gay or the grave, "Was as rapid, as deep, and as brilliant a tide, " As ever bore Freedom aloft on its wave ! " Yes such was the man, and so wretched his fate; And thus, sooiiLr or later, shall all have to grieve. Who waste their morn's dew in the beams of the Great, And expect 'twill return to refresh them at eve! " Was this then the fate!" future ages will say, When some names shall live but in history's curse ; When Truth will be heard, and these I^ords of a day Be forgotten as fools, or remeiuber'd as worse; 152 In the woods of the North there are insects tliat prey On the brain of the elk till his very last sigh ; * Oh, Genius ! thy patrons, more cruel than they, First feed on thy brains, and then leave thee to die ! Naturalists have observed that, upon dissecting an elk, tiicre was found ill its head some large flies, with its brain almo.^t eaten awny fcy tlieni. History of Poland. FREDERIC. Houlhey. Time, \igiif. Scene, the Wood.s. WHERE shall I turn meP whither shall I bend .My weary way? thus worn with toil and faint, How through the thorny mazes of this wood Attain my distant dwelling? That deep cry That rings along the forest seems to sound My parting knell : it is the midnight howl Of hungry monsters prowling for their prey ! Again! O save me save me, gracious Heaven! i am not fit to die. Thou coward wretch, Why heave? thy trembling heart? why shake thy limbs Her.eath their palsied burden? Is there aught So lovely in existence ? wouldst thou drain Kven to its dregs the bitter draught of life? Stamped with the brand of Vice and Infamy, Why should the villain Frederic shrink from Death? 153 Death ! Where the magic in that emptj name That chills my inmost heart? why at the thought Starts the cold dew of fear on every limb? There are no terrors to surround the Grave, When the calm Mind collected in itself Surveys tliat narrow house : the ghastly train That haunt the midnight of delirious Guilt ITien vanish; in that home of endless rest All sorrows cease. Would I might slumber there! Why then this panting of the fearful heart? This miser love of life, that dreads to lose Its cherished torment? shall the diseased man Yield up his members to the surijeon's knife, Doubtful of succour, but to ease his frame Of fleshly anguish; and tlie coward wretch. Whose ulcerated soul can know no help, Shrink from the best Physician'^ certain aid ? Oh, it were better far to lay me down Here on tliis cold damp earth, till .some wild lj(j;i>l Seize on his williii:' victim! ff ;o(li.' Were all, it were mo- vv?lco:n" in peace as tlieir fathers in war. 100 Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be the weather. And if, by mischance, yon should happen to fall. There are worse things in life than a tumble on heather. And life itself is but a game at foot-ball. And when it is over, we'll drink a blithe measure To each laird and each lady that witness'd our fun. And to every blithe heart that took part in our pleasure, To the lads that have lost and the lads that have won. May the Forest still flourish, both Borough and Landward, From the hall of the Peer to the herd's ingle-nook } And huzza! my brave hearts, for Buccleuch and his standard, For the King and the Country, the Clan and the Duke ! Then up tvith the Banner, let forest winds fan her. She has blazed over Ettricke eight ages and more ; In sport we'll attend her, in battle defend her, IVith heart and with hand like our fathers before 101 DOINA DE CLYDE. L. T. Bercuer. DEAR to my soul are the hills of the Highlands, There, the Clan-Alpine lived outlawed and lone : Dear to my soul the Hebridean islands, Bruce at thy bridals, tliere, Editha, shone. Yet, not so much for yon chief of the mountain, Pathless Benledi, I joy in tliy pride : Dearer to me are thy rude rock and fountain, Since they are sacred to Doi.na ue Clyde. Oft, in the trance of my fancy I've wandered O'er the high summits of bald Benvenue; Oft, on the banks of Loch-Katrine I've pondered. Dreaming the barge of its Lady to view. Haunts of romantic and wild meditation, Mightier charms to your scenes are allied ; Now, that your objects, in sweet combination, Back to my fancy bring Doina de Clvde. Victress at Bannock, but vanquished at Floddeii, Caledon triumphed alternate in war; 'Till, vsith her tartans blood drenched at Cullodt n, Down from her orbit she dropped, like a star. Ruined and lost, from the conquering foemen Far fled tlie Stlart, her glory and pride : Say, did he 'scape from tlic Cumberland y(on)''n .' ^Ls! in the halls of my Doi.na ut Clvul. lG-2 DoiNA i)E Ci-yde! ypt thy clansmen shall glory, M'lien their brave chieftain's descendant they view : Oft shall they tliink of that Highlander's story, True to his prince, when 'twas death to be true. When to my thoughts red CuUoden arises, Thou, and the Stlart, my breast shall divide: Woe to the wretch, who the tartans despises. Since they are dear to sweet Doina de Clydc, Oh! had I lived in the tempest of battle, When the war-feuds on the borders were high Dear to me, then, were the musketry's rattle. Daring each danger for Doina's bright eye. RIest were I, then, with her white arm around me, Slinging my father's claymore at my side : Jiiest were I, then, when each night-fall had found me Locked in tlie arms of my Doina de Clyde. THE KirrEN. t Jouiiiia Baillk \\ ANTON drole, whose harmless play Beguiles the rustic's closing day. When drawn the evening fire about, Sit aged Crone, and thoughtless Lout, And child upon his three-foot stool. Waiting till his supper cool ; And maid, whose cheek outblooms the rose, A> bright the blazing faggot glows, 1G3 AVlio, bending to the friendly light, Plies her task with busy sleight ; Come, show thy tricks and sportive graces Thus circled round with merry faces. Backward coil'd, and crouching low, With glaring eye-balls watch thy foe, The housewife's spindle whirling round. Or thread, or straw, that on the ground Its shadow throws, by urchin sly Held out to lure thy roving eye ; Then, onward stealing, fiercely spring Upon the futile, faithless thing. Now, wheeling round, with bootless skill. Thy bo-peep tail provokes thee still, As oft beyond thy curving side Its jetty tip is seen to glide ; Till, from thy centre starting far, Tliou sidelong lear'st with rump in ;iir, Erected stiff, and gait awry. Like Madam in her tantrums high : Though ne'er a Madam of them all Whose silken kirtle sweeps the hall, More varied trick and whim displays. To catch the admiring stranger's gaze. Uoth power in measured verses dwell, All thy vagaries wild to tell? Ah no ! the start, the jet, the bound. The giddy scamper round and rotiiid, Willi leap, and jerk, and high ciirvrt, Vnd many a whirling somirset, lot (Permitted be the modern Muse Expression technical to use) Tiiese mock the deftest rhymester's skill, I'.ut poor in art, though rich in will. The featest tumbler, stage-bedight, To thee is but a clumsy wight, Who every limb and sinew strains To do what costs thee little pains, For which, I trow, the gaping crowd Requites him oft with plaudits loud, iiul, stopped the while thy wanton play, Applauses, too, thy feats repay : For tlien, beneath some urchin's hand, With modest pride thou tak'st thy stand, Wliile many a stroke of fondness glides Along thy back and tabby sides. Dilated swells thy glossy fur, And loudly sings thy busy pur ; As, timing well the equal sound. Thy clutching feet bepatthe ground, And all their harmless claws disclose, Like prickles of an early rose ; While softly from thy whiskered cheek Thy half-closed eyes peer mild and meek. But, not alone by cottage fire Do rustics rude thy feats admire : The learned sage, whose thoughts exploit The widest ranjie of human lore. 15 Or, with unfettered fancy, fly Through airy heights of poesy, Pausing, smiles with altered air To see thee climb his elbow chair, Or, struggling on the mat below, Hold warfare witli his slipper'd tv-e. The widow'd dame, or lonely maid, Who in the still, but cheerless shade Of home unsocial, spends her age, And rarely turns a lettered page; Upon her hearth for tliee lets fall The rounded cork, or paper ball, Nor chides thee on thy wicked watch The ends of ravell'd skein to catch, Rut lets thee have tliy wayward will, Perplexing oft her sober skill. Even he, whose mind of gloomy bent, In lonely tower or prison pent. Reviews the wit of former days, And loaths the world and all its ways ; What time the lamp's unsteady gleam Doth rouse him from his moody dream, Feels, as thou gambol'st round his seat. His heart with i)ride less fiercely beat, And smiles, a link in thee to find That joins him still to living kind. Whence hast thou then, thou witless puss, 'I'he magic power to charm us thus? Is it, that in thy glaring eye, And rapid movements, we descry, Wliilc \vc at ease, secure from ill^ The cliimney comer snugly fill, A lion, darting on the prey, A lyger, at hU ruthless play? Or, is it, that in tlioc we trace, With all thy varied wanton grace, An emblem view'd with kindred eye,^ Of tricksy, restless infancy ? Ah ! many a lightly-sportive child. Who hath, like thee, our wits beguil'd, To dull and sober manhood grown. With strange recoil our hearts disown. Even so, poor Kit! must thou endure, Wlien thou becom'st a cat demure, lull many a cuff and angry word, (hid roughly from the tempting board. And yet, for that thou hast, I ween, So oft our favoured playmate been, Soft be the change which thou shall prove. AVlicn time hath spoiled thee of our love ; Still be thou deem'd, by housewife fat, A comely, careful, mousing cat, \\ hose dish is, for the public good, Heplenish'd oft with sav'ry food. Nor, when thy span of life is past, I'c thou to pond or dunghill cast, lut gently borne on good man's spade, Keneath tlie decent sod be laid. Ami cliiidrcn show, with glist'ning eyc, liu' place where poor old Pussy lies. 107 THE POOR HINDOO. Mrs. Opre. Said to have been composed and suns; liy a Ilindn.-tani g}r\ on bciii<; r- parated from the man she loved. She had lived foveral years in India with an Knglish gentleman to whom she was tenderly attached ; but he, when about to marry, sent his Indian favourite up the eoiin- Iry; and, as she was borne along in her palanquin, she was heard to ingthe following melody. 'TIS thy will, and I must leave thee : O then, best-beloved, farewell! I forbear, lest I should i,'ricve thee, Half my heart-felt pangs to tell. Soon a British fair will charm thee, Thou her smiles wilt fondly woo; But though she to rapture warm thee. Don't forget THY poor Hindoo. Well I know this happy beauty Soon thine envied bride will shine; But will she by anxious duty Prove a passion warm as mine? If to rule be her ambition, And her own desires pursue, I'hou'lt recall my fond submission. And regret TiiY poor Hindoo. Born herself to rank and splendour, Will she dei/^n to wait on thee, \nd those soft attentions render I'iiou so oft ha; praised in inc.^ 168 Yol, why doubt her care to please thee? Thou must every heart subdue; I am sure each maid that sees thee Loves thee like thy poor Hindoo. No, ah! no! . . . .though from thee parte ' Yet, once again, forgive my fecible sway, And little reck I of the censure sharp May idly cavil at an idle lay. "\liich have I owed tliv strain^ on litV-- Ion:; \\,i\. 172 Through secret woes the world has never known, When on the weary night dawn'd wearier day, And bitterer was the grief devour'd alone. That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress! is thine own. Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string ! 'Tis now a Seraph bold, with touch of fire, 'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing. Receding now, the dying numbers ring Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell. And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring A wandering witch-note of the distant spell And now, 'tis silent all! Enchantress, fare thee well ' n. A. Widtc. MUSIC, all powerful o'er the human mind, Can still each mental storm, each tumult calm. Sooth anxious Care on sleepless couch reclin'd, And e'en tierce Anger's furious rage disarm. At her command the various passions lie ; She stirs to battle, or she lulls to peace, Melts the charm'd soul to thrilling ecstacy, And bids the jarring world's harsh clamour cease. 173 Her martial sounds can fainting troops inspire With strength unwonted, and enthusiasm raise, Infuse new ardour, and with youthful fire Urge on tlie warrior grey witli length of days. Far better she when with her soothing lyre She charms the falchion from the savage grasp, And melting into pity vengeful Ire, Looses the bloody breast-plate's iron clasp. With her in pensive mood I long to roam, At midnight's hour, or evening's calm decline. And thoughtful o'er the falling streamlet's foam, In calm Seclusion's hermit walks recline. Whilst mellow sounds from distant copse arise, Of softest flute or reeds harmonic join'd. With rapture thrill'd each wordly passion dies. And pleased Attention claims the passive Mind. Soft through the dell the dying strains retire. Then burst majestic in the varied swell ; Now breathe mclodioas as the Greci.in lyre. Or on the ear in sinking cadence dwell. fvomantic -ioumls ! sudi is the bliss ye ^iw, That heaven's bright scenes seems bursting on the soul : With joy I'd yii'id each sensual wish, to live For ever 'ucath vour undcfil'd coutroul. 174 Oh surely melody from heaven was set, To cheer the soul when tir'd with human strife, To sooth the wayward heart by sorrow rent, And soften down the rugged path of life. ON THE APPROACH OF WINTEH. Hestail. WHAT time the once unnoticed tide, Fast swelling rolls a torrent wide ; What time tlie fields are frequent strown With scattered leaves of yellow brown ; What time tlie hawthorn berries glow, And, touch'd by frost, the ripen'd sloe Less crudely tastes ; and when the sheep Together in the valleys keep ; And all the smaller birds appear In flocks, and mourn the alter'd year; The careful rustic marks the signs Of winter, marks them and repines; Swift to the neighb'ring wood he goes, Its branches fall beneath his blows. And, as they fall, his healthy brood In bundles tie the sapless wood, And bear it on their heads away, As fciel for the wintry day. At length the chilling mists arise Wide o'er the earth, and veil the skies ; The feather'd show'r falls thickly down. And deeper seems dark winter's frown ; 175 The north-wind hollow murm'ring blows, And drives in heaps the falling snows ; While Fancy, (now without her flowers Her wand'ring streams, her mystic bowers,) Deliglited, rides upon the wind, And sliajies the wild forms to her mind. Me, when the rising morning breaks The rear of night with ruddy streaks, She calls, the alter'd scenes to view, And fill the soul with features new. How chang'd how silent is the grove. Late the gay haunt of youth and love! Its tangling branches now are shorn Of leafy lionours, and upborne By their close tops, the snow lias made Beneath a strange and solemn sliade. Here oft with careless ease I lay On the green lap of genial May: Dear was the stream, whose bottom shone Witii fragments rude of sculptur'd stone, Wliich from yon abbey's ivy'd wall, Shook by the wind, would often fall ; Dear was the sound its waters maVli( n Night, with wings of starry gloom, O'ershadows all the earth and skies, Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes ; I'hat sacred gloom, those fires divine. So grand, so countless, LORD ! are Thine, When youthful Spring around us breathes, Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; And every flower the Summer wreathes Is born beneath that kindling eye. W liere'er we turn thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are Thine. !T IS THE HOUR Lord Baron, i T IS THE HOUR when from the boughs The nightingale's high note is heard; It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whispered word ; And gentle winds and waters near Make music to the lonely ear. Kach flower the dews have lightly we'; And in the sky the stars are met; And on the wave is deeper blue, Anil on the leaf a browner hue; And in tiie Heaven that clear obscure, So softly dark, and darkly pure, 'that follows the decline of day \j twi!i''lit melts beneath the moon awav. 182 to A BROTHER, WHO HAD BEEN AFFLICTED "WrTH A LONG SICKNESS. Charles JAoyd. MY Brother thou hast led a weary life, A life of pain, and sleeplessness and woe, So that thy mind pent in its burthen'd flesh Hath often paus'd, and slept a sleep like death! My Brother and my Friend what shall I say (Now that the W'eary glooms of winter come, And find thee still stretch'd on a sick-man's bed) To give thee aught of solace ? Far from thee, I hear the drippings of the twilight shower, And the faint bodings of the wind Which dwells With nights of winter; far from thee I draw My evening curtain, trim my fire, and light My solitary taper; yet 1 think On former days, and scenes of former love, On many pleasures, and on many pains, That we have felt in common : these will still Croud in the visions of my soul, and bring To my health's quietness, (when nought is heard Save the faint startings of the enibei-, now Glowing with permanent red) some shapes th.it live, Like fleecy clouds in April sun-beams drest ; Till suddenly the meditating part Will question of their being. Troubled mur h And visited by sorrows many and hard, Thou'rt jostled through life's strange disorder'd mass! '1 hat miracle whi(!h makes a wise man pause At e\pry day's re]>ort. Nor truubied kss, 183 Thou wildlier bufTctted, and with more strange, And various shifting:, he, vrho fain this hour Would dedicate his heart to thee ! my Friend, Different the means, though verging to one end ; Thou lyest on the bed of pain, and feel'st The heart's faint fever, and the sickening thought Pall'd with all living things ; and I have known A sudden pause, even in their mid career Of joy and hope, I have been vex'd with wounds iVIan may not heal, belike to both the same Instruction given, the quietness induced, The acquiescence to the will supreme, The sovereign spirit sanctifying pain, And mingling balsams with the cup of death. on! THOU WHO EHY'sT THE MOVRNER's TTM?! V. Moorr. OH ! Thou, who dry'?tthe mourner's tear, How dark this world would be, If, when deceiv'd and wounded here, We could not tly to I'hee. The friends, who in our sunshine live, When winter comes arc down ; And he, who has but tears to give, Must weep those tears alone. HiU thou wilt heal that broken heart, Whirli, like the plants tliat throw 'J heir fragianrc from the wounII.\T! and not one to heave the pious sigh! Not one whose sorrow-swolii and aching eye For social scenes, for life's endearments fled, Shall drop a tear and dwell upon tlie dead! Poor wretched Outcast! I will weep for thee, And sorrow for forlorn humanity. Yes, I will weep ; but not that thou art come To the stern sabbatli of the silent tomb : For squalid Want, and the black scorpion Care, Heart-withering fiends! shall never enter there. I sorrow for the ills thy life has known, Aj through Ihc world's long pilgrimage, alone, 187 Haunted by Poverty and woe-begone, Unloved, unfriended, thou didst journey on: Thy youth in ignorance and labour past, And thine old age ali barrenness and blast! Hard was thy Fate, which, while it doomed to woe Denied thee wisdom to support the blow; And robbed of all its energy thy mind, r.re yet it cast thee on thy fellow-kind, Abject of thought, the victim of distress. To wander in the world's wide wilderness. Poor Outcast, sleep in peace! the wintry storm 151ows bleak no more on thine unsheltered form ; Tliy woes aie past ; thou restest in the tomb ; I pause and ponder on the days to come. TO A YOUNG MAN, Who con^idorod the perfection of liuman nature as consisting in t.i vigonr and indulgence of the more boisterous passions. Charles l.loiir. THIS is not pleasure! can'st thou look within And say tiiat thou art blest? at the close of day C';mst thou retire to thy fire-side alojie, Quiet at heart, nor heeding aught remote, 'I'lio power of witif, or power of company, To fill th\ human cravings? hast thou let't Some treasured feelings, unexhausted loves, Tliontrhts of the past, and thoughts of times to coirir. Vliiii.'l<(l wiih sweetness all and deep content, 188 For Solitude's grave moment ? Canst thou tell Of the last sun-set how 'twas freaked with clouds, With clouds of shape Sublime and strangest hues ? Canst thou report the storm of yester-night, Its dancing flashes and its growling thunder? And canst thou call to mind the colourless moon. What time the thin cloud half obscured the stars Muffling them, till the Spirit of the night Let slip his shadowy surge, and in the midst One little gladdening twinkler shook its locks r Oh have those things within thee aught besides Human remembrance? Have they passion, lov^^r Uo they enrich thy dreams, and to thy thoughts Add images of purity and peace ? It is not so, cannot be so, to those Who in the revels of the midnight cup, Or in the wanton's lap, lavish the gift, Gou's supreme gift, the motion, and the //y. That stirs, and warms the faculty of thought! If thou defile thyself, that joy niituite. Deep, silent, simple, dignilied, yet mild. Must never be thy portion ! Thou hast lost That most companiable and awful sense, That sense which tells us of a God in Heaven And beauty on the earth : that sense which lends A voice to silence, and to virnncy A multitude of shapes hih! luus < T life! Go then relinquish pleasnf , w^u !'.st thou know The throb of happincs*^, ii liu ,ii';m' wine, And greedy lust, and vi. ^.v.xr l^....;.inu^s 189 Ot what may constitute the bliss of man! O.i! tis t silent and a quiet power, Ai. unobliusive power, tliat winds itself Into all moods of time and circumstance ! It smiles and looks serene ; in the clear eye r, speaks refreshing thinss, but never words Ir -iiakes its instruments, and flies away As iwere polluted, from the soul that dares To waste God's dear endowments heedlessly. And without special care that present joij May bring an after blessing. SHK WALKS IN EEAITY. Lord r. Yi SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes : 'ihus niellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denii <. One shade the more, one ray the hss. Had half impaired the nameless giafc \\ hich waves in every raven trrss, Or softly lightens o'er her face ; Wlif'ie thoughts serenely sweet expro-'^ How i>ure, how dear thrir dwelling p! 190 And on that cheek, and o'er tliat brow. So soft, 80 calm, yet eloquent, Tlie smiles that win, the tints that glow. But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent '. TirE EVE or DEATH. ir. K. White. SILENXE of Death portentous calm, Those airy f jrms that yonder fly, Denote that your void foreruns a storm. That the hour of fate is nigh. I see, I see, on the dim mist i>orne, The Spirit of battles rear his crest t I see, I see, that ere the morn. His spear will forsake its hated rest. And the widow'd wife of Larrendill will beat her n;ikrd breast O'er the smooth bosom of the sullen Azt^, No softly ruffling zephyrs fly ; But Nature sleeps a deathless sleep. For the hour of battle is nif,h. Not a loose leaf waves on the dusky oak. But a creeping stillness reigns around; Kxccpt when the raven, with ominous croak. On the car docs un'.velcomely sound. 191 I know, I know, what this silence -meanb, I know what the raven saith Strike, oh, ye bards! the melancholy harp. For this is the eve of death. Behold, how along the twilight air The shades of our fathers glide ! There Morven fled, with the blood-drcnchcd hair. And Colma with grey side. No gale around its coolness flings. Yet sadly sigh the gloomy trees; And hark, how the harp's unvisited strings Sonnd sweet, as if swept by a whispering breezp ' 'Tis done! tlie sun he has set in blood! He will never set more to the brave ; Let us pour to the hero the dirge of death- - For to-morrow he hies to the grave. MVIHG WITHOLT fiOD IN TICE WOIU l>. Charle.i I.am'i IMVSTI.RV of God! thou brave and beauteous woriii, Made fair with li^^ht and shade and stars and flowers, Made fearful and august with woods and rocks. Jagg'd precipice, black mountain, sea in storms, Sun, over all, that no co-rival owns, liut through Heaven's pavement rides as in despite Or mockrry of thn littleness of man! I sec a mighty aim, by mun uiiu'cn. 192 Resistleas, not to be controurd, that guides, III solitude of unshared energies, All these thy ceaseless miracles, O world ! Arm of the world, I view thee, and I muse On Man, who trusting in his mortal strengtii, Leans on a shadowy staff, a staff of dreams. \Ve consecrate our total hopes and fears To idols, flesh and blood, our love, (heaven's due) Our praise and admiration; praise bestowed By man on man, and acts of worship done To a kindred nature, ccrtes do reflect Some portion of the glory and rays oblique Upon the politic worshipper, so man Extracts a pride from his humility. Some braver spirits of the modern stamp Affect a Godhead nearer; these talk loud Of mind, and indopendant intellect. Of energies omnipotent in man, And man of his own fate artificer ; Yea of his own life Lord, and of the da\ s Of his abode on earth, when time shall 'j<>, That life inimortal shall become an art. Or death, by chymic practices deceived. Forego the scent, which for six thousand years Like a good hound he has followed, or at lengtli More manners learning, and a decent sense And reverence of a philosophic world. Relent, and leave to prey on carcasses. But these are fancies of a few : the rest, Atheists, or Deists only in the name. By word or deed deny a God. Tlicy .m* 193 Their daily bread, and draw the breath of heaven Without a thought or thanks ; heaven's roof to them Is but a painted ceiling hung with lamps, No more, that lights them to their purposes. They vander "loose about," they nothing see, Themselves except, and creatures like themselves, Short-liv'd, short-sighted, impotent to save. So on their dissolute spirits, soon or late, Destruction cometh "like an aimed man," Or like a dream of murder in the night, Withering their mortal faculties, and breaking The bones of all their pride. LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL. Lord Byron. START not nor deem my spirit fled ; In me behold the only skull, From which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows ii never dull. 1 lived, I loved, I quaff'd, like thee ; I died ; let earth my bones resign : Fill up thou canst not injure me ; The worm hath fouler lips than thine. Better to hold the sparkling grape Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood : And circle in the goblet's shape The drink of God., liian reptile's food. 194 Where once my wit, perchsuice hath shone. In aid of others' let me shine ; And when, alas ! our brains are gone, What nobler substitute than wine! Qnaflf while thou canst another race. When thou and thine like me are sped, May rescue thee from earth's embrace, And rhyme and revel with the dead. Why not? since through life's little day Our heads such sad effects produce Redeemed from worms and wasting clay, This chance is theirs, to be of use. 1 \) MOURN THE HOPES THAT LEAVE ME. r. Moo I, I'd mourn the hopes tliat leave me, If thy smile had left me too; I'd weep, when friends deceive me, If thou wert, like them, untrue. But, wliile I've thee before me, With lieait so warm and eyes so bright, No clouds can linj^er o'er me, That suiile turns them all to light! 195 'Tis not in fate to harm me, While fate leaves thy love to mc, 'Tis not in joy to charm me, Unless joy be shared with thee. One minute's dream about tliee, Were worth a long, an endless year, Of waking bliss without thee, My own love, my only dear ! \nd, tho' the hope be gone, love, That long sparkled o'er our way, Oh! we shall journey on, love, More safely, without its ray. Far better lights shall win me. Along the path I've yet to roam, The mind, that burns within me, And pure smiles from thee at home. 'I'lius, when the lamp that lighted 'J'he traveller, at first goes out. He feels awhile beniglited, And looks round with fear and doMbt. lint soon, the prospect clearing, By cloudless star-light, on he tieati. , And tliinks no lamp so cheering, As that liglit which Heaven shid^ '. 100 AN EVENING WALK AT CROMER, 1795. Mrs. Ople. HAIL scene sublime! along the Eastern hills Night draws her veil, and lo ! the * circling lamp That guides the vessel thro' the ambush'd rocks, Hangs in bright contrast on her dusky brov^. And smiles away its gloom. See from the West, A branching stream of silver radiance flows On Ocean's bosom, till it emulates The trembling lustre of the milky way ; While the dark cliffs projecti;ig o'er the waves. And frowning, (Fancy whispers) envious seem Of the soft light they share not. In the South, The star of evening sheds her pallid rays ; While from the humble cottages that skirt Yon hill's uneven side, lights redly shine Contrasting Art with Nature, and fill up The chain of objects that leads captive sight. And to the shrine of meditation draws The wanderer's soul. But hark! the awaken'd Owl Majestic, slow, on sounding wing sails by, And, rous'd to active life, enjoys the hour That gives his winking eyelids leave to rest. While his bright eye, dim in day's dazzling light Now into distance shoots its beams, and guides The unwieldy spoiler to his creeping prey, Which having sciz'd, again on murmuring wing He cleaves the tranquil air, and to his nest r-roudly bears home the feast, he toil'd to gain; 'Iht lur.-.ft :ii Cromer .' i,l.t !.i,i,L,i- i',-,o'.-.o. 197 Then from the bosom of some thick-wove tree, Breathes in dull note his votive strain to Night, Friend of his daring, season of his joy. Here could I stay, now list'ning, gazing now, Till all that crowded, busy, life can give Sunk from my view, lost in the splendid vast Of Nature's pure magnificence, that still M'ill shine and charm for ages. Fashion's hand Which, in the world's gay scenes omnipotent. Makes, and destroys, and the same object bids Delight one moment, and disgust the next. Here can no influence boast ; but here true Taste To Fashion rarely known, enamour'd roves And rapt, becomes Devotion, while the tear Steals the flush'd cheek adown, as on the rose Glitters the dew-drop. Hail again, bright scene! On the moist gale of Eve shall I breathe forth The song of praise to thee, responsive still To Ocean's solemn roar? or shall I stand In SACRED silence bound, Devotion's friend, And list'ning, let my eager ear drink in The distant, mingling sounds that Fancy loves, lill every thought's, thanksgiving, and tlie lips Can only murmur praise? And lo! my lips lii tilteraiii:' fail, and Silence I am thine. 108 ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY TITUS. Lmrd Byron. FROM the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome I beheld thee, Oh Sion ! when rendered to Rome : 'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall. I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home, And forgot for a moment my bondage to come ; I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane. And the fast-fettered hands that made vengeance in vain. On many an eve, the spot whence I gazed Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed : While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine. And now on that mountain I stood on that day, Hut I mark'd not the twilight beam melting away; Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead, And tlie thunderbolt burst on the conqvieror's head ! Vint the Gods of the Pagan shall never profane The shrine where Jehovah disdain'd not to reign ; And scattered and scorn'd as thy people may be, Otir worship, oh Father ! is only for tlie*-. 199 WEEP NOT FOR THOSE. T. Moore. WEEP not for those, whom the veil of the tomb, In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes. Ere Sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, Or Earth had profan'd what was born for the skies. Death chill'd the fair fountain, ere sorrow had stain'd it, 'Twas frozen in all the pure light of its course, And but sleeps till the sunshine of Heav'n has unchain'd it, To water that Eden, where first was its source ! Weep not for those, whom the veil of the tomb In life's happy morning hath hid from our eyes. Ere Sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom. Or Earth had profan'd what was born for the skies. Mourn not for her, the young Bride of the Vale, Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now; Ere life's early lustre ha.>ii day As owls, lynx-eyed in darkness' 202 O my God! I thank thee that I am not snch as these, I thank thee for the eye that sees, the heart That feels, the voice that in these evil days That amid evil tongues, exalts itself And cries aloud against the iniquity. By W. Mason on the death op his wife, in Bristol cathedral. TAKE, holy Earth! all that my soul holds dear: Take that best gift which heav'n so lately gave: To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care Her faded form : she bowed to taste the wave And died. Does youth, does beauty, read the line? Does sympathetic fear their breast alarm? Speak, dead Maria! breathe a strain divine: Ev'n from the grave thou shalt have power to charm. Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee ; Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move ; And if so fair, from vanity as free ; As firm in friendship, and as fond in love. Tell them, tho' 'tis an awful thing to die, (Twas e'en with thee) yet the dread path once trod, Heav'n lifts its everlasting portals high. And bids " the pure in heart behold their God." '203 SKETCH OP HOtLANO. Rev. J. Mitford. THE sun is np; and slowly on the tide, How gay, how fair the painted barges glide, While o'er yon level length of mead, is seen Bright as an emerald, in its robe of green. The mill-sail ceaseless turns the laden wain Creaks as it wears along the rushy plain, And many a thought to calm enjoyment dear. And many a scene of patient toil is here Along each broomy mead, each willowy shore, The little hamlet opes its willing-door : And here content with ever watchful breast. Dove-like sits brooding o'er its sheltered nest. And nursed by her, here patriot valour calls From Delf 's high spires, and Haarlem's mould'ring wails. And Leyden's streets yet nobler scenes afford, The scholar's counsel edged the soldier's sword, While he, the baffled tyrant shrunk to see In famines ghastly eye, the gleam of liberty. Then why should he, the pensive traveller grieve For scenes like these, his native hills to leave, Marked he how trim yon garden's trelUs'd bound, How streaked with beauty rose the (lower-girt mound: Saw lie the swan, his snowy plumage lave, Anl the green island tremble in the wave : Marke(l lie the moated watch-tower rise aroutid With many a pcak'd fantastic turret crown'd. - 204 The village spire seen frequent o'er the trees, The tufted osiers rustling in the breeze : The kine that pasture in tlie champaign wide. The frequent barge laveering on the tide, The poplar grove with autumns foilage gay, These all shall cheer him on his length'ning way For many a day content with scenes like these, Well-pleas'd I gaz'd; for all had power to please. The painted summer-house that o'er the stream, Catches tlie evening sun's departing gleam : The willow weeping o'er the turf; the vine Whose beamy clusters through the lattice shine, And the long colonnade ; whose dark'ning green. Through pillar'd arches just admits the scene ; The slow canal, the air-hung bridge, the tree Of figur'd form: they all had charms for me. Here late with him I roamed, who many a day Had left his native vallies far away And now well-nigh the autumn day was done And Ryswick's spires shone in the setting sun. From mead to mead as slow we loiter'd there, Soft chimes came floating through the evening air. The music of his native land*: it came And burst, and lighten'd on his heart; like flame What instant visions floated o'er his eyes, Yon level meads in mountain structures rise : Again lie heard, as oft in youth, the bee Wind his blithe horn in pleasant harmony ' Ihc carillom in the ChurchfS in lIolLiud verj often pli} feir units. 205 He heard the echoes of the torrent swell Along the peaked rocks of Apenzell; Again he saw the bounding chamois roam, Scared by the eagle from his alpine home, He heard Lausanne's still waters gently creep, And move and murmur, to the mountain's steep ; While the pale moon, from out her cloudy cave, Drop'd her still anchor in the twilight wave. TO THE SABBATH. Charles Lloyd. A H ! quiet day, I oft recal the time, When I did chace my childish sluggishness, (The "rear of darkness ling'ring still") to dress In due sort for thy coming : the first chime Of blitheome bells, that usher'd in the morn, Carol'd to me of rest and simplest mirth : Twas tlien all happiness on the wide earth To gaze! I little dreamt, that man was born For ought but wholesome toil and holiest praise Thanking that God who made him to rejoice! V>\\i I am changed now! nor could I raise My sunken spirit at thy well-known voice; P.Mt that thou scemcst soothingly to say, "Look lip poor mourner, to a better day." 20<> TROUTBECK CHAPET,. fVilson. HOW sweet and solemn at the close of clay, After a long and lonely pilgrimage Among the mountains, where our spirits held Witli wildering fancy and her kindred powers High converse, to descend as from the clouds Into a quiet valley, fill'd with trees By Nature planted, crowding round the brink Of an oft-hidden rivulet, or hung A beauteous shelter o'er the humble roof Of many a moss-grown cottage! In that hour Of pensive happiness, the wandering man Looks for some spot of still profounder rest. Where nought may break the solemn images Sent by the setting sun into his soul. Up to yon simple edifice he walks, That seems beneath its sable grove of pines More silent than the home where living thing Abides, yea, even than desolated tower M'rapt in its ivy-shroud. I know it well, The village-chapel : many a year ago. That little dome to God was dedicate ; And ever since, hath undisturbed peace Sat on it, moveless as the brooding dove That must not leave her iiest. A mossy wall, iJalhtd lliouirii in ruin;: v\itii a 'iujli oi'Hov.er>. 207 (A lovely emblem of that promised life Tliat springs from death) doth placidly enclose The bed of rest, where with their tathers sleep The children of the vale, and the calm stream That murmurs onward with the self-same tone For ever, by the mystic power of sound Binding the present with the past, pervades The holy hush as if with God's own voice, Filling the listening heart with piety. Oh! ne'er shall I forget the hour, when first Thy little chapel stole upon my heart, Secluded Troutbeck ! 'Twas the Sabbath-mom, And up the rocky banks of thy wild sireara I wound my path, full oft I ween delay'd By sounding waterfall, that 'mid the calm Awoke such solemn thoughts as suited well The day of peace ; till all at once I came Out of the shady glen, and vvitli fresh joy Walk'd on encircled by green pastoral hills. Before me suddenly thy chapel rose As if it were an image : even then The noise of thunder roll'd along the sky. And darkness veil'd the heiglits, a suinmcr-stoiiii Of short forewarning and of transient power. Ah me ! how beautifully silent tliou Didst smile amidst the tempest! O'er thy roof Arch'd a fair rainbow, tliat to me appear'd A holy shelter to thee in the storm, And made tiiee stime amid the brootliuf gI(,oni, liriglit u:; lliL nuiiiiii'' star. Between the liL- 208 Of the loud thunder, rose the voice of Psalms, A most soul-moving sound. There unappall'd, A choir of youths and maidens hymned their God, With tones that robb'd the thunder of its dread, Bidding it rave in vain. Out came the sun In glory from his clouded tabernacle ; And, waken'd by the splendour, up the lark Rose with a loud and yet a louder song, Chaunting to heaven the hymn of gratitude. The service closed ; and o'er the church-yard spread The happy flock who in that peaceful fold Had worshipp'd Jesus, carrying to their homes The comfort of a faith that cannot die, That to the young supplies a guiding light, Steadier than reason's and far brighter too, And to the aged sanctifies the grass 'Jliat grows upon the grave. O liappy lot, Methought, to tend a little flock like this. Loving them all, and by them all beloved ! So felt their shepherd on that Sabbath-morn Ivcturning their kind smiles ;^ a pious man. Content in this lone vale to teach the truths Our Saviour taught, nor wishing- other praise Than of his great task-master. Yet his youth Not unadorn'd with science, nor tlie lore IJccoming in tlieir prime accomplish'd men, Told that among the worldly eminent SAO Might lie his shinioj; W4.y : bat, wiser far, He to the shades of solitude retired, The birth-place of bis iatbers, and there vow'd His talents and his virtues, rarest both, To God who gave them, reodering by his voice This beauteous chapel still more beautiful, And the blameless dwellers in this quiet dale Happier in life and dea4 ntB TOWB OF CDNICS. Anottymoiis. WHERE the chilling north-wind blows, Where the weeds so wildly wave, Moum'd by the weeping willow, Wash'd by the beating billow. Lies the youthful poets grave 1 Beneath yon little eminence, Mark'd by the grass green turf, Tlie winding sheet his form incloses. On tlie cold rock his head reposes. Near him foams the troubled surf! Roars around his tomb the n-cau, Pensive sleeps the moon-beam tliere, Naiads love to wreathe his uru, Dryads thither hiu to muuru, Fairy music melts ui air. 210 On his tomb the vilhige virgins, Love to drop the tribute tear; Stealing fVom the groves around, Soft they tread the hallow'd ground^ And scatter wild flowers o'er bis bier! By the cold earth mantled all alone, Pale and lifeless lies his form, Patters on his grave the storm ; Silent now his tuneful numbers, Here the son of genius slumbers Sti auger mark bis funeral stone! 211 THE MOCRNER. Crabbe. 'Yes f there are real Monrners I have seen A fair, sad Girl, mild, suffering, and serene ; Attention (through the day) her duties claim'd. And to be useful as resign'd she aim'd ; Neatly she drest, nor vainly seem'd t* expect Pity for grief, or pardon for neglect ; But when her wearied Parents sunk to sleep. She sought her place to meditate and weep : Then to her mind was all the past displayed. That faithful memory brings to sorrow's aid : For then she thought on one regretted youth. Her tender trust, and his unquestion'd truth ; In ev'ry place she wander'd, where they'd been. And sadly-sacred held the parting scene ; Where last for Sea he took his leave that place Witli double interest would she nightly trace: For long the courtship was, and he would say, Each time he sail'd, " this once and then the day :" Vet prudence tarried, but when last he went, He drew from pitying love a full consent. Happy he sail'd, and great the care she took. That he should softly sleep, and smartly look ; White was his better linen, and his check Was made more trim than any on the deck ; And every comfort men at Sea can know, Was her's to buy, to make, and to bestow : For he to Greenland sail'd^ and much she told, How he should guard against the climate's cold; 2H Yet saw not danger; dangers he'd withstood, Nor could she trace the fever in his hlood : His messmate's smil'd at flushings in his cheek, And he too smil'd, but seldom would he speak ; For now he found the danger, felt the pain, With grievous symptons he could not explain ; Hope was awaken'd, as for home he sail'd, But quickly sank, and aever more prevail'd. ' He call'd his friend, and prc-fac'd with a sigh A lover's message, " Thomas I must die : " Would I cottld see my Saity, and could rest " My throbbing temples on her faithful breast, " And gazing go! if not, this trifle take, " And say till death I wore it for her sake ; " Yes! I must die blow on, sweet breeze, blow on! " Give me one look, before my life be gone, " Oh ! give me that, and let me not despair, " One last fond look and now repeat the prayer." ' He had his wish, had more ; I will not paint The lover's meeting : she beheld him faint, With tender fears, she took a nearer view, Her terrors doubling as her hopes withdrew; He tried to smile, and, half succeeding, said, " Yes! I must die," and hope for ever fled. ' Still long she nurs'd him ; tender thoughts meantime Were interchang'd, and hopes and views sublime. To her he came to die, and every day She took some portion of the dread away ; 213 With hiiti shff pray'ff, to hira his Brble read, Sooth'd the faint heart, and hld the aching head : She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer ; Apart she sighed ; alone, she shed the tear ; Then, as if breaking from a cloud, she gave Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave. One day he Hgfttcr seem'd, and they forgot The care, the dread, the anguish of their lot ; They spoke with cheerfulness, and seem'd to think, Yet said not so " perhaps he will not sink : " A sudden brightness in his look appeai-'d, A sudden vigour in his voice was heard ; She had been reading in the Book of Prayer, And led him forth, and plac'd him in his chair; Lively he seem'd, and spoke of all he knew, The friendly many, and t!ie favourite few ; Nor one that day did be to mind recall, But she has treasured, and she loves them all ; AVhcn in her way she meets them, they appear Peculiar people death has made them dear. He nam'd his friend, but then his hand she prest, And fondly whisper'd, " thou must go to rest;" " I go," he said, but as he spoke, she found His hand more cold, and fluttering was the sound ; Then gaz'd affrightcn'd; but she caught a last, A dying look of love, and all was past ! * She placed a decent stone his Grave above. Neatly engrav'd an offering of her Love; For that she wrought, for that forsook her bed, Awake alike to duty and the dead ; 214 She would have griev'd, had friends presum'd to spare The least assistance 'twas her proper care. * Here will she come and on the grave will sit, Folding her arms, in long abstracted fit^ But if observer pass, will take her round, And careless seem, for she would not be found ; Then go again, and thus her hour employ, While visions please her, and while woes destroy. THE BOROUGH. MONODY ON NELSON, PITT, AND FOX. Walter Scott. TO mute and to material things New life revolving summer brings^ The genial call dead nature hears, And in her glory re-appears. But oh! my country's wintry state What second spring shall renovate? What powerful call shall bid arise The buried warlike and the wise ; The mind that thought for Britain's weal. The hand, that grasp'd the victor's steel? The vernal sun new life bestows Even on the meanest flower that blows; But vainly, vainly may he shine, Where Glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrine ; And vainly pierce the solemn gloom. That shrouds, O Firr, tiiy hallo w'd tomb. 215 Deep graved in every British heart, O never let those names depart ! Say to your sons, Lo, hwe his grave. Who victor died on Gadite wave ; To him, as to the burning levin. Short, bright, resistless course was given ; Where'er his country's foes were found, Was heard the fated thunder's sound. Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, SoII'd, blazed, destroy'd, and was no more. Nor mourn ye less his perish'd worth, M'ho bade the conqueror go forth, And launch'd that thunderbolt of war On Egypt, Hafnia,* Trafalgar; Who, bom to guide such high emprize. For Britains weal was early wise ; Alas! to whom the Almighty gave, Por Britain's sins, an early grave; His worth, who, in his mightiest hour, A bauble held the pride of power, Spum'd at the sordid lust <^ pelf. And serv'd his Albion for herself; Who, when the frantic crowd amain Strain'd at subjection's burstini' rein, O'er their wild mood full conquest gain'd. The pride, he would not crush, restrain'd, Shew'd their fierce zeal a worthier cause. And brought the freeman's arm, to aid the freeman's laws. Copenhagen. 21(5 Had'st thon but IWd, though stripp'd of potrcr, A watchman on the lonely tower. Thy thrilling trump had roused the land^ When fraud or danger were at hand ; By thee, as by the beacon>light, Our pilots had kept course aright; As some proud column, though alone, Thy strength had propp'd the tottering throne : Now is the stately column broke, The heacon-light is quench'd in smoke. The trumpet's silver sound is still, The warder silent on the hill ! Oh, think, bow to hh latest day, When death, just hovering, claim'd his pvey^ Witli Palinure's unalter'd mood, Finn at his dangerous post he stood ; Each call for needtVil rest repell'd, A\'itli dying hand the rudder held, 'I'ill, in his fall, with fkteful sway, 'J'he steerage of the realm gave way ! Then, while on Britain's thousand plains, One unpolluted church remains, Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around The bloody tocsin's maddening sound, But still, upon the hallow'd day, Convoke the sw~dins to praise and pray ; While faitli and civil peace are dear, Grace this cold marble with a tear, lie, who preserved tbem, Pitt, lies here! 217 Nor yet sappress the i^enerons sigh, Because his Rival slumbers nigh ; Nor be thy requiescat dumb, Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb; For talents mourn, untimely lot, When best employ'd, and wanted most ; Mourn genius high, and lore profound, And wit that loved to play, sot wound ; And all the reasoning powers divine, To penetrate, resolve, comMne ; And feelings keen, and fancy's glow, They sleep with him who sleeps below: And, if thou mourn'st they could not save From error him who owns this grave,. Be every harsher thought suppress' d> And sacred be the last long rest. Here, where the end of earthly thingft- Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings; Where stiif the hand, and still the tongue. Of those who fought, and spok^, and sung; Here, where the fretted aisles prolong The distsmt notes of holy song. As if some angel spoke agen, All peace on earth, good-will to men ; If ever from an English heart, O here let prejudice depart. And, partial feeling cast aside. Record, that Fox a Briton died ! When Europe crouch'd to France's yoke, And Auiitria bent, and Prussia biu.:e, 218 And ihe firm Bussian's purpose brave Was barter'd by a timourous slave, Even then dishonour's peace he spurn'd, Tlie sullied olive-branch returu'd, Stood for his country's glory fast, And nail'd her colours to the mast! Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave A portion ia this honour'd grave ; And ne'er held marble in its trust Of two such wondrous men the dust. With more than mortal powers endow'd, How high they soar'd above the crowd ! Theirs was no common party race, Jostling by dark intrigue for place ; Like fabled Gods, their mighty war Shook realms and nations in its jar ; Beneath each banner proud to stand, Look'd up the noblest of the land, Till through the British world were known The names of Pitt and Fox alone. Spells of such force no wizard grave E'er fram'd in dark Thessalian cave, Though his could drain the ocean dry, And force the planets from the sky. These spells are spent, and, spent with these, Tlic wine of life is on the lees. Genius, and taste, and talent gone, For ever tomb'd beneath the stone. Where, taming thought to human pride! The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 219 Drop npon Fox's grave the tear, *Twill trickle to his rival's bier ; O'er Pitt's the mourafol requiem sound. And Fox's shall the notes rebound. The solemn echo seems to cry, * Here let their discord with them die ; " Speak not for those a separate doom, *' Whom Fate made brothers in the tomb, " But search the land of living men, ** Where wilt thou find their like agen ?" Rest, ardent Spiritsi till the cries Of dying nature bid you rise; Not even your Britain's groans can pierce The leaden silence of your hearse : Then, O how impotent and vain This grateful tributary strain 1 Though not nnmark'd from northern clime. Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme : His Gothic harp has o'er you rang^ The bard you deign'd to praise, your deathless names has sung. INTBODUCTION TO MARMION. ^(f ON VISrrrNG TTNTEni* ABBEY. Wordstmirth. FIVE years have ^Hfle)d<; fire SBmmers, with Ihe length Of five long winters ! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their monntain springs With a sweet inland murmur. Once again Do 1 behold these steep and lofty cliffs, Which on a wild secluded scene imptess Thoughts of more deep seclusion ; and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky. The day is come when I again repose Here, under this dark sycamore, and view These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard tufts, Which, at this season, with their unripe fruits. Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves Among the woods and copses, nor disturb The wild green landscape. Once again 1 see These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild ; these pastoral farms Green to the very door ; and wreaths of smoke Sent up, in silence, from among the trees, With some uncertain notice, as might seem, Of vagrant dwellers ui the houseless woods, Or of some hermit's cave, where, by his fire, I'he hermit sits alone. Though absent long. These forms of beauty have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye : But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, ^21 In hours of weariness, sensations s.eet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart. And passing even into my purer mind With tranquil restoration : feelings too Of nnremembered pleasure ; such, perhaps, As may have had no trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life. His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift. Of aspect more sublime ; that blessed mood. In which the burthen of the mystery. In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world Is lightened ; that serene and blessed mood In which the aiTecyons gently lead us on. Until the breath of this corporeal frame, And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul : While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony and the deep power of joy. We see into the life of things. If this Be but a vain belief, yet, oh ! how ot't, In darkness, and amid tlie many shapes Of joyless day-light ; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world. Have hung upon the beatings of my h-jart, How oft, in spirit, have I turned to tluic, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woodf. 222 How often has my spirit turned to thee ! And now, with gleams of lialf extingnislied thoughf, With many recognitions dim and faint, And somewhat of a sad perplexity, The picture of the mind revives again : While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts That in this moment there is life and food For future years. And so I dare to hope. Though changed, no doubt, from what I was, when first! I came among these hills ; when, like a roe, I bounded o'er the moimtains, by the sides Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams. Wherever nature led : more like a man Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, And their glad animal movements all gone by,) To me was all in all I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion ; the tall rock. The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood. Their colours, and their forms, were then to me An appetite ; a feeling, and a love. That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, or any interest Unborrowed from the eye. That time is past. And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur ; other gifts Have followed', for such loss, I would believe, 223 Abandant recompense. For I have kamed To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor gratiug, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts ; a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused. Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean, and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man; A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought. And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And moimtaius ; and of all that we behold From this green earth ; of all the mighty world Of eye and ear, both what they half create. And what perceive ; well pleased to recognize In nature, and tlie language of the sense. The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse. The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being. Nor, perchance. If I were not thas taught, should I the more Suffer my genial spirits to decay : For thou art with me, here, upon the banks Of this fair river; thou, my dearest friend. My dear, dear friend, and in tliy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read 2^4 My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a Uttje while May I behold in tJice what I was once, IMy dear, dear sister ! And this prayer I make. Knowing that nature never did betray The heart that loved her ; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy ; for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues. Rash judgements, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life. Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith that all which we behold Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon Shine on thee in tliy solitary waljc ; And let the misty mountain winds be free To blow against thee : and in after years. When these wild ecstacies shall be matured Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms. Thy memory be as a dwelling place For all sweet sounds and harmonies ; Oh ! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief. Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me. And these my exhortations ! Nor perchance. If I should be where I no more can hear Tliy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams 225 Of past existence, wilt thou then forget That on the banks of this delightful stream We stood together ; and that I, so long A worshipper of nature, hither came Unwearied in that service : rather say With warmer love, oh ! with far deeper zeal Of holier love. Nor wilt tliou then forget, That after many wanderings, many years Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, And this green pastoral landscape, were to me More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake. MODERN GREECE. Lord Byron. FAIR clime where every season smiles Benignant o'er those blessed isles, Which, seen from far Colonna's height, Make glad the heart that hails the sight, And lend to loneliness delight. There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek Reflects the tints of many a peak Caught by the laughing tides that lave These Edens of the eastern wave ; And if at times a transient breeze Break the blue crystal of the seas. Or sweep one blossom from the trees, How welcome is each gentle air That wakes and wafts the odours there ! For there the Rose o'er crag or vale. Sultana of the Nightingale, Q 226 The maid for whom his melody, His thousand songs are heard on high, Blooms blushing to her lover's tale : His queen, the garden queen, his Rose, Unbent by winds, unchilled by snows, Far from the winter's of the west. By every breeze and season blest, Returns the sweets by nature given In softest incense back to heaven ; And grateful yields that smiling sky Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh. And many a summer flower is there, And many a shade that love might share, And many a grotto, meant for rest, That holds the pirate for a guest ; Whose bark in sheltering cove below Lurks for the passing peaceful prow, Till the gay mariner's guitar Is heard, and seen the evening star ; Then stealing with the muffled oar, Far shaded by the rocky shore. Rush the night-prowlers on the prey, And turn to groans his roundelay. Strange that where Nature loved to trace, As if for Gods, a dwelling-place. And every charm and grace hath mixed Within the paradise she fixed. There man, enamoured of distress. Should mar it into wilderness. And trample, brute-like, o'er each flower That tasks not one laborious hour ; 227 Not cimms the culture of his hand To bloom along the fairy land, But springs as to preclnde his care. And sweetly woos him but to spare ! Strange that where all is peace beside There passion riots in her pride, And lust and rapine wildly reign To darken o'er the fair domain. It is as though the fiends prevailed Against the seraphs they assailed, And, fixed on heavenly tiirones, should dwell The freed inheritors of hell ; So soft the scene, so formed for joy, So curst the tyrants that destroy ! He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled. The first darli day of nothingness^ The last of danger and distress, (Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) Awl marked the mild angelic air, Tlie rapture of repose that's there, The fixed yet tender traits that streak The langour of the placid cheek, And but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now. And but for that chill changeless brow. Where cold Obstruction's apathy Appals the gazing mourner's heart, As if to him it could impart 228 I The doom he dreads, yet dwelU upon ; Yes, but for these and these alone, Some moments, aye, one treacherous hour, He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; So fair, so calm, so softly sealed, The first, last look by death revealed ! Such is the aspect of this shore ; 'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more ! So coldly sweet, so deadly fair. We start, for soul is wanting there. Hers is the loveliness in death, That parts not quite with parting breath ; But beauty with that fearful bloom, That hue which haunts it to the tomb. Expression's last receding ray, A gilded halo hovering round decay. The farewell beam of Feeling, past away ! Spark of that dame, perchance of heavenly birth. Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth ! Clime of the unforgotten brave ! Whose land from plain to mountain-cave Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave; Shrine of the mighty ! can it be, That this is all remains of thee? Approach thou craven crouching slave : Say, is not this Thermopylae ? Tliese waters blue that round you lave. Oh servile ofTspring of the free Pronounce what sea, what shore is this ? The gulf, the rock of Salaniis ! 229 These scenes, their story not nnknown, Arise, and make again your own ; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires ; And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear That Tyranny shall quake to hear, And leave his sons a hope, a fame, They too will rather die than shame : For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed by bleeding Sire to Son, Though baffled oft is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, Attest it many a deathless age ! While kings, in dusty darkness bid. Have left a nameless pyramid. Thy heroes, though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb, A mightier monument command, The mountains of their native land ! There points thy Muse to stranger's eye The graves of those that cannot die ! 'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace. Each step from splendour to disgrace ; ' Enough no foreign foe could quell Thy soul, till from itself it fell ; Yes ! Self-abasement paved the way To villain-bonds and despot-sway. What can he tell who treads thy shore P No legend of thine olden time, 230 No theme on which the muse might soar ^ High as tliine ovni in days of yore, When man was worthy of thy clime. The hearts within thy valleys bred, The fiery souls that might have led Thy sons to deeds sublime, Now crawl from cradle to the grave, Slaves nay, the bondsmen of a slave, And callous, save tp. crime; Stain'd with each evil that pollutes Mankind, where least above the brutes ; Without even savage virtue blest, Without one free or valiant breast. Still to the neighbouring ports they waft Proverbial wiles, and ancient craft : In this the subtle Greek is found. For this, and this alone, renowned. In vain might Liberty invoke The spirit to its bondage broke, Or raise the neck that courts the yoke. THE GIAOUR THB LOTE PF COUNTRY. . Mont^otnery. THERE is a land of every land the pride, Beloved by heaven o'er all the vrorld beside ; Where brighter suns dispense serener lig^ht, And milder moons emparadise the night ; A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth, TJme-tutor'd age, and love-exalted youth : The wandering mariner, whose eye explores The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ; In every clime the magnet of his soul, Touch'd by remembrance, trembles to that pole ; For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace. The heritage of nature's noblest race. There is a spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, While in his soften'd looks benignly blend Tlie sire, the sou, the husband, brother, friend : Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife, Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ; In the clear heaven of her delightful eye. An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ; Around her knees domestic duties meet. And fire-side pleasures gambol at her feet. " Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found i" Art tlion a nnn ' - a pn'rinl? lo')k aronnviL.^tivD 3 1158 01157 536 CX-'I UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 056 269 4