I ^OFCAUFOff/j^ &Aavaan-i^ ^5HINIVEBSf^ mtmBr, 1 irri Si jiiiriiiitfffVaW>#ifi Et^Wioirt ji-utfK y/rhf/// /It //if /t//i/l/>iKi t/it)/' ty /I't'f . ' yf/fj// // /nr .//fni /A<- iii/tit/fUi ,,r/A- . 2'iihUtlud furi'Jt^'itrCr, Jlpril ji-xSii . pf POEMS ANB LETTERS, BT THE LATE WILLIAM ISAAC ROBERTS, OF BRISTOL, DECEASED. WITH SOME ACCOUNT OP HIS LIFE. LIKE BEAUTEOUS DREAMS TO SLEEPING LOVERS BORNE, THAT FADE AND VANISH AT THE BEAM OF MORN." LONDON, PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, ar xworT asd llotd, bisjuhgham. 1811. Q.I! ^ ^>^f LIFE W. I. MOBERTSc Jl HE attempt to introduce to puMic notice the posthumous remains of an individual, who was scarcely known beyond the social circle in which he moved, is a task which, properly to execute, requires the aid of established literary reputation. Unassisted, however, by such an auxiliary, the publication of the present volume has proceeded from a desire to fulfil the affectionate wishes of the deceased, as well as to preserve some traces of an amiable and interesting' character. In a life that extended*only to the brief period of twenty years, and which in it's course was neither dis- a2 IV turbed by the aberrations, nor distinguished by the eccentricities, that too often obscure the lustre of genius, little scope is afforded to the biographical nar- rator. The simple record of such a life may, perhaps by many, be regarded as tleficient inthe alluFeraent of novelty, and too little diversified by variety of in- cident: but surely it can neither be deemed useless nor uninteresting to contemplate the developement of a mind of exquisite sensibility and of unusual vigour to mark the first dawn of intellectual radiance to observe it's approach towards meridian splendour, and then to witness it's sudden and untimely departure. William Isaac Roberts, the subject of the present memoir, was born at Bristol on the 5th of May, 1786. He was the third child and only son of William and Anne Roberts, who, at the time of his birth, resided in Horfield Road, in that city. During his childhood, no striking indications of extraordinary talents were ob- served, and when he arrived at a suitable age, he was placed at a respectable academy on Kingsdown Parade. Here his superiority over most of his school-fellows soon became conspicuous; for he now began to display an unusual firmness of character, and an insatiable spirit of enquiry. The common routine of a com- mercial education occupied at this time the greater portion of his attention. Classical acquirements, how- ever, were not entirely neglected, although, as he was designed for trade, these were A'ery naturally con- sidered as of secondary miportance. His assiduity and *ettei"*l attention to scholastic duties, were unvarying -and exemplary; and his progress, which was propor- tionably rapid, was at once flattering to his preceptor, and gratifying to his parents. He repeatedly received, whilst at school, public marks of approbation, and the excellence of his themes frequently attracted particular .atteQtton. In one instance, a task of this kind that he secretly performed for a friend, " on the advantages of education," was read aloud for the general benefit of the pupils, while the real author remained concealed from all but the youth whom he had thus assisted. An unceasing emulation to excel his companions, as well in useful attainments as in juvenile recreations, was early called into action by the competition that usually exists in establishments for instructiou. On his being first introduced into a class, he began to look forward with anxious anticipation to the time when he should tand at it's head. On one occasion the object of his wishes being accomplished, he hastened home at his dinner hour, flushed with success, to impaift to his father the joyful intelligence. DisAp]f)ointed by finding him absent, and unwilling to trust the recital even to his mother, he exultingly wrote on a slip of paper, " / have succeeded, and am now at the top of my class." While yet very young he evinced a taste for draw- ing, and in this art he afterwards made considerable proficiency, unaided by instruction. Even the child- ish productions of his pencil possessed cpnsiderable VI correctness of delineation and boldness of outline; and it was a common observation among his companions, that in their frequent attempts to draw animals, faces, &c. " their success never equalled his." To this pleasing amusement he was always fondly attached, and previously to his introduction into business, he devoted to it much of his leisure. Before the age of fifteen he had executed numerous pictures, both in oil and water-colours, with a skill and judgment far be- yond his years. Many beautiful designs from Shake- speare and other distinguished authors remain as melancholy proofs of the superiority of his talents. Le Brun's battles of Alexander he also began copying, as studies in oil-colours, and his various sketches from nature possessed great spirit and eflect. As a boy he was active and animated,' nor was it ob- served that he discovered any unusual partiality for liieraiure until he had entered upon his eleventh year; and he then began to read tvith avidity suqh books as he was able to procure. He spoke of an antiquated prose narrative of the siege of Troy as one of the first volumes with vthich he was delighted. The next work that excited his attention was Pope's Homer, and from the moment of perusing it, the love of poetry seemed to take entire possession of his soul. " Thence his days Commenced harmonious, then began his skill To vanquish care by the sweet sounding string." Vll His earliest poetical attempt was excited by the rtaval victory obtained by Lord Duncan on the 11th of October, 1797. While the family were engaged in preparing for the celebration of this achievement, he surprised them with some appropriate lines, to which the animating occasion had given birth. From this period he frequently exercised himself in poetical composition, although in the lapse of time many of his first productions have perished. Versions of some of the psalms*, and of some episodes from Ossian, as well as a few original pieces of inconsider- able length, were successively produced prior to the This may not be an improper place for the insertion of two of Roberts's poetical pieces, that were written in his fourteentli year. The 137th PSALM PARAPHRASED. WHERE proud Euphrates' waters flow. We silent roam the banks among, Our hearts oppress'd with heaviest woe, No more we raise the tuneful song; But pensive memory's ever busy hand, Paints the lost raptures of our native land. Our foes with taunts our grief deride. And triumph in our slavish wrongs; " Come tune your idle harps," they cry'd, " Come sing us one of Sion's songs ;" But ne'er while shameful bonds our race con&ne, Shall Israel's harp in grateful concert join. Vlll yeai- 1 ^02, when the incitements held out by the edi- tors of the " Monthly Preceptor," stimulated our young poet to a more strenuous exertion of that talent which his occasional practice had- been gradually improving. For a translation from Horace, and an Ode to Science, Jerusalem, source of all our joy, To thee our souls still fondly cling ; Thy loss alone our thoughts employ, Thy cruel woes alone we'll sing ; When mirth ev'n bids the choral rapture swell, lOur constant thought shall on Jerusalem dwell. When o'er that favour'd city, Lord, Thy mighty wrath indignant hung. With gladness Edoni grasp'd his sword. And quick his vengeful bow he strung; Then shouting, cry'd, Her stately towers lay low. Nor let one stone her former greatness shew. And thou, proud *city, too must fall. Thy vaunted glories soon shall fade ; I bear the avenging spirit call, I see hlni wave his flaming blade ; Then blest is he who deaf to Pity's voice. Shall sternly o'er thy slaughter'd babes rejoice. Still where Euphrates' waters flow. We silent roam the banks among Our hearts oppress'd with heiviest woe, No more we raise the tuneful ong ; While pensive memory's ever busy hand, Paints the lost raptures of our native land. Babylon. IX prizes were awarded by the conductors of that wor.k, and highly would they have been gratified, could they have witnessed the delight which their commendation afforded him. He had hitherto received only the jjraise of his preceptor and of his parents, but he now began to experience that exalted feeling of pleasure which arises from intellectual exertion, and' which must be allowed to be one of the purest that the human mind is capable of enjoying. This success increased his assiduity, and he pursued his studies. with invisrorated ardour and redoubled diligence.. MOZAMBA. SHRILL roars the blast, and thro' the skie^ The sweeping whirlwind howh, In vivid streams the light'ning flies, The deep'ning thunder rolls; While on the surf-beat shore Mozamba standj, Rolls his wild phrensied eye and clasps his hands. " Inhuman wretches ! who for gain Our hapless race to slavery doom, My soul indignant spurns your chain, And flies for refuge to the tomb; Pants for that world of bliss beyoiid the grave, Where neijtoes rest and whites no more enslive. Your tortures laid my Mora low ;- For her alone your taunts I bore; I hear her spirit bid me go, To where we meet to part no more:" He said, and plunging in the stormy deep, Buried his sorrows in eternal sleep. On leaving school, he found that the duties of life, and the circumstances of his situation, called for appli- cation to other than the favourite pursuits of science and of song. The learned professions were unhappily beyond his reach, and as he had always manifested a disinclination to endure the bondage of an indenture, he was induced to accept of a situation in a banker's office. There are few occupations less congenial than this to an indulgence in the fond visions of a poetical imagination. The hurry of employment, the monotony of the ledger, and the cold calculation of interest, are in general proved by the young enthusiast to be " the leaven that leaveneth the whole lump." Such were Roberts's fears when he entered into the employment of the respectable house of Messrs. Worrall, Blatchley and Co. in Bristol. But this apprehension never de- terred him from persevering in the duties of his station; for his mind, although naturally disposed to melan- choly, was too well endued with strong sense and just principles to allow the intrusion of morbid feeling, or to permit him for a moment to hesitate in the course \(-hich he considered it his duty to pursue. In a letter to a friend he writes, " I have found that the cultiva- tion of poetry is not compatible with the study of pounds^ shillings, and pence, for we cannot serve God and Mammon. I have trembled and wept for the sacrifice. But this sacrifice is not yet made, nor shall it be. The feelings which Heaven has given me shall not be checked by interest. That independence of raind which I value as mv birthrisfht, shall never be XI sold for a mess of pottage." Thus did Roberts decide that the literary spirit was not to be depressed bj' ad- verse circumstances, nor to be subdued by inimical occupation. Difficulty only served as a stimulus to exertion, and contrast increased the enjoyment of leisure. Days of labour were compensated by nights of study, and seclusion from the beauties of nature only rendered the renewed vow of her votary more ardent and sincere. The following account of him at about this period of his life, is a transcript from the letter of an intimate friend, addressed to the Editors: " It was in the winter of 1801, that Roberts was first known to me. On the first evening of our acquaintance, he enter- tained me by repeating from memory several hun- dred lines from Glover's Leonidas. I knew little of the poem before, and certainly deiived more pleasure from it at that time, than I have been able to find in it sipce; for R.'s manner was energetic, and his taste manifest in the selecti.ons which he made from the poem. This passed as we perambulated Kingsdown parade in a dark December night, and I was so struck with the superiority of his conversation, that I returned home with a resolution to cultivate his further acquaint- ance. " Roberts had exercised himself in poetical numbers by versifying some tales from Ossian, and succeeded as indifferently well as others have done on the same Jtn ubject. He then attempted translations from Horace? and some English somiets, and at last determined to write a didactic poem of some length on the subject of " Sensibility." In this he made rapid progress, and xjften- surprised his two friends, who visited him oir Sunday evenings, with the copiousness of the week's addition to his poem. His attendance at St. Michael's church was regular, and proceeded as well from a prin- ciple of duty as from an anxiety to please his father. I remember but one instance of his willingly absenting himself, and that was at my persuasion, to accompany me to some beautiful woods a few miles from Bristol. He Avas anxious to return in time for afternoon service, which he attended. On Sunday evenings, however, he indulged himself in literary recreation, reading to us his own poems, or hearing any thing we h&A to communicate. In mutual criticisms and in discussions of literature, he forgot the troubles of the world and the inimical eniployment of tlic bank. " At this time he was engaged as clerk to Messrs. Worrall and Co. and conducted himself with such steadiness and fidelity, as gained him their approbation. He would gladly have exchanged this employment for one more congenial to his inclination for literature; 4}uk was withheld from any attempt at change by the opinion, that in his present situation he was promoting <4he comfort of his parents and sister more than he -could do in any other. " When opportunity was afforded him, he would wander with a chosen conpanion along the banks of the Avon. It was then that his poetical dispositioa would slvew itself in the most animated matter. He would repeat witib enthusiasm the fm,est poems of oar bards, form subjects for his own composition, or point out from the surrounding scenery of clouds, rocks, and woodlands, whatever was appropriate for poetic inoa- gery." His talents aad his poetical taste introduced him to the acquaintance and the friendship of the late Mr. Charles Fox*, from whom he experienced continual Mr. Charles Fox, formerly a landscape and minUture painter f Bristol, Wis born in the year 1749, at Falmouth, where he afterwards engaged in business as a bookseller. But the greater part of his property being consumed by fire, he was in- duced to follow the bent of his inclination for the art of landscape and portrait painting. The better to qualify himself for his profes- tion , and to divert his mind from the painful recollection of his misfortune, he accompanied his brother, who was the master of a merchant vessel, in a voyage to the Baltic, impelled by that enthu- siasm which is the characteristic of a superior mind, he made a tour, alone and on foot, through Sweden, Norway, and part of Russia, taking views of the wild and sublime scenery which the Norwegian mountains, the Kol of Sweden, and the lakes and forests to the north of the Neva, offer to the eye of the enthusiast of Nature : Pine cover'd rocks, And mountain forests of eternal shade. And glens and vales, on whose green quietness The lingering eye reposes, and fair lakes That image the light foliage of the beech. S0THE7, xiv kindness and encouragement in his literary pursuits. His attachment to this gentleman, and the advantage which he derived from his society and his books, he ever felt and acknowledged in the warmest manner. He h.id ahvaj's expressed a strong desire to become Many of Mr. Fox's acquaintance will remember the pleasure they once felt in beholding these beautiful productions of bis pencil. He possessed great facility in the acquirement of languages, and pursued with much success the study of oriental literature. His collection of oriental manuscripts was a considerable one, and his translation of the poems of Hafiz, Sadi, Jami, Anvari, Ferdusi, and others: " Shirazian gardens, prodigal of blooms," would fill several volumes. About six years ago, he had prepared for the press two volumes of poems from the Persian. But increasing debility of constitution, disqualiiied him for the labour cf publication, and he continued to add to the number of bis former translations until within a short period of his death. In 1797, he published a volume ef poems, " containing the Plaints, Consolations, and Delights of Achmed Ardebeili, i Persian Exile," which was well received. This work evinces vigour of thought, beauty of expression, and elegance of sentiment. The notes afford much inforn}ation on orintaI subjects. In 1792, Mr. Fox married Miss Ferriers, the daughter of a Dutch merchant, who survives him. To young per- ons of a literary taste, he was particularly friendly; his fire-side and instructive conversation ever welcomed them. He encouraged them in their pursuits, and directed their studies. For several years prior to his decease he had retired from business, and passed his retirement in the cultivation of that talent for poetry, which be ever valued as the companion of bis solitude, the ornament and solace of active life. His heart was warm and benevolent, bis conduct virtuous and unoiTending, and his fortitude and resig- nation under loD^-continued bodily iudisposition, were manly and exemplary. XV acquainted with the learned languages. Already had he begun to augment the little stock of Latin which he had brought Avith him from school, by devoting to it the valuable portion of his leisure which intervened between the hour of rising and that of breakfast. After adverting in one of his letters to this intention of resuming his classical studies, he observes, " Should I fortunately obtain time for the acquisition of Greek, I mean afterwards to attack the Hebrew and Arabic. The treasures of eastern literature ar(* great, and the key of them would be valuable." By the assistance of Mr. Fox, whose favourite object was the translation of Persian poetry, he also made sonae progress in the acquisition of that language. The value of Roberts's application to his intellectual improvement, can only be duly appreciated by con- sidering that it never detained him from severer duties, and that his attendance at the bank was uniform, and generally from nine in the morning until eight or nine at night. He would then come home faint and weary with his daily labour, and after the refreshment of tea, which was his favourite beverage, he would retire to his chamber, and there recruit his spirits by com- positiou or reading. Late, however, as he might be thus employed, he never failed during the summer to resume his studies at an early hour in the morning. A walk before breakfast with one or two select friends, was nevertheless an indulgence that he occasionally allowed himself, and he was always prepared to enliven. XVI this little period of relaxation with those varied stores of instruction and entertainment with which his mind Tvas richly fraught. In literary conversation he was eminently calculated to excel, for the uumbtr of books that he had perused was truly astonishing, and his memory quick and tenacious, was amply furnished with judicious selections from our most admired poets. During these walks his mind seemed to expand, and he oflen discussed with great energy and freedom such literary or othet topics cis happened then to engage his attention. His poetical disposition accompanied him even into the recesses of the bank, and several fragments of his poems have been discovered upon scraps of paper, bearing on their reverse memoranda of bank exchanges. " I now scribble (he observes in one of his letters) in the solitude of the bank, while the pendulum of the dial continually urges me to haste." In another letter he has recorded an instance of his rapidity in poetical composition: " I saw Mr. L. yesterday, who begged hard for some introductory lines for his lecture, but I had my hands full of business, and he was to begin at six o'clock. I wished to befriend him; and I promised to try what I could do. At my dinner hour I left about thirty *lines for him." With a mind such as he has himself described, " too susceptible to the melting ray of loveliness," and See page ,79. XVil acutely sensible to the perception of intteUectual excel- lence. It is hardly to be expected that Eoberts could, pass through even the little span of exiitence tijat was allotted him, without discovering some kindred female mind to which he would feel permanently attached. That such was the fact, many of his letters clearly prove. An interesting yoiing lady, into, whose society he was introduced during an excursion that he made so early as the year 1803, appears to have awakened in his bosom such emotions of tenderness and affection as death only could extinguish.' Her subsequent ill- ness and decease, on which he so feelingly expatiates in some of his letters, put a melancholy termination to his fondly cherished hopes. This event seems to have preyed much both upon his health and his spirits, and he has frequently alluded to it in such of his poems as w^ere written about that period ; but it was remarked, that after her death he scarcely ever mentioned her name, or adverted to the cause of his affliction. The sorrow that he had experienced for the loss of a most amiable and promising "^sister, who fell a victim to consumption at the age of 18, in the year 1798, seem* to have been again revived on this trying occasion. In his friendships he was ardent and sincere, return- ing the attachment of his friends with reciprocal affection. He seemed to possess an innate contempt * He ha.s pathetically Uaaented her untimely fatejp bis Elegy wfitten at Clifton." XTlll for unmeaning folly, and an indignation for current vices, the expression of which he was not always dis- posed to repress. He was alike ready to forgive an injury and to confer a benefit, and the warmth of his heart was equal to the soundness of his judgment;*' The following lines were left by him in the apartment of one of his friends, who was about to remove to a- distant residence. TO FRIEND of my soul! when far awaj'. To distant realms of joy thou'rt gone; Our friendship still, like Echo's lay. Shall vibrate with as sweet a tone. If o'er thy cheek a tear should rove, - If thro' thy breast a pang should dart; That tear shall nurse a flower for Love, That pang it must not pain thy heart I And when Regret shall trace thy name. And Memory prompt my soul to weep; Hope shall unfold thy future fame. And hush each throbbing pulse to sleep ! 1804. W. I. R- Roberts's appearance was manly, his complexion dark, his eyes black and vivid, and his couoteoanct intelligent; XIX " Yet in his cheek there was the sickliness Which thought and feeling leave, wearing away The hue of youth." His constitution, indeed, was naturally delicate, and he was frequently so much oppressed by violent head- achs, as to be rendered silent from suffering for days together. These warnings of the disease, which ulti- mately carried him to the grave, united with the amiable qualities of his mind and heart, endeared hirai the more to his relations and friends. For although hs early displayed a spirit of independence and a decision of character that, uncontrouled by reason and unattem- pered by feeling, might have degenerated into obsti- nacy, yet to his parents was he uniformly kind and affectionate, and to all their wishes ever tractable and obedient. With a passion for literature, that naturally made him wish to devote to it his whole time, he shrunk not from the irksome duties of his employment, and however he mightly secretly repine, the murmur* of discontent never escaped from his lips. In, the circle of his family he always sought to add to its por- tion of happiness, and was ever ready to sacrifice hi* own gratification when he could promote the comfort of his friends. One instance may be recorded of the disinterestedness and affection of his conduct. He had been invited to join a friend who was then on an excursion to Oxford, and had obtained a week's leave of absence for that purpose. Oxford was perhaps the place that above all others he would have pref^ed a2 XX tisiting, and he had vpritten to his friend to 6x the day of his meeting him; but this letter was followed by another, in which he lamented that an unforeseen occurrence had prevented his journey. A disappoint- ment s(/ unexpected, drew from his friend a request for an explanation. Roberts replieil, " To you I may confide my reason. The sum I had set aside forth* expences of my journey is wanted at home;" The apprehensions which his friends had entertained /or his health, were too fatally confirmed by a violent attack of disease which he has described in his letter dated Feb. 10, 1806.* This haBraorrhage was the precursor of a decided consumption, under which he for some tirtie lingered, experiencing those fluctuations of deceitful hope that generally mark the progress of that destructive malady. In the summer of the same year he sought, by an excursion into the country, to obtain some temporary relief; but his disease had long been insidiously gaining ground before he appeared to be aware of his danger. On his return to Bristol, he amused himself with collecting together his various poems, having at that time some prospect of future publication. But this occupation was finally inter- rupted by renewed attacks, and the progress of hi disorder convinced him of the fallacy of his expecta- tion that he should surmount his illness, " I must strive hard," he exclaims, * for the day shortens before Page 211, XXI me. What exertion can do shall be fairly attempted. The result is above human controul; but whatever it may be, I will ask of Heaven one blessing more, and that shall be resignation, I have caught but a tran- sient view of this world, and yet my heart-strings are firmly tied to some of its objects. For them I would pray to live, and to live with ability for exertion. This prayer," he adds, "may still be granted; for though weakened, I am not subdued. The spirit has drooped, but may it not again revive ? The " gloamin" of hope is beautiful, and the night may be forced t9 wrestle ere she be victor." The period at length arrived when the remotest expectation of his recovery could no longer be entertained, and ft was then resolved that the hope- lessness of his state should be candidly disclosed to him. He received the awful intelligence with his characteristic magnanimity, and expressed a deep sense of obligation to the friend who had felt it his duty to perform this painful office. The tone and temper of his mind, however, remained still un- changed. His spirits suffered no depression, his tranquillity no abatement. Every action, every word breathed a spirit of calmness and resignation, while long and deep musings often proved that his approach- ing dissolution was a subject of serious and solemn reflection. If sadness for a moment clouded his brow, it was when the bursting heart of his mother, or the jgtitled tears of his sister, could no longer be concealed^ a3 XXll " For them" he had indeed " prayed to live, and to live with ability for exertion." How then could he leave them desolate and defenceless without a pang? Before his strength was completely exhausted, he directed his voluminous papers to be assorted, and ar- ranged and consigned many of them to the flames. One morning, when sleep had somewhat more thau usually recruited him, he summoned to his chamber the whole circle of his relatives, whom he had con- siderately prepared for this melancholy interview. He then addressed them individually in language at once consoling and energetic. To those who would feel his loss most deeply, he spoke of the uncertain tenure of all sublunary connexions, and insisted on the duty of resignation to the wisdom of Providence. He entered largely into the subject of his former views and wishes, adverted to his own present happy frame of mind, and cautioned all against the indulgence of unavailing sor- row. A scene more affecting and more impressive can hardly be conceived. The superiority of his mind shone forth for a moment with unwonted brilliance. He was now struggling with the last distressing symp- toms of his complaint. His strength was hourly sink- ing, but he betrayed no impatience his protracted sufferings extorted not a murmur. Worn to the last thread of existence, he at length quietly resigned his breath unperceived even by the eye of maternal afiection, that with unwearied solicitude watched over his couch. XXUl During the course of his iHness, he experienced from his friends all those soothing sympathies and affectionate attentions, that bespeak warmth of feeling and sincerity of attachment. One of these, to whom many of the following letters were addressed, relin- quished for St, while the professional studies in which he was then engaged, and hastened to Bristol on being apprized of his danger. He scarcely left him till his death, and the poignancy of his grief was then softened by the melancholy satisfaction, that he had fulfilled one of the most arduous and painful duties of friend- ship. The following is a copy of his last will, which he wrote, but a short time before he died, with a firm and steady hand, although unable to leave his bed : " Life and death have been the subject of specula- tion in every age by every writer. They have been anxious to invent plausible excuses to avoid the evil of death ; or soften by arguments that evil they know to be unavoidable. Life and death are here no matter for speculation. I come to the mention of them, with the possibility of one, the probability of the other. With a prospect of dissolution before him, everj'^ man feels anxious to quit his station free from cares. To me, indeed, appertains but little of this world^s benefit a. few sparks struck from the flint of Sorrow (I have called them Poems) is all I have that may be produc- tive. a 4 XXIV " These poems, with all profit, &c. which may accrue from them, I bequeath to my dear sister Eliza. And I earnestly request my friends and will superintend such arrangement and correction of them as will best enhance my wish, that they may be profitable. Would that 1 could die with the idea that their publication would produce some little of that independence it has been my heart's first and fondest wish to bestow on her ! She must not take it as a gift, but the disposition of duty. " Respecting my books: My prize volumes I leave to my Eliza's boys, when she has them; they may serve as emulative stimulants. The rest, exceptiftg those my family may retain, is to be submitted to my dear friends and 's inspection, and their acceptance of what tbey approve. " A little trifle of remembrance to , Miss K. C. W. &c. All cash or money is my mother's. *' These little things are finished. Through God I shall die in peace. 1 smile on the parting scenes of this world they lead to a better ! " William I. Roberts. "Dec. 11, 1806." SUPERSCRIBED, *; To be opened after William's decease by his mother,'' XXV Roberts was burled at Bristol, in the church-yard of St. Michael, and on his tomb is engraved the follow- ing inscription: To the Memory OF WILLIAM ISAAC ROBERTS, Son of William and Anne Roberts, Bom May 5th, 1786, and died December 26th, 1806. His amiable and friendly disposition, steady character, and powers of genius, displayed themselves at a very early period of life, and continued till it's final close, endearing him to his disconsolate Parents, Relatives, and Friends, who will long lament his loss. XXVI TRIBUTARY POEMS. THE FOLLOWING LINES WEBE WRITTEN ON VISITING A GROVE, TO WHICH THE AUTHOK AND HIS FRIEND, THE LATE W. 1. KOBKRTS^ OCCASIONALLY RESORTED DURING HIS iAST VISIT AT i'AJNSWlCK, 1807. 5dlAIL, sacred shades! I seek your deepest gloom. To pour my sorrows o'er the silent tomb; To mourn, alas ! the hapless early end Of one 1 loved, a dear, a valued friend j Who late when autumn's variegated vest. These beechen groves in gay luxuriance drest. Sought drooping pale your covert's cooling shade. And vainly woo'd the zephyr's friendly aid, For ah ! Consumption, talent's direst foe. Had at his vitals aim'd th' insidious blow; And soon displayed with savage joy her power, " To blast bright genius in his rising hour.'* Yet to my heart thy name shall still be dear, ilallow'd with sighs embalra'd with many a tear; XXVll And while the fatal wreck I thus deplore. Of virtues, talents, and of lettered lore, I fondly think that had thy life been spared. If pitying heav'n our vows and pray'rs had heard. We who with grief now linger o'er thy name. Exultant then had hall'd it dear to fame. Ah now ! e'en now, by busy fancy shewn, I see a form with features all thine own ; Thy bright eye beaming with poetic fire. Thy head reclining on thy broken lyre; And as I gaze with wild amazement fraught. Thy rare endowments burst upon my thought ^ The noble independence of thy mind. Thy soaring genius and thy taste refin'd ; The high toned cadence of thy gifted^song. Thy ardent feeling, thy affection strong; The manly firmness that thy soul adorn'd. The pride that envy and that meanness scorn'd : On these I muse, nor can my tears restrain. For ah ! I " ne'er shall see thy like again ;" Yet these, while o'er their wreck I vainly mourn. Shall spread a deathless halo round thy urn. H. xxvni LINES TO THE MEMORY OF W. I. ROBERTS. JLHOU heavenly harp ! whose solemn swell. Breathed more than mortal minstrelsy; The echoes of thy potent spell. In more than earthly silence lie. Thou master hand! whose fitful mood. Gave to the lyre it's dulcet breath ; Thy tuoeful art avails no more. Thy skill is fled, thy strength is o'er. Shrunk in the grasp of death ! O youth beloved ! thy grave around. We pour the deep, despairing sound ; Due tears we shed, due rites arc paid. Where thou in silent earth art laid; The dreams of fame, life's e 31 Or does she rather in "Wealth's palace dwell, A weeping pilgrim, that with pensive eye Watches the trace of the aerial path Whence dove-wing'd Peace departed? Deluded man ! and does the lightning's beam. Transient as fierce, delight thy gazing eye Beyond the lustre of yon beauteous star, The evening lamp of Love? The torrent's roar. Loud tumbling down the rock, say does it charm Thy listening ear with rapture, like the sounds That warble sweetly from the Eolian lyre, "Woke by the breeze of summer? Cease then, man. To waste in guilty toils thy span of being; Nor dress the passing shadow of thy fame In tinsel splendours and unreal greatness. For not with luxury in Ambition's dome Does Comfort dwell; and tho' the daring mind May joy to struggle in the storms of life. Yet Nature turns to other scenes for bliss. And loves the peaceful valley loves the flowers That deck the bosom of domestic joy. As when an eagle from her eiry roused. Bathes her strong pinion in the solar beam. And triumphs o'er the tempest-^^-still to earth Her wingo'erwearied bends its circling flights And spreads the pennon that defied the storm. To shield her offspring from the wintry blast. 32 TO A LADY, ON HEARING HER SING " HIGHLAND MARY.' &ERAPH of song! in pity cease. Nor breathe again that strain of woe; It tells me of departed peace. Of joys which I no more must know. For cold indeed is S 's lip. And pale her cheek, so rich in beauty; Nor more shall Love his pinion dip Jn balmy sighs of warmest duty. The rose no more that lip shall warm. Life to that cheek return shall never; And I am dooni'd to trace each charm. Yet weep those icbitrnis are lost for ever. The wretch who sleeps in Misery's cell, A dreamless sleep to grief resign'd. If chance he hear the minstrel's swell Flow sweetly on the passing wind ; 33 O'er his wan cheek a hectic flush, Awates Distraction's slumbering fires; While scenes of exiled transport rush. In agony his heart respires, 1 am that wretch in captive gloom. Thine is the minstrel's strain of woe ; Thy tears the rose of Love illume. Mine on the grave of Beauty flow ! 34 THE STRANGER. jEARL Douglas* hall glow'd bright and warm. And quick the mantling wine went round; While *mid the pauses of the storm. Was heard the harp's enlivening sound. All bow'd to Pleasure's rosy wile. All, save one stranger guest forlorn; He quafF'd no wine, he bade no smile The pallid cheek of grief adorn. Wrapt in the pilgrim's garb of woe. Silent and stern the wanderer sate ; Despair was on his rugged brow. And in his eye the curse of fate. ** Let mirth," cried Douglas, " cease to flow, " Bid softer sounds of music roll; " Attune thy harp to love and woe, " And suit yon mournful stranger's soul." 35 The bard obedient swept the wire, He swept it with a master's sway, And bade the spirit of his lyre. To warble wild it's sweetest lay. " Where Lula rests the murmuring yew, "Bends to the gale with mournful wave; " The night-star scatters tears of dew, " To nurse the lilies of her grave ! " For she was fairer than the dream, " That charms the poet^s wandering sense; " Her smile was that which seraphs beam, " Who guard the sleep of innocence. " Like them she look'd when in her arms, " Her cherub infant sweetly slept; " When gazing on his opening charms, " She thought upon his sire, and wept. " For far where Bruce and Freedom waged " The fight, was found Glenalvon's spear ; " Where Scotia's boldest bands engaged, " For every tie to Scotland dear. " Long o'er the heath so dark, so wild, " An anxious look of hope she cast; " And closer press'd her sleeping child, " As moan'd ia hollow gusts the blast. D 2 36 " Cease, winds unkind; cease roaring stream, " O let me hear roy lord's return; " Shed, ye dim stars! a brighter beam " Glenalvon comes from Baunockburu ! " No, ne'er Glenalvon comes again!" " In hollow tone the spirit cried; " And solemn o'er the gloomy plain, ** She saw the pomp funereal glide. '* And soon where Lula lay, the yew " Murmur'd in many a sullen wave; " The night-star scatter'd tears of dew, " To nurse the lilies of her grave [" 'Twas thus in uumbers sweetly clear. The minstrel swept his master-lyre; He ceased the song, the guests still hear The echo of the quivering wire. So, passing o'er the silent hill. The mountain-spirit hails the moon; The traveller starts, and lingering still. Sighs that the music iled so soon ! But memory in the stranger's breast. Was waken'd by that tale of woe; For o'er his narrow house of rest. No tear from Beauty's eye must flow. 37 Earl Douglas marked the drooping head, " And whence," he cried, " that secret sigh? *' Mourn'st thou that Love's delights are fled, *' The moonlight glance of Beauty's eye? , " Hear then the tones of valour flowr, " Rouse all thy soul to nightly cheer:" The stranger shook his storm-beat browj His answer was a bursting tear. When swift the rising minstrel bowM The honours of his hoary head ; And from his harp such nuriibers flow'd. Might breathe e'en spirit to the dead I He sung, how fierce on Ancram Moor, Revenge inflamed each warrior's soul; When Slaughter bade her eagle soar. And rule the fight without controul. He sung, " from Morno's ancient hall, " The pride of youthful chieftains came; *' And Pity's tear that wept his fall, " Preserv'd the blossom of his fame. " And pale the pride of chieftains lies, " And vain his widow's ceaseless tear; " For Morno's chief no more shall rise, " His blood is on the Scotian spear \" d3 38 " Long shall the widow's cheek be pale," With solemn voice the stranger said; " Tho,' not on Ancram's blasted vale, " Is Morno number'd w^th ^he dead. " Shades of my warlike sires! whose light " A beam oi joy to death could give; " Ye saw me vanquish'd in the fight, " And doom'd, O heavier curse ! t " Yet rising from the crimson field, " As sunk the sun in blood, I swore, " That ne'er again I'd grasp the shield, " But still would wander and deplore. " And long the wind and stormy wave, " Have howl'd around my couch of stone; " And many a moan the rocky cave ** Has ecbo'd to my restless groan. " For never more those halls I'll seek, " Where Eda saw me bright with fame; " Nor ever shall my ofTspring's cheek, " Blush at his father's sighs of shame. ' " Hear then, ye spirits of the sky ! " O hover round her sleep of rest; " The tear is trembling in her eye, " And grief is heavy on her breast. sg " Tell her to weep no more, for .soon " We'll meet, and never more we'll part!' He bared his dagger to the moon. He plunged it in his panting heart! D* 4Q TO JL ES, Lady ! I had hush'd my woes, Had almost soothed despair to sleep j But oh ! ihat look has woke reposs. Again to love, to wish, and weep! And can a look so sweet deceive? A look the parent of delight; Say, can it like the gleams of eve. Smile but a herald of the night? Or was that murmur'd sigh alone. The voice of Pity's seraph breath j And Hope's young rose, but scarcely blown, Say, must it deck the brows of Death? il PLEASURE. A VISION. ][ THOUGHT I roam'd ia Cyprian groves. Whose breezes were the breath of Loves; That hovering round on playful wing, Struck the wild harp's melodious string, And woke those tones of soft desire. Which echo'd from the Lesbian lyre: The witching strains my bosom fired. And all my soul for joy respired; When starting from a couch of flowers, The Genius of the fragrant bowers. With looks of bliss my heart beguiled. And pointed to his couch and smiled. Bright his goblet's mantling stream. Sparkled with a ruby's beam. And woo'd with wanton blush my lip. The raptures of it's fount to sip. Mad with delight, I grasp'd the bowl. And pour'd it on mj' thirsty soul. I press'd the rose-wreath to my heart. But started with a thrilling smart; For oh ! the thorn had stabb'd my breast. And broke my heart's delusive rest. 42 Wild with my pain the lyre I swept. The lyre in tones of pity wept. And still I struck the wild chords o'er. And still they echo'd " sin no morel" Whenlo! a female form advancing. Not in voluptuous gestures dancing; But chaste her robe of spotless hue. Shaded her bosom from the view; And soon I felt her mild controul Calm the tumult of my soul. Sweet her eye, and pleasure's Hush, That woke her warm cheek's mantling blush. Was like the rose's mellow'd gleam. Reflected in a lucid stream. The dews of peace persuasion shed. Warm from her lips as thus she said : " Child of pleasure ! wouldst thou know *' The choicest sweets these wilds bestow, " Let virtue be the guide to lead " Thy footsteps o'er the flowery mead. " Resume thy harp ; but let the wires " Throb no more with mad desires : " Teach them no more the tones to speak, " Which fire the blush on Beauty's cheek, " But let their warmest echoes roll, " In chasten'd sentitiient of soul. " Twine the rose-wreath round thy brow, " But with it let the jasmine glow, " As virgin Love's untainted sigh, " Softens the light of Beauty's eye!" 43 VOICE OF NATURE. fe>AY 'Why die babe unconscious of the doom. That neai- his cradle digs the fated tomb; Ere Reason's dawn has warm'd his vital day. And taught the soul to feel discernment's sway; Why spreads his little hands, why feels alarm. If chance removes him from his mother's arm : Or why he smiles when by her smile carest. And sinks in willing slumbers on her breast? 'Tis Kature o'er him breathes her potent wile. Speaks in the silent look or cherub smile; Pourtrays with magic hand her future plan. Her morning twilight in the heart of man. And hence the pang which swells in every breast. When Pity bends o'er innocence distrest; And hence the tears from every eye that flow. When Virtue kneels and pleads a tale of woe. Lives there a soul that would not pause to weep O'er poor Virginia buried in the deep. And love with Paul to listen to the wave. That rolls and murmurs o'er her wat'ry grave? 44 For not in Fame's immortal wreath to live. Is all the joy which generous actions give. But as the sun beneath th' horizon roll'd. Still lights the sky and tints the clouds with gold; So virtuous deeds a lingering warmth impart. And cheer the soul and triumph in the heart. These when the clouds of dissolution roll The night of terror on the parting soul ; "When earthly care and earthly joy retires. And Death's cold grasp benumbs the bosom's fires; Embodied then in sera{)h guise they stand. Beam the sweet smile and wave th* inspiring hand. Fan with light pinion Life's expiring sigh. And waft the spirit to it's native sky ! 45 NELSON. 'JLORN on her rock Britannia lay And was it grief that swell'd her soul? Was it the dream of pale dismay. That bade the tear of anguish roll? She wakes for on her startled ear Swells the war-clarion loud and cleai*; While rays of sunbright glory stream. Like those that warm the western sky ; And high upon the lightning beam. Wave proud the wings of victory 1 Past i Britannia's dream of woe. In prouder sweep her tresses flow. Exulting throbs her bosom warm; And as she marks the eagle's flight. And plumes that wave reflected light. She grasps her beamy spear with more triumphant arm. Gone is the meteor light of day, Hush'd is the clarion's warlike breath ; 4& And breathing sad a softer lay, Sounds like the holy dirge of death ! And quench'd in tears the exultant smile. That warm'd the genius of the isle. The eagle quits the darken'd sky ; To earth with sullen flight descends. And lo! with drooping pinion bends. Where Nelson and his heroes lie! Yet weep not Britain ! but aloud proclaim, " Death has but tied the wreath of Nelson's fame. Who boldly dared the battle's strongest tide. Died like a Briton I for his country died!" Ye, who behold with spirit-beaming eye. The star of glory in the distant sky. And fondly hope in Fancy's midnight dream. To feel the influence of the sacred beam Go think on Nelson and with generous pride. Die like the man who for his country died! And bright the beam that lights the grave. Where patriot heroes proudly lie; And sweet the death, and sweet the dirge. Of those who for their country dial And when the waves with sullen roar. Roll, round the high cape's rocky shore, . The sailor on his watch shall hear Soft music still the raging deep. And see, where moonbeams light their forms. The spirits of the ocean weep. 47 How sweet upon his ear will die The echoes of their melody ; How dear the murmur of the wave. That lulls the death-sleep of the brave! But when they rouse his warrior sigh. With more triumphant minstrelsy. The tear that on his dark cheek lay. And mourn'd home's comforts far away. The tear of fond regret is dried ; And kindling as the anthem flows. His heart beats high he thinks on those Who bravely for their country died ! 48 ODE WRITTEN ON THE BANKS OF THE AVON. Scenes of delight that glad my soul. When sunbeams smile or tempests roll ; To hail your glooms I fly the haunts of men ; And wandering pensive and alone, I love to hear the tempests moan. Swell the deep echoes of the distant glen. How grandly desolate that hollow dell, Array'd in autumn's mournful tint appears ; And there the spirit wakes the solemn shell. Whose tones the midnight wanderer starting hears! For oft is heard a plaintive strain forlorn, ' To pause and swell along the leafless glade ; And Fancy listens as the numbers mourn. The vandal triumph o'er her sacred shade*. For here when Avon's murmuring stream, Blush'd as it caught the orient beam. Would Druid harpings hail the morn; And here in Valour's bloodiest hour, Drd Freedom's warrior sternly poor The shrill sharp breathings of his trumpet horn. * The devastation made in the rocks on the Clifton side. 49 Yet now no more these rocks among. The Druid's sweeping mantle flies; And Echo has forgot the song. That sweli'd the pomp of sacrifice. But when the moon in silvery pride. Bends from her car to gild the wave j Silent their hoary shadows glide. And weave the spells that burst the grave. Spirits ! that high o'er Vincent's brow. Your solitary vigils keep; Ye hear their powerful descant flow. Wild warbled from the towery steep. Then as the spectred vision swells It's awful scene, ye sweep your shells. And hail the dim and passing train. In many a more than earthly strain. Oh, Avon ! when the night clouds lour. Be mine to climb thy ramparts rude; "When spirits rule the deathlike hour. That wraps the soul in solitude ! 60 THE CAPTIVE. Sad in his gloomy cell the captive lay. And wept with ceaseless tears the night away I Breathed to the humid walls his plaintive moan, Whose sullen echoes told of comfort gone ! No summer sun with animating light. For many a long, long year had bless'd his sight: No friendly voice had told of Freedom nigh. Nor Hope repress'd the agonizing sigh ; He heard a sound and raised his meagre head. To catch the echo of the distant tread It died away. Again he starts to hear. But not a murmur charm'd his listening ear; " *Twas but the howling night-blast!" sad he cried, Look'd on his rusty chains, then'groan'd and died! But say what form amid the dungeon^s gloom. Heard his last sigh and shudder'd at his doom ? 'Twas Howard, friend of man! by "Virtue led. Who breathed the sigh of sorrow o*er the dead. And wept to think that Pity could not save. Another victim to a dungeon grave! The hngering spirit ere it turn'd to fly. Caught the warm tear that trembled in his eye; Bore it to heaven; enshrined with rays divine, A gem on Mercy's hallow'd brow to shine. 51 CONSTANTINOPLE. JLOW lies Byzantium, aud in ruins spread. Home's stern colossus bows the haughty head. Dark o'er her towers the moslem banners wave. And her proud eagle slumbers in the grave! No more the nations tremble to descry, The lightning terrors of his conquering eye; Nor more the thunders bold ambition hurl'd. Fill his strong grasp and shake the subject world! Low lies Byzantium, and imperial power, Owns the wild fury of destruction's hour; Gone is the triumph and the conqueror's car. The captive train that swell'd the pomp of war. The dancing plume that deck'd the warrior's head. Bends a lorn trophy o'er the silent dead; And now these haunts to sacred science dear. Feel the curst ravage of the moslem spear. Ye towering hills that crown the Trojan plain. Where hoary Priam mourn'd his people slain: When stern Achilles in his sunbright car. Raged in the combat and controul'd the war; Deep from your shades no heavenly murmurs flow, From Ida's summit to Olympus' brow; e2 sa But round your deserts at the glimpse of morn. The wandering robber winds his signal horn. Now on these walls where once the victor trod. The raging moslem wields " the sword of God;'* Plants his red ensign at the altar's base. And thunders curses on the Christian race! Death hail'd the day that saw the Turks advance. Grasp the strong shield and shake the ponderous lance! Bright gleam'd their armour to the rising ray. And Murder's gory pinion swept their way; While Zeal's dread angel in each moslem breast. Shouted " To battle and in death be blest!" Heaven ! in the hour when carnaged horror reign'd. And Night's black robe with reeking blood wasstain'd; Where slept the spirits of that mighty band. That dragg'd the Vandal from his conquer'd land? Where, Belisar^us I was thy deathful sword. That flamed the terror of each barbarous horde ? Could not the shrieking of the struggling maid. Rouse thy pale spectre to thy country's aid ' No : for thy spirit saw not Pity die. Thine ear was silent to thy country's cry ! Hear, shade of Gilimer! the hour is come. That gives thee vengeance in the fate of Rome ; For all the tortures of that blasting day. When stern you follow'd in her proud array; And mark'd your warriors march with pensive eye. Droop the sad head and heave the captive sigh; Hear thy revenge, and let it wake the dead, ** Rome's last dominion and her fame are fled !" 53 The thunder's roar that shook the fated wall, " Proclaini'd that soon her towers of strength must fall, Olympus echeed to the peal profound. And Troy's lorn Genius trembled at the sound! Heroes of Greece ! that erst in battle slain. Breathed your brave spirits on the Phrygian plaio; Say did ye mingle with the lightning's glare. And tell your triumph to the stormy air? When loudly marm'ring round the Rhaetan steep. The blast of Death came howling o'er the deep; Then did ye, starting from the lonely tomb. Exulting stalk upon the midnight gloom JiJilo t&'^ And hail the meteor star's malignant light. That gleam'd portentous on the front of night? Yes; at the spot where Ajax' ashes lie. The midnight watchman heard a warning cry; He mark'd the spectres of a Grecian band. Stalk with slow stride along the moonlight sand : And heard the caverns of their rest among. The Roman requiem in their nightly song. Sweep the lorn harp I one solitary tone. Pour to the dirge of Fame and Glory gone ! In silence wrapt the arm of might is laid. And Glory wanders in oblivion's shade: Power's giant demon breaks his meteor spear. And Freedom smiles but smiles thro' Mercy's tear I Lords of the earth I who bade with high command. The mountain bend and cities crown the land ; Who bade the altars of your glory rise. Frown o'er the storm and triumph to the skies ; e3 54 Now own whilst weeping o'er the wrecks of power, Man's but the passing monarch of an hour! The proud Assyrian's boast is heard no njore. And Zioo's race their wandering fate deplore j While o'er the Palace of the Persian kings. The pale moon listens as the owlet sings! Carthage is fall'n, and desolation lours On the lone ruin of Palmyra's towers; Where throned in night a solitary form. Bows to the whirlwind and the sweeping storm; That tell as round her desart halls they rave. The star of triumph et^ to light the grave ! 55 TO THE SCREECH-OWL : Enough has Philomela's praise. Been sung by poets great and small; Here then to thee the song I raise, O listen to my votive call. All hail. Old Screech! Whether from elm, or oak, or beech. Thou pour*st that sweet, infernal strain. Those tones such soft delight impart. They quite transport my tender heart. Oh! let me hear that melting fall again! k4. 50 CHATTERTON, OR THE MYNSTRELI^E. A FRAGMENT. * * * * * * And thou, oh Fancye! whethur thou doe straio By Avonne's streme, oir yiuder mees so deere; Weepynge to think that he ys gone for aie. Who sunge so swotelie to thy listnynge eare; Thoughe Pitye's shovvre thy plome of levynne wave. And shedde a raynbow lyghie upoane thy mynstrelle's grave. Efte in his eyne would goushing tear droppes bee, (Forr deare toe hym was Ratclyffe's rysynge spyre) As straught on Pyle mounte he dyd love to see, Rodde Evenynge tynge it wythe her blush of fyre. Hope founde him there, and rounde hys favord hedde. She wove a garlonde of her fairee floures: Hee loved her sinyle as bie the honde shee ledde Hys ventrous steppe to Fame's ymmortal boures. The weere arist ! eftsoon his gye was fledde, And all hys fairee wrethe was wytherd, pile, and dedde.1 57 Long throughe the merkness dyd the niynstrelle straie, Seekyng from poesie a gronfer lyghte. When twaie grym spyghtes dyd hys yoiige harte affraie. The ugsome rulers of the merky nyghte. The first was Whant, a pale and walsome spryghte, Whoome everychone dothe flee with mickle spede; The other bore a darte and Scorne ys highte. For aie companyon of that moder guied. Whant gryped the mynstreMe bie hys beatyng harte, Whyle Scorne infixed depeher keen and leathalle darte. The unwear fledde uponne hys raven wynge. The rysynge sun did give hys roddie sheen ; Botte in the mynstrelle's breast reniayned the stynge. And Wanhope gleamed from hys sunken eyne. The evenynge sun-beame on hys grave dyd slepe, Warmyng the pale chet- k of the prymrose floure ; The bordeliere uponne that spot wyll wepe. For everych hynd had felt the mynstrelle's powre. Come ouphant fairees from your woodland delle. Come ryng wyth mee your mynstrelle's funeralle knelle ! 58 A DEMI-ANACREONTIC. TO . I HATE the Bacchanalian crew. Inebriate with the racy devr. And care not tho' no drop of wine. Within my thirsty goblet shine! All, all my' vows are paid to thee. Thou art alone my deity ! Brighter the radiance of thine eye. Sweeter the perfume of thy sigh: And while I thus delighted sip. The nectar'd ruby of thy lip, I'll spurn the Bacchanalian crew. Inebriate with the racy dew. Nor care tho' not a drop of wine. Within my thirsty goblet shine ! 59 THE STOIC. JL E sons of Pride I who with severe controul. Repress each finer feeling of the soul : Who wander sullen, reckles. of delight. Like lonely meteors in the gloom of night: And falsely boast that in each joyless breast. Reason has luU'd each passion into rest; Say, tho' ye gaze secure on Pleasure's bower. Or smile unfeeling in affliction's hour; Say, does that smile of stubborn pride impart, A conscious glow of triumph to the heart? No: o'er your bosoms reigns a moonless night, Cheer'd by no gleam, no whisper of delight. And Nature sits amid the dreary gloom. Like a pale spectre weeping o'er a tomb. What tho* the world is like the stormy deep. And man but born to murmur and to weep. In ocean's caves full many a treasure glows. And roses bloom amid Siberian snows I Tho' Desolation with a demon frown. Has mark'd Arabia's desarts for her own ; And Death the vizier of her potent reign. Throned in the sandy whirlwind sweeps the plain; 6o- Yet still some spots of greener verdure rise. The smiling influence of milder skies: Some cooling streams, with grateful freshness roll. Reviving vigour to the pilgrim's soul ; Thus social joys, the springs of comfort, flow. To cheer the trav'Uer in this world of woe. ^1 LINES, TO HAVE BEEM SPOKEN BY A BOY AT A MEETING OF THE GOVERNORS OF A CHARITY SCHOOL. JniAIL patrons of learning! promoters of truth ! Accept the small tribute which gratitude pays; For ye open'd the field of instruction to youth. Ye bade the young poet attune his wild lays. Let the hero exult o'er his thousands of slain. Let minions fall prostrate and bend to his throne; But no venal flattery my bosom shall stain. While here in rude numbers it's feelings I own. Tho* the victor may trample mankind *neath his feet, Tho' the storms of his power o'er the earth may prevail; Yet a nobler sensation your bosoms shall greet. For ye cherish'd the lily that droop'd in the vale. Ye bade it's pale leaves shed a sweeter perfume. Bade the warm sun of science it's blossorasi expand; And with science the lesson of virtue shall come. That resists the chill grasp gf Adversity's hand. 61 When our eyes beam with joy or are fill'd by a tear, 'Mid the world's various mazes wherever we tread ; Our hearts shall still turn to the friends that are here. And our prayers for their bounty to heaven be sped. 63 TO A LADY, WHO ASKED THE AUTHOR WHAT HE SHOVI.D DREAM OF. Jl HE maid who cloister'd vigils keeps, DoomM from her dearest joys to sever; Forgets avphile her prayer and weeps. For pleasures that are fled for ever ! And tho' the evening antliena's swell. Should raise her soul with transports holy ; Yet memory calls it back to dwell. On the pale tomb of melancholy. The lover who with rapttired soul. Lists to the murmurs of delight; Will feel in sleep it's sweet controul. Illume his visions of the night. Then lady ask you what the form. That sleep would to my soul impart? Lady ! the fancy wild and warm. Will dream of what has touch'' d the heart ! 64 THE QUESTION. SWEpT Ellen I o'er your pensive face. Does 50/T0ii) shed that sickly hue; Say, are they tears of woe that grace. Those trembling lights of heav'nly blue? " No," cries a sylph from Fancy's bower, " *Tis Love who Ellen's bloom hath stole; " And with it dyed his sweetest flower, " A tlower which blooms in Ellen'.s soul !'* THE JUDGMENT. W^HEN thieves are busy, and the dark assassin. His half-drawn dagger gleaming at his side. Peeps from his cavern haunt, and looks abroad. To steal unnoticed to his work of death; ^Twas then the fires of revelry and joy. Had lit the torch of riot in the halls Of haughty Babylon. Ammon was there: Ammon, the victor God, whose conquering hand. Had rent the laurel from the affrighted brow Of Persia's dastard Genius. He, whose car Labouring in blood, had roU'd its blasting wheels. O'er ravaged Ind triumphant. Now, unstain'd With sanguine trophies, the suspended sword Was wreathed with myrtle garlands, and the Chief, Basking in Pleasure's enervating sun. Slept, like a tyger surfeited with prey. The minstrel's lyre to Lydian airs accordant. Woke to soothe the soul of Asia's lord : While Beauty's side-long glance, as bright she smiled From her luxuriant couch, subdued his soul. And chain'd him as her slave. Heedless he The goblet's nectar quaff'd ; nor when he raised F 66 The sparkling beverage, did his careless eye Behold the shaft that in a demon's grasp. Hung threat'ning o'er his heart. In vain secure ' For at that moment from the realms of Death, A minister departed, and a voice. Told to the spirits o'the infernal world, " That ere the sun had shook his golden reins, Ammon should wander o'er the wilds of Hell !" A yell of joy triumphant shook the throne Of the grim King of Shadows ^while around The fiends of vengeance throng'd, and loudly claim'd Their destined victim. Every fiend was there. Whose baneful influence e'er assay'd to kill The opening buds of virtue. Envy, pale. Nursing the viper that corrodes the heart. The dog-star blaze of Anger's restless eyei, And Hate that riots in the shriek of death. Hate on whose livid cheek no smiles arise. Save when he pauses in the midnight hour. To hear the clanking fetters of despair. But from the croud, impetuous and wild. Three mightier demons hasten'd, and preferr'd Their several claims to Ammon's guilty soul. Murder brandish'd fierce his reeking dagger. And Revenge, who broods in midnight's cave, A corse the pillow of her sleepless dream. Roused from her trance, anticipating blood. In silence cast her cruel gaze around. But who was he whose brow the diadem encircled ? y/>v/ pitix . E^SmiJh .SKiiif*. >/(///l(f //tl f^/T'/ft-^tfjr r' /'f A/>^ //t'