.;^S»-^ /Z, #/--r,^: ^^^iC:^^^ X. v^ ^^ ^-z ^:>- y ^ J <:_ ^ y /^ M H VALENTINE VERSES; F OB, liINES OF TRUTH, LOVE, AND VIRTUE BY THE REVEREND RICHARD COBBOLD, A. M. ■** Honor thy Father and thy Mother, that thy days may be long ia the land, which the Lord thy God giveth thee." IPSWICH: PRINTED AND SOLD BY E. SHALDERS. 1827. '/I To catch an innocent confiding lass. ^^;y^r ^'-■^"'S^'tK^^-^ vm'^- ,>>iv#:-' mm' ft 11 TAKING AN OSTRICH. This Ostrich taken, vainly tries From chord of Courser to be free ; She straggles hard^ but man defies Her bold attempt at liberty. Ah ! Lady take the simile : As Ostrich caught by twisted chord, So Woman must obey her Lord. Awhile, in youth you wander o*cr The golden path of promised joy, Nor think captivity has store Of care, life's bitterest alloy : — You play with love, as child with toy ; But ah this Ostrich ; it v/ill prove You cannot 'scape the Chord of Love. (V A CAT TORMENTING A MOUSE. Hast ever seen by lawn or house, A cat tormenting a poor mouse ? So long he sports and mocks his prey. The lucky creature gets away. In life such monster has been seen Among most fashionable men ; One, who pretends to heart and mind. And yet makes sport of woman kind. O never let such counterfeit Display thy powers of deceit ; But shouldst thou win the heart of fair. Be faithful, Sir, as women are. With pure affection never play. Lest she who loves should get away, And leave thee, as thou shouldst be left. Of Love and tenderness bereft. i * ' 7 111 15 THE OPPOSITION. In parliament, as well as love Is opposition good ; Elicits talent, and will prove If law be understood. The laws of Love and Honor stand Alike the bulwarks of our land. The ancients lov'd Olympic dust, Were ardent to excel ; The moderns, into coaches thrust. May gallop full as well : The chariot of ancient day. Could never g-o it in this way. Who ever lov'd and would not try To gain his mistress' love ? Who ever spur'd by rivalry Would not more ardent prove ? If opposition Sir be thine, Put forth your speed 3 Be not supine, # * 17 THE i^IONARCH OF THE GROVE, O tell me youths, can aught resemble Love More faithfully than Monarch of the Grove ? Behold him noble, bold, majestic, grand. With eye of Spirit, seeming to c:oramand The furthest prospect of the scene around ; Reclined in confidence on native ground. He knows no horrors ; fears have not disturbed His pure enjoyment ; nothing yet has curbed That lofty spirit which delights to rove. O'er scenes of grandeur, mountain, plain, or grove^ Unfetter'd, free, undaunted. Thus the youth In days of early pleasure, feels the truth Of joyous liberty, and loves to dwell On scenes of ecstasy, the lover's spell. He sees the world, and fancies it his own, 'Tis full of beauty. Love without a frown. 'Tis thus the youth, like Monarch of the Grove, In fancied libertv, resembles Love. B f'l ' 1 '^! 1 l,!t If ! ' i: ;, 1 \\ \ i ! i h (■!; • 1m 1' i i; ' 1 i i" 'i- i i 1 \ , i.l i ■r. I ■ J 19 THE PLOUGHING MATCH. Has't ever seen the humble batch Of busy ploughmen, when they try On gala day, at ploughing match To gain the prize of Victory ? Whoever cuts the straightest line. Assuredly that Prize will win. What heroes starting for a match. His talents would improve, Here, let him from the ploughman catch A hint, to win his love. Who steers the straightest course in life. Deserves to have a worth v wife. /5 M'VM^ !; i ' I i .•' lii : I!' j' I iih ! TAKING AN ELEPHANT. Boast not your strength, your liberty is vain. Your Freedom, power, and independent reign, Mere erapty names, the topics of a day. Fit for the times, fit subject for the play. When Denham journey'd to the Bornou land. He saw the truth, that nothing could withstand The art of man ; no subtilty so great. No strength so vast, but suffers a defeat. 'Tis almost grief to contemplate the plan Of cruel victory, obtained by man, O'er such sagacity. Tlie spearmen run And part from liberty the fated one ; They drive her on ; one spearman leads the way. Enticing, teasing, seeming to display The fear of capture ; yet, he knows the while lie only leads, intending to beguile 3 22 Wliilst in her heart, their spears the others plant, And kill by subtilty the Elephant. How oft in life, the artful pride of man Betrays the Innocent, by such a plan : How oft he leads, pretending to be caught. Enticing, teasing, yet intending nought. But basest villany, the worst deceit. Most fatal conquest, cruelty complete. But hold ! dear Sir, I know thy noble heart, I know thou wouldst not glory in such part. If Afric's sons are driven to display Their pow'rs of subtilty, in such a way. Do thou, with honor. Love, and noble Mind, Protect, and trifle not with womankind. But win with truth, the Innocent and Fair, And let her love thee 3 let her not despair. 23 WIT AND WISDOiAI. Wit and Wisdom chanced to meet At turn, in corner of the street ; And came so close, in contact round, That Wit fell sprawling on the ground. " I wish, " said Wit, " you'd keep the road, '' And be more sprightly 3 you're a load, " So deadly heavy, that your knock " Is harder, than the hardest block." " Iknock'd thee down," good Wisdom said 3 '^ But get thee up, and don't upbraid. " In future, let us if we may, " Pursue together the same way, " That all may know, and understand, " That Wit and Wisdom, hand in hand, " Are like true lovers who proceed, ^^ The surest, safest way to speed." 25 A HEART IN CHAINS, Ah ! why Sir is this heart enchain 'd. And hung upon the mountain's belt ? That all the world may see it feign'd Affection, it had never felt. The traveller may truly start. To see such fialse and spotted heart. Go ? travel on the road to Love, There many gibbets thou wilt see. Where hearts in misery will provo The recompence of treachery. Go hasten on, but shouldst thou start. Let honor. Sir, camposc thine heart. "^-^^ 27 A GENTLEMAN MAKING HIS BOW. To be in love ! ah who would be ! If love be what it seems, The strangest kind of mystery. Made up of thoughts and dreams. Yet strange h seems, we all must prove, Our best regard for faithful Love. One proves it thus, by sighs and tears. Another by his smiles. Another by his hopes and fears, Another by his wiles : But all who love in early youth, Will prove it best by words of truth. Some love to write, and some to speak, Some know not how to feel. Some will be wise, and some be weak, And some delight to kneel. But write, or speak, or kneel at will, Your word of honor, Sir, fulfil. 28 This Gentleman it seems has felt. And now his love would tell : O pray Sir have you ever knelt ? If so, you know it well. Go hasten then, and make your bow. But never alter in your vow. ^- \'lM"i '-f ^ i y/; ^ -Ot M'^ \^| IW 29 THE MAIDEN'S DREAM. The maiden slept ! all nature seem'd to smile, Ten thousand seraphs whispered softly, Love ; She saw one spirit, cheerfully the while Walking the air, on canopy above : He look'd, he lov'd, and gently wav'd his hand. And bade her follow : She obey'd command. Awhile they wandered o'er the flow'ry mead. Talking of loveliness 3 it seem'd delight ; His words were sweet, and sweeter still indeed, Enliven'd features to enraptured sight ; So fair, so handsome ; in such manly youth : His words of pleasure too, were words of truth. ^^ Fair Creature, Spirit of such lovely form, " What bliss it seems to live and breathe with thee -, ^^ No longer mortal, now, no longer worm, '^ We live in life, and loving to be free, " Are truly happy ; happy that we are, *^ Enabled thus our libertv to share. BO *^ O look around thcc, life is full of light, " No palu, no torment ; happiness is thine ; ^^ Worlds are before thee ; present to thy sight > ^' My spirit your's, thy spirit also mine : ^^ And this for ever j never shall we part. Thou dear Companion of Immortal heart," C6 The maiden woke ; the vision too was nigh. It lingered still, she wished it still to stay ; One heav'nly smile, a parting farewell sigh. It vanished quickly on the air away : Her heart was heavy. Lady it may seem A cruel story, 'twas the Maiden's dream. '"Mr I-/ ' 1 i>i ' i'TTN \ '-'v III , I' • i ^ ^ 31 THE ORWELL. The morning is bright, as th^ heart of the good, The sun in his splendor bespangles the flood. The river is broad, and the waters are clear ; Ye beauties of Orwell, to me ye are dear. The Heavens are pure as the Spirit of Love, No clouds of obscurity, darken above. The blue vault on high, is transcendently clear ; Ye beauties of Orwell, to me ye are dear. The tinge of the autumn, on wood in the van. Now changing its feature like age in a man. Keeps nature in countenance lovelily clear ; Ye beauties of Orwell, to me ye are dear. The vessel is sailing as virtue below, With winds that are fairly propelling the prow. The waters are dashing before its career ; Ye beauties of Orwell, to me yc are dear. 32 Ye beauties of Orwell f thou loveliest wave ! Tliou River of Rivers, thy comfort I crave ; Thy tide flowing onward for ever will cheer, The heart of the Poet to whom thou art dear Ah long when my song can no longer be sung, Shall thy beauties be told in the classical throng, The virgin shall smile, and the lover revere, llie beauties of Orwell, to memory dear. *5q THE FIEI.D OF BATTLE. The field of battle ! Hark, what glorious sound ! The noise of cannon shakes the earth around. The misty volumes roll along the plain In folds of darkness. Hark ! again ! again ! The deep mouth'd guns begin the heav}' day, And Havoc hastens on her deadly way. The clash of swords, — the muskets rapid flash, — The horses prancing, — or the buildings crash, — The heavy tread of troopers in advance With naked sword, or glittering Polish lance. Hark ! midst the roar, the dying shrieks prevail, The h.orrid curse, — the heart lamenting wail. — The frighten'd horse with rider dash'd to earth, ¥/ith broken rein, or bursting saddle girth. Here lie the wounded, there, the happy dead ; Here springs the victor, there, the captive led : The sound of trumpets, or, the glorious cry Of onward ! onward ! Death, or Victory ! F 34 And this is glory I horrid, horrid fray I War, death, and devastation make their way, And mortals vanish, as a dream of night, Dispelled and scattered by the morning light. If this be glory, quickly must it pass. Fade like a leaf, or wither as the grass. But Love is Glory ; better, better far. Than all the visions of successful war. True Love is Liberty ; ah I when will cease The thirst of conquest ? when be lasting Peace ? O quickly come, ye days, when Christians prove, The field of Battle is the field of Love. 35 THE MORE HASTE THE WORST SPEED, Young Hasty galloped in the Park For morning turn, a dashing spark, Well booted, spur'd, and mounted high On steed of mettle, which, could shy, Kick, turn or caper, at his will. And all accomplishments fulfil. — It chanc'd, through well placed optic glass, He saw approach the favored lass His long anxiety had sought To win and conquer. Quick the thought Of showing off his noble steed, Of gaining from the fair, the meed Of praise and interest. The spur Was gently tickling him to stir ; The curb, in curve preserv'd his neck, And kept his spirit with a check, Still made him seem impatient too, As if he wish'd to rear, or go. 36 As uearer now the damsel came, And hope inspired the rising flame, And eyes were meeting in the glance, His horse in full and perfect prance* A horrid cur of bull-dog kind, Ran from the company behind ; And flew at Pegasus. The start Shot ha3ty foremost like a dart, With hat and stick and self to ground, A tragedy for all around : The spur in stirrup kept the boot, And thus suspended by the foot. Young Hasty dangled in the course, Beside the much affnghten'd horse. But luckily the worst to tell, A bruise or so, and all was \vd\. Thus spake the man, who stopt the steed, ** Tlie more of Haste the worse of speed ! " Young hasty felt it, own'd the truth, And well observed it through his youth ; And after, never sought to splash, For fear of such another dash. This story told, the moral take^ And keep it for affections sake : — 37 Hou' oft, wlicii anxious for display We're sure to take the very way. Which, unforseeri events niav turn To quick disgrace. 'Tis thus we leani To moderate our passions fire ; And honestly in Love, aspire To win alFection, not by show, But constant^ earnest, faithful vow. Thus are we likely to succeed, And keep the pace, the best for speed. 1 f7fi-~"73l 39 TWO SPANIELS. Two Spaniels met upon the pier, \Alth each a word for other's ear ; Flirt, began with sprightly whine, " Ah ! how d'ye do ! the day is fine, *' But very hot ; prodigious dry ; *' The air is sultry, and the sky " So clear, so bright, without a cloud. — '•' What spaniel's that in yonder crowd, " Hast ever seen him ? look again, " Let us attack with coup de main, <' Come let us see, — haste, let us run ! — " We soon shall meet him, O what fun I '* I love to see the stranger's eye " Attracted, as we pass him by, " And hear him follow, see him gaze, *' At once suspended in amaze, *' At our approach ; and then perchance, " To see the fellows ready dance^, " How, liere and there, he flits among " The busy intermingled throng ; " Still peeping round, with anxious eye " To see if haply, he descry 40 " Our forms again ; and, bow lie won'd ** Endeavour to be understood. *' O tills is fun ! to see and smile, *« And merrily tlie time beguile, " Till, fairly sated with the play, " Wc leave the rogue, and run away." Fidele replied :— '' And this is fun, '« Pray Flirt be off, go, quickly run, *' But run alone ; for, on my word, " I cannot foolishly afford <'To take such pains, to be so vain, " And make it pleasure to give pain. " If yonder spaniel hither move, " Attracted, by the force of Love, " And worthy be, I'd be his bride, " And never never leave his side, " Till life should leave me. Go your way, " And bear in memory I pray, " The words of one who wishes well, " The motto of your poor Fidele." " To win the worthy, let him see " You do not court in levity ; " But, being courted, try to prove " Yourself deserving of his Love." -c?ii^ 41 THE PLEDGE OF LOVE. Quick the pulse of fiiitt'ring heart, When the lover we descry. Fast approaching, to impart Welcome tale of Constancy. Slowly beats the fainting heart, When the lover bids adieu, Yet, unwilling- to depart. Breaking off the interview. Ladv hast thou ever known. Honest word of such delight, Lover, calling thee his own. Giving thee his sacred plight ! Take, O take the Pledge of Love. Ever ever faithful boon, Long may constant Lovers prove Life is but a Honey IMoon. G 4*^ o THE FAIR BREEZE. How stately rides the vessel on the main, When winds are fair, with breezes stout and strong ; O'er foaming billows, breaking on the plain, She moves majestically borne along. If aught on earth resemble such a sail, 'Tis when the Lover, young, and bold, and brave. Is borne along, o'er troubles to prevail. And sail triumphantly on Honor's wave. May prosperous gales through life unceasing blow, And bear thee safely o'er afflictions tide ; May Love propitious, let thee quickly know, A faithful, constant, and religious bride. iA 'M KX V- ■ 45 THE HERDSxMAN Hai»py Herdsman, 'tend thy kine. On thy grassy conch reclining ; Sweet contentment may be thine. Thine, be Love without repining. Nature smiles in Summer's day. Health and cheerfulness restoring, Chasing care and grief away ; Bidding vanish vain deploring. Faithful Tray beside thee lies. Patient, constant, watchful ever, Thine be Friendships social ties, Love which Death alone can sever. Greet the Herdsman, happy swains. Greet him all ye faithful yeomen : Sweet contentment has no pains, Be content with peaceful omen. 47 THE CHAIRINCx. Exalted thus the members ride, Elected in their Country's cause, In England's Honor they have pride. And merit Britain's just applause. O long may Virtue, Wisdom, Love, Our noble Senators adorn. May those elected faithful prove. And thus be proudly borne. Fair Lady, may thy Lover live. Exalted in thine eye, And feel his best prerogative Is Women's Love, and Constancy. A.i^Ji'. ^^U^/^^ny^a/s-c'^ 49^ THE FATAL AFFECTION, Young Herbert lov'd ! alas, he lov'd in vain ! A priest of learning, yet he might not woo ; He felt within the slow consuming pain And cherish'd passion. He was faithful too, But one affection had he, that was true ; Yet truth to tell, the luckless lot was his. To give another all his earthly bliss. He lingered long, and wasted day by day. Still tried to rally, but the heart within So deeply wounded, slowly pined away. And wore his frame to nothing. Was it sin To be so pale, so feeble, and so thin ? Alas I he liv'd this fatal truth to prove. That life was nothing when d^priv'd of Love. H 50 In Peter's Priory young Herbert sate. In cell that look'd upon the Gipping's shore. In times monastic, when the pride of state Extended from the Humber to the Nore ; When Wolsey liv'd, so fam'd for classic lore, And came with mandate mighty in its pow'r. To quash the Priories at Freston Tower. That very day, alas ! the fated priest. The niece of Dauady he was doom'd to wed. But not to call the maiden he lov'd best His own companion : No, another led The captive fair one to the chancel's head. Poor Herbert sad, too often there he sigh'd ; Of broken heart, that very morn he died. The tale is true. O never be thy lot To feel affection fatal to thy life ; Mayst thou accept the faithful marriage knot. And know and cherish a respected wife ; But think, good Sir, what agony of strife That man endures, who feels a fatal flame Devour his soul, and devastate his frame. If m \ ^ « ^ ^ 'IH •; \ .\i 'i. -^5e* \ m^. 51 THE CARRIER PIGEON. With rapid wing the Pigeon flies. His pinions stretch'd a leng-then'd pair. In haste he towers to the skies. Then darting on divides the air. The letter tells the news of Love, Fair maiden greet the Carrier Dove. Fair Lady, greet the letter borne. No longer deem thyself forlorn. For surely Dove may one day tell The news of Lover wishing well. And this to night as much may prove, I wish thee well in Life and Love. 53 THE PUBLIC DINNER. Ye men of feeling and of sense combin'd, Who boast your cultivation of the mind, Who, long have been the civiliz'd and great, The pride of England, and of England's state :— Tell me what think ye ? would the savage rare, Admire our Dinner, where the strangest trace, Of talent, wit, barbarity, and noise^ Is seen so steady in its equipoise ? What would the wildest upon Afric's coast, Who join in war-hoop, think of English toast ? The Chairman rises, " Gentlemen fill higli, " Your smiling glasses, let no light of sky " Be seen within them. I shall give with glee, "The ladies in a bumper, three times three ! " No sooner said, then one and all arise. And, hip! hip! hip! hurrah! their joy implies, Such rappings, tappings, screamings, roarings, yells, One burst of tumult their affection tells. Who ever sees with contemplative eye, Such gentle, elegant, festivity, And does not join it ! Sure the ladies must Be highly flattei'd, with the noise and dust u On such occasions raised. But, lady fair. Some men of state and fasbion, true there ai'e, Who fond of bustle at a dinner shine, I fear me they will murmur at the line. And ask what business can such man as I Have thus to satirize. Now let me try, To smoothe them down. Great Gentlemen, believe I do not mock ye ;, but I sadly grieve To think how nearly savages, and we Of Christian countries, in our forms agree. I say no more, yet very much might say. — Your pardon then, good (icutlemen, I pray ; Custom and Fashion so retain their force, A Christian must not, dare not, stop their course. Twould not be prudent : — Down to earth that man, A saint ! a hypocrite ! a Puritan ! Who dares pretend ta censure what the voice Of England's nation, has proclaimed her choice. But Lady tho' this dinner may proclaim. How much the ladies are respected. Fame Is not so small;, the Poet must not dare. At other times to celebrate the fair, In other way. Your health I shall propose, In quiet measure, tho' it be not prose ; — "The Poet wishes all the English Fair, " Long life, good husbands, health, and little care.'* ^JTiVZT^TuTM 55 THE CHAMOIS. The Chomois wild from rock to rodj. Bound lightly o'er the pass ; With certain foot, the nimble Hock High seek the mountain grass. Undaunted, active, bold and free, These creatures love their libei ty. The youth of ardent fiery brain, Ambitious, virtuous, brave^ Like chamois, would the height attain, The highest honors crave : They seek the summit of renown. And thus on indolence look down. The highest point that man can find. In life's unevcri road, Is Love of learning, wisdom, mind, A knowledge of his God. For Love and Truth make Christians free The surest safest liberl v, — '^■^'-Al ^////^ /Mv^i^/tr/l 57 THE SPIDER'S WEB. The spider spies a sprightly fly Now flitting near, and heedlesly ; His web is spread with subtle care. To catch his victim in the snare. Too soon the little creature ta'cn. Entangled, tortur'd, tries in vain To make escape ; she sees too late, The horror of her coming fate. Ah ! then she thinks of happy day. When sporting in the sunny ray. True liberty was her's, to rove. O'er plains of Innocence and Love. She sees around her other flies Enjoying liberty, and tries Her strength once more to gain the air. But finds herself involv'd too far. I 58 How many men delight to vex^ And torture thus the female sex 5 How many fair ones fall a prey. To vanity in suoh a way ! Ye maidens, think not I reprove, O no, I wish ye well in Love ; And would that Honor always might Protect ye, as I do to night. 59 THE EYES, So many looks, so many diff 'rent eyes, Express variety ; that Love defies Tlie ablest Poets, to proclaim what pair, Do best adorn or beautify the fair. Some see expression in the darkest blue ; Some like the color of a lighter hue ; Some pleas'd with liuzel, some with darker brown ; Some like them looking* up, and others down ; The large black eye, this vision will delight, Small, sharp, and piercing, suits another's sight. But various beauties various mortals spy^ In shape, in colour, or in flash of eye. But those shine clearest in the Poets sight, Which speak the spirit fervent. Such, are bright. Pure, whole, entire, entranc d, extatic, seen. In virtue lovely, and in wisdom keen ; In kindness glist'ning, and in pity clear, Fill'd with atfection, or Compassion's tear. No woman's eye e'er shines with sweeter grace, Than when expression lightens up her face Caird forth by feeling, pious, tender^ kind, The surest proof of Virtue and of Mind. ^ ei THE MASQUERADE. In life how oft are human beings doom'd To act a character, or part assum'd. Nature and art oppose each other here, Man makes the contrast in his odd career ; Ah ! strange to say, not speaJiing to upbraid. Life seems with many but a Masquerade. Beneath the form or fashion of the wise. How oft are hid the foolish in disguise ; Beneath the garb of sanctity, sometimes A monster covers his audacious crimes. Here laughs the sorrowful ; there, sighs the glad ; Fools would be wise ; and wise men must be mad ; This man will promise, and will ne'er perform ; In rage one smiles, another calm, will storm ; Behold my friend, my inmost bosom friend. Would borrow money, yet will never lend ; To-day exalted in my kinsman's eye, To-morrow hated in my poverty. O see the world ! see vice become a trade t And tell me, i? it not a Masquerade ? 62 In love how many seek by art, nut heart, To act a seemingly straight forward part. Vows made and broken, smiles dispersed with frowns. The conquest g'ain'd affection one disowns ; Another glories in attentions paid, And feigns attachment to deceive the maid ; One courts for beauty, which he does not see. Another for attractions not to be ; The world depicted surely must be made, A scene of Folly and of Masquerade. But Lady fear not, think me not so rude. To write this piece of Wisdom to delude : Believe me, many real in their Love, By unaffected manners often prove Their characters no fiction can compose ; Their honest hearts affection must disclose ; Who seek by industry to gain the high Distinguished honor of sufficiency. Not that of self, or pelf, — enough to make A female happy, for affections sake : May such a man wherever he may grade. Escape the Folly of a IMasquerade. THE SENATE HOUSE. O ! for the time to come again, With cap, and gown, and college, That pleasing time to fill the brain. With books of solid knowledge. O come again ! ye days now gone ; I'd do exactly what I've done ! — Oft did the sigh escape my heart, The secret wish to read ; — Sage mathematics had their part^ But Love had greater need ; Ah ! vain the struggle to appi)'. Love seem'd the best philosophy. Was there no wish to combat then, For high deserving merit ; To exercise the head and pen. With proper youthful spirit ? In truth there was ; but ah ! this brain Was busy in another train. 64 Newton, Paley, Wootlhouse, Locke, Vince and Wood, Equation Bland, Great senators of Cambridge stock. Your books were often in my hand ; But far away my thoughts had flown. To one who wore a different gown. But never idle, day by day. Some knowledge was attained, I read, I wTote, I worked away. But Love was all I gained, deep regret ! the Wrangler's boon Perchance were mine, or Wooden-Spoon. Well, well ! contented with my name, I'll be content, the time is gone, — The Senate House, the seat of fame. It pleases me to look upon. Ah ! some who read, will look on Thee, And surely will remember me. 1 say remember, why forsooth ? Because they ask*d in play, A drawing from a careless youth. To bear in mind that day ! Ye strangers now where'er ye be. Have ye those sketches ? think of me. (55 call to mind the glorious fua To make tbe problem plain. To write away, and cry out " done " 1 And then to write again : — A lion, dog, cat, wolf, or mouse, 1 sketch'd them in the Senate House ! Between the Questions, such the sport, That entertain'd my hand ; — Forgive me, Senators, my fort, Ye could not understand ; Or, if ye could, accept the puff, 'Twould seem to you, but idle stuff. — Think not howe'er I want respect, But Envy I have none, I write with pen and heart erect, I'd do, now, as I've done. Ye do not doubt me, come and see, I take in Love a great Degree. But youths of .spirit work away. Advance in wisdom daily, Improve the time without delay. Mortality works fraily ', In days of Life your spirits rouse, And think ye of the Senate House. K 67 WOLVES PULLING DOWN A DEER. This timid deer, pursued, and ta'en, Is victim of a treacherous crew, These wolves are like a sland'rous train Who've nothing else to do. But ever hungry, growl and snap, and sneer, Both hunt and persecute a timid deer. The first and basest is Pretence, A wolf of subtle form, Wlio, 'neath the garb of Innocence, Creeps slowly like a worm : The first howe'er to tell with horrid smile, The wicked tale of treachery and g-uile. Envy, comes next, so glad to see The prospect of some prey, She shows her teeth, and seems in glee, Delighted to betray. Pride, Hate, Revenge, and Folly follow after, With hope of sport, in roars of savage laughter. 68 O can it be ! that women share In sport of such a kind ? It cannot be, for women are So famed for heart and mind ; It cannot be, the Poet must be wrong ! Sure Women, never to such crew belong ? Fair Lady, pardon me, but I have seen, I do not tell thee where, Not here to night, upon the Green, Such pulling down a deer ! Where'er we see it, let us, then defy And justlv satirize such infamv. 69 THE ANT HEAP. To watch the ants on summer day, To see them wind their toilsome way. O'er g-rass and stone, to see them stray, Say is not this delight ? — The little creatures seem to play, One moment run, the next delay. Now one by one, so blithe and gay, They gratify tlie sight. The world so large, is like a heap Where busy ants have burrowed deep, And rais'd a dome so high and steep. It seems 'twould never fall ; But ah ! the world, it will not keep, I hold it fragile, weak and cheap, In time will come the fatal sweep, Will devastate it all. 70 Hast ever in the ant heap thrust A stick or stone, if so, thou must Have seen the creatures of the dust, In myriads pouring forth : Ah ! such will be the like, I trust, When earth dissolves, and beings must Arise at summons of the just, And estimate true worth. Then thou and II O let us toil On this our native verdant soil. Avoid the bustle and the broil. And gather what we want > That love so ready to recoil At art, or subtlety, or foil, Which would not injure, rob, or spoil. Yet imitate the ant. 71 THE KEY- The key of Love, by virtuous hand, Preserved with due regard, Will keep the heart in safe command. In lock of strongest ward. The key of Love, is Virtue's self, The lock the human heart. The riches stor'd, no sordid pelf, No mass of pride or art. The mind is wealth, preserv'd by Love i Ah ! go Sir to thy store ! Unlock thy heart, and so improve. Affection more and more. — 4^ THE MIDNIGHT TALE. Young Allan wandered by tlie Orwell's wave :— Twas night, the moon was breaking from the bonnd Of white clouds, sweeping o'er the sky concave. And shed her lustre o'er the scene around ; Tlie stars were twinkling, and the croaking sound Of frogs saluting, and the owlet's cry. And here and there was sparkling on the ground The glow-worm's light, but something else wa3 nigh ;— He saw a female seated near and mournfully. 74 Slie did not start, — she neither moved nor wept, Her hand no token of dismay exprest ; She saw and heeded not, but silence kept, A sigh alone escaping from her breast, Bespake a spirit heavily deprest -, She sat regardless, seeming to be lost In maze of wonder, whilst her simple vest^ By passing gale, flapt lightly as it tost. Her did young Allan thus in feeling words accost. *' O maiden, why thus sadly dost thou sit. In mood of sorrow, on the Orwell's shore ? Hast aught afflicted thee ? O tell me it. Alike our troubles we may both deplore. O maiden tell me ! — "We shall meet no more,— = To-morrow's dawn will see me far away From this my birth-place, swiftly passing o'er. To land less lov'd, the vast America : Why this distress ? O lovely maiden, confidently say." She turn'd her dark eyes from the sparkling wave, And look'd on Allan, '^ Can the world possess. Or sorrow, such another victim have As her thou iook'st upon ? O yes ! O yes ! The world has many. Yet the world's distress On me sits heavy. Seest thou yonder Town ! How sleeps the being, I can hardly guess. Who won my heart, yet never gave his own. False is he now, unfeeling, cruel, haughty, grown. 75 *< Whene'er he saw me, he would look and smile, Attentive be, and try ten thousands ways To make me feel an interest the while In all he did ; no words of mortal praise Could speak such pleasure, as his anxious gaze ; Where'er he saw me, ah ! no matter where, His countenance would brighten with amaze, And tell a secret : — But he passes there ! And takes no notice, leaves me, drives me to despair." " O leave me, leave me, never mind my lot ! " ^* I cannot leave thee till thou tell his name ! '\ " His name ! O no, a traitor I am not, I would not sully his increasing fame." Yet here she sigh'd, unwilling to proclaim. And yet breathed softly as the Poet's spell ; " His name ! — his name ! — his name ! O why for shame ! His name is ******* ! yet, I wish him well !" Young Alhvn told mc wholt was.— I must not tell. 77 THE INFANT LYRA. Thou lovely Infant ! ne'er in life have I Thine equal seen ; thy soul is harmony ! How sweet thy smile, thy glist'ning eye so sharp, As, peeping through the spaces of the harp. Thou lookst around to catch the welcome meed Of praise and interest. Thou art indeed A wonder, not a great one, since so small. Yet wonderful in Music above all. My Spirit rose, to see thy little hand Sweep o'er the chords ; in spirit-like command. Call forth the tones of innocent delight 3 ! I shall dream of thee this very night ! 1 think I see thee with thy look so wild. So sweet, so simple, nature's favored child ; Once strike the lyre, and childhood seems to fly j Thy soul inspires thee ; and in vain I try. To think thee as thou art. Can music move The soul of man to harmonv and lore ? 78 This infant Innocence may well display. O'er nature's feeling, nature's mighty sway. Perhaps o'er Thee such influence was gain'd ; O'er me such interest was once obtain'd, I wrote these verses, at the moment's spur. And now, present them to thy notice. Sir ; So well assur'd that Innocence must be. At any time, sweet offering to thee. 70 THE RACE GROUND. Come and haste to the race ground, come hasten to-day ', See the horses are off, they are coming- this way ; All the people are shouting, now blue ! pink ! now green ! Was there ever a sight more appropriate seen. '^ Ten to one on Lord Jersey ; come, ten Sir to one/^ «^Ten to one are great odds, I will take you Sir, done." See the horsemen and whipmen, and footmen all stir. Hark! the clack of the throng, see the stick of the spur. How intent are the people ! the corner is turn'd. And the race will be won, but will dearly be earn'd ; Now the horse is a head, now the filly makes play. Neck and neck, see them coming; Boys! bowl it away. Is the Poet a sportsman ? O yes ! 'tis his forte — Not to bet nor to run to be drawing sucli sport ; If a racer, howe'er, he would certainly yawn. To be forced to stand still, to be stopt and be drawn. 60 But before him the worltl, is the race ground of HtV;, He is off for his start, he must struggle m strife 5 For the course is Religion, the prize he may win, Should he keep his full speed, and at length should come in. Then go forward, my friends, like the racer proceed. Shew your courage, your mettle, your good Christian speed ', When provoked unto Love, O be foremost and strive^ If ye wish to be happy, to prosper and live* Bl GOING FROM SCHOOL, Drive on coachee ! drive away ! — Now begins our Holiday! Blow the horn^ my hearty boys j Make a happy merry noise, Books and Tutors, Rod and Bell ; Caesar, Virgil, fare ye well. Go it coachee ! — Horace writes. Dust Olympic has delights 5 Ovid tells as many lies 5 Martial loves to satirize ; Cicero and Terence make. Many words for wisdom's sake ; Go it coachee ! drive away ! Now begins our Holiday. M 82 Homer tells us how to fight, Pliny, how a man should write ; Xenophon, the ancient wars ; Xenocrates, the happy stars ; Plays to act, and plays to please. Writes the fam'd Euripides ; Go it coachee ! drive away ! Now begins our Holiday, Bowl along the British road, Ne'er by lazy spirits trod ; The stones are all Mac Adamized, In other words are pulverized ; Horses soon may not be wanted. Steam their usage has supplanted ; Coaches, soon in many places. Go it may, without your traces ; Drive on coachee, drive away I Now begins our Holiday ! Many books of ancient schools Make their readers stupid fools. Blind the eyes of British youth. Shut their senses, from the truth ; Make them think that any man May be good Barbarian ; 83 Christian youth ! it matters not ;— Brutus, was a man, I wot ; Caesar wise ; and Cataline, No better than our Libertine ; Horace, when a little mellow. Like a modern merry fellow ; Go it coachee, drive away. Now begins our Holiday. With song of such like sentiment. How oft have you and I, Sir, bent Our course of pleasure to our home. In time, ah ! never more to come ! Yet Christian now, or Lover true. To schools of Folly bid adieu. Come let us hasten on our way. And now begin our holiday ; In love and life, for time to come, O let us find our happy home. 85 GOING TO SCHOOL. No song to-day, — the heart has pain ; — > The horses trot. — The pelting rain, Like tears of sorrow, sad alas ! Rolls heavily adown the glass ! The youngsters think of home and play. Of joyous moments gone away. — The fishing-rod, or poney's back ; — They startle at the postboy's crack. As onward urging steeds along. He lifts the far resounding thong. A secret shudder, call it dread Of sleeping in the school-boy's bed ; No dear mamma, to say " good night ** ! Or tender sister to delight 5 No gentle servant to awake With merry call, at morning's break ; — To-morrow's dawn, the ringing bell, Which sounds as heavily as knell, 86 Will bid them rise, and hasten down. To sec the Doctor in his g-ovvn ; Books and ushers, rod and cane, O ye terrors, ye have pain !— The youngster's sit, and scarcely break The weary silence— none can speak ; Perchance to count their money o'er. They search again the purse's store, And hope to find in midst of grief. That shining- shillings give relief. But hold my pen, enough ! enough ! My heart is not so strangely tough. That even now, that sense of pain, Does not as forcibly remain. O yes ! deny it can I not, Nor thou Sir, if thou'st not forgot. The days of boyhood's former rule When, journeying from home to school. The thoughts of pleasures would arise. And all the school-boy's cruelties. But now advanced in years of youth. Come tell me truly, if forsooth. There can be greater grief than this, To leave, the home of Lover's bliss ; To bid farewell to days of pleasure, Woman's heart, the human treasure. 87 O should Life engage thine eye, Inviting thee, the world to try, Believe it true, that vice will never Make thee sensible or clever ; — The school-boy feels not half the pain, A. man of conscience does in stain ; Nor half the grief his senses know. As he who feels for others woe. Believe it true ! — a constant rule ! That Love is ever the best school ; For never need'st thou leave thy home, In search of Happiness to come. Since every Christian youth may prove. The heart is school and Home of Love, ^ vn ( 1 ' Ai^ WvYYt W ■ill --^ C 4 ^^^f V ^■t^' S^ u -«^ f:!j w-T^-ji ';^m ::i^i^ '■^■^ '\ A 3 I -^■^: \/'^\v:y; \\\ ^ J ^* ^^ THE POINT, Torio, Ponto ! Toho ! steady Carlo, toho ! Pray walk up Sir! walk up, or the game will begone, The old Dog will not move Sir, pray speedily go. Or you'll not get a shot j or, if any, but one. Old Ponto's in earnest ; no wag of his tail. No doubt of the game. Sir, he's not at a lark 3— He never deceives me, he never can fail ; — Take aim with precision, consider your mark. Now see the keen Sportsman in breathless suspense, Moves forward in haste, stirring every joint ; He looks for the game — Has it got to the fence ? Still Pontons in earnest — he's come to the Point. But the Point 1 must come to, ye Sportsmen, is this. If ye seek but affection with half as much zeal. Ye will certainly find matrimonial bliss. Is the best point to come to, the best for your weal. N J?.^/f "^H^^ ''^ly^^. 91 A LADY MAKING AN LMPRESSION. Pray wouldst thou make impression good. Let not the wax grow cold ; For, Lady, be it understood, Impressions cannot hold. When once the chilling mould Applied to wax grown old. Be not adapted as it should. But, Lady, when the flame Has soften 'd down the same. Ere chilling blasts have blown. And made it hard as stone. Impressions stampt by virtuous Love, Will ever lasting, ever constant prove. Fair maiden, take thy seal. And make impression good :— May faithfulness reveal The truth, affection should ; Thy hand bestov*^'d where honest worth is shewn, May such impression every where be known, 93 THE STEAM PACKET. Thb steamer moving on the stream, By force compulsive driven, Perhaps, an argument may seem Against affection given. But pray Sir, why ? because if art, Can thus o'er nature steer ; Wilt thou infer, the human heart. May conquer, insincere ? The argument, will not apply ; — Man's art may much subdue ! ^Tis Love, in pure sincerity, Can conquer and keep true.— O'er nature, art may so prevail. The bark Against wind and tide, May move without the help of sail, But will it safely glide ? 94 Who keeps the storm ! who governs all I Who smiles at human art ? W^ho bids the ocean at his call, From deepest fathom start ? 'Tis nature's God, and God is Love, Then pray Sir tell me plainly, If all our efforts would not prove. Without him, we work vainly ? Go hasten to the " Ipswich " bark. O'er sweetest river glide ! The Orwell, and its beauties markj At morn, or even-tide ! The packet waits, and hast thou love. Of truth with heart and mind, In safety thou wilt surely move, And pure affection find. 95 THE GEOLOGIST. What deep afflictions entertain the mind Of curious Geologists, inclin'd To search midst nature's hidden store, For minerals, for specimens of ore ; For secret properties enclosed in earth. To see what causes can produce the birth Of such and such effects. — How oft my sight. Has seen the searcher, with no mean delight, Breaking the mass of silex, or of clay ; IVIy ears have heard his descant on his prey, With much of interest ; I've seen his eye Glisten in midst of a discovery, Methought me often, could the same intent On man's improvement of the heart, be bent, What great discoveries would mortals find. In making scientific, human kind. But man is clay ; — his properties you'll own, Require deep study to proclaim them known ; m His composition is so strangely full Of varied matter, that no common rule,— Except tliis one, that from his very birth He is the most inexplicable earth,— Will serve for guidance. Yet there is a way By whicli he may be known ; and science may Be greatly benefitted by this plan. If every man would study, each, his man. For surely thus, Geologists would prove. The matrix of all matter must be Love. 97 THE HERMIT. Deep in the shade, obscured from life, The pious Hermit kneels. Disgusted with the world and strife. Devotion all he feels 3 From morn to eve, the fervent prayer, Is all his pleasure and his care. Say, has the Hermit charms for thee ? In solitude and peace, Wouldst thou consent the world to flee, And live in such recess ? O Lady, let the world's wide stage, Be but to thee a Hermitage. For life may be as truly sweet, And piety as warm. In midst of hall, or crowded street, If love but give the charm : Misanthrophy, can never be A proof of Love or Piety, o 99 THE TORRENT. The torrent foaming, bursts along, Jjike Hero's love, or Poet's song. No obstacle can stop its speed. No force compelling force, impede ; It dashes far and wide the spray. Midst rocks and passes finds a way. A noble spirit, bold and free. May live to find its liberty ; And torrent-like, may speed along. O'er vice and folly's gilded throng ; From Crystal Font, of purest source, May steer a new and noble course ; May spurn the obstacles of pride, And reach the Ocean's flowing tide ; But stream pursuing such a course. In Rock of Love, must take its source, 101 THE WATER PARTY. O lovely (lay ! the River's flowing tide. Has shone so brightly in the Poet's eye ; The sun in splendor, o'er the Heaven's wide. Display *d his beams upon our revelry ; This lovely day, in vessel named the Fly, We've flown delightfully o'er Orwell's stream, With cheerful hearts, in midst of lively dream. The dream is o'er, — yet fancy still retains The sweet remembrance of the pleasant hours, Nor ought of care, or ought of pain remains. To sully our delight. Sweet peaceful pow'rs, True mortal pleasure, has indeed been our's ; If happiness the cheerful heart can have, We found it with us, on the Orwell's wave. 102 The morn was bright, the breezes fairly blew, The sail swell'd gently with the fav'ring wind. As from the port of Ipswich we withdrew, And left our homes, and kindred far behind : The treat was great, for friendship, heart, and mind ^ We felt enchanted with the Orwell's tide, With lovely nature, and with love beside. Beneath the battlements of Landguard-Fort, We wandered playfully the time away. And found that pleasure of a cheering sort. Which says, be thankful and enjoy the day : Good hearts of gratitude may truly say. To-day we've seen that Orwell's wave delights The hearts of virtuous and happy wights. Returning Iiome, declining evening brown. Midst floating clouds reflected on the stream ; The misty shadows spreading o'er the Town Made darkness visible. Phosphoric gleam. Of vessel moving in the twilight beam, Ran here and there, a sparkling vivid light. O'er Orwell's waters, at the approach of night. 103 A band of music, playing* " Home sweet Home " ! With friends and townsmen meeting on the tide ; Some came in boats to welcome us, and some In varied parties on the River's side ; I write with pleasure, far away false pride, With hearts of thankfulness w^e joy'd to sing The Briton's anthem, 'twas " God save the King *' ! O long, dear Ipswich, may thy cheerful smile, Greet friends and faithful fair ones on the wave ;— - May those be happy, who, avoiding guile, Steer the straight course, and would not think to crave A moment's pleasure others cannot have. Dear Ipswich ! Orwell ! banks I my native place ! Dear friends, and Christians, thus my Love I trace. 105 CiESAR PASSING THE RUBICON. Pause ! dread Ambition I Pause thou horrid fiend Of civil discord ! Caesar paus'd awhile ; O not to think, but urge his soldiers on. Stung with offended honor, Pompey's pride. Cabals at home, and jealousies within ; The Hero's wrongs were magnified to crime Resentment, rage, and passion had inflam'd His noble Spirit. He but saw in Rome The object of his aim. To conquer worlds, And yet be subject to the will of one. No more, and not so much a conquerer ! To conquer Worlds, and be in Rome denied ; O no ! it was not Ceesai ! He, or nought. The first, or last I or Victory, or Death ! Caesar was Caisar, at the Rubicon. 'Tis mighty well : let Csesar be a king, And those who like it, imitate his step ; Hadst thou, or I, been leader of the host That Cfflsar was, and seen as Roman did, p 100 The only Virtue in the art of war, We should have foremost past tlie boundary y And bade defiance to the foe, who stood ^Twixt us and Honor. Glory, Sir, is chang'd. — Our Spirits are within us, to subdue Those deadly passions, which engender strife. England has heroes ! may she ever have. Such faithful soldiers as obey the word Commanded them by leader from above. 'Twixt us and Love, the Rubicon of Pride Flows seemingly a quiet placid stream. What thousands sailing* shamelessly along. Steer o'er its waters, and pretend to pass ; Yet never care, or ever dare, to stem This torrent of the World. 'Tis well ! 'tis well ! Our Leader has advanced, a mightier One Than ever Csesar could be ; He has gone. And shown us, how the river may be past. Be brave! be faithful! Conquer, Sir, thyself.- Forgive, and be not angry with the line ; But onward, onward, o'er the world pass on, Be more than Csesar, at the Rubicon. » JX/fA ? ^^^,/w: -r^r-* t//(r;jL W7 THE SPECTRE, Ghosts, goblins, spectres, shades, & shapeless forms. Terrific visitors of midnight hour. Come hither ! come, ye, harbingers of storms, A.nd show your faces, and reveal your pow'r. Run Ladies ! run, for hither comes I ween. The horrid Spectre of St. Margaret's Green, AVith arms extended see it moves along, Its eye-ball flashing with the burst of fire. It looks at once o'er all the busy throng. Intent on none. Dear Ladies, don't respire^ For fear it hear ye ; and conceive your sigh, A certain proof of insincerity. It moves with caution, slowly paces round. With step so solemn, all are fiU'd with fear ; It looks in vain, no lady can be found, Of fickle heart of folly, seated near ; Now gliding on, it passes in the dark, And leaves the Green, to wander in the Park. 108 All Ghosts and goblins, are but silly things, Like this invention of the busy brain, — But Lady, Spectre of Coquetry, springs From conscious pride of beauty, giving pain ; May no such Spectre ever wait on thee Disturb thy slumbers, or thy harmony. 'V.i' /S/^Z/ /nv*t///r;j- 109 THE ROBBER. Good laws do terrify tlie evil mind ; The laws of Love do pacify and bind ; — The Robber trembles, when to rob incliu'd ; The lover feels, when lover is unkind. The villain steals, and coward-like would kill ; The man of Treachery will do his will ; — But man of Honor will his word fulfil, And Love, be Love, and Lover, Lover still. Art thou a Robber of a lady's heart ? Go, give thine own, an honest counterpart ; Or laws of Love will make thy conscience smart, And thou a Robber, at this Robber start. -; ^/»/^ ^/,»ji/^ // AtH' . Ill FRESTON TOWER. Fair Lady, this Tower, by the Orwell is standingv A fine view of land, wood, and water commanding' -, But soon will the maidens of Ipswich discover. It commanded a view of a desperate Lover, O'er History's page let the curious wander, And dwell on the feats of the far fam'd Leander ; A braver than he, from the Alveshborne side. Swam to conquer, and merit tl>e loveliest bride. But soon if my time and my talents have power, Thou Lady shalt learn, the strange talc of this Tower; In the mean time behold it, a building of pleasure, Go and visit the turret, and con it at leisure. ^^' •N,' - ^^A' ^^J^^/^. />.K^ 113 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS. Genius Triumphant must have courted Truth, Through toil and trouble. Men may dare the steep, And start in boy-hood up the long ascent, But few will reach the summit of renown. How many try, but go not heart and soul, Undaunted, fearless ; more encouraged far By frequent opposition, than by praise. How many, at the onset, lift the hand. And point to honor, and courageous seem, Not thinking of the steps they have to take. At first advancing, see the youths biggin. The toilsome journey. One with quiet mien, Another with a hasty awkward gait ; One but few steps advanc'd, betliinks himself. How foolish to proceed, when house and home, Heriditary mansion, and estate. Await his coming at the age of man : — Q 114 Honor is pleasant, but it seems to Iiini, That all who seek it, aim at present good — - Possession of the competence he has — And so content, he seats himself at ease, In promise of the title in his view. One farther goes : by unexpected gift, A legacy, a wind-fall by a will, A hundred thousand, or, as much as seems Sufficient for the purposes of pride. To make him parallel with magnitude ; He soon grows giddy, and descends again To base beneath him. See, another falls ! O not unpitied, but beloved by all ; — In midst of honorable, steady course. Cut off by death, when parents, friends, and kin, Were watching his ascent. Too anxious they. Too ardent he, beyond the strength of youth. The soldier spirit, genius of war. With sword uplift, aspiring to the height Of conquest and conceit ; in cannon's roar. Conceives the victory gain'd. Alas ! how soon His triumph passes ; though his hand be stain'd With blood of enemies ; he falls to earth, A victim to the chance, and ills of war. Another sits, with jealously cast down, Disturb'd at other's merit. Not one step 115 In firm pursuit of industry, lie takes ; But low and sullen, broods upon his lot. Dissatisfied, disgusted, and deceived. An author, lawyer, orator, or one Who acts for praise, and cannot brook the Truth, Pass on : — The libertine, who cares for nought But selfish fame, no matter how attain'd. With no regard for rectitude, falls down With books, pens, pencils, pallet, and his works. His genius unable to proceed Beyond deception. Ladies too of fame. Fine talents, promising, accomplish'd, fair. Aspirant, seeking to oustep their Lords, By splendor dazzled, or the pride of dress. Too confident in midst of their career. Fall victims to their vanity. — The tar Leaps from the pier, but taking step too short, Falls to the ocean 3 Priest at mitre aims And finds himself mistaken* — Swindler too. Of talents most uncommon ; had but truth And strict integrity preserv'd his feet. Instead of gibbet, might have found a height Most honourable, creditable, just, A rich reward of industry. Alas ! What numbers fall, when almost every eye Is watching their success. — What numbers sit. 116 In contemplative eminence, content ; As if the world were all to be desired. But truth, above them, fix'd upon the height, Has no such votaries. — Go higher thou. Who fond of eminence in perfect Love, Art ardent, indefatigable, firm. Regarding truth more brilliant than the world ; ]More bright than Human Wisdom. There Sir, pause, And breathe most freely, and behold the past. The dangers, and the distance thou hast gone : Thence looking out, the promis'd land of bliss. May happily be seen : — Be thine with eyes Of Genius Triumphant, to behold the Prize, .L:i ^'^'^rr:^y^\^m\'':\\\^NJ^m1^ J^ ^'^ awt >*W? .^Ua^^, 117 THE ARCH. Lady, thou canst tell me why, This arch resembles love ; Lady ! solve the mystery, Thine own affection prove. Love is an arch, in ev'ry sense, Except in fiend- like view ; Connected with the present tense. Angelic, firm and true. The arch of Heaven is bright and clear, Extended far and wide. The arch of Love, is no less dear. No less than constant bride -, — 'Twill never break, 'twill never fall, Its beauty ne'er decay, May such an arch, extend o*er all, And all their Love display. J?« *£-,' ? ^i i ^^ /^. J ft * ///> /-// 119 THE RESCUE. The flame around a female spread. Consuming like the burning lead. No hope appear'd, all chance afar, Her only prospect seem'd despair. A villain to the mansion came. And lit the fire, and fann'd the flame ; Then, like a fiend, beheld the pile, Beheld it burning, with a smile. A noble youth who saw the fair. And ever for distress, would dare The danger of a gallant deed, Did brave the moment and succeed. 120 But liow ? In midst of all alarms, He took the maiden to his arms ; He sav'd her at the risk of life, And made her hiS;, a happy wife ! The Rescue, in a moral sense. Was Virtue's richest recompence. Accept with pleasure then the line. May such reward be ever thine. 121 THE SOLDIER'S LEAVE. Is there a bliss when Lovers meet ? Is there a word to Friendship sweet ? Is there on earth a bitter kneli ? 'Tis when the tongue must say farewell ! Is there a sound can reach the heart ? Is it a pang to meet and part ? Is it delight, the truth to tell ? 'Tis misery to say — farewell ! Is it a woe, and is it sorrow, To come to-day, depart to-morrow ? To feel in nature bound by spell. And yet to breathe the word farewell ? Go to the world, and look around, Try this and that enchanting sound ; Thou wilt not find in tongue of bell. So sad a sound as that farewell ! R 122 Farewell ! the word is truly spoken, Though the heart be almost broken ; Time must now my tongue compel. To speak the word, — farewell ! farewell ! So spake the Soldier to the maid, ^Twas the last word he ever said ; Except in battle, as he fell, " INIy dearest girl ! farewell ! farewell I '' He took his leave ! perhaps. Sir, thou ]Mayst one day such a feeling know ; If so, thine heart like mine must swell,^ To write or speak the word, — Farewell* .?/,/ » ^,^»/t/. /h^ iX/fr/X . 123 THE TREE OF JAVA. Tis a fiction^ Sir, be sure, Though some may deem it true ; I do not wish, Sir, to allure Your senses from the view ; If you believe the simple tale, Pray let the moral then prevail. — 'Tis said, the Tree of Java, stands A lonely loathsome tree. In midst of dreary trackless sands, From vegetation free ; That not a bird, or beast, can bear, For four miles round it, earth or air. The poison'd gum, with rapid knife. Is cut from off the tree. By slaves condemn'd, who lose their life, Or gain their liberty. The arrow with the poison round. Is sure to give a mortal wound. 124 The tree of Pride within our isle. Grows just as deadly too ; You do not think it by your smile. Believe me, it is true ! We slaves of men, the poison take, "'TIS Love alone, the ill can slake. IVe seen the tree ! within its range I wandered once myself, And caught infection ; passing strange The consequence of pelf ; But have I 'scap'd it ? — ^Time will prove, The good effects of healing Love. The Tree of Java, on the other side. May fairly picture to you Human Pride. I need but add, — Pray do not disapprove^ Of tree so fatal, being fell'd by Love. '^/^X'^. *:^^</* jc/Je^,'/ 125 THE MINE, Deep in the caverns of the hollow earth. Are hid those riches which the world calls wealth 3 The dark dull mine, to pageantry gives birth. To Pride, to hate, to envy, and to stealth ; To Love destructive, and the same to health ; Aflfection, Lady, is the richest mine, May some one take the g-reatest share in Thine. I do not flatter j but believe the truth, A woman's love, is better far than gold ; I would not sell it in my day of youth. No, not though millions were before me told ; I would not sell it, were I growing old. But some will smile, and utter this is fine ! So let them smile, they know not what is mine. 126 But this is thine : Fair lady, know ye this, To love in truth the richest will incline ; The poorest beggar may partake of bliss. And find in Love, the treasure of a mine So inexhausted, that the Poet's line flight run for ever, and yet still run on Kelating truth, — till time itself were gone. If such a mine Affection can afford, O Lady ! mayst thou find it in thy Lord ! 127 WELLINGTON AND BONAPARTE, Ye Youths of Britain mark the contrast here, Betwixt two Heroes, — mark their strange career : See one exalted in his country's eye, The other humbled for his treachery. Think ye no Pow'r superior to all. Commanded this to rise, and that to fall ? Think ye the Hero, who so highly stands, Admir'd in this, and fear'd in other lands. Could ever to such pitch of honor rise. Unless protected from his enemies ? Who gave that eye, the rapid glance to see. Where best was shewn, the chance of victory ? Who gave that firmness in the battle's hour ? Who made that Spirit mighty with his Power ? Who rais'd thee up for purposes unknown, And gave thee talents, which have now been shown ? Wellington ! though mighty be thy fame, Iknow, thou know'st, a mightier Victor's name ! 1 do not Hatter, 'tis enough for me, To say I like thee for fidelity ! 128 And ev'ry man (though war oppress my heart,) Has my esteem, who acts a faithful part. But who am I ! Proud boaster, of what clan ? A humble Christian, and an Englishman ; Nor would I ever for the widest range. Condition upon earth with any change ; Be sure of this, thou hast the honest truth. From hand and heart of Independent youth. Observe the contrast, youths of any clime. See Bonaparte humbled in his prime ; With talents keen, a hero in his day. Without fidelity. Ah ! who shall stay. On lofty pinnacle of this world's fame. Unless consistency support his name ? Who, who shall dare, to think himself so grand He's fit to conquer, and the world command ? To mortal man, such strength was never given ; ^Tis His alone, who governs Earth and Heaven. All, all who rule, must own His mighty sway, Aud ruling best, His precepts will obey : Napoleon fell ; his advocates will own. His God was Pride, Ambition was his throne ! How both were humbled, St. Helena shows -, So fall the faithless, to the faithful foes I Youths, ye have seen how Virtue can abide 3 Be sure of this, so falls the d^emon Pride. 129 THE RACK, Torment me not ! O pray relent ! Cease, cease tlie pang, — I will confess j— - Cease to inflict, to racl?, toi*nient. And I'll confess, O yes, O yes ! My heavy heart is torn within. Distracted with my cruel sin ; I own I loved, bnt not thyself, I loved thine affluence, thy pelf, But ah not thee ; another had My best affections. O I'm mad ! Torment me not !— Such pangs oppress. They break my heart ; they cut my soul. Torment me not, and I'll confess The perfect truth — the whole, the whole. 5 130 O pity, Lady, pity not, The wretch in such a wretched lot ; For fault, for crime, he suffers noW;, For making false a lover's vow ; He said he lov'd in day of youth. And knew he spake not love in truth. Thou wretched man, on looking back, Who findst thy life a living rack. Such be the fate of every one. Who loves for aught but love alone, And finds it out in after life. He loves a woman, not his wife. The rack of conscience makes us all, For Love and pity, Lady, call. m III iiiiiii"ili[fi Ul THE STORY. List to the tale. 'Twas thus. Sir, I In early life, the school annoy'd, AYhen scarce a boy durst turn his eye. So horrified, so overjoy'd, To hear the ghost or goblin tread, Or see some phantom of the dead. In after life, when manhood came. Believe me, Sir, 'twas just the same :— - And even now, as ardent youth, I'd tell a story with some truth. Would make you shudder and conceal^ The deep emotion you would feel. But shall T venture on the song-, O no, I fear 'twould be too long ; Besides, I cannot. Sir, compose So well in numbers as in prose. — 132 'Twas just tlic hour when owlets scream, Wlicn faUlilc!?s husbands roam abroad ; When cats are mewing, and the stream Of fashionables tread the road, To revel at the evening rout. Or through the street tj sculk about : — 'Twas just the hour, but where the man, To see such things, such scene to scan ; No matter where, not far from hence, 1 write, Sir, in that man's defence. A wandering stranger all alone, Was walking by the light of moon ; As down he sat upon the ground. To contemplate the scene around. He saw ad\^nci ng by the light, A figure drest in robe of white ; — A female form. As nearer now, She past beneath the hanging bough. He saw her weep, and heard her sigh, And wring her hands so mournfully, Her spirit seem'd to die within her ; And thus began the plantive sinner : — " O had I led an upriglit life, *' I might have been a happy wife ; " For one wlio lov'd nic, loves me still, «* Yet make me his, he never will. 133 ^* Nor can I hope it. Ah, poor me ! ^^ Mine is a life of iniserv ! " No more, no more ; her scarf was flung Across the bough, and there she hunj;' ; The stranger, be it briefly known, Sans cerenionie, cut her down, And soon convinc'd her, One above Compassion had in purest Love. A happy woman, if not wife, She lives in hope of better life. And now. Sir, whether whig or tory^ Here the Poet ends his story.— 135 NUCULA COBBOLDIiE. Hail Lady ! sacred to the Poet's eye. This Nucula Cobholdiae ; but why ? Because it speaks what never spake another. The praise and honor of a tender Mother ! Well has conchologist in note below. Recorded worth ! that worth ^twas thine to know. Forgive the feeling, let a Poet's song. Express his gratitude ? Ah, long ! long ! long ! Whilst son can feel, shall tenderness relate A mother's worth ; that worth 'tis mine to state. Lady, has nature ever charm to wake, Thy soul from slumber, at the morning's break ? Has sun a beam can glitter in thine eye ? Has diamond lustre ? Didst thou ever spy 136 The secret glance from lover breaking- forth ? If so, thou'lt estimate a parent's worth. First sound of pleasure, in our infant day. That being's name, who taught our lips to pray. First sight of rapture, when the mother's head Peeps in the cot, above the baby's bed ! Say, hast thou seen the pure extatic smile. The start of Innocence ? can love l)eguile At any moment, care, or toil, or woe ? The infant's joyful leap, such pow'r must show. When first essaying in the youthful throng, A mother's smile has cheer'd our feeble song ; When first our years advancing with our height. Her eye beheld, the gratifying sight. Say, Lady, canst thou e'er behold another So truly fond and faithful as thy mother ? Think thou with him who dedicates this line. In purest transport of respect ! of thine ! Was she a kind, aficctionate, good friend ; Encouraged virtue 3 taught thee to attend To moral precepts, and religion's voice ? To study nature ? to be firm in choice ? To fear no mortal, but to love, obey ; Thy betters envy not ; nor turn away When aught of good, or honorable deed, Remain'd for duty, to enforce witli speed ? 137 Say, lias slie prompted tlice to seek aiul i\m]f In nature virtue, and in science mind ; xVpplauded good, reproved, in wisdom sound. That vice too apt to kindle, and a]>ound ? O Lady, such a mother was to me, The dearest Nucula Cobboldise ! Hail thou this emblem of a Mother's Fame, The richest Prize of merit ; — A Good Name.- NoTE. "Being desirous of commemorating Mrs. CocnoiD, whose copious collection obtained with great industry, in company with several of the junior branches of her family, whom she delighted to inspire with a love for the works of Nature, from the Crag-pits of her own estate, evinces a degree of taste and zeal seldom met with ; I have named this rare, and withal elegant shell, after her." Vide Soivcrhy's Mi7ieral Con- chology, Vol, 2. page \77. plate 180. 139 THE SECRET. Upon my word the tale is true. But mind you keep it well. Or else, for ever in your view, No secret I shall tell. She told me so ; 'tis fact indeed. And verily, 'tis all agreed. You do not say so ; hush, pray hush ! Perchance the walls may hear ! I'm all astonishment ; I blush. If any one be near ! Well, only think it ; what a shame ! What pass 'tis come to, who's to blame ? Hush, hush I I heard my servant say She knew it long ago ; She told me cautiously to day, I soon should find it so ; My ^Marg'ret told me, Marg'ret knew The whole transaction ; so 'tis true. 140 Well, really now I think awhile, I do not wonder much, I always thought him full of guile. And capable of such ; But sure the world to pretty pass, Is come at length ! Alas ! alas ! Now, what's the secret ! Shall I tell, — The ladies may discover. The fault is understood quite well, 'Tis said of Sarah's lover, — Pray what is said ? — I wont distress ! Those who don't know, must try and guess. TI Ill THE CUP. "'TIS fashion in old England still, Let no one e'er deter it, A cup, in token of good will. To give to Man of merit : This was presented. Sir, last year, Now represented boldly here. IMay he receive the cup of bliss. Who loves and never falters, A cup more beautiful than this. Whose value never alters ; One worth the price of richest gem, More brilliant than a diadem. 142 The line is written, mark it well ; This cup of merit shows. The heart of yeomenry can tell How pure attachment glows. In thus, presenting it to thee, Accept the line of purity. May Love be thine, for ever, ever pure, A cup of bliss, most likely to endure. 14 Q DEAD GAME. Time was, but ne'er will be again, When I have made " dead game ! " A cruel shot ; I've given pain, Hast thou, Sir, done the same ? Time was, time is, and may be still, For Sportsmen full of game, But mark me, Sir, the present will Increase the Poet's fame. In love, O never. Sir, make sport. Let honor keep thy name ; And never let the fair report. That thou hast made dead Game. 145 THE FAIR FACE, Thou'lt own. Sir, if ever thou chance to espy In the face of affection, thy love ; The spirit seems speaking in flash of that eye, Which can only behold and approve. Come then tell me in truth. If you love in your youth, And you do not dissemble to-day ; Was there ever a sight So replete with delight ? Was there ever ! I pray you, Sir, say ? In face of the fair one, the maiden so dear, O tell me, if summer has sky So full of expression, so cloudless and clear As the flash of that dear maiden's eye ? u 146 Then behold that fair face. Which has nature's rich grace. And the charm which affection can give ; Behold it with love ; Be ye constant, and prove You would keep it as long as you live. mm ^/>^'/i^^^/i^ /^*'eX/er// 147 THE TAX GATHERER. If a tax upon Love, would increase the demand. Do you think that the country would suffer ? Believe me, Old England, my dear native Land, (Though she wants not my spirit to pufFhcr,) Would fall to the level of nations not free, Depress'd in her Love : But may sueh never be ! True Love ! is the spirit of Honor, not Pride ; ^Tis the freedom of Virtue, not art ; Tis the soul of the bravest ; 'tis nature's pure guide ; 'Tis the proof of an excellent heart. For Love would I suffer, but none should controul ; No pride, power, wcaltli, should enchain my free soul! 148 To my Country her dues ; to my King due esteem ; To the peers, commons, people, regard ; To the girl of my heart like a King I would seem. Like a king her true love would reward ; "'TIS the province of man, who has Nature's pure sway, To protect, love, and cherish, — but not to obey. Forgive me, ye maidens, I mean none offence. For no tax would I place upon Love, Unless to read this, if ye think it good sense. The few lines which are written above. Such a Gath'rer of Taxes, indeed might complain ; He might rap at my door ! I should say, rap again ! ^ltA^^,d647t /r,Y''l'Jt<.h 149 THE CRITIC. la the critic in Love ? well, I think if he's blind, I shall chance to escape in the dark ; Khe's not, woe betide me ! I'll warrant he'll find, Enough for his sombre remark :■■ — But my line is before him ! Methinks I espy. The significant glance of his critical eye ! ^' These CobboldianVerses, what pride and what stuff; '' Sure the man must be mad ! I have read quite enough ! " Neither metre nor wit, neither wisdom nor rhyme ! " To pursue the perusal is losing my time ! ^^ All the drawing's arc bad ! the designs for their parts, °* Prove the Poet no Artist, if Master of Arts ! '' 150 But nictbinks I espy now a creature of grace. With a word on her lips, and a smile on her face : — " Come, Sir, come you're severity's self my dear Crit I You must own there's some point, if you call it not w^it ; Tlie designs you remember, pray don't be demure. Are not done by an Artist, a mere Amatuer; Now I'm positive too, if in love you should be. With yourself or another, perhaps with poor me, You will find in the moral a lesson worth keeping ; I see now a glance from your features are peeping, Which declares I speak truth ! Now your smile is enough. And you will not, you cannot, pronounce it such stuff/' The Critic smiles when Woman pleads a cause. Drops his harsh pen, and joins the just applause : When Ladies smile on Virtue, Love, and Truth, They have the Poet's thanks ! — The zest of Youth. 151 THE KNIGHT-ERRANT. Young Sir Ardent returned from the horrors of war. Is arrived at his castle. He journey'd from far ; — Both by night and by day, in the midst of attack He was never unguarded, and ne'er turn'd his back. To the maiden he lov'd, he had vow'd to subdue All the monsters he met with, and these were not few. *' Fair creature, " he said, " If I prosper, 'tis thou " Both my heart, and my hand, and my home, that shalt know ; " 'Tis for thee that I hasten to conquer, not fly, " 'Tis for thee I seek competence, prosper, or die. " To the summit of Industry's hill I must go, "And combat the sluggard who revels below ; " In the midst of attack, O believe me, dear girl, " Whilst the spear I shall rest, or the javelin hurl, ^' Tis the Spirit of Love that shall prompt the brave deed, ^^ O believe me, such Spirit will make me succeed V* 152 He departed, and prospered, and fought against Pride, And returns with success, to receive a rich bride. But he gain'd not the prize without valor and worth, He was noble, tho' humble, was brave from his birth; He contended with foes, such as none could subdue. But the honest in heart, and in love too, the true ; But he prospered ! — Sir Ardent, the brave and the young. Is returned to his castle, the fort is made strong-. Let the man who likes wisdom accept this last rhyme — • God will speed the true Lover, at every time I 153 THE ENNUYEE. *Tis all in vain ! books, scenes, pens, pencils fail ; ^Tis all in vain ! my work, my sight, my mind ; ^Tis all in vain ! my senses will prevail ; E'en words, are nothing. In the day I find^ Ten thousand thoughts incessantly inclin'd To call me back, to pleasures past and gone ; — To vow's no longer mine !— I've none, I've none. O what are men ? One man, whom nature graced, And Virtue seem'd to nestle in his heart ; One man, from memory O ne'er defaced. Who acted strangely, a deceiver's part. — This line, if conscience makes the guilty start, INIay chance to strike him ; He was all to me. And now, though all, as nothing he must be. X 154 Uow long I suffer, or am doom'd to live t How long 1 sorrow, 'till in earth I lie ! How long I wearily must weep ! I'd give The world to tell the moment I must die. To-day with pleasure could I wish to fly From earth to Heaven ; but it must not be, I am not fit, — a wretched Ennuyee. And is it so ! Young Woman, take advice. Rouse thee this instant from a scene of woe ; Wail not, but come, I'll tell thee in a trice How to cure sorrow ! for I truly know : 'Tis vain, such languid lifelessness to show,-^ I feel not harshly ', write a line to me, I have receipt to cure the Ennuyee. ^^^ -^:- II 155 A HAWK IN THE AIR. How justly the treacherous man might compare With the subject before us ; a Hawk in the air. Hast thou Feen one ? O often in youth's artless day. Have L noted his progress ; hast thou. Sir, pray say ? Aloft on his pinions he whirls his dread flight, With an eye ever watchful, rapacious of sight ; Whilst his talons are ready to pounce on his prey And his wings are extended to bear her away. O see, how he hovers, and sweeps o*er yon plain. With his victim in view ! Ah, my heart has felt pain ! To the dark dismal forest, he bears his poor bird. And the note of complaint, like her song, is unheard. Who resembles the Hawk ? not the tipstafl^ O no ! Nor the far fam'd John Doc, wuth his friend Richard Roe; These are enemies often to Hawks of the day, Who hover around for their innocent prey : — But the man without feeling, I justly compare With the picture before us — A Hawk in the aii'. 157 THE CIRCUS. Stirs there not spirit in the breast of man, To rouse him into action to excel ? The ancient Circus, such a notion can At once, undoubtedly its virtue tell ; We need not retrograde to Grecian plan. The modern Britons have the charm as well ! O let but Virtue be the true and noble aim. Our native land is Circus, suited for the game ! Spectators plenty round our Country bide. All eyes on England bend the glance of thought ; Contending parties here and there divide. And come in contact when together brought. Stand firm, ye brave ! for Wisdom v/ill decide, How oft experience is dearly bought ; Stand firmlv now ! Let honor, love, and credit stand. Fear not, yc foremost, fear not ' Love your native land. 158 The Coliseum moulders into dust, A stately fabric, raised by human skill. And so will England, when a want of trust, A want of confidence betrays ill will ; Be wise, ye senators, be wise and just. Good g-overnment, the structure strengthens still. The Circus, God preserve it, 'neath our Royal Guelph, Has faithful combatants, — those who can conquer self, 159 THE CROWN, SUPPORTED BY THE HANDS OF VIRTUE, LOVE, AND TRUTH. Emblem of Glory ! Honor's brightest gem ! A Nation's pleasurej England's diadem ! A Crown supported by the hands of youth, Firm in the cause of virtue, love, and truth. Kings are but men, though first of men on earth. Their Crowns, but ornaments denoting worth ; But thus supported, worthy they must be A nation's love, a nation's loyalty. Virtue is valor, intrepidity in peace; Love, is attachment which will never cease. In time of peace, let Virtue bravely prove Thine heart's attachment is not selfish love. Wouldst thou be wise, and have thy children clad In coat of warmth, in fervor's warmest plaid, From golden fleece of never-fading Truth Thy clothing make, and wear it in thy youth. The Crown, by Wisdom so supported, must Honor a King, and prove his people just. 161 THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. The morn is fine, the rising sun Proclaims a cheerful day ; The Sportsman takes his dog and gun. And hastens him away. But ere he's oflF, a word of joy, A lively smile is seen. He calls his dog, his man, or boy, And chats upon the green : — *^ The scent is fine, the grass is wet ; *' Old Ponto, poor old ^og ! " Good fellow you will do as yet ; — " Boy, loosen off that clog ! — " Now Reuben, take the partridge-bag, " Put panniers on the mare ; " We must not stop, or talk, or flag, " I like this morning air. y 162 ** Come, come, my friend, we lose our time, " Come, let's be off I pray. — " Now Poetry a perfect rhyme, " Old Ponto hie away ! " — Now see them off, — the stile is past, The field is enter'd now ; The keeper with the dog in haste } Boy, by the hedge's row. Ye sportsmen, tell me, have ye known. Perhaps ye may remember. That some such feelings were your own, On merry First September. such were mine ! but ne'er will be . Again the sportsman's lot ; 1 do not quarrel with the g ee. Believe me, I do not. But other things are now my sport, And other views my game ; Although a shot, 'twas not my forte, — My pleasure I could name. 163 But stiil I see wlph clieerful face. The sportsmen in the field, And memory can strictly tracc^ To none in love I yield. Judge by the line how much 'twas so. Ye sportsmen, hark ! I hear The word of joy, " toho ! toho! The covey's somewhere here ! (C •^ Toho old dog ! toho ! toho ! '' Now steady, steady Don, " A pretty point ! aye truly so "The game's but little on. " Now, Sir, walk up." They walk in haste. How anxiously they tread ! Pray Sir, for sporting have you taste ? Do think the poet sped ! The covey springs, pop bang ! pop bang ! " That bird is mine and this ! — • " How prettily the covey sprang i ** All ! pray Sir, did you miss ? ^^ 164 How oft I've seen the first shot ta'en, How oft have seen the joy ! And often of the first bird vain. Have thrown it to the boy ! How often too, when others hit And I have miss'd my aim. My nether lip in sorrow bit. And eyed the flying game ! They load again ; no whip, no flog ! ** Come Reuben, kill'd my first ! ** Well found, well stood, my dear old dog, " This satiates my thirst.'' — Again away, away they range. The well-train'd pointers speed ; 'Tis fact, however much *tis strange, There's something. Sir, in breed. 'Tis true a shot will make a dog. Perhaps may make him stand ; 1 hate to scold, to kick, and flog, To get him in command. ^ 165 A noble breed of any kind. Well nurtur'd and well train'd. Assuredly you'll ever find The best to be retain'd. Their heads are high, their hearts if good Will never know delay, But prompt to speed as good ones shou'd. They ever hie away. I love to see a pointer stand, A senator as firm. Well-backed upon their master's land, — How like you. Sir, the term ? " Ah ha ! look there, his nose is low, " His body twisted round. " A hare, a guinea Sir, 'tis so, " I know it by the ground." Away she bounds, " Ah ha ! well done ! *' You shot her. Sir, in style, " Methought, however, she was gone, " You let her get a mile. — 166 " Go pick her up, boy^ take the Iiare. *^ Look yonder, mark ! mark ! mark I ^* Two coveys ; boy, bring up the mare -, '' I heard a gun ', Hark ! hark ! — ^^ Reuben, who's that ? just go and see, " A trespasser I fear, — ^' Confound him, whosoe'er he be, " What does he poaching here ! " '' 'Tis Mr. Cobbold, Sir." " Indeed, *' Pray ask him in to mine ', " Good morning, Sir ! What sport ? what speed P " I hope you'll come and dine." " I thank you kindly, I must bend *^ My steps to B.'s to-day ; " 'Tis Mr. C. my sporting friend — " Good morning : "' — " Hie away.''-^ Away again, again they find. Again they bag their game ; The young ones sometimes lurk behind. And old ones do the same. 167 The day grows hot — the pointers flag,— The sportsmen take their lunch ; — The boy brings home the well-fill'd bag, — The dogs the biscuits crunch. — A little brandy, wine^ or beer, A piece of bread and cheese. At such time are the best of cheer, And always sure to please. Refresh'd, they walk. — Some better shoot, Some cannot kill so well ; — Some have a thorn within their foot, ■ A sprain or strain to tell. — How often have I walk'd along Through heat, and drought, and sun, Unwilling', as I am this song, To leave it when begun. How often wish'd at close of day To lengthen out the space. To have it in my power to say, '' I've shot, Sir, my ten brace." 168 But full as oft been forc'd to yield. At evening sun's decline, The pleasure of the sportsman's field. For that of home and wine. How often there in pleasant talk, Recounted shot and miss ; — Proposed a day ; — another walk — Another such as this. — Ye sportsmen all, the cheerful song Of love and peace remember ; Be just and good, — And may ye long Enjoy your First September. 1G9 THE iNFAXrS KISS, In Nature show me sweeter bliss^ Or purer innocence than this. The rapture of an Infant's Kiss ? There's none I vow. In Nature can the world afford. To those who love, and feel restored, A sound more dear than prattl'ing word Of Infant? No. The Infant's Kiss, 'tis innocence, 'Tis nature's purest recompence. Love's darling pleasure and defence; Indeed 'tis so. You'll find it such, perhaps, one day, — And truly, Sir, I wish you may As happily with infant play. As I do now. z 171 THE SCUFFLE FOR THE STANDARD. Ye sage Connoisseurs, I may chance to convince ye, This picture by famed Leonardo de Vince, Long lost and forgotten, is now to be seen At the house of the Poet, St. Margaret's Green ; There with Edelink's print, it will hang in my view. As for years it has hung. On my word it is true. But the subject, 'tis horrible ! horses and men. By the spirit of phrensy o'ertaken, I ken ; For the sake of a standard, a flag on a staff, Were it not for the horror perchance I might laugh, With the grin of destruction and gasp of quick breath. Seem determined to welcome a violent death : 'Tis to me a sad sight, for I never could kill, Yet believe me, a martyr to truth, ever will 1/2 With a steady firm foot, and a single clear eye, Keep a quiet straight course never fearing to die. In the scuffle, I know it, through life we must fight, With ourselves, with our passions, with spirit ofmight. For the mighty must struggle for standard of truth, Tis the humble will conquer, if zealous in youth. Go then ! fight for thyself, and victorious prove, Conquer evil with good — be triumphant in Love. Note. This picture is now supposed to be only known by the print of Edellnk. The sketch, as any gentleman may perceive who possesses the print, is not taken from that, but from a painting M'hich has been in the Author's family for some years, and which was obtained under curi- ous circumstances. From internal evidence, there is strong reason to sup- pose that Edelink's print is not executed from the original picture, but from an inferior copy. There are some strange inconsistencies in his print, not to bf; found in the painting now in the Author's possession, and cer- tainly not in the original picture wherever it may be, supposing this is not it. The Author would be most highly gratified by a communication with any gentleman upon the subject. At all events, a sight of one superiorly executed, would be sufficient to console him under the idea of his not being the oricinal. ii- n 17 THE BRAVE ACTION. Young Acton passing o'er the Gipping's wave In peril's hour, was just iii time to save ; ^ He heard the cry, and rushing- at the shock, Beheld the suff'rer drowning by the lock : One instant more, the wretched youth had sank. And left the surface, as 'tis mostly, blank. Nature was prompt, the spirit stirr'd within. This brave young man undauntedly sprang in ; At risk of life he siez'd the Soldier's hand. And bore him safely to the wish'd-for land. The deed is past, but honor shall remain. And virtue teach the Poet to explain, How justly they who imitate the same. Deserve the laurel at the hand of Fame. 174 'Tis well, 'tis well ! whenever sons of men. Are prompt to rescue, and protect ; the pen Of ardent Poet, shall not fail to raise, The just reward m line of love and praise. For what on earth would Christian wish to have, INlore pure than this ?— In peril, power to save. Note. A handsome sliver medal was presented to this young man by the Ipswich Humane Society, in token of admiration of his -conduct. What is very singular, the individual whose life was saved, had been a respectable clerk in an attorney's office : In a fit of desperation, on account of his friends having objected tohis marrying' an amiable young woman, he enlisted as a private in the 82nd Regiment. These circumstances came to the knowledge of the Humane Society, who to their credit be it recorded, were instrumental in obtaining the discharge of the soldier, and of restoring him to his family, and to that which appeared dearer to him than every thing else, the woman he loved. ~H't Ct^'V^'t if*-*' ef- Tecil- XOWMR CRVJtCn JPdl^%r2CH 175 MY CHURCH. Thou place of reception, where spirits shall be For a time disunited from ties of the earth. Where the soul like a bird to the heavens shall flee, Where the thoughts of the heart to devotion give birth ; O what can the hand of a creature, whose worth Is as nothing but dross, merely arrogant clay, O what can such creature sufficiently say ? 'Tis the province of virtue, 'tis piety's shrine, 'Tis the palace of duty, the house of our pray'r,— 'Tis the place of devotion where spirits entwine. And the Deity listens and lessens our care. O long may this spot, which to me has been fair From the day of my boyhood, be dear to these eyes ; May it long be revered by the good and the wise. ]70 Are monuments feebly denoting the dead Respected as sacred^, as tokens of love ? This line of the living respectfully read. The feeling of transport may faithfully prove. The building is sacred to Spirit above : May the children v/ho enter united remain. And join with the soul in devotional strain. INIy Church is my glory : — not this built by liands, Though respected and hallowed by thoughts of the good; But the Cliurch, all good Christians, my spirit's com- mands Are to love and esteem, as I faithfully shou'd : In this, my dear friends, be the line understood. All who love are included, not me, a strange youth. But who love the pure precept, the structure of Truth. v,«^.^ ^•-"•^•■V -,' '^ij.Sj» 7^^ m^i '^ •v-sa^ (5^',^* -V .:--.. -.,H r- {St 3 f< =^' ^ ;// "-^1 i l&3^%^i -^^ ^\^'^^0^-^ ^'v'^ii-: ^ 177 MAN. Woman, behold I how great, how grand, how good. Man when created midst the creatures stood. To him in earth ail living beings bow'd. Their names distinctions to Iiis wisdom ow'd ; Created lovely, godlike, pure in mind, To nature, virtue, love, and truth inclin'd, His was a paradise of health and soul, A conscience free from burthen of controul : — As o'er the vast-created far- devoted throng Of humble quadrupeds, he cast along The glance of thought, his spirit sought to find Some sweet companion suited to his mind : — For him the creatures of the earth might move. Pass, come, and go, they could not talk of love ; They could not dwell on elevated thought, By sight of wonder, sight of nature taught. Instinct was all, and instinct bade them pay Devoted homage to the man of sway : — Twas thee he sought, — he sought thee not in vain, God gave him thee, — thou wast his joy his bane. A A 178 Woman for thee, O lovely, lovely maid ! Man's spirit writes not vainly to upbraid. For thee he suffered in degraded sphere. The loss of bliss, — for thee he first felt fear. Weep thou, O no ! Be glad, be good, be pure, JMan will continue all things to endure, l^till cherish thee ; he knows that perfect bliss On earth, can never certainly be his ; Still in thy love whilst life is sweetly given, He will abide, and move with thee to heaven. As sin of thee first found its way to man. So love of thee has made affection plain. O woman, kindred spirit ! mayst thou be Beloved of man, of man who would be free. May he respect, be ardent, be sincere. And thou, companion of his heart, be dear. As much he lov'd thee ere the morn he fell, The eve's Atonement bids him wish thee well. The day will come, when love exalted shines. When spirit with the body so combines The life with liberty, that thou and he, In love united, shall be ever free. At present wait thou ; man with thee will wait. Patient in honor, patient in his state ; As God to him is merciful in love. So he to thee, as merciful will prove. '^'^^•'^Codtld di.tr ,;',- X»nA-R oKwELLi ]70 PLAIN REASONS FOR PLEASURE. The Tiber, the Tigris, Euphrates, and Nile, Those rivers of classical glory may smile -, The Thames or the Medway may sparkle with glee, But the Orwell is loveliest river for me. The Xanthus, or otherwise noted Scamander, Through valleys of Troas may placidly wander ; The Humber, the Clyde, or the Avon delight. But the Orwell for me has the loveliest sight. The Niger, the Rubicon, Cios may flow. The Garatas glitter, the Ladon move slow ; The Danube, the Ister, the Elbe, and the Rhine, They may all have delights ; but the Orwell is mine, The Inacus, Imbrasus, Palus Linterna, The Arcadian Styx, call'd the Palus Inferna ; The gentle Limgea and Lisson may be, To their poets delightful : The Orwell for me. 180 But why has this river such charms for mine cye^ The world cannot give such another, ah ! why ? For reasons as plain as a precept of truth, I have liv'd and have lov'd on this spot of my youth, Tiie banks where my footsteps in infancy's day. Had delight to be roaming in innocent play ; The kiss of affection was given and ta'en, On the banks of the Orwell. — Ah pleasure has pain ! As over the waters, or banks, I still roam. As yet they are lovely, as yet are my home ; The Reason for Pleasure assuredly is, That I ride, sail, or walk, and the Orwell has bliss. A Reason for Pleasure no nature can give. Till man learns to profit, to love, and to live. To act a good part, to be firm, faithful, kind. And to cultivate friendship, religion, and mind. ' ' t \ 1 ^ : '^ f 181 FATAL JEALOUSY. Tho' Ovid wrote in rich harmonious strain. Replete with passion, full of joy and pain, And made of men, his deities like man, I shall not follow his deceptive plan. But give to mortals what is mortal's due. The praise of virtue, when their love is true. Truth was howe'er obscured by idols vain. Full often ground-work of the Poet's pen. This might be fact, for jealousy in life. The youth may feel, the maiden, or the wife ; And lynx-eyed fear may prompt suspicion on. To deed of folly, as by Procris done ; Still love, the harbinger of heart and soul. Should keep us all in honor and controul. 182 That man, who cruelly provokes the spleen Of woman's nature, he deserves no screen To hide his treachery. May poignant dart. Strike deep conviction to the faithless heart ! What can he hope, whose savage eye can see, A lovely woman, stung by jealousy ; Provoked, with cause, to caliber Lord unjust. His plighted vows, bis honor to mistrust ? Does eagle tear from bleeding lamb the heart ? Does life-blood from the wounded bird depart ? Does shark rapacious seize the swimming prey ? More cruel man, who trifles in this way. Beware of jealousy, ye gentle fair, Of Procris' fate, young maidens, O beware ! She thought her Lord indulged in secret shade. The interchange of love with favor'd maid. A giddy swain, who heard him call on air To soothe fatigue, conveyed it to the fair. With certain declaration, that he heard The gentle accents of the lover's word. Prompted by fear, by doubt, by love, by life> The young, the doating, yet suspicious wife, Hasten'd away, and hid herself, to see The pictur'd object of her jealousy. 183 Alone, young Cephalis was passing by, And heard the rustling of the branches nigh, Quick flew the dart ! which never miss'd its aim Alas, the dearest of the dear, his game. The feeble cry of Procris told the truth, And left distraction to dismay the youth. Beware, ye maidens ! if the soul of man. Be not of honor, woman, never can By means of jealousy, prevent his will ; Suspicion only must increase the ill, — But trust in truth. May man of honor 'bide In Woman's love, and virtue be his bride. ]85 THE BEAR ATTACKED. Come hunt with mc the rude rough bear. Be bold, be valiant, if you dare ; And hasten to the mountain's brow, And lay the greedy monster low. Ye youths of spirit, to the chase I bid you welcome ! not the base. He lives a terror to the deer, And keeps the neighbourhood in fear ; He growls at those he cannot kill. Delights to subject at his will ; Grows fat, and haughty, big with pride, Has insolently love defied ; At noble creatures turns his nose. And deems the poorer ones his foes : — His grin is grisly ; voice is gruff; His coat is shaggy ; skin is tough ; His paws on places, such as shou'd Support alone the brave and good, Have torn asunder tender ties. And fill'd the country full of spies. B B 186 To horse, ye brave ! come, come with me t Our triumph be in victory. O I have seen his savage look. Another's state which cannot brook ; The mountains round him must be his. Or he ferocious has no bliss^ And ev'ry creature there below. Must bend his knee, and make his bow ; Forward, my friends ! attack the bear. The rude rough tyrant do not spare. Candour, my horse, come gallop well Through yonder bold and broken dell, The spur of spirit prompts thee on. The deed of honor must be done ; For yonder brute, for baseness fam'd. Must forcibly be caught and tam'd. Courage, heroes ! courage now. The monster shall be humbled low. We'll have a muzzle on his jaws ; We'll clip the talons on his paws ; We'll teach him how to dance and walk ; Perhaps to read, to write, or talk ; For wonderfully now a days. The savage race obtain the bays. Come on, come on I ascend the hill ; Onward ! onward ! onward still. 187 Hold ! bold I enough. The bear is caught, And may by wisdom. Sir, be taught ; For all who would be good and wise. Must never fear their enemies, But boldly brave, 'gainst savage race Pursue in truth, affection's chase. The haughty, not with haughty frown, By noble candor are put down. The rough, with gentleness pursued, Become at length by love subdued j The purse-proud mercenary soul Forgets that riches are his whole, And seeks to render others merit, Loves the gentle gen'rous spirit. If such the chase, who would not dare. To venture and attack the bear !— 189 THE DREAM OF 13LISS. I wander'd with the maiden of my mind, On wing of spirit, o'er the glassy lake : We sweetly flew like swallow in the air In sunny morning ; one while, skimming near The smooth and placid surface, then again At other, rising to the pure blue sky. We bent our way instinctively along. Not knowing whither; over hills and meads, O'er rocks and groves, and rivers ; light and shade So gently blended, that one glorious gleam Of splendor, full of beauty, seem'd to play In lucid loveliness. And yet we flew, Onward proceeding, with unconscious wing. Attracted forcibly we knew not how, Nor felt unwilling. Dangers there were none,— Nor interruptions, sorrows, or sad words, Looks full of peace, contentment, and delight, 190 Dwelt in our smiles, as chasing each in turn The other playfully pursued. We past a range Of lofty wooded mountains, and at once Descended on a lake so clear and hright. That every fish of gold and silver hue, Bespang'd the sparkling deep. — Ourselves were seen. The very maiden match'd with Spirit's form, So like mine own, it seem'd to be the same ; And nought but passage of the finny race. Could so disturb the likeness, we could tell Those forms were shadows. Now we seem'd to pause. And hunger came upon us, mix'd with thirst ; We spake our wants, but resting not our wings. They bore us straightway to a standing tree With fruit overloaded, but methought not fair. Not speck'd, but whole. We look'd around again. To see if other more of comely kind Were nigh at hand ; but disinclined to fly, I took and ate ; and oh, I cannot tell How sweet the food ! Extatic was the dart I gave that instant, to the kindred soul Which hover'd near me 3 — bade her take and eat ; ^Twas sweet beyond the compass of delight, And when she ate, O never could the sun More lovely seem ! We look'd upon the Iree : — Twelve branches rose tispiring from one bteni; 191 Each stem, produced twelve tliousand full-siz'd fruitj And where we took another grew agah), That nought were wanting. We were soon refrcsh'd^ Refresh'd indeed. — New vigor seem'd to breathe A food of life w^ithin us, whilst our minds Expanded to the study of ourselves, And every moment newly franiM ideas Pour'd in incessantly ; and, strange to say, Not one was lost, but every one we gain'd Some beauty added to the rest attain'd. x\las, my soul ! alas I look in pain. For such a Dream of Bliss to come again. ^''i/iiC^^tn*/^ ir'y.^t^fie 19 <3 THE DEATH OF ADONIS. No Venus is on earth, though many fair. Shine lovely images of Wisdom's care ; Noyoung Adonis, though in honest truth Full many a fine, intelligent, brave youth : — Ye fairest creatures of a mortal race. And you, ye noblest sons of virtue, trace In this the heathen's story of true love. From nature painted, what can nature prove. Alas ! the maiden hanging o*er the bed, Of lover, long beloved ! — alas ! when dead ; — Can nature ever to the soul of man Present more agony ? she never can. Once gain the heart of woman, who can feel What 'tis to love ; the wound will hardly heal AVhich tears thee from her, yet a cure is given,- The hope of meeting in the highest heaven, c c 194 IJeart-brokeii lovers, lift your heads again^ And look ye for the spirit not in vain. Aye look, and love, your constancy shall know The sweetest recompence for mortal woe. ^Tis but on earth we find in lover's kiss, The taste of happiness. — Celestial bliss, From font of knowledge, wisdom's purest source,. Flows undisturb'd a current of such, force. That nature owns, when human passions end. That cherish'd fountain, was our natiu*e's friends Oh ! I have seen in life, believe me, seen The unexpected sorrow intervene In midst of pleasure, when the heart was high. The youthful soldier summon'd but to die ; Yet not in battle : — trumpet gave no call y Nor flew in strife the hostile musket ball ; — By hand of friend the blow untimely given. Which sent from earth, the spirit up to heaveiu Oh ! I have seen the tender parents woe. The brother's grief, the sister's sorrow flow ; Tears of such love, the very soul would melt. And weep for bitterness ! — I've seen and felt ^ But never, never can I wish to see. Again such pangs, again such agony. 195 But O methinks, if sister's soul could show- Such depth of suffering", ah ! what the woe. When one deprived of kindred spirit's tie. Sees the fond lover stricken near her lie ? Enough ! — I dare not, lest my heart should break, Of such a sorrow, such a horror speak. — The line was written not to urge again The thought of past, though not forgotten pain ; ^Twas written thus to soothe, and plainly tell How much the Poet wishes lovers well ; — How much he feels for nature ; how much more For spirit's triumph when their grief is o'er. 197 THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOP. How many pledges in a day. Are ta*en and given here ? As many, we may truly say, As lovers insincere To maidens make, to give and break. And keep or not for pleasure's sake. My Lady B. has lost a ring, O would it might be found ! She has not pawn'd it ! no such thing,- She hates the very sound. A Pawnbroker ! O shameful tale, You might as well propose a gaol. My Lady C. has lost a pearl, Unlucky, hapless lot ! ^Twas such a gift, from such an earl. His name I have forgot ; If any one on Christie calls. He'll see it at the Golden J3alls. 198 Lord X. has lost a rich estate, But money must be had ; He pawns his studd, himself or plate. And probably goes mad. He throws the die ! unlucky cast, Veloceped, has come in last. A lovely girl ! 'tis really true^ A tear was in her eye, Look'd more than once, as forth she drew A locket with a sigh : "He gave it me ! " she faintly said, ^* I pawn it for the sake of bread :— ce And yet if money can be found, " I'll work both day and night, " Thou dearest pledge, 'tis deepest wound " To tear thee from my sight ; " Yet go, necessities compel, " I will redeem thee ! fare thee well/' Ah me ! 'tis money makes us all. For want of wisdom want : A little prudence, who would fall. Or pawn, or fawn, or cant ? May all from usury be free, And live and love in libertv. /:a-/"V i-^rVw ^y^4W ^*/••/'*!///. 199 THE COTTAGE BOY. Ye statesmen^ senators, ye men of birth. Look ye on this, a picture of some worth ; Ye great and learned, rich, behold in joy This humble-minded, happy. Cottage Boy. Poor Ben, how oft in independent day. When free as billow, I could bound away. And haste to call thee from thy humble home. To take thy stick and hat and quickly come. And rouse the rabbits from the hedge or fern. Or carry this and that, my game in tuni ; How oft I've seen thee at thy frugal meal. Contented sit, and murmer not at weal Of others, fed with richer, finer fare. Not better ofi\, nor freer from life's care. Thy cat thy cosset, aye, as dear to thee. As horse or hound could ever be to me. 200 I saw thee die : — Six months a ling'nng foe Around thee hovered, 'twas consumption slow. But mark, ye mighty ! not a word of wail, No sign of discontent could once prevail — No word of doubt ; a meek and quiet mind In hour of suffering to love inclin'd. How oft as kneeling on the clean brick floor. Beside the window or the cottage door. In Spirit's prayer commended to the Lord, Thy humble soul, through merit of his Word* How oft the sun descending brightly down. On me and thee his red rays sweetly shone : That sun sets still upon the western hill. Shines oji thy cottage window, shines there still. Thy sister, brother, mother, father see The same sun sinking, and forget not thee ', Nor ^lall I either, till no longer mine. On me departing he shall cease to shine. Who loves the hall, who loves the cottage door, Is kind at home, and gentle to the poor. That man shall live in midst of life's allov. And die as happy as this Cottage Boy. 201 THE NARROW ESCAPE. Young B. sat musing by his College fire. When Horace call'd to welcome him from Town ; The rap of visitor was made in vain, For no one answered him, " come in ! come in ! " Again the rap, — but silence left the mind To doubt of welcome. Never yet denied, Young Horace enter'd : — His surprise increas'd. When lo ! before the fiercely burning fire, His friend in attitude of thought profound. Sat deeply meditating. So intent. His senses rivetted on inward care, > No outward object occupied the eye ; All was within like being when entranc'd ; — He saw not, heard not, yet his eyes and ears Retain'd their faculties to see and hear ; He,sat him down to contemplate his friend ; He looked for motion, but the fiercest flame Glared on the eye-ball, and appear'd to play With no more twinkle than reflection gave. D D 202 Jfow long the reverie had lasted thus Had no one interposed, 'twere hard to tell ; But Horace, thinking that his brain would crack Or vision grow imperfect, spake aloud, But spake in vain. The waggons in the street Along Cheapside, or passing down Pall Mall, Make just as much impression on the mind Of those inhabitants Avho live thereby. As Horace did when calling on his friend. His voice was vain, then starting from his seat With sudden blow of welcome on his back. His hand fell smartly. But the instant start. The horrid gaze of half-distracted face. As full of dismal and terrific dread As if a monster had with grasp of death Cut ev'ry nerve of life, made Horace feel The rashness of his step. Alas ! his friend Fell prostrate, groaning, on his college-floor. The agony can better be received By thought, than narrative. Suffice to say. That slow returning life revived his form And sense again, midst tears and signs of fear. And yet midst thankfulness for dangers past ; — Those dangers shall be told, and he who fell Shall be narrator : — ** Horace thou art kind^, 203 But hear my story : — 'twas my lot thou know'st To be in London on the ex^eniag past j A single man of solitary turn, Unused to bear the bustle of an inn, For pastime's sake, I wandered to the play — - To Drury-Lane. There, ent'ring* the saloon. Midst fashions vot'ries, fiekle, frail, and fair. Midst sons and daughters of the thoughtless world, I sat me down observant. — Some were gay, Some giddy, proud, and flaunting ; but alone, Retir'd from flirting, sat a seeming' mild. Pensive, and thoughtful creature, with a face As white as marble ; and her dark black locks In graceful curls of negligence disposed. She saw my character, and glanced across A look of interest. I know not hov^'. But o'er me, passion had maintained her sway. And proved my blindness ; thitherward inclin'd^ I talk'd and talk'd, till heedlessly o'erta'en. In folly's hour, persuaded by the fair, (Ah ! fair in form, but sadly stain'd with guilt. The most inhuman which could stamp disgrace On sex of Eve) I wander'd with her home. Onward advancing she pretended truth. And told me, sccresy must cause my step To passby ladder into room above^ 204 Whilst she circuitously tracing round Would soon be with me. After weary walk. Whither proceeding ignorant and blind, W^e found the street. I found the ladder placed, And unsuspiciously I sallied up. And enter'd darkness. Groping now about. Expecting light, I found at last a couch. On which I sat ; but feeling further on, Most horrid fact, my fingers touch'd a face As cold as death. The phrenzy of my mind, It made me seize it ; and from ear to ear The throat was severed, and my madden'd shake Of sudden fury, serv'd alone to tell I could not be deceived. The ladder too That instant from the window mov'd away, I rushed, 'twas gone ; and light and angry voice, Approaching to the passage of the door. Gave me one instant to expect my fate — That instant seal'd it : with elastic spring. At casement of the window I essayed. And calling murder, tumbled to the ground. I felt my feet ; and running as for life From street to street, I knew not where I went. But onward kept, rejoiced to call a coach. Such night of horror, shame, and dread, and prayer Such night of misery, of thought of past. 205 Of future resolution — kept aloof Refreshing sleep. One deep lethargic dream Of drowsy darkness, wherein shapeless things Of forms most frightful, yet with woman's face. Kept flitting round me ; and my hands with blood, (As stain'd they were) seemM lifted to my view. But here I am^ escaped ! O Horace ! say. Have I not deep occasion for the mood In which thou saw'st me. — 'Tis enough, 'tis o'er. My friend reveal it, when thy friend's no more." Accept the tale, thou hast it as 'twas told. Recorded faithfully. Forgive my hand. If now in love I offer to thy heart The language of my soul. Beware, beware. Of headstrong foolishness ! Let virtuous life. By thee esteemed, be recognized as such ; So call forth energy of mind and soul, To keep thy senses in their just controul ; Ah ! so shall Wisdom, sweetly freed fi'om guile, Protect the lovelv, and on virtue smile. 207 THE ROYAL RIDDLE. Men give a problem, to the wise of youth ; I give a drawing ; thou, explain the truth. Solve the Riddle if ye can. In wisdom's way, pursue the plan ; I'll call ye somewhat wiser than The Author, a composing man. Look it o'er, and rap your pate. Search your visions, morn and late ; You cannot guess the Riddle's fate, Pray ask the Minister of State. Methinks the Senator is scanning, One while thinking, pausing, planning ; My Lady too, her features fanning, Proposes it to Mr. Canning. Perhaps he'll solve it in his mighty pleasure, If not, I can, Sir, at my quiet leisure. 209 THE W ORTHLESS DOG, A shepherd's dog, 'tis really fact. His master saw him in the act. By night would kill the very sheep. Appointed him to watch and keep :— By day he meekly eyed the fold. And bark'd whenever he was told ; Would walk behind the shepherd's heels. And fawn upon him at his meals ; Yet strange to say, his master found The dog grew daily larger round, Look'd fat and sleek, would hardly share His former homely frugal fare. But daintily would leave the crust. For other dogs to eat with dust. Suspicion grew. Some sheep hetray'd The forms of havoc which he made ; And one was found secreted low In ditch, beside the hedge's row, E E 2m Or else beneath the blasted thorn That stood alone, like man forlorn ; The Shepherd watch'd, and shot the beast At moment of his nightly feast. Tliose who pretend to guard and guide. Should watchful be on ev'ry side ; Should faithful to their master's fold. Keep off the wolves — ^be brave and bold 5 Be humble too in mind and frame. And seek to merit a good name. Should guard their hearts, lest eye of fire Be caught at moment of desire, And so forgetting Master's pow'r. Should study how they may devour. The faithful man will truly find Fidelity is never blind. But infidelity will clog. The heart with faults ; like worthless dog. By day deceitful, and by night Be hateful to his master's sight. 211 THE ARTIST. Work for a name ! Go study nature well. Each line each feature of expression tell ; Consider gesture^ posture, gait^ and mien. And see how faithfully thy God is seen. — Seen in those works where nature marks the hand Of spirit masterly, — the world's command ! See how majestic, grand, heyond conceit. Is nature's innocence ; ^tis love complete. The sky, the air, the sun, the stars, the day. The clouds, the seasons, all their God display ; But man, most visibly in virtue's hour. Displays the working of that mighty pow'r. Go, study woman ! thou wilt find in her. Some vanity, yet virtue to prefer The deeds of piety, more pure than man ; Thou'lt find her mind will compass what it can With full as much facility as thine. With full as much as ever poets line Could run with ease, and tell in simple measure^ How woman's worth is man's delightful treasure. Ivfark thou the outline of her graceful form, JMark and remember man is but a worm.— '>12 Hast ever traced the lineaments of ease. The softly pencU'd features sure to please, The eye of innocence^ the smile of grace, The lips of virtue in a lovely face ? Sure thou hast wondered at the silver hrow. The smooth and placid surface, nature's glow In colours varying*, yet always clear. To man of honor, man of virtue dear. Go study rocks, woods, hills, and shady dales. Rivers and meads, glens, lakes, and pleasant vales, Go study cattle, birds, beasts wild and tame. House, castle, palace, anything with name ; Then conjure phantoms visionary schemes. Days bold events, or nights attractive dreams :— O study all ! when perfect in their trace. Return again, and study woman's face ; — For sure I am, there's nothing in the world, Has so much beauty pleasantly unfurl'd. Be brave at heart ! be generous, be kind. Learn to love virtue, Providence, and mind 3 Thyself respect, and Woman soon will be. Dear as thyself, aye, ever dear to thee ! Her spirit too, transcendant as thine own, Will rise with thine, at coming day unknown. Work for a name ! thy pencil guide in truth. Let wisdom prompt thee fearlessly in youth.- — Who studies nature, and improves his heart. Will be an Artist of the noblest art. 213 GONE AWAY. Gone away ! gone away ! yoix forward away ! Go to lilm ! get forward ! now bravely my bay. Lift the head, glance the eye, tip the hurdle in style. Gallop on ! burst along! make the knowing ones smile. O noble sport ! how oft I've seen, At rising sun, the morning keen. The glowing fields, with dew are reeking, The coming chase, good run bespeaking. O tell me nobles, if ye can, A braver sport for Englishman ! Gone away ! gone away ! hark forward my steed, Yoix Ranger ! good Forrester, capital breed. Melanthus ! Old Growler, yah ! Stranger where now ! Hark the music ! yoix forward, come join in the row. 213 GONE AWAY. Gone away ! gone away ! yoix forward away ! Go to him ! get forward ! now bravely my bay. Lift the head, glance the eye, tip the hurdle in style. Gallop on ! burst along! make the knowing ones smile, O noble sport ! how oft I've seen. At rising sun, the morning keen. The glowing fields, with dew are reeking. The coming chase, good run bespeaking. O tell me nobles, if ye can, A braver sport for Englishman ! Gone away ! gone away ! hark forward my steed, Yoix Ranger ! good Forrester, capital breed. Melanthus ! Old Growler, yah ! Stranger where now ! Hark the music ! yoix forward, come join in the row. 214 Ah ! who lias seen the deep mouth hound. When Reynard breaking from the bound Of hedge-row, covert, wood, or heath. First lift his head, and show his teeth, Then hear his tongue, Oun ! Oun ! away. The pack receive the old ones, bay. Gone away ! g-one away ! hark the crash of the stake. See the pieces are flying ! the blackbird's awake ! He darts from the thicket with shriek of dismay ! Yoix forward my boys ! now then, that's it, away ! There's something- brave in sport like this. And nothing certainly amiss, Provided hearts of hunter's view The chase with honor, and are true ; They need not curse, and frown, and swear, The beauty of such chase to share. Gone away ! gone away ! now then, bowl it along ! Yoix forward ! Ah ha ! Tallyho ! that's the song, Tallyho to the view ! Yoix Candor ! take breath ! O bravely my steed, we'll be in at the death. . 215 Now tell me Hunters, would ye say, Tlic Poet wisli'd to go away ? Believe the line, he woii'd, he won'd. Borne on the noble, free, and good i He wou'd, he wou'd, with panting breath Come in most gladly at the death ! But gone away ! ah ! gone away from me ! Not with regret, the Hunter's well-known glee ! The chase I see, and many tliousands scenes. Break on my senses ! having past my teens. Nature I view, and ardent dash along. And sing with spirit, nature's lovely song, Sports, works, employments, studies for the mind In man, much mystery and love I find ! All living creatures, nay, the very ground Is full of wonders, full of beauties found — But most of all, forgive my prosing brain, Nor think it hypocritical disdain, Cant, cringing cant, or fawning base deceit. The sluggard's weapons to cajole and cheat — Most, most of all, ah, prithee do not start, I study closely to improve tha heart ! I mount my horse, and gallop where I will. Thoughts of God's goodness will my senses fiil. 210 ^Twould seem soraetime I hasten VI to the cliase. When all my speed is but for nature's face. Free as the air ! O thank my Father's love ! AVho gave me independence so to move. But hold my hand ! niy senses gently stay, INIy dear young friends, behold the Gone Away ? 217 TPJE SKETCH OF A SKETCIIER. Some years ago, no matter bow long since, Siieli trifles surely no one need to mince, The beaux and belles of this my native spot. Were all assembled for a dance 1 wot ; A coxcomb officer witb busby liair, Sucli (sball I call them gentlemen ?) tbere are, Witb boasted consequence, who strut and quiz. And deem themselves of admirable fiz ; Who think their coats attractive to the eye. And fancy ladies for their sakes must die. I've seen some such, who lift their lofty brows. Rattle their swords, their sabre-tash dispose. Curl their mustachios, and assume the swing Of fancied majesty ! God bless the King ! But none of these have ever made me fear, Nor would they had they thrust me with a spear. F F 218 Think iiie not proud, O men of war and fame T T love and renerate the brave man's name, But coxcomb impudence, in pride of dress, Who would be great in midst of nothingness, I cannot help it, sure I am to smile. Whene'er I see them out of rank and file. Strutting the gauntlet in the ball-room's blaze. Self, self-important, swelling for the gaze. "Twas some such man, his name, Sir, in the town. Was formerly,- and is so quite well known : 1 shall not tell it, but my pencirs trace May bring to mind the features of his face ; In dishabille, he entered with his friend, A sir, sir Somebody ! But pray attend : — They look'd around on this, and that, and t'other. Joked, laugli'd, and chuckled wisely with each other^ Their eyebrows lifting, then again compressing. For no one caring, no one there addressing. The talk of all, they seem'd to like the fun. For sake of notcriety ^twas done. The one in question, boasted of his skill. At duelling a dab, was sure to kill ; And stood as high for some such mighty work, As any Spaniard, Saracen, or Turk ; Some talent he possess'd, and so to show it. Determined as Fve done, the world should know it -.■ — 219 So down he sat, and taking- out his book, Gave here and there significant a look ; Then in his hat he niark'd the faces down, Some with a smile, and others with a frown ; The ladies blush'd, the gentlemen disturbed, Yet no one thought the monster could be curb'd. At length, the doors unfolding in the room. He saw a subject, aye ! a prime one come ! 'Twas Mrs. Cobbold, — true in outward gait, (God bless my Mother now m better state !) From habits mild, and generous, and kind. The surest index of a noble mind ; From sedentary life, or happy tone Of disposition, she was portly grown, But never indolent ; he little knew How great a woman came within his view. — The start of joy was kindled in his face. And soon his pencil hasted to the trace. Some ladies came to tell the hero's name. His character, his rudeness to proclaim. At last one said I " Look, look, he's sketching you ! '* ^^ Ah ! is he ? let him have a perfect view ; *• Pray clear the way, Fll sit myself at ease, ^' In any way for sketching he may please, ^' And had I pencil, I would calmly try, *' Such impudence to beiffle and defy.'* 220 Soon came the penciK paper, to the scratch, The sketcher found a skctcher was his match ; With steady hand she quietly began, To mark the outline of this outre man ; They sat few seconds, (bless my gentle mother !) Compos'dly, fairly sketching one another. Till barefaced impudence outwitted blush'd. And out midst hisses of the ball-room rush'd ! Brave woman ! brave ! thy wisdom gave retort. In common justice, as a woman ought. No angry frown, no pique, or pride, or fear. No word of murmur spake disturbance near ; The deed was done in gentleness of hand. By spirit prompted ! Such deeds must command. Who marks in justice, lives in mercy too. Loves while he lives, is humble, quiet, true. Will ever find he has it in liis pow'r. To put down impudence at any hour. 221 THE STAGE. The world's a Stage, all nature is the scene, The actors, men, — spectator, God, I ween ; Death is the curtain, and believe thou me. The curtain falls and soon will fall on thee. Such was the motto years of boyhood made. Long before pomp or pageantry betray'd An ardent spirit into love of fame. Long before youth had thought of care or name. TIow oft the curtain falling on the plain, Recall'd that motto to my mind again ; Nor see I aught to strike it from my view. Aught that is false, unholy, or untrue ; Aught so offensive, that the proud man's eye May dare disdain it, or its truth deny ; — Thou wilt not spurn it, gentle friendly maid. Thou wilt not spurn it, nor my pen upbraid, 222 Nor think me sad, if serious or gay, I write a poem, tragedy, or play ; All would be easy — easier to me Than reading could be readily to thee ? 1 know the stage, the tricks the actors play. And mark their characters as any may ; I see the world, and note in merry mood. The dififrent scenes, and make them understood ^ I see varieties of parts men act, And know by reasoning the false and fact. The prompter speaks so loudly, he is heard Through nature's theatre^he must be fear'd ! Behind the scenes, in thicket, castle, cave. On mountain pass, or passing on the wave 5 In palace gay, or poverty's cold hut. The actors play, and acting mostly strut. — • There is not one upon the world's wide stage, Don't rage ye actors of tlie present age, Should I but see him studying his part I know directly if he learns by heart. Go, act thy part, and fearlessly proceed. Take for thy master. Spirit, and thou'lt speed ! Study thyself I the nearer thou canst see Thine imperfections, thou wilt nearer be To wisdom's source ; the actor of a part. Where every word is prompted from the heart. 223 Tread tliou the stage with manly step and mien. And do thy duty in the passing scene. The world's a stage where noble Christians pause. And care but little for the world's applause 5 They act their parts as wisely as they can. At peace within, and fearful not of man ; But presshig on, the mark they would attain. Is present hope and future well-earn'd gain. My gen'rous friends, T love ye one and all. And wish ye happy at the curtain's fall ; Together act we ; — Are we one in heart. The stage will find we act a faithful part^ 225 THE SOLDIER'S DAUGHTER. Whose form is that upon the beacon-height. Close where the pile has burnt throughout the night ? She stands alone, and casts her glance along The bloody field, where yesterday the throng Of niarshaird hosts in glittering array. Stood awfully prepared for wild affray ? "Tis Henrietta's : o'er her darkling brow^ The dreadful thought of battle cast its glow, JNIore gloomy still, as mists of morning fade And rising sun dispels the valley's shade ; Her eye was watcliful, strain'd with horror's glance Toward the frontiers of fated France ; There mov'd the fire of tenderness and woe. In face of terror, fearfulness of foe, Not for herself; O no I a Father's form — Had it escaped the battle's dreadful storm ? Was he returning victor, crown'd with fame — Or dead, and left her to revere his name ? Awhile, the mists were ling'ring in the dell And cloth 'd the valley ! Ah ! she could not tell, G G 22G Bat yet she lookM^ and wisli'd, aiul lioped^ and sigliM^ And felt as almost certain lie had died ! Her dark black locks hung sv>'eeping o'er a face V»liicli had been ruddy. But the feeling trace Of deepest interest^, made the features wan ;^ 'TwoLild move with agony the sonl of man^ To paint expression such a moment fix'd On countenance where pain and hope were mix'd. With all the sorrow suffering could give, — Anxiety for parent : Could he live ? Ah ! now she saw through dimly fading mist. The legions moving, coming, talking, hist ! The mingled voices louder^ clearer grow. And now she hears them, more distinctly now : The banners waving fan tlie morning air, — Her father's regiment ! Could he be there ? He was ! he was ! He saw his darling child. And rush'd to meet her, with a spirit wild :— '•JMy Henrietta \ thou my tender care, " The first my victory to sec and share, *'The danger's past, the battle's field is won.^ " The foe is beaten, overthrown, and gone." " God bless thee father ! may contentions cease !" " God bless thee child, God grant us lasting peace.'* 227 THE WRECK. Is tiiere a grief when o'er the foamuig niahv. The stately vessel labors in the gale ; When pilot's hand, or captain's voice is vani. When billows rage and blasts o'er blasts prevail ; AVhen ev'ry heave the stately timbers strain. And burst the shrouds and rend the quivering sail ; Is there a grief, man's harden'd heart can check ? O view with awe the melancholy wreck ! Ye sailors, tell me ? I have seen your smile. Your looks of joy observant on the sea, Wlicu homeward-bound the vessel comes in style, And nears the harbour or the well-known quay ; O tell me, tell mc, sons of England's isle, Who yet have hearts to suffer and be free. You who have trode so gallantly the deck. Is it not grief to contemplate tlic Wrccji ? 228 Yc know the value of the stately frame, Ye know the beauty of her shape and make ; Each cord, each sail, each tackle ye can name, The care and caution, wisdom it must take, To plan, to build, to launch, to steer, the same,- Ye know all this, and feelingly awake. Must own in truth the distant lovely speck, A melancholy aspect when a wreck. If any work of human skill and hand Be truly noble, or appear to view Of humble mortal positively grand, (I speak in wisdom positively true,) A first-rate vessel must the sight command. And man acknowledge wisdom must be due. A moment pause> thy senses take the beck. Behold the change, a miserable wreck. Hearts must ye have, for sailors ever feel. Think then a moment of the Poet's line, He wants no praise, his heart is not of steel. He writes in wisdom : Never be supine. But look on man as melancholy keel. Whatever noble, drunk with strife and wine, Forgets his honor or his passion's check, Resembles this — a miserable wreck ! 229 A lovely woman, O my heart 1 my heart ! So fair, so handsome, formed in beauty's frame ! To see her false, I cannot bear the smart. To see her faithless, wreck'd without a name, — A lovely woman act a worthless part. Lost to herself, her family, and fame, O sight of horror ! Ail my senses queck ! — She, most of all, is melancholy wreck ! Can nature feel? O think, my gentle friend. If thinking ever can thy heart controul, — If man, a builder of a vessel, bend To see the ocean o'er his fabric roll. What must the Maker feel, to see the end Of one unhappy self-devoted soul. Think thou in time, in time thy senses check. Lest thou become a melancholy wreck. wVYjr^>v_^ ^^^^v^ ,„ mp^^^ 231 THE QUARTETT. I'm now, Sir, in a merry mood,^ Perhaps I should be sad, I cannot help it if I wou*d. My line is very bad -, But pardon it, you must not fetter. One day perhaps you'll get a better. The tale I tell, 'tis often told. And tells against the teller, To some 'tis truly stale or old. Like music to a seller 3 But never mind, at least I mean, Look over all that may have been. Your pardon, friends, wherever now This line may catch your eye, I suffered more than you, I vow. Accept apology ! And ladies, though you frown'd on me, You must not frown, I honor ye. 232 ^^' ell, well ! the talc !— One day I sal In lodi^iiigs at a village. Be sure 'tis fact, I always hate, From others works to pillage ; I copy no one ! still forsooth, I'll imitate whatcver's truth. My bass was busied by the bowy My hand was on the string, I play'd a hymn, be sure 'twas slow. Perhaps God save the King ! No matter, 'tis enough to say, I play'd it ill — I could not play. Rap at the door ; away went bass, I wish away went sin, I popt it in the open case. And then I said, " come in ! " — A gentleman ! he made his bow ! *' I hope you're well. Sir." " How d'ye do." ^^ I heard the bass, don't let me stay " Your practice, pray proceed, ^* I'm fond of music and I jday ; '' Of players we have need ! '* " I wish I could," said humble T, — ** You do, you do, so don't deny." 233 " You're fond of music, will you come '' Some evening up to mine, " My daughter and my wife are home, " Perhaps you'll come and dine ? ^^ Your instrument with leave I'll borrow, " Pray say you'll come ! " " I'll come to-morrow. True to my word my case was sent, A woeful lot befel mc, I went ; my cousins also went 5 The same they all can tell ye : Alas ! alas ! I wish'd that day, Had never been for me to play.-^ The ladies at the harp, piano. The gent the violin, ^' I cannot play." '' You can." " I can ? No."— " Pray now, pray begin ? ^' Come, come, he plays now, does he not ?" " I've heard him play, I've not forgot ! " — ■ " Indeed I do not know a note, " I am but a beginner, *^0n harmony I ever dote, '^Alas, a luckless sinner! " I would in earnest it* I could,, *• But truly cannot if I would.'^ ^ ,. ^. ^ H H j» 234 '' You're VQry cross ! you might as well, " Good players want most pressing," *' I pray you do not longer dwell j"-^ But still they kept addressing. "Come try, now try ! oblige us pray, " I know you can, you can, Sir, play ! " — One, one and all, my cousins too — cousins, you were clever ! Ye back'd each other, as ye do. And may ye do so ever ! Ye bother'd, bother'd me to play. And made me angry ; '' give me way, — '' Well, well I'll play.'' So down we sat, 1 really in a rage. And wish'd most heartily for hat. To leave the troubled stage ; Assuming Lindley's very air. One instant made me master there. — Now play'd we this, now play'd we that^ Could Lindley play, sir, better ? Astonished were they, I was flat. And warm, sir, as a fretter ; Yet still I played, with inward fret. Through many a page of fam'd quartett I 205 That day, O ! what was my condition, I know not what my praise, I was, O quite an acquisition. Was certain of the bays ! O quite adored, I played in style. But never playei* played more vile. A note ! not one ! when they played loud, I pull'd away the bow. And seem'd of harmony quite proud, And then again played low ; But as for music ! O my brain. Be never such delight again I— • A hoax ! a hoax ! a hated hoax, I could not bear my strain ; It served me right for playing jokes, I'll never play again. But such a scrape it got me into. You cannot think it. 'Tis in print ! O. Another day I played away, A music-master there, — And so astonished at my play. He could but look and stare, Ah ! well he might, he clear 'd the mote. And said, I never played a note ! — 236 The joke is past, I suffered much^ As men of heart will do, Whoever dare to venture such A foolish outward show. That very night 1 went to bed, And sent for surgeon and was bled, O never, sir, attempt to shine. . If passion, nature urge, In way quite foreign to your line, Lest nature play a dirge ! Do what you can, and do it well, And never fear the truth to tell. 237 GREEKS AS THEY WERE AND GREEKS AS THEY ARE, Ye sons of Atreus, whither are ye gone ? O Agamemnon, Ajax, Peleus' son, Nestor, thou wisest of the Grecian host. And thou, Ulysses, whither is thy boast ? O Diomed, thou hero of the brave. With heroes like thee, thou hast found thy gi-ave. Ye mighty Greeks, methinks 1 see ye now, Assembled warriors, I hear you vow ; Aye more distinctly than the gods of old ; — i see your numbers, chiefs in phalanx told, Prepared for battle .: Surely were I one, Some deed of honor had been boldly done j — My speech partaking of the ancient strain. Had poured forth fluently as pelting rain. 238 To arms, to arms ! yc Grecians ! sons of war. Yon host advancing, bids yc to the car ! Your legions rally ! hark Misenus sounds, Greeks to the battle ! ev'ry hero bounds ! Leaders, advance ! address your men of fame. Call on your warriors by god-like name ! O bright Minerva, goddess of the day. Grant to thy servants strength to cut their way ! Mars, great Mars ! yon ranks of Trojan foe, Grant we may prosper in their overthrow ! Ye sons of war, by every noble tie^ 1 bid you combat, tremble not to die. By all the hecatombs of holy fire I By all the honor of a Grecian sire ! By all the victories your swords have woji ! Bv all the deeds your ancestors have done ! By Helen's charms ! yc suitors, by your vow ! I bid ye rise I and show vour vencreance now. Ye warriors, who hold your honor'd lives. As dearly precious as your loving wives. The gods above have seen the Grecian fame, And now avenge your Menelaus' shame ! Come then, advance ! let ev'ry soldier feel, As sharp in battle as his well-tried steel. Behold the foe, and where ye make your stand, Step on a step, or lay ye on the land. 239 Hand to the hilt, the body to the sword, Greeks^ be ye Greeks, by gods and men adored I Such was the sph'it when the gods inspu-'d. And heroes slew till fairly they were tired ; "Tis mighty well, to traverse o'er a plain, And cut down thousands, then to cut again ; "Tis mighty well ! but blood of ancient fray. Ne'er flew so freely as of later day. Think what has flown within the last few years. Ye know me not a coward, I've no fears I But were I mad, I'd strike the hostile blow,^ And glory in the slaughter of the foe ; I would bear me bravely on my steed. My arm should strike or 1 would nobly bleed ; War should be mine, be made for man or me ; 1 am not mad ! but christian-iike am free. But what of Greece ? Let Grecian poet tell. How luxury destroy'd her. Ah, 'tis well I There scarce was one who fought for Helen's name. That was not blind to passions much the same. What virtue mov'd in great Achilles' breast ? A libertine was he ; — and what at best — Save here and there a solitary man, Nestor or Hector,— every ancient clan ? 240 But what of Greece ? A church was planted there. And flourished freely 'neath the christian care ; AVhen Rome had vanquish'dthcni^ though Grecians fell More by their indolence than foeman's spell, A christian church was planted in their land. And Greeks were free ! their freedom is at hand, Bnt where is Greece, or Rome, or haughty Spain ? Where are their glories ? Will they come again ? Their nobles linked in chains of slavish pride. Revelled in luxury and shame defied I Gamesters, and what — I will not stain the line. Pollution foster'd them, they now repine. Greeks as they were ; Italians Romans were ; Greeks, Romans, Spaniards, tell me what they are ? Corruption came, reduced them in the scale. Corruption cannot very long prevail ; Where now is Babylon ? Egyptian fame ? Where now is Ninevah ? they have but name ! Where are the Greeks ? O England, shame to say. Thou hast been backward, backward in the day. When foremost bravely in a noble work. Ye might have spoken boldly to the Turk. Was it through gratitude, distaste of war. Ye let the infidel proceed so far ? Or was it as Franciscan friar saith. Your noble reverence for christian faith ? 241 When christians care not for a christian brother. How keep they faith with any or each other. 'Tis past! but other things will come to pass. Stability no doubt will keep the mass ; But take the warning Britons, Christians too. Do as ye would, ye would liave others do. Look sharp at home ! — When nobles, men of fame. Statesmen and senators, all men of name. For gambling lust, and lusting more for pride. The good of others feelingly deride ; When warriors in tinsel pomp arrayed. Seek but the glory of a vain parade ^ When joint-stock companies for cent per cent. From noble patrons take the gambling bent ; And sad luxurious, enervating schemes. Fill w^ith debauchery their midnight dreams ; When wisdom sleeps, and virtue has but name. Where will be glory ? where be England's fame? O call the Poet, mad dissembling fool. Brought up at home in hypocritic school ; Call him a knave, a pedant, what you will. You cannot silence him unless you kill y 242 For no contempt, nor any human scorn. Cares he one atom, — he is free— free-born ; Nor cares he either whilst he lives on earth. To leave this place the province of his birth. Still will he cry to christians of the land. Be good at heart, for glory is at hand ; Remember Greece ! Of Babylon beware ! Greeks what they were ! O see them as they are ! 243 THE DANCING-MASTER S BALL. How prettily foot it, the innocent throng, O lightly and brisk as the stream, Which flowing successfully murmurs along, Like the visions of night's pleasing dream. O childhood ! how happily passes the day, In innocent frolic delight ; Your troubles are trifles, your sorrows ne'er stay, They are past as a watth in the night. Thou dear little throng I O I long to express, How tenderly fluttered my heart ; I long'd to applaud, or to give my caress. For so prettily dancing your part. Go on little children, through life dance as well, May your visions of happiness come; May your Master be pleased, and your holidays tell, That your hearts arc contented at home. 241* THE REJMOVAL. The poor old Cottager must bid adieu ; Of house, home, garden, take a parting view; — His work is done, bis day of woe is come. The parish workhouse now must be his home. Poor Johnny ! many, many a happy day. Thine has been lot to saddle the old grey. Let loose the dog, and ope the gate hard bye. And see thy master down the valley hie. Oft hast thou smiled, when college days were o'er. To see that master and his steed once more ; To welcome one who never gave thee frown ; The old white steed, again to rub him down. Say, is there grief to visit in decline An aged servant, who had once been thine ? To see the struggle 'twixt the hope and pain Of active spirit, which would work again ? 242* Say, is there grief to note his anxious look ? Scarce will the generous such moment brook ; But sad necessity the truth must tell. And poor old Johnny too must say, farewell ! To see each day some furniture depart : There stood the clock ! O poverty, thy smart ! First goes the time-pieee which will click no more, And then the carpet, or the cupboard's store ; The neat brass candlestick is taken down, The chairs are vanishing, the fender's flown ; The plates are gone, the walls are getting bare i The poor old woman too is full of care. Hard is the struggle to obtain relief. And deep the suffering of honest grief! would that industry when full of pay, Would lay by something for a rainy day. 1 wish that wisdom could propose a plan. To keep from poverty the working man ; To make them club, in proper time to save, And satisfy when indigence would crave. 243* O I should love to see the hardy race, Resume that English, independent face. Which loves the cottage of contentment more Than idle laziness at workhouse door. But poor old Johnny, 'twas in vain for me To give my pittance to necessity ; Thy hopes grew less, and sighing thus 'twas said, " To leave this place will kill me, I'm afraid !" Mine was the lot to soothe, to lessen woe. To bid thee fear not, if the word 'must go,' " INIust go, dear master," must be said again. ^^ O take thou comfort in the midst of pain." The day is come, removal must be made ) Far, far away, thy destiny was laid. The parish-oificer had spoke the word, To keep thee longer no one could afford : — "My cottage! where so often I have known " Joys which are past, for ever, ever flown ; " My master !" poor old fellow 'twas the sound, " God bless thee, master ! I am homeward bound !' 244* To see the tear, yea, see the tear of woe Adown the check of aged vet'ran flow, — Bear it I could not, so I turn'd away. And gallopp'd homeward to record the day. Be sure of this, dear maiden, thou hast heart, I never wish thy lover may depart. 'Tis some such feeling I shall one day know. When leaving Ipswich, I shall say, ' must go I' May'st thou be happy, take the Poet's line, O may Removal be to heaven thine ! ^t'U? ("*/^0/d /^/r. 245 KING GEORGE THE THIRD. Honor the King !— Pray tell me, tell me how ? Must worship him as God ? O no, no, no ! Kings are but mortal ! honor lasts its day ; His Majesty and ministers must pass away- If ranks of men for mutual support^ To laws of wisdom happily resort^ With one consent acknowledging a King, Their lord and governor, and kindly bring The oTateful tribute in affection true, Say not they pay him grudgingly his due. Kings have great cares, temptations more than we, Much to discharge to make their people free. No common lot the sway of England's crown, In times of trouble ministers have known ; Long may they know that wisdom is a plant, More strong in structure than the elephant ; 246 Swift as the horse, as patient as the slave. Free as the light'ning, fearless as the brave ; Sharp as the sword, more subtle than the snake, x\live to liberty, to love awake : — Long- may this knowledge actuate the great. Preserve the King, his ministers, and state. Say not, ye furious, I write this line To flatter any one, to seek to shine. To court the great, to praise the i*ich and proud. To gain the plaudits of the assembled crowd ; I write for love, and rather would I crave Good will of one, that one in spirit brave. Than court for Sovereigns what I could not bear. Or say a word with sycophantic air. Pause then my friend, and whilst thou view'st the Kiug, Thine heart's affection tribute let it bring. Hast thou a father ? has he been to thee That which a parent to a child should be ? The King had his, who was to him as much. And had he children would iiimself be such. King George the Third, the father of his race, My pencil's touch can ill describe his face. Ne'er saw I Majesty ! — Some stately tree, Oak, ash, or maple, has appeared to me 247 Of form majestic 3 but a mighty kin^ 1 never saw one — never saw such thing- ! King George the Third ! report^ or love, or fame^ Has stanipt amongst us honor on his name ; In life domestic, he was lov'd of those Who lov'd themselves, and fought against his foes. Thou lov'st thyself. — I pray thee let us sing, With hearts of honestv, God save the King I 249 THE BALL ROOM. Ye beaux and belles, be angry if ye will, I cannot help it; — burn my silly line. You'll find again I'll mend my weary quill. And write another, quite a superfine. " Ah, how d'ye do j I hope you're well ; " Is Lady A., that merry belie, " So gay to night all love disarming, " So young, so novel, and so charming ? " " I vow my Lord you've lost your heart, "You've felt the wound of Cupid's dart ; "The Colonel says, if not a scofi*er, " That truly you have made an offier." " 'Tis true I have, to go to France ; — " Your Ladyship perhaps will dance ?'' " No, not to night, I am indeed " At best as yet, an invalid. " What sort of ball will be to night ? *^ Is Lord Excessive wrong or right ? K K 250 "A silly matter was it not? " But silence, I had nigh forgot, " Your Lordship may a party be, — " I blush for my temerity.'* *^ x4h, ]Mr. Fortune ! you from home, " Pray tell me, are the stewards come ?'* '' Not yet, Sir William dines to-day, " With Horace Riot on Iiis way. " But Lady B. what brings you here ? ^' I hope you are not insincere." " Could not withstand, could not forego " Tlie hope of meeting fashion's beau ; " The great Sir Peter's coming' down, '^ With Lady Ann and Lord Renown, ^^ And how could any one refuse " To meet the lover of the muse ; " Ah ! well, good bye, — I see your glance, — " You're looking for Miss M. to dance." " Sir John, you're well ! the war's begun, " The troops are sail'd, the rebels run -, " Come tell me now, was that report, " Of Mr. D. of fashion's sort ? ^' Or was it fact ? I'm sure you know ! " " By Jove I do not. — May be so,—* 251 " I never knew the fellow mucli, " 1 always thought he would be such,— " The Adnnral can tell you best, " He dmed to-day with Captain Test. " Pray who's the belle ? Is Mary Gay, " With Lady Faceall, here to-day ? « Upon my word a lovely girl, " Fit for a waltz, a nimble whirl ; " But hang that duchess her duenna, «' I wish her farther, at Vienna. " Is she not in ev'ry feature '' Quite divine ? a lovely creature ! '' Come tell me plainly, do you know '- A girl with such a pretty toe ? " Her arms, her fingers, 'pon my word " I almost wish myself a lord ! «« And were I single, I would fain " For such a girl be tied again." " Come, come. Sir John ! I'll go and tell " My Lady Vixen.--'Fare ye well." " Mamma ! mamma ! it is too bad, " The stewards make us very sad ; '^ Sir William said we need not fear, " At ten precisely he'd be here ; " 'Tis now eleven ! what a shame, " To have it said he never came." 252 '^ Husli, Ijusl), my clear ! pray not so loud, *' You're over anxious^ 'tis a crowd, '^ You cannot see about the room, " He is perhaps already come. ^' They will not wait whenever D., " Appears as usual in glee, " The dancers then may trip away ; ^' Don't be alarm'd; — don't pout I pray." " What Charles ! ah, Charley : how d'ye do ! " Where sat ye down ? Hey, hey ! I know, *' I'll bet a guinea you've been slaying; " Didst win or lose by Blackmore's playing. " How many birds hast shot as yet ? " Not many brace I'll make a bet." " 'Tis ten to one ! ah ! ten to one, ^^ I like than this some better fun ; " I wish for all these dancing dames, " They'd let me play my merry games ! " O ^Villiam ! such a run to-day ! " Old Hunter s hounds, sir, went away ^* From Froston heath to Froggey moor ; " And then to Narrow-neck, and o'er *' From Bluster wood to Blunder hill, '^ And after all we did not kill." '^ O dear ! O dear ! a good night's rest, " For all this tripping it, is best.'' 253 " Upon my word, a pretty lass I " Tom d'ye see her ? take your glass ! " A pair of eyes will make you feel, " Unless your substance be of steel I" " A doll ! a doll ! a pretty doll ! *^ En passant, pretty well, toll loll !'' " I hope Miss Fidget's pretty well ?" " 1 have not seen her, cannot tell ! '^ <'Not here to night ? "— " No, no, not out, " You saw her at an evening rout. " But ladies must not come among " Us fashionables when so young, " Good time for her these many years, — *^ Excuse a guardian's tender fears." ^^ O certainly, you're very kind, ^^ A woman of such taste and mind, " She must I'm sure be truly blest, " You do at all times for the best." " Why yes, as well as guardians can, 1' *!A '^p \\ '^: r uW' V rf^: ." 6 rjlW'S / .// •rw* / ,< ^f>:: k