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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 i 
 
 AT 
 
 RHYME AND BLANK VERSE. 
 
 BY 
 
 A NAMELESS AUTHOR. 
 
 " The beauty of poetry is a matter of such nicety, that a young beginner can scarce 
 " ever be certain that he has attained it. Nothing delights him so much, therefore, 
 "as the favourable judgments of his friends and the public: and nothing mortifies 
 " him so severely as the contrary. The one establishes, the other shaken, the good 
 " opmion which he is anxious to entertain concerning his own performances. Expe- 
 " rience and success may in tinae gire him a little more confidence in his own judg- 
 " ment. He is at all times, however, liable to be most severely mortified by the 
 ' ' unfavourable judgments of the public." SiUA' T/uory of Moral SentimeHts. 
 
 EDINBURGH: 
 
 Printed by Duncan Stevenson and Company , 
 
 FOR PETER HILL AND COMPANY ; DOIG AND STIRLING; JOHN 
 
 FAIRBAIRN, SUCCESSOR TO THE LATE MR. CREECH ; 
 
 AND GEORGE COWIE AND CO. LONDON. 
 
 1817.
 
 
 V.
 
 PR. 
 37^7/ 
 
 A I PS 
 
 PEEFACE. 
 
 The Author of the following Verses makes no preten- 
 sions, and he solicits everj' indulgence. He has no apology 
 to offer for the publication, but assigns the true reason, 
 a. wish to take the opinion of the public. If the public 
 read and approve, he will be highly gratified: If they 
 refuse to read, or, having read, condemn, though, " dis- 
 " appointed, he may heave a sigh," he will submit, and 
 wrap himself in double folds of that obscurity which now 
 so happily conceals him. No Author was ever better for- 
 tified against want of success, than he is. The Verses are 
 printed at his own expence, and, although he lose the 
 whole cost of the impression, he wiU neither fare worse, 
 nor sleep less soundly. His most intimate acquaintances 
 are entirely ignorant that he ever attempted to rhyme, 
 and, of course, have no idea of his being an Author. He 
 has, therefore, to endure neither the pity of friends, nor 
 the contempt of enemies : He has only his own feelings 
 to supi>ort and every one's experience will tell him how 
 easily these are borne, when the world is entirely ignorant 
 of his calamity. 
 
 The versification is frequently rough, and the rhymes 
 imperfect. These are faults, and they are acknowledged 
 as such. If the Spirit of Poetry, however, be discerned, 
 they may perhaps be forgiven in " First Attempts." Ver- 
 sification and rhymes may be improved by practice and 
 labour ; but without the fire of nature, they will never con- 
 stitute poetry, however perfect they may be. If the 
 
 862155
 
 G PREPACK. 
 
 Author want the fire of nature, therefore, the sooner he 
 ceases to write verses the better ; but if he have any por- 
 tion of it, the approbation of the Public will undoubtedly 
 incite him to improvement in every thing that is attainable 
 by study.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Criticisins 1 
 
 Matrimony, or both Sides of the Question ... 5 
 
 Highland Scenery 15 
 
 On a Young Friend 22 
 
 The Storm 25 
 
 Address to a departed Friend .... . . SO 
 
 Recollections of departed Friends . . . . 34 
 
 On Epitaphs . . i ,36 
 
 Love and Courtship, a fragment ..*.. 41 
 
 Advice to Lovers , * , SO
 
 CRITICISMS 
 
 FOR THE BENEFIT OF THOSE WHO BEAD THE FOLLOWIKft 
 
 VERSES. 
 
 ATTEMPTS AT RHYME !'' 
 A ready way to waste his time ! 
 But if his vanity aspire 
 To set his reader's soul on fire ; 
 To charm his ear, instruct his soul. 
 To bid the swelling tear to roll ; 
 Or to rouse the daring mind 
 To deeds of every noble kind ; 
 Poor man, I fear, he's much astray, 
 As he will feel some early day, 
 When printer's bill, oh ! heavy charge ! 
 Comes in upon him, long and large ; 
 And when he sees his senseless rhymes 
 Slumbering round him, like the Times
 
 CRITICISMS, &c 
 
 Or Courier of a twelvemonth past. 
 Frightening readers with disgust. 
 Then he'll blame his stupid head, 
 And wish that it had borne bread 
 For bakers, unto every door, 
 Instead of scribbling, tame and poor. 
 These wretched lines, which now inclose 
 Their author in a world of woes. 
 What ! does he think that he can write ; 
 He, of brain obscure as night. 
 Verses which the learned will read. 
 Or even attract the maiden's heed ? 
 Maidens ready, where a story 
 Of tender love, or murder gory. 
 Is told, to rouse the vacant mind, 
 And set it roaming with the wind. 
 
 Presumptuous thought 1 much better try. 
 With leathern wings, at once to fly. 
 And seat himself on Mount Parnassus, 
 Than with such rugged rhymes harass us. 
 No ; the wild poetic fire, 
 Housing passions strong and dire ;
 
 CRITICISMS, &c. 
 
 And the softly-soothing strain, 
 Bidding woe no more complain ; 
 With the fervid thrills of heart, 
 Extatic feelings which impart ; 
 Dwell in frames of finer mould 
 Than head like his, or heart so cpld. 
 
 But, alas ! it is too late 
 To preach to such a stupid pate ; 
 For he will rhyme and scribble still, 
 Till he starve, or lack a quill 
 To scratch the stupid lines upon 
 Paper, parchment, wood, or stone. 
 
 'Tis just the same infatuation 
 Besets this foolish British nation. 
 One will speak, another rhyme, 
 A third on stage will seek to shine ; 
 Some will try to storm the state. 
 With mad ambitious fire elate ; 
 Another wild adventures try. 
 Braving sea and stormy sky :
 
 CRITICISMS, &C. 
 
 And each and all will onward go, 
 Unmoved by want, mishap, or woe. 
 Scorning wisdom, caution slighting, 
 Bent to live and die in fighting. 
 And only when their heads are run 
 Into the jaws of death, they're done. 

 
 MATRIMONY; 
 
 OR, BOTH SIDES OP THE QUESTION. 
 
 A WIFE I 
 She'll prove the torment of your life. 
 So says the CYNIC, snarling o''er 
 His dusty heaps of ancient lore : 
 She'll teaze you with her endless brawls, 
 Stun you with her children's squalls; 
 Rob your pocket, break your peace. 
 Make your wit and wealth decrease. 
 When you wish for peace and quiet. 
 She will then begin a riot, 
 Wrangling, roaring, scolding loud. 
 Just because she's in the mood ; 
 And a button's- worth at most. 
 By some luckless servant lost. 
 Will afford her ample scope 
 For diabolic word and trope.
 
 AIATRIMUNV. 
 
 When from cares you seek retreat 
 In the soft domestic seat, 
 Midst the comforts which should pay 
 Toils of many a weary day. 
 Where at least delight should be. 
 If from earth it do not flee, 
 Then'^s the time for strife and storms, 
 Then she strews your life with thorns. 
 Base reflections, boding fears. 
 Scolds repeated in your ears. 
 Painful feelings touched anew, 
 Every evil heaped on you, 
 Make you rise, and walk away. 
 Cursing night, and hating day. 
 
 If you every effort strain 
 Some honourable end to gain. 
 And if fortune crown your toil. 
 She will seek your joy to spoil ; 
 Debase your object, slight your pains. 
 Say you only care for gains. 
 Or, perhaps, with perverse spirit, 
 Deny you downright every merit ;
 
 MATRIMONY. 
 
 Affirm that though your end is gained, 
 Nothing worthy is attained. 
 
 But, if you fail in what you try. 
 And, disappointed, heave a sigh ; 
 Then she gladdens with delight,^ 
 Pours along her utmost spite ; 
 Abuses you for block and fool, 
 And talks of sending you to school j 
 Affirms she saw it long before,. 
 But, from her, advice was sore ; 
 So wise in your own self-conceit, 
 Her counsel with contempt you treat. 
 This mishap she'll keep alive. 
 And by night and day will strive 
 To place it ever in your view. 
 Till a greater one be kneil 
 
 If you wish to see a friend. 
 Every effiart she will lend. 
 By surly face, unkind demeanour^ 
 Cold reception, wretched dinner.
 
 MATRIMONY. 
 
 To make you blushj and sweat with pain, 
 
 Till she force you to abstain 
 
 From all thaOs worthy, kind, or good. 
 
 And to live in solitude; 
 
 Just because she cannot bear 
 
 The toil of cooking double fare; 
 
 Or, because a stranger's eye 
 
 Should not her tawdry person spy. 
 
 So says the CYNIC, snarling o*er 
 His dusty heaps of ancient lore. 
 
 But, hear the HUSBAND, doating, fond, 
 Lately tied in Hymen's bond, 
 Softly smiling by the side 
 Of his lovely, blooming bride. 
 Hear him talk of heavenly joys. 
 Which no rankling care alloys ; 
 Hear him tell of floods of pleasure. 
 Pouring round him without measure; 
 Say that life has no such blessing, 
 As the tranport of caressing
 
 PATRIMONY. 
 
 Such a dear and heavenly creature, 
 Beaming Love from every feature ; jl 
 
 That with her the dawn of day <! 
 
 Wakes him to a scene so gay, '//'^ 
 
 That he's forced to make a stricture 
 On the blessed Holy Scripture, 'i jsfiVf 
 And affirm that much it errs. 
 In calling life a world of cares ; 
 That 'tis PARADISE to those 
 Who know to seek the true repose, 
 From every trouble, every ill, 
 Which the cup of man can fill. 
 In the arms of worth and beauty, 
 Mid the paths of truth and duty. 
 
 He will ask you, if this life 
 Is meant to be a scene of strife, 
 Never ceasing, still renewing, 
 Still some distant end pursuing ? 
 Or, if Being is not rather 
 Given us by our heavenly Father ; 
 For enjoying, mucli contented. 
 All the good to us presented ?
 
 10 . MATRIMONY. 
 
 What is LkarninG) he will say, 
 If the Learned pass the day 
 In a ceaseless, weary pore, 
 Ne'er contented with their store ? 
 All their joy consists in seeking 
 What is scarcely worth the keeping ; 
 For they roam from book to book, 
 With that keen and eager look, 
 Which reveals how little pleasure 
 They have felt in all the treasure, 
 Heap'd in many a dusty row 
 Upon their groaning shelves, for shew. 
 
 Then, how often Learning sours 
 The pleasure of those chearful hours, 
 Due to friendship and to ease. 
 By that aptitude to teaze. 
 Which delighte in long debate ; 
 Ab if Britain's church and state 
 Depended for support and glory 
 ' On the way you tell your story.
 
 MATRIMONY. 
 
 11 
 
 Then, what is thirst of Wealth and Gain, 
 
 But an endless source of pain ? 
 
 He, that sees no joy in life. 
 
 But to fight in constant strife 
 
 For the dross, which ne'er will pay 
 
 By one single happy day. 
 
 All the aching fears and dread 
 
 Which overwhelm the miser's head. 
 
 Is a fool, who ought to go 
 
 Countless fathoms down below. 
 
 Till he find the ore itself. 
 Parent of his dirty pelf. 
 And, in darkness far removed 
 From each object that is lov'd, 
 There in ceaseless toil should dwell. 
 Digging still hb stores to swell. 
 Such a mortal ne'er must dare 
 To woo the smiles of Britain's fair. 
 
 But if one of Fkiknusuip talk, 
 And the soothing evening walk, 
 AVhen the soul, from labour free. 
 Loves to haunt the bower and tree.
 
 Ik 
 
 MATRIMONY. 
 
 And to pour its feeling forth ' i : 
 
 To a mind of kindred worth, 
 
 To a friend, who sighs or smiles 
 
 Just as fortune''8 fickle wiles 
 
 Shade or light the passing scene, 
 
 Where, thro' day, our path has been ; 'H 
 
 Let him seek a Bosom Friend, 
 
 One whose faith will never rend 
 
 The heart, which thus he opens wide, 
 
 In the flow of friendship"'s tide. 
 
 If this Friend be wedoed Spouse, 
 
 Sharer of your joys and woes, 
 
 You'll find your pleasure doubly swell, 
 
 When to her the tale you tell, 
 
 Of your PROSPECTS BtuoaT and pair, 
 
 Purchased by your toil and care : 
 
 Or should Misfortune on you press, 
 
 And the pains of want distress. 
 
 Still you'll find your sorrow lighter, 
 
 And the future dawning brighter, ifl 
 
 WJien to her you heave a sigh. 
 
 And meet her tender glistening eye^
 
 MATRIMONV. 
 
 Rousing up your soul to strive 
 With every ill, while love's alive, 
 Till your sorrows press no more, 
 And every evil flies your door. 
 
 Or do Peacb and Joy at home. 
 Killing every wish to roam, 
 Make your heart abhor the strife 
 Of tumultuous public life ? 
 And does your peaceful soul aspire. 
 As your first and last desire. 
 Only to the home and hearth, 
 Blessed abodes of Peace and Mirth, 
 Where domestic love and joy 
 Mingle in each sweet employ, 
 And, where taste and sense appear^ 
 Every inmate's heart to cheer ? 
 Then seek a Spouse whose active mind 
 Ne'er in duty lags behind ; 
 One of cultivated soul. 
 Holding passion in controul ; 
 One, whose very inmost heart 
 Delights to play the lovely part 
 
 lt3
 
 14 ^ MATRlMONir. 
 
 Of tender mother, friend, and wife, 
 Soothing all the cares of life. 
 
 Then let the Cynic snarl o'er 
 His dusty heaps of ancient lore ; 
 Let him live in dirt and tatters, 
 Calling these but little matters ; 
 Let him laugh with feigned sneer, 
 All his WIT you need not fear, 
 For all his wit he would resign, 
 Could he say these joys are mink.
 
 HIGHLAND SCENERY. 
 
 Those M-ho have travelled in the Highlands^ must have felt 
 the chief sovirce of their pleasure arise from the delightful va- 
 riety of scenery, presenting itself in quick succession to the 
 eye. One hour, your route lies through a waste, where de- 
 solation seems to have held her undisputed reign since the 
 first emergence of the heaths from chaos : The next mo- 
 ment, at the turning of a mountain's base, a glen, clothed in 
 the richest hues of luxuriant verdure, and adorned with the 
 most beautiful productions of art, bursts upon the view. On 
 one hand, the bleak, stupendous mountains raise their heads to 
 the clouds, and shew the winter snows still lying in wreaths 
 among their cliffs ; on the other, the glen waves with corn 
 ready for the sickle, and smiles in all the softness of a southern 
 clime. The frequent occurrence, too, of large arms of the sea, 
 or immense fresh- water lakes, affords peculiar delight to those 
 accustomed to an inland situation. The spirit of commerce 
 generally covers these waters with vessels of no inconsiderable 
 burden, whose appearance, fai* inland, arouses a train of fairy 
 fancies in the mind, which can only be conceived by those who 
 have felt them. It was the impression which the actual appear- 
 ance of these objects made upon the mind of the author, that 
 produced the following verses. They are very inferior to 
 the subject in beauty; but they may, perhaps, recal agree- 
 able emotions to the minds of those who have beheld the scenes; 
 and may thus imperceptibly transfer to themselves a small part 
 of that admiration, which is excited in reality only by the ob- 
 jects themselves.
 
 HIGHLAND SCENERY. 
 
 COME, climb this Mountain-top with me, 
 Whose rugged cuff o'erhangs the sea ; 
 And beneath whose other brow, 
 AVaving Pines and Ashes grow ; 
 At whose base, the valley fair 
 Shews the Landman's toil and care ; 
 Where, in beauty stretching wide. 
 Bending stalks the furrows hide, 
 Till the valley is inclosed, 
 And the further view opposed. 
 By yon mountains, huge and bare, 
 Towering high in midway air; 
 They whose lofty summits seem 
 To hold the Evening's latest beam.
 
 HIGHLAND SCENERY. IT 
 
 There, down the valley's middle-way. 
 The River wanders oft astray ; 
 Winding oft in mystic rounds, 
 Now it creeps, and now it bounds ; 
 And, fed by many a mountain rill, 
 As it flows it deepens still. 
 
 Come, climb this Mountain-top with ine. 
 The beauties of the Even to see. 
 Now the air is breathing balm, 
 And the Waters, smooth and calm, 
 Shine with rich and mellow glow 
 From the Sun, now hanging low, 
 O'er yon distant Mountain's top. 
 Which appears the Welkin's prop. 
 See his rich and golden face, 
 Beaming from yon liquid place. 
 Soft and mellow, broad and round, 
 Just as if the world had found, 
 'Neath the wave, another sun. 
 
 Starting fresh his race to run. 
 c
 
 IS HIGHLAND SCENERY. 
 
 Round the margin, clear expressed, 
 Hills and Trees appear reversM ; 
 While yon little Town and Spire 
 Glow, immersM, like living fire. 
 See the little streams of Smoke 
 Seem descending to the rock. 
 Which above them rises high, 
 Tho^ beneath it seems to lie. 
 
 Mark the Shii%, with hanging sails, 
 Every breath of wind them fails ; 
 And the Masts and Sails are seen 
 Sinking to a sky serene. 
 Mark yon little moving Speck, 
 With its slender pole erect. 
 Oft emitting gleams of light, 
 Like the streamers of the night- 
 'Tis a Boat which ferries o*er 
 Travellers to yonder shore. 
 Every bend the rowers give 
 Mars the surface of the wave ; 

 
 HIGHLAND SCENERY. 19 
 
 And the oars, now lifted high. 
 Make the sparkling sea-drops fly. 
 
 But, turning to the other hand. 
 You mark the beauties of the Land. 
 See yon distant Mountain's Shade, 
 Far reclining o'er the glade ; 
 While the Valley, here below, 
 With a thousand tints does glow. 
 There the Wheat's tall shooting stalk 
 Gives a shelter from the hawk. 
 Hovering o'er on steady wing. 
 To seize yon little trembling thing. 
 There the Corn, with spreading ear. 
 Shews that harvest now is near ; 
 Changing from the green to white, 
 Hope rejoices in the sight, 
 And the Landman counts his store, 
 In anticipation, o'er. 
 Next you see yon square of green ; 
 There in rows appears the Bean ;
 
 HIQUUiKO SCENERY. 
 
 Its latest blossoms fade away- 
 Striking emblem of decay. 
 
 Near at band appears the Lawn, 
 Fresh as at the morning''s dawn. 
 There the trees luxuriant rise, 
 Shooting branches to the skies : 
 Midst the whole a princely seat 
 Looks like Baron's strong retreat ; 
 Its ancient turrets, wing, and hall. 
 Seem former ages to recall ; 
 But the taste of Greece appears, 
 Smiling midst the Gothic fears. 
 
 O'er the Lawn you see the Lambs, 
 
 Gaily frisking round their dams ; 
 Now they bleat, and now they play. 
 Next they bounce, and run away ; 
 While the sober Ewb is seen, 
 Musing mid the lovely scene.
 
 HIGHLAND SCENERY. 21 
 
 Last, you see, beneath the shade. 
 Lovers wandering thro"" the glade ; 
 And the Aged, more supine, 
 Who on the rustic seats recline ; 
 While the Children, gabbling round, 
 Seem recalling BabeVs sound ; 
 Now they laugli, and now they cry, 
 Scarcely knowing which, or why. 
 
 %
 
 ON A 
 
 YOUNG FRIEND, 
 
 IN THE PRIME OF VIGOROUS MANHOOD, PINING AWAT IN A 
 LINGERING AND MORTAL DISEASE. 
 
 How bright were my prospects, how happy was the time, 
 When Youth, Health, and Strength, all united were mine ; 
 When vigorous I rose at the dawn of the morn, y 
 
 And the cares of the day never made me forlorn. 
 
 Then how sweet was the Music of Spring in my ear, 
 And how gay did the soft folding Blossoms appear ; 
 How bounded my heart the fair Fields to survey. 
 And how cheerful the Close of the short Winter Day. 
 
 My soul then with joy was oft thrilled at the smile 
 Of the DEAR LOVELY One, who my heart did beguile; 
 And fondly I fancied sweet scenes of delight. 
 The more gilded by hope as removed from the sight.
 
 ON A YOUNG FRIEND. 23 
 
 But fled are these scenes, like the dreams of the night, 
 When broke by the beam which puts darkness to flight ; 
 In disease now I pine, tho' in Youth I decay. 
 And fast close my eyes on the glories of day. 
 
 I rise now at morn to a long day of woes, 
 
 And number each hour as onward it goes ; 
 
 Each gay scene around me has ceased to delight, 
 
 For the grave shuts the view with the darkness of night. 
 
 My dear Friends around me oft strive, by their care, 
 To ease me of pain, or the burthen to share ; 
 And, tho' sad at the heart, yet, my fears to beguile. 
 They fondly endeavour to force up a Smile. 
 
 But, tho' kind is their wish, and their object is love, 
 The Tear in their Eye, the false Smile will reprove. 
 And tells that the tongue, which speaks life to my ear, ' 
 Only aids sinking Hope in her combat with fear. 
 
 Tho' Nature recoils at the thought of the grave. 
 The Soul, quite undaunted, its terrors shall brave ;
 
 W ON A YOUNG FRIEND. 
 
 Tho* from Earth and from Friends I am soon to remove, 
 Yet soon shall I find out new objects of love. 
 
 I go now to God, and I fear not the call. 
 
 For his truth, love, and mercy, extend over all ; 
 
 And if love, truth, and mercy, have beamed on me here, 
 
 The same Goodness will shine where'er I appear. 
 
 Then thou dear lovely One, and ye Friends all, fare> 
 
 well! 
 'Tis at parting with you that this bosom doth swell ; y 
 
 Oh ! believe, when ye hear me breathe out the last sigh, 
 Tis the Parting with you gives the pang as I die. 

 
 C5v 
 
 ft pitsaioc' 
 
 THE STORM. 
 
 Hark ! the Winds impetuous roar, 
 Mountain billows lash the shore : 
 
 List yon piercing shriek and cry ! 
 Now the hapless Sailors die. 
 See their Vessel, midst the storm, 
 How unlike her wonted form ! 
 Dash"'d, with heavy heave and shock. 
 On yon dark, terrific rock. 
 Lifting high its dismal head, 
 Like damn'd spirit of the dead. 
 
 It came from Lawrence' distant tide, 
 Fraught with Lover and with Bride, 
 With Father, Mother, infant Child, 
 Who with dreams of hope had smiled.
 
 TU STORM. 
 
 Tilinking on that shore and wave 
 Where now they only find a grave. 
 
 Sisters die in Brothers' arms ; 
 Mothers, frantic with alarms, 
 Gaze, with horrid mein and eye. 
 As their hapless Children die ; 
 While the Husband eyes the Sea, 
 ** Fixt in speechless agony," 
 Begging Heaven for the blow, 
 To sink him from this scene of woe. 
 
 List again that distant groan ! uM 
 'Tis the Forest'*s heavy moan. 
 Straining, bending rent, and riven, 
 'Neath the sweeping blasts of Heaven. 
 
 Now the winds assail the Pine, 
 Strip it like the leafless Vine, 
 When the Winter frosts have cropt 
 All that lovely Spring had dropt.
 
 THE STORM. 27 
 
 See the trunk fixed deep in earth, 
 Where its seedling sprout had birth, 
 Strugghng with the awful spirit 
 Of the tempest, raging o'er it. 
 Long it struggles, but in vain ; 
 Now it stretches o'er the plain. 
 
 But hear another sound arise, 
 Loud, like thunder in the skies ! 
 "Tis the Rivera's awful flood : 
 List ! the tumult chills the blood ! 
 Through the rocks it dashing roars, 
 Down the steep tremendous pours. 
 Spreads with desolating sweep 
 O'er the valley, wide and deep. 
 
 See the arch, across its bed, 
 Stands like beacon, with its head 
 Raised, in trackless waste of sea. 
 To tell where hidden dangers be. 
 Mark, a single stone has dropt, ^ 
 Which the solid fabric propt ;
 
 THE STUaM. 
 
 Quick anotlier follows fast ; 
 Down, collapsing, come at last, 
 In one horrid ruin Iiurl'd, 
 Like the crash of broken world. 
 Pillar, arcli, and massive wall ; 
 Surges swelling as tijey fall. 
 
 See yon SiiEpnKRo, struggling bold, 
 Seeks bis flock in distant fold ; 
 The beating torrents of the sky 
 Stun his ears and close his eye. 
 He clasps his plaid, presents his back 
 To meet th* increasing tcmpest'^s shock ; 
 Feels the river rise around ; 
 Sees no longer heath or ground 
 Thinks of home ! resigns his flock 
 To the whirlwinds on the rock ; 
 Tries to turn, but steps astray ; 
 By the stream is borne away : 
 See the feeble leg and arm 
 Flashy convulsive with alarm,- > 
 Till the spark of life is gone ; 
 Then floats he unresisting on. 
 
 \
 
 THE STORU. 29 
 
 Sure this is an awful sight, 
 Little mingled with delight ; 
 Yet, to Spirit bold and free, 
 It yields a nameless extacy. 
 Nature now, in all her terrors. 
 Chills the feeble mind with horrors : 
 But the soul that loves to soar, 
 Swells amidst the tempest's roar ; 
 Mounts the winds and sweeps along, 
 Mid the wild tumultuous throng ; 
 For every potent Note of Heaven 
 Has a Feeling, true and even. 
 Thrilling, as the Winds express 
 What no mortal speech can dress.
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 TO 
 
 A DEPARTED FRIEND. 
 
 Where art thou now, Dear Friend ! What spot 
 
 in all ^ 
 
 The wide immensity of space, contains 
 Thy dearest form ? Say wherb thou art, and, with 
 The speed of whirlwinds, or of lightning's flash, 
 ril haste me there ! 
 
 Ah stay ! EncumberM by this mortal clay. 
 How can I follow thee ? how reach thy pure 
 Ethereal realms of bliss ? Such flight 
 Were now impossible. But, say, in that 
 Dread portion of the sky, where now thou wing''8t
 
 TO A DEPARTED FRIEND. 31 
 
 1'hy way, immortal and refined, do e'er 
 
 Thy former thoughts now occupy thy mind ? 
 
 Sure thou remembVest yet when soaring high 
 
 With that great soul of thine, by Nature given, 
 
 Thou tried'st to scan the place where now thou art ; 
 
 When, looking at the glorious sun. 
 
 As he beam'd bright from Heaven, thou said'st, 
 
 " How happy and delightful it would be 
 
 ** To soar beyond that glorious orb of day ; 
 
 ** To shoot along, a pure etherial spark, 
 
 " And mark the mighty plan of Heaven : 
 
 " To see the Sun, the Moon, the Planets 
 
 " Which attend our Sun, and twice ten thousand 
 
 " Worlds besides, laid open to our eye ! 
 
 " To search out God ; thro"' boundless space to search 
 
 " out him 
 " Who made the whole ; and in no spot to find him, 
 " But to see and feel his influence in all !" 
 
 Sure thou rememb'rest, when the hand of Death 
 Lay cold and heavy on thy generous heart,
 
 S2 TO A J>EPARTEU FKlb.ND. 
 
 How thou expressMst thy only wish to be 
 
 To look once back, with downward eye to see 
 
 What of thy children (children then, indeed) 
 
 Should here become. 
 
 And when thine eye was setting fast in death. 
 
 How thou declarMst to us thy tranquil thoughts. 
 
 At entering on the dreary, darksome way ; 
 
 Because the God, who here had blcssM thee so. 
 
 Was present where thou went'st. Say, now, when all 
 
 Thy speculations are realities. 
 
 What Vis thou knowest ? Say, art thou moving now 
 
 Upon a beam of light, shot from a Sun 
 
 Whose rays have never reach'd, since first of time, 
 
 Down to this world of ours ? and art thou there 
 
 Beholding wonders which no tongue can tell. 
 
 No pen can note, nor human fancy frame ? 
 
 Or art thou now, in some calm seat of bliss, 
 Adoring God in peace and holy rest ? 
 There, joining hands with Father, and with Friend*^ 
 Who went before thee to the realms of day.
 
 TO A DEPARTED FRIEND. 33 
 
 Ah ! yes. Now hear, thou say'st, with smiling joy, 
 
 To that bright Spirit standing by thy side, 
 
 " See there, a Friend now lands upon our Shore." 
 
 He by thy side, is one whom here below 
 
 I term"'d my Uncle. Him thou pointest to, 
 
 Who left us late, whom still we wail on earth. 
 
 Received from me the tender name of Father. 
 
 See how thou greet'st him, as he enters in, 
 
 With strange amazement, on the happy shore. 
 
 Your joy is doubled Now you point to us-?- 
 
 To Wives, to Brothers, and to Children dear ; 
 
 And say " See how they Wd us. Soon shall their 
 
 tears 
 " To joy be turn'd, when they arrive for ay 
 " In this abode of bliss."
 
 
 RECOLLECTIOxNS 
 
 DEPAETED FRIENDS. 
 
 Who has not felt, even round the enlivening bowl, 
 
 A pensive sadness steal upon the soul; 
 
 And, *midst the scenes of gaiety and joy, 
 
 A starting tear at times our mirth alloy ? 
 
 Yes, oft our pleasures mind us of our woes. 
 
 As pricks the thorn from ^neath the blooming rose. 
 
 Wlien round the festive board of friendship placed. 
 Some one is missed who late the scene has grac''d. 
 Who lately smiPd in all the pride of youth. 
 And glow'd with friendship, honour, wit, and truth ;
 
 ON DEPARTED FRIENDS. ^ 35 
 
 And when in death this friend now lowly lies. 
 Worth, wit, and kindness, all the Tyrant's prize. 
 Sinks not the heart beneath the oppressive load. 
 In strangest wonder at the ways of God ? 
 
 Yes, he who pours these sorrows from the heart. 
 Has often felt the wounded spirit's smart : 
 For scarce a scene of life can pass away, 
 Which gives not speech to the cold mouldering clay 
 Of Father, Brother, Friend, Companion dear. 
 Torn, reft, and fall'n, within one fleeting year ; 
 To tell how He each soothing art employed 
 To cheer our souls, when anxious cares annoy'd ; 
 To tell how lately They with us were gay, 
 In every sport which clos'd the winter day ; 
 Or, when the plains in rich luxuriance shone, 
 How in our rambles each of them made one.
 
 ON EPITAPHS 
 
 " Born " such a day^" died "" upon another ; 
 
 The space between a blank ; as if the facts 
 
 Of Birth and Death, whicli he could not controul, 
 
 Excluded all his deeds from holding place 
 
 Upon his monument. A Tree might have an 
 
 Epitaph as good ; 'Twas planted such a day, 
 
 And, on another, felPd ; of course it grew. 
 
 And sent out branches. 'Tis enough ^'tis all 
 
 That can be told us of the tree, and all 
 
 We wish to know. But for a Man ! Surely he 
 
 Did something, s<ud something, or something thought, 
 
 That might deserve a place above his tomb.
 
 I 
 
 ON EPITAPHS. ^ 
 
 He was a Father, and he loved his Children. 
 
 He was a Husband, and he loved his Wife. 
 
 He loved his Friends, forgave his Enemies ; 
 
 Was mild in spirit, and of generous heart ; 
 
 Did harm to none, and grieved to hear of wrongs. 
 
 Well, surely this was something. If you write so much. 
 
 You shew he was a Man, and that he was 
 
 An amiable Man. Yes, even this humble praise 
 
 Delights me more, than if my name were carved 
 
 Upon the blue expanse of Heaven,* with " born " 
 
 And " died,"" and there to stop. What tho' the whole 
 
 Creation read, " There was a Man," if they 
 
 Are not informed that he was good or bad. 
 
 Yes ! let the humble Chisseler of Fame, 
 
 Cut on his stolle one hundred letters more, 
 
 And you do justice to the dead. My soul 
 
 Is sunk with sorrow when I think, that, in 
 
 Whole fifty or an hundred years, no deed 
 
 Is done to mention to posterity 
 
 The Readers of Poetry will recognise that this idea is not origi- 
 nal, although the application is new.
 
 I ON EPITAPHS. 
 
 To keep alive some faint memorial 
 
 That a Man has been. This is Death indeed ! 
 
 For, What is life? What all the anxious toils 
 
 Of guarding Virtue 'midst the snares of Vice, 
 
 If such their end ? 'Tis a great mind that soars 
 
 In quest of Fame, and pants to be renowned ; 
 
 And every breast where beats an honest heart 
 
 Is fond of praise. Oh ! give us then our due. 
 
 By carving name and character upon our stone. 
 
 Then those who have no epitaph will seem 
 
 As if their deeds required to lie beneath 
 
 The sod which hides their corpse, and could not bear 
 
 The sun upon them. Then, if we have been 
 
 Honest, 'twill be known ; if kind, some heart 
 
 Will beat at reading that we felt like him. 
 
 I rather would have written on my tomb, 
 
 " Here lies a nameless man, whose heart beat warm 
 
 " With feelings of humanity and love 
 
 ** Of truth, and in whose breast withal there was 
 
 *< A stirring spirit, that desired to soar 
 
 ** Above the circle of obscurity 
 
 In which his fortune placed him, but who ne'er
 
 ON EPITAPHS. 39 
 
 Would climb by other means than those he could 
 
 Unblushing own before the world.'* Fd rather 
 
 Have these words upon a humble stone, 
 
 By rustic hands engraven and upreared, ji^ 
 
 Than sumptuous coffin, and high nodding plumes, 
 
 To grace my funeral, and a pile, like 
 
 Egypt's Pyramids, erected to my name, 
 
 Without a word to tell men what I was. 
 
 These Pyramids enforce my argument. 
 
 Where now is he who reared them ? what his name ? 
 
 What did he else but rear them ? None can tell. 
 
 Then, where his monument ? They may be your's, 
 
 As well as his. But, if his deeds of virtue 
 
 Had been written there, or graven in the breasts 
 
 Of those who own'd him for their Lord, he still 
 
 Had had a name. 'Tis true, if one has rais'd 
 
 A monument of deeds, deep founded 
 
 On the page of history, he has no need 
 
 Of words upon a stone to tell his fame. 
 
 A simple name, with " born " and " died," is then 
 
 Sublime ; because the mind of him who reads 
 
 Supplies the blank. This says he did too much
 
 40 ON KPITAPHk. 
 
 To be engraven here. But the peaceful 
 Citizen, whose utmost range is home, 
 Has no such theme to fill the gap ; he needs 
 A line to tell what he has done, what been, 
 And what he sufferM. Do give him this, 
 And then I ask no more. 
 
 x..;i U,.i^
 
 
 U> 
 
 LOVE AND COUKTSHIP, 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Now, at an hour when Day and Night still hold 
 Uncertain, mingled, and contending sway, 
 In place remote, well sheltered from the eye 
 Of man, and from the breeze of heaven, ^you'll find 
 The two : No skill or deep research you need 
 To find them out. Look only where you see 
 Two Figures, closely linked, joined arm in arm. 
 Breast pressed to breast who, while they walk along 
 In slow and easy pace, turn oft the head. 
 To meet each other's eyes. The Lovers these. 
 
 Sweet converse now they hold on thousand points 
 U'o them deUcious, but to others void.
 
 4S LOVE, A FRAGMENT. 
 
 As well 'tis known, of interest or sense. 
 
 For what, amid the countless friv'lous things 
 
 Which human passions send abroad on earth, 
 
 More worthless, or more frivolous and weak, 
 
 To others' ears, than is a Lover's tale. 
 
 The passion, kindling feeling into glow. 
 
 Enlarges, gilds, and vastly magnifies, 
 
 AM objects seen thro' its delusive beam. 
 
 'Tis not the Subject on which lovers talk 
 
 That yields them pleasure in such high degree : 
 
 No 'tis the speaker's voice, and looks, and smiles, 
 
 Enforcing what is said, that gives the charm. 
 
 The talk is not of this or that, as high or low, 
 
 Deserving of esteem or contumely : 
 
 The talk is Love Love is the whole affair. 
 
 For whether words speak time or place, 
 
 Object or study, nnatron wise or maid. 
 
 As the apparent theme, yet still 'tis Love, 
 
 Express^ in every syllable that's said 
 
 Upon these various points, that warm imprints 
 
 Life, force, and energy, upon the tale. 
 
 And pleases thus the conscious lovers' minds.
 
 LOVE, A FRAGMENT. ' 45 
 
 This, surely, is a portion of our lives 
 Most dear and grateful ; for the Heart now feels 
 Its evVy wish and sympathy indulg''d. 
 Now Nature shines with an enlivened face 
 More bright than usual, and fresh beauties 
 Beam from ev'ry object which the mind surveys. 
 The Summer Gale, the " flowers that deck the ground,*'' 
 The waving Trees, and warbling Birds on high, 
 Tho' always sweet, now yield th' excited soul 
 A triple flow of happiness and joy. 
 Even Winter seems of his rude blast bereft, 
 Tho' rough he roar, when, to the glowing breast. 
 In extacy, is pressed the heaving bosom \ A 
 
 Of the Maid we love. There is a thrill ; 
 
 Shot into every nerve, repulsive '^^l^aei iO 
 
 Of the storms of heaven, tho' chill they blow. 
 And the fond heart would yield its covering 
 To wrap her from the storm, if such a robe 
 Could shield her tender form. 
 
 The soft extatic fire, which warms the soul. 
 Sends Health and Vigour into every limb. 
 Now the Face glows with animated looks,
 
 44 &OVB, A FRAGMENT. 
 
 And its fresh Ime denotes to every eye 
 
 The joy that reigns within. The softened voice, 
 
 The tones and manners, complaisant and kind, 
 
 Bear witness, too, to Love's commanding power, 
 
 And shew how beautiful our nature is, 
 
 And am iable, when all is smooth within. 
 
 The mental Faculties partake the glow 
 Which now excites each nerve and limb : The Wit 
 Grows sharper, and more poignant in its hits. 
 The Humour, too, by the same fervour moved. 
 Becomes more droll, and more to nature true ; 
 And, while its Owner gives his fancy play. 
 He shakes our sides with double straining throes 
 Of laughter, long and loud, while reverend-like 
 And sober sad he sits, as if alone. 
 Of all around, unconscious of the sport. 
 
 But what, ye fair, 
 Concerns me most for you, is the long day 
 Of Happiness, or longer night of Woe, 
 ' Which dawns or sets lu'ound you when you wed,
 
 LOVE, A FRAGMENT. ||f( 
 
 And the small care you often shew yourselves 
 
 To learn in time, ere yet the knot be tied, 
 
 Which of these destinies your Lord shall lead. , 
 
 Your fate, then, hangs on his alone. If he, 
 
 Possessed of manly enterprise, can win, 
 
 In life's great struggle, competence for home ; 
 
 If, kind in soul, and in his temper mild, 
 
 His heart glows warm with faithful love to you, 
 
 And feelings of benevolence to men, 
 
 Your lot is glad indeed. Domestic bliss, 
 
 The world's respect and love, are in your train ; 
 
 And years of joy will swiftly glide away. 
 
 Serene and tranquil. But, how opposite. 
 
 And wofully reversed, your life will be, 
 
 If wedded to a Block, or empty Fool. 
 
 Then, doom'd to live in pinching poverty, 
 
 To bear the world's contempt, the balm itself 
 
 Of sweet connubial love awanting too, 
 
 A dark and melancholy gloom of woes 
 
 Encircles round your head. Or, even how hard 
 
 And cheerless is your fate, if, full of love. 
 
 And of a temper sweet and gay, you wed
 
 46 LATB, A. FRAGMENT. 
 
 A man who smiles abroad, and pleases all 
 Who care not for his frowns, but who at home 
 Is harsh and rude, illiberal and severe 
 To those whom he should bless, and who depend 
 On him alone for happiness and joy. 
 
 When thus your Happiness so much depends, 
 In life's long vale, on him with whom you join, 
 Oh ! learn to know the Characters of men : 
 Observe their speech, and note their actions well ; 
 For, with assiduous care, you soon may learn 
 If Sense and Energy adorn their minds. 
 Or if an airy, vain, presumptuous look. 
 And trifling talk of nothing, mark the man : 
 If he is always busy, blustering throng, 
 And cries against the world, when those who move 
 In the same circle quietly hold their way, 
 With easy steps, at peace with all around ; 
 Fear then a Fool. His littleness of mind 
 Makes small tilings great, and hence 
 His blustering toil ; his head confused. 
 Makes Blunders with the world ; and hence
 
 LOVE, A FRAGMENT. 49 
 
 The rubs at which he cries, himself the cause. 
 If such a One you wed, your hours shall pass 
 In gazing at his toils the live-long day ; 
 In hearing, every night, the doleful tale 
 Of fruitless labour, and of fortune's Avrongs. 
 
 But now the tale of Love has oft been told, 
 And full six Moons have waxed, and waned againj 
 Since Courtship true and serious began. 
 Time, therefore, urges that the knot be tied, 
 In form established, and by sacred hands. 
 The day is fix'd ; and now the busy hands 
 Of tailors, tradesmen, milliners, and those 
 Who lend their aid in decking out the fair 
 For vast occasions, use their utmost art 
 To lend new graces to the anxious pair. 
 
 But, as the day, so big with fate, draws n^ar, 
 Mark how the Lovers alter in their mood. 
 Late, all was spirit, gaiety, and joy ; 
 But now, a sober, serious look appears. 
 With stedfast eye, and thoughts absorbed within.,
 
 48 ^ LOVE, A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Which mark some object resting on the mind. 
 These, with the vacant gaze, and deep-drawn sigh, 
 Give note of deep reflection in the soul ; 
 Pondering on fate, as if one step would bring 
 A life of pleasure, or a world of woe. 
 
 The minds of Both seem on a sudden changM, 
 As if they rued their choice, and wishM to shrink 
 Back from impending fate, while yet 'twas time. 
 But 'tis not so. 'Tis Sense which plays her part. 
 Even when the mind is rul'd by passion"'s sway. 
 Such lowVing mood before the vow is giv^i, 
 Is like the grey and haze of summer morn, 
 Before the Sun high in his course is risen. 
 Which speaks not rain or storms t' obscure the day, 
 But tells of sunshine, constant and serene, 
 When Noon's hot beams have chaced the clouds away. 
 But, like the glare of early April morn. 
 When clear transparent dew-drops deck the ground. 
 When from a deep blue sparkling sky, the Sun 
 Shoots out his feeble rays so dazzling bright, 
 That Noon seems risen from the lap of Morn,
 
 LOVE, A FRAGMENT. 49 
 
 Are the keen fleeting extacies of those 
 Who trip to wedlock, ^^ith an air of mirth 
 And high. festivity, as if they sped 
 To rest eternal in reahns of bliss. 
 
 The very brightness of that morning sun 
 Collects dark clouds, which soon obscure his beams. 
 *Twas frost that gave the glare, and azure blue, 
 Which seem'd so lovely, as he shot along 
 His feeble,', dancing, horizontal rays. 'imf^-4hr;! 
 But when a stream of heat intense is pour"'d, 'li'//" 
 The charm is gone ; and now thick vapours rise i 
 From every drop, late sparkling on the stalk 
 Of plant or flowV, delicious to behold ; ' 
 
 Till pearly drops to clouds and mists are turn''d, 
 And the fierce east wind robs us of the sun. 
 And pours upon the world a flood profuse 
 Of rain, and sleet, and snow, alternate driv'n. 
 So shall excess of love, and childish raptures, turn 
 To foul disgust, satiety, and hate.
 
 ADVICE TO LOVEES. 
 
 Lbt not the Eyes, which, softly sparkling, glow 
 With fires bewitching, lead the Heart astray; 
 Nor let the lovely Smile, the ardent Look, 
 The well-turn'd Bosom, and the graceful Form, 
 With Step elastic springing from the ground. 
 Enchant the Soul, to lure it to its doom, 
 Unless a Temper gentle and serene 
 Unite with SENSE, to crown the winning Charms. 
 
 Finrs.
 
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