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 III" 
 
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 THE 
 
 COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; 
 
 OB, 
 
 fftmult dFanatitijsm: 
 
 IN TWO CANTOS. 
 
 WITH 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY CHARLES SWAN, 
 
 CATHARINE HALL, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 " Eremites and Friars, 
 White, Black, and Grev, with all their trumpery. 
 
 All these uphurl'd aloft, 
 
 Fly o'er the backside nf the world far off, 
 Into a limbo lar?e and broad, since call'd 
 The Paradise of Fools." 
 
 Milton's Paradise Lost, Book III. 
 
 " Quid si nunquam adeo fcedis adeoque pudendit 
 L'timur exemplis, ut non pejora supersint?'' 
 
 JUV. Satire VIII. 
 
 SECOND EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS, 
 
 Ucmfcoi* : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, 
 
 PATERXOSTER-ROW i 
 AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. 
 
 1819.
 
 BARNARD AH» FARIET, 
 
 SMrner-Strttt, London.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 TO 
 
 COLONEL RICHARD ELLISON, 
 
 SUDBROOK HOLME, LINCOLNSHIRE, 
 
 MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT FOR WOTTON BASSET, 
 WILTSHIRE, 
 
 WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF RESPECT AND ESTEEM, 
 
 IS VERY GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED. 
 
 RY HIS OBLIGED AND OBEDIENT SERVANT, 
 
 CHARLES SWAN. 
 
 A 2 
 
 865176
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 A Preface to a Book is as naturally ex- 
 pected as a Hook to a Preface ; and on en- 
 tering a literary career, I should be exceed- 
 ingly loth to err in a matter so important ! 
 Under this impression, therefore, I put my 
 hand to the oar. 
 
 The subject of the " Counterfeit Saints 5 ' 
 is, I am aware, a point of much nicety ; 
 and in steering far away from the shores of 
 Superstition, we are perhaps too liable to 
 be foundered on the opposite coast: but, 
 dangerous as the pilotage may be, it is not 
 impracticable — and so far, 1 venture to be- 
 lieve, I have succeeded; at least, this I can 
 with safety aver — I have never designedly 
 intended to throw an air of ridicule over the 
 interests dearest to Religion! This asser- 
 tion seems the more necessary, since there 
 are in the world a sort of people, dull as 
 they are mischievous — reptiles, discovered 
 to have been, only by the slime they leave ; 
 who turn the little wit with which Heaven 
 hath supplied them, to pervert the tendency 
 of everv casual expression* ; who hunt with 
 
 * What was said of the " Goths and Vandals 1 ' of a 
 former age, may with equal propriety be applied to the 
 barbarians of this ! " Quicquid non placet, quicquici 
 A 3
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 the perseverance, but not with the sagacity 
 of hounds, for a miserable subsistence, and 
 who would have us imagine, that they are 
 the best and warmest members of society, 
 who bring the dark shades to light, and 
 throw the light into obscurity ; and who, 
 like voracious truants, raise all the filth of 
 the kennel, to gloat upon the refuse it con- 
 tains ! But the injury is not confined 
 among themselves ; some, and those too of 
 sound judgment and candour, are carried 
 down by the stream, (for the current of a 
 puddle may sweep away the purest gold!) 
 and to such only would I address myself. 
 They will perhaps allow for the heat of 
 youth, or at least, they will not convert the 
 errors of the head, into the faults of the 
 heart ! 
 
 With regard to the remaining pieces — as 
 they are less, so, doubtless, they are less 
 faulty; however this may be, 1 can only 
 wish them a safe conduct through this 
 world of criticism, but without altogether 
 concurring in the sentiment, that 
 
 " Whatever is, is right /" 
 
 c. s. 
 
 Askron. Jan. 8th, 1819. 
 
 non intelli^unt, Haresis est ; Graece scire Haeresis est ; 
 expolite loqui Haeresis est : et quicquid seipsi non faciunt 
 Haresis est."—Erasmi Epist. Basil. 1521. p. 477.
 
 l$ttfatt 
 
 TO 
 
 THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 The unlooked-for and rapid sale of a 
 large impression of the " Counterfeit 
 Saints/' notwithstanding the impediments 
 thrown out by the malevolence of some, 
 and the ignorant conceit of others, has 
 loudly called for a Second Edition. To 
 reply to every objection which has been, 
 or may be, started against this, or the 
 Poems following, would be an useless, if not 
 an impossible task. I shall, however, beg 
 leave to transcribe for their perusal, a story 
 from Boccalini, which affords a sufficient 
 reproof (sufficient for me at least) to all the 
 would-be wits and critics who have done me 
 the honour to notice my entre into the lite-
 
 Vlll PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 rary world — leaving' them to apply it as they 
 think good ! — " A famous Critic having ga- 
 thered together all the faults of an eminent 
 Poet, made a present of them to Apollo, 
 who received them verv graciouslv, and re- 
 solved to make the Author a suitable return 
 for the trouble he had been at in collecting 
 them. In order to this, he set before him 
 a sack of wheat, as it had just been threshed 
 out of the sheaf. He then bid him pick out 
 the chaff from among the corn, and lay it 
 aside by itself. The Critic applied himself 
 to the task with great industry and pleasure; 
 and after having made a due separation, 
 was presented by Apollo with the chaff for 
 his pains* !" 
 
 • Spectator, Vol. IV. No, 291.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The circumstances which form a principal 
 feature in the following Tale, are said to have 
 actually occurred, some time during the latter part 
 of the last Century ; and whatever may have 
 been added in the colouring, the outline, doubt- 
 less, will readily be recognised. But, (let me 
 observe here) though it hath now fallen to my 
 lot to paint the dark side of the picture, it may 
 yet be mine to display, in contrast, the all-radiant 
 beam of that loveliness which can emanate alone 
 from — Woman; that which is, which must be, 
 the natural state even of her, who 
 
 *' For an apple damrCd mankind."
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Pa«e, 
 
 1 he Counterfeit Saints; or. Female Fana- 
 ticism 1 
 
 Address to the Critics 69 
 
 Julian, a Fragment , 71 
 
 Dr. Mac Sap ; or, The Fallen Star, a Tale . . 95 
 
 Omar, an Eastern Tale 129 
 
 From Anaciseon (eis eputa) 151 
 
 From the Greek. " She sang, and Philomela 
 
 mute:' 152 
 
 To Kate 153 
 
 The Quarrel 154 
 
 Anacreontique 157 
 
 Happiness * 159 
 
 Altered fkom Catullus 160 
 
 Epigram .' . , . ibid. 
 
 To Clara 161 
 
 To Mira 162 
 
 On Women (From Chaucer) , . 164 
 
 To Mary 167 
 
 To — ■ . " My , dear and hallowed 
 
 name.' 1 '' ...... 168
 
 XU CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 To John St. M , Esq 172 
 
 To a F hi end. " Fear you the noise of scribbling 
 
 folk?" 174 
 
 To . " Yes, venorri'd adders lurk unseen.' 1 '' . . 175 
 
 To , (On being presented with " Falconer's 
 
 Shipwreck") 178 
 
 To . " Can my soul cease to love thee?'''' fyc. 181 
 
 Sonnet to Time 183 
 
 To Laura 184 
 
 Remember Me. (To H tte) 185 
 
 To Fanny 188 
 
 Song. " Away, far away from the false one;" Sfc. 189 
 
 To H te. " Vve seen with scarce a wish, a 
 
 sigh." 190 
 
 Sonnet. Written by Moonlight among the Ruins 
 
 of Kirkstall Abbey, Yorkshire 192 
 
 To 193 
 
 EpiertAMS. .... 195 
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 COUNTERFEIT SAINTS, Canto II. Stanza 50, Line S. for " fogot," read forgot. 
 UK, MAC S*P, Page 98, Line 9, for " head," read " heed." 
 
 103, 9, for " then," read " than." 
 
 OMAR, H4, in, for " weigh'd by," read " weigh'd down by.
 
 THE 
 
 QEQUUttvfttt Saints, &*♦ 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 " Who can come in, and say that I mean her, 
 When such a one as she, such is her neighbour?" 
 
 As YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 1. 
 
 In Popish times — but Avhen, I can't determine, — 
 Two noted rogues, who liv'd upon their wit, 
 
 (One I'll call Martin, and the other, Hermon, 
 Because it suits me now to rhyme with it ; 
 
 And since 'tis said, there's " magic in a name," 
 
 This, for what I know, may have lawful claim !) 
 
 B
 
 2 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OR. 
 
 2. 
 Sneak'd to hear Mass, and with becoming gravity, 
 
 Plac'd themselves coolly by a maiden old, 
 Who view'd the lads with tolerable suavity, 
 
 Considering she was one of ancient mould. 
 One of the breed, we term, cross-grain'd and peevish, 
 Rich, and inimical to fingers thievish ! 
 
 3. 
 
 Mayhap, you'll fancy that the rogues' transgressions 
 Had brought them moping to the Virgin's shrine, 
 
 To tease her ladyship with large confessions, 
 And keep the holy Fathers from their wine : 
 
 No, no — the virgin that they came to woo, 
 
 Was this old maiden that they stuck so to. 
 
 4. 
 
 ; Tis true, in general, rogues will seldom venture 
 
 Into a Popish church to pop a snout, 
 For fire and brimstone, smelling as they enter, 
 
 They're very glad indeed to pop it out : 
 And really, Purgatory's fire and smoke, 
 Whatever you may think it, is no joke !
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 
 5. 
 
 And then your Friars ! oh ! they're keen-eyed fellows, 
 That to the pocket keep a wondrous look-out, 
 
 And never fail to blow the brimstone bellows, 
 Till they contrive the glittering bits to hook out ; 
 
 Until, in short, you make them restitution, 
 
 The dogs will never give you absolution. 
 
 6. 
 
 'Tis said, that once a young repentant sinner 
 Return'd the total profit of his trading, 
 
 And vow'd, that ere he went to eat his dinner, 
 He'd give his freakish conscience an unlading j 
 
 So to a holy Friar straight he comes, 
 
 And thus exclaims, with sundry has and hums ! — 
 
 7. 
 " Father, I have been wicked, very wicked — 
 
 " I robb'd a lady of a splendid trinket; 
 " A Jew — (but hang it, that's no harm) I tricked — " 
 
 " Indeed, my son, a heinous crime I think it ; 
 " Give me the jewel." Cried the youth, " Good lack ! 
 ** Justice impeil'd me, and I took it back." 
 b2
 
 4 THE COUNTERFEIT SAIXTS ', OR, 
 
 8. 
 
 " Yon took it back, you dog! oh, blessed Virgin, 
 " Nathless the foul impurities you gave ; 
 
 " Prodigious guilt ! but mark me— from a scourging 
 " Not e'en his Holiness of Rome can save!" 
 
 " But how then, Father — if I steal 't again ?" 
 
 " How then, you rogue ? — why Til absolve you then !" 
 
 9. 
 
 But to my story, without further prosing : 
 
 The rascal wights, who now at Mass appear'd, 
 
 Watching a lucky moment, when, half dozing, 
 The pious maiden's chin had downward steer'd, 
 
 And (for in cone-like form this chin did fair look.) 
 
 Hid half its longitude beneath her pray'r-book. 
 
 10. 
 And where's the wonder if you catch her napping'.' 
 
 What can be done when spirits overpow'r us { 
 What tow'r can stand, when floods like these are sapping. 
 
 And spite of heav'nly intercession bore us ? 
 Yes, though she pray'd as oft as priests couid let her, 
 Spirits of tvil ever got the better !
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 
 11. 
 
 This case was very grievous — trust my word — ■ 
 
 Especially with all her predilection 
 For holy monks : 'tis true I never heard 
 
 That nuns had this same share in her affection ; 
 But that might possibly arise from this, 
 Her stars decreed her — an unmarried Miss. 
 
 12. 
 
 And I've observ'd sometimes your ancient ladies 
 Love e'en automatons in man's shape well — 
 
 Because it happens, having pass'd their hey-days, 
 They hate th' appendage — " leading apes in hell;' 
 
 And then too, like our fair one, they confide, 
 
 Something too much, upon their spiritual guide. 
 
 13. 
 
 This caus'd, though it be strange, her non-devotion, 
 And bless'd the knaves with famous opportunity, 
 
 To prove to nicety, a pretty notion — 
 
 All means are just and fair in this community; 
 
 Nay, if the fact's not monstrously belied, 
 
 'Tis so in more communities beside.
 
 <i THE COUNTERFEIT SAJNTS; OK. 
 
 14. 
 
 But what communities? perhaps you ask; 
 
 That's more than I have bargain'd to unfold: 
 Ajid verily 't would be no easy task, 
 
 To mention all the amorous of gold ! 
 Go to commercial men ; I warrant there 
 You'll find enough to make the wisest stare! 
 
 15. 
 
 You'll find — but hush ! 'tis dangerous to enter 
 Too deep into the muddy waves of trade ; 
 
 Let me in time retreat, ere peradventure, 
 
 The grizzled owl * with flapping wings invade 
 
 Th' attack were far too terrible to stand — 
 
 And shots like mine must penetrate from land! 
 
 * A species of sca-hird, which, though unnoticed by naturalists, 
 may often be seen hovering about places of trade ; when per- 
 fectly tamed, they are found of great use to mercantile men, 
 having (in common with other owls) the property of seeing dis- 
 tinctly in the darkest places, and are chiefly caught dabbling in 
 the diriiest !
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 7 
 
 16. 
 
 "Tis fit, that here I call to recollection, 
 
 Your Popish folk of ev'ry sort and nation, 
 
 Believe most cordially, and hate reflection : 
 
 Enough, and more, they think to gain salvation* ! 
 
 Now, this most venerable Fair possess'd 
 
 Double the quantity of all the rest. 
 
 17. 
 
 Such, knew the rogues ; intent, as I was saying, 
 
 To seize a time the lady to cajole, 
 Who now slept soundly, when she should be prayiDg 
 
 And reck'ning beads to save her sinful soul, 
 Which, if she had been doing, 'stead of dreaming, 
 Unlucky had it been for all their scheming! 
 
 18. 
 
 Nor would th' excrescence, I denominated 
 A tapering chin, have dropt in such degree, 
 
 * " Nobis profanis ista (Evangelia) legere non licet sed sacer- 
 dotibus duntaxat!" was the reply of a Catholic, on being recom- 
 mended to peruse his Bible !
 
 8 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS: OK., 
 
 As to be seen (think not I over-rate it) 
 
 Better than half a foot below the knee— 
 Which certainly must be, in ev'ry sense, 
 Confess'd a dreadful inconvenience. 
 
 19. 
 However, to assist the scheme projected, 
 
 (And which to tell ye, I too long delay) 
 Such glorious chance was not to be neglected, 
 
 And fate supply'd but little time to stay ; 
 For just as they had whipt beneath her snout 
 A letter, lo ! her eye-balls roll'd about ! 
 
 20. 
 
 No — there I'm wrong ; they did not roll exactly. 
 Because they long had pass'd their rolling days 
 
 So fix'd within their sallow lids compactly, 
 And in oblicme directions shot their rays; 
 
 From cither comer did the beams come glancing, 
 
 Like light in ball-rooms to assist your dancing. 
 
 21. 
 Thus wak'd the maid ; and in her cogitation, 
 Wonder'd kind heav'n should impose sobriety :
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 
 
 But then, thought she, " I'm sure of my salvation, 
 
 " Because I make it up by piety : 
 " Besides, all other virtues I'm not poor in — 
 - Bless'd Virgin '. did they overhear me snoring ?" 
 
 22. 
 This thought, upon their pivots turn'd her goggles 
 
 A modicum or so — just as you've seen 
 A little truant brat, alarm' d at boggles, 
 
 In some lone place, where he should not have been 
 Or love-sick lad, expecting on the mow 
 His fair one — clasp (oh sad mischance!) the cow. 
 
 23. 
 
 But when imagining that all securely, 
 Her soporiferous habits kept from view, 
 
 She turn'd her eye-lids down again demurely, 
 As ev'ry pious maiden ought to do ; 
 
 When lo '. with proper quantum of surprise, 
 
 A gay bespangled letter struck her eyes. 
 
 24. 
 Safely deliver'd of a wondrous cargo 
 
 Of interjections, " bless mes !" and all that, 
 B 5
 
 10 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OR. 
 
 Which on my credit, gentle reader, are no 
 
 Small interlopers in a lady's chat ; 
 Like other dames, too curious long to linger, 
 She plac'd th' epistle 'twixt her thumb and finger. 
 
 25. 
 
 Oh! but it -were a glorious sight to see 
 
 The frowsy lass on this, now that side turn it. 
 
 Devoutly wond'ring, " what it ere could be," 
 And from the outside trying to discern it : 
 
 Then often, ere she ventur'd to unclose, 
 
 Cock and re-cock her specs upon her nose, 
 
 26. 
 Such ancient, handsome sort of spectacle, 
 
 Tn modern days, undoubtedly you've seen. 
 if e'er by chance you sat in a conventicle, 
 
 Drawn from an antique case of smart shagreen, 
 Whose rigid owners, as it well behoves 'em, 
 Fix on the nostril, when the Spirit moves 'em. 
 
 If you have seen the spectacle I speak of, 
 
 You then will have some notion too of Misss,
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 11 
 
 And not of them alone, it may be, eke of 
 
 Her thousand indescribables ; and this is 
 As much as T can say : — for -want of better, 
 FH on — and tell ye more about the letter. 
 
 28. 
 I think I said before, it was bespangled — 
 
 With Loves and Graces (French ones, tho', I mean), 
 Also from either side of it there dangled 
 
 A piece of ribbon of celestial sheen ; 
 (But by the way, my nag of thought miscarries, 
 Or Fd have said, long since, we were at Paris !) 
 
 29. 
 Julie (so call her) snapt the seal armorial; 
 
 And as the wax surrender'd up its trust, 
 There burst upon her aged eyes a glory all 
 
 Unknown before to " vessels form 'd of dust* ;" 
 And thus, as nearly as I can define, 
 In lofty laniruoire, ran the strain divine: — 
 
 * A phrase frequently used by the Hero of a Conventicle. 
 11 Spargere qui somnos cantuqne ma/tuque solebat." Virgil.
 
 12 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OK, 
 
 THE LETTEIi. 
 30. 
 
 fETje grateful oaotit of t'fjp prapetg, ofy maincn, 
 On ^cpfj^t'gi iut'ngs to ipeab'n fjatt) teen transporter!, 
 
 CCnjicfj neber pet iucre fcnoion as sioeetty fooen— 
 3t feast 31 cannot finn it so reuorten ; 
 
 eCHjcreforc Mob'n ! on rtjis consideration, 
 
 31 feel for t'fjee a monstrous inclination. 
 
 31. 
 
 2nti ftnoto, t>y favour vet unurcceScntcE, 
 (TSe joyful, Unite, cast ainap all gorroto) 
 
 31, efcen 3!, to quit iDtHfce contentea, 
 "ZZ+jt fioio'rs of fcliss, ann sup tott'{) tTjee to-morroiu , 
 
 13ut, paj?, no ceremony— ton't i>c queasy — 
 
 £Clc Ijofy ©endemen ate free ann easy ! 
 
 32. 
 Sut for tfjis privilege t'fje most uncommon, 
 
 Hememtier 31 cpuecialiy entreat, 
 <£'en on your life, t'fje tuonncr tcl! to no man, 
 
 Cljat 3 :i luwttal conDcsccnn to meet, 
 lues's', bices tfjy fot, go fuff of richest promise, 
 Slna to ait tfje coming of tfjy fricnn 
 
 e>t. operas?.
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 13 
 
 33. 
 
 Reader! it is the case with ev'ry woman, 
 At least, with all of whom I ever heard ; 
 
 No matter, if from Protestant or Roman, 
 They still give credit to a sugar' d word ! 
 
 Tell 'em they're beautiful, and they'll not let it 
 
 By you forgot be — or themselves forget it. 
 
 34. 
 
 Is it not true, fair Dames, what I have written? 
 
 You, all of you, are beautiful, ne'er doubt it: 
 For varying fancy with a charm is smitten, 
 
 Only for something- Hottentot about it ! 
 Some like a six foot grace, whilst others gape 
 In admiration of an oval shape. 
 
 85. 
 
 Some doat on many a round-about of fat, 
 
 Whilst lean ones, put each feature in distortion ; 
 
 And I must say there something is in that, 
 For largest women bring the largest portion ! 
 
 But hold— and let me not neglect Miss Julie, 
 
 Who read — and need I add — believ'd it duly 1
 
 14 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OR. 
 
 36. 
 
 Such grace, she thought, was but the meet reward 
 That all her piety deserv'd t' inherit; 
 
 And that's a point most ladies would think hard 
 To be deny'd — I mean reward of merit ! 
 
 And here her faith (great article of creed !) 
 
 Did her most wondrous services indeed. 
 
 37. 
 
 Yet if you but consider for a second, 
 
 There's nothing very wonderful, that's certain, 
 
 "Women and vanity are justly reckon'd 
 
 So much allied, that age's thick-wrought curtain 
 
 Nor hides, nor lessens. Who can then compute 
 
 Th' effect of these and bigotry to boot ?" 
 
 38. 
 Oh! they have faith to swallow mountains — carry 
 
 Olympus balanc'd on a needle's point! 
 And nothing more absurd, that doctrine, marry ! 
 
 Than those the fabling Popish priests have coin'd •
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 15 
 
 Witness the bottle where the holy tears dropp'd* ; 
 'Fore Jove ! th' inventor well deserv'd his ears cropp'd I 
 
 39. 
 
 Yet I'm afraid, if all who deal in fiction, 
 
 Were by the law compell'd to lose their ears — 
 
 I would not have ye think it sland'rous diction— 
 But nine in ten would feel the want of theirs ; 
 
 And then the fashion, 'mid newspaper cries, 
 
 Would be, "false ears,'" as well as teeth and eves. 
 
 40. 
 As for the nymphs, oh! grief above all other, 
 
 (If loss of ears produce a loss of hearing,) 
 For who sage curiosity could smother, 
 
 As to forego a pleasure so endearing? 
 Why faith, the injury would be exceeding, 
 And put a total stop to slander breeding I 
 
 * Alluding to the tricks of the Roman Catholic Clergy. 
 " The church of the patron of Thessalcniea (says Gibbon, inter 
 eaetera) was served by t'.ie canons of the Holy Sepulchre, and 
 contained a divine ointment, which distilled daily and stupendous 
 miracles !" And such distilleries are yet boasted of!
 
 16 
 
 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OR. 
 
 41. 
 
 1 must confess, it doth surprise me much, 
 
 That 'niofigst the taxes in the land appearing, 
 
 The ministers forget to have a touch 
 
 At that prolific one — a tax on hearing ; 
 
 And more especially, since well agreeing 
 
 With that light tax already upon seeing ! 
 
 42. 
 If such should be the case. I'll make a bet, 
 
 Within one twelvemonth from the present minute. 
 Ladies alone would pay the nation's debt : 
 
 A serious subject — tho' there's nothing in it ! 
 The nation is a debtor, let me say, 
 That pays all debt^, but those it ought to pay. 
 
 43. 
 Now much and grievou.-dy did Julie fidget, 
 
 More nervous far than e'en a modern fair. 
 Invoking saints, viz. Ursula or Bridget, 
 
 Against th' expected moment to prepare : 
 Trembling, lest he should come in such great splendour. 
 That lightning flushing from his eves should end her!
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 17 
 
 44. 
 <: But, oh ! what shall I give him," thought Miss Julie, 
 
 " Can holy spirits feed on mortal dishes ? 
 " Perhaps ragouts or pates, or more truly, 
 
 ' ; Small limbs of chickens may provoke his wishes ; 
 *' Yet, as I am a sinner, I declare, 
 " I thought your saints had always liv'd on air!" 
 
 45. 
 
 In such dilemma, she resolv'd t' acquaint 
 
 Her maid Annette, with this proud visitation, 
 
 And ask if she knew how to feed a saint 
 With dishes wholly void of profanation. 
 
 Withal she bade her strictly, to discover 
 
 To none, the coming of this heav nly lover. 
 
 46. 
 
 Unlike her mistress, was the fair Annette, 
 
 (Except, indeed, she was no wit. less simple) 
 
 Her cheek was beauty's heav nliest amulet, 
 
 And love, arch-smiling, beam'd thro 1 ev'ry dimple ; 
 
 Who saw, would fancy her a goddess ; still he 
 
 Would find her woman — and but very silly!
 
 18 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; Oil, 
 
 47. 
 
 In consultation deep, the two long sat, 
 
 Profoundly argumentative, be sure; 
 But this, the sage result of all their chat — 
 
 To send for supper from a fam'd traiteur! 
 And so Annette was order'd to bespeak 
 Something at once superbe et magnijique ! 
 
 48. 
 Nor ended here the lady's wondrous ardour, 
 
 To greet the saint with quaint devices new ; 
 For as hope whisper'd he would well reward her, 
 
 She deem'd it only what she ought to do ! 
 So to a jeweller's (her kinsman he) 
 She sent for gems, and plate's rich marquetry ! 
 
 49. 
 VV T ho was there now like Julie so elate, 
 
 Whilst at the toilette's pleasurable duty? 
 Her scraggy neck drawn up in lofty state, 
 
 With best Parisian rouge improv'd her beauty; 
 Stays grasp'd her angel form— her shoulders padded ; 
 Dales rose to hills — to plains were mountains added.
 
 I'KMAL^ FANATICISM. 19 
 
 50. 
 
 Odours of all sorts, choicest aromatics, 
 
 A perfect inundation did she pour; 
 And to a nose of quick perception, that speaks 
 
 A wish to be far sweeter than before : 
 And truly, (tho' I won't defile my metre) 
 Vague rumour whispers that she might be sweeter! 
 
 51. 
 Now rigg'd in all her glory, Julie sat, 
 
 Impatient, ay as boarding-school young misses, 
 Forc'd to endure a world of prudent chat, 
 
 Tho' panting for a lover's ardent kisses ; 
 Oblig'd to curb a potent inclination, 
 For such a trifle as — a reputation ! 
 
 52. 
 
 Methinks I see, (behind a hawthorn cow'ring) 
 
 The eager lover, often slyly peep 
 With staring eyes, and brow with anger low'ring, 
 
 Cursing his evil stars, till half asleep; 
 Or else, perhaps, to while away the time, 
 " Stanzas to Night" assume the shape of rhyme ?
 
 20 
 
 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OH, 
 
 53. 
 
 Julio, it really glads me to rehearse, 
 
 Somehow had got a kind of knack at rhyming: 
 And tho' she car'd not sixpence for the verse, 
 
 She ever felt delighted with the chiming : 
 These call'd she, " Pearls of Poe&y," and strung 'em 
 Like holy beads — nay, to oblige ye, sung 'em! 
 
 54. 
 
 In days of old, as facts before us teach, 
 
 Nymphs could make pretty verses, when at dusk a 
 
 " Mournful murmur stray d*,' 7 and doubtless, each 
 Anna Matilda charm' d a Delia Crusca! 
 
 Good heav'n ! how sweet, to bosoms sympathetic, 
 
 To mourn in rhyme — fall sick, without emetic! 
 
 * iye the sympathetic effusions of two sensitive souls, whose 
 inflammability was such, that the very coruscations which threat- 
 ened to dazzle the world, through the. medium of a daily print, 
 communicated the sott sigh of despondency and love, from the 
 " amiable" youth to the " bewitching" fair one !
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 21 
 
 55. 
 
 Nay, some young ladies can, the Lord be thanked, 
 In verse be mute, as any pickled herring, 
 
 When wrapt in flannel petticoat or blanket, 
 The spirit or the muse within is stirring! 
 
 I've heard of nymphs who (but that plot miscarried) 
 
 Wrote, till they fancied they were really married ! 
 
 56. 
 'Tis strange, how fast this fancy oft will hurry on ; 
 
 Rarely indeed is found the least impediment, 
 That does not serve more speedily to spur ye on, 
 
 Altho' the top be scum, the bottom sediment ; 
 'Tis a gay frostwork, (and tho' little matter it) 
 Next morn repairs, e'en if the tempest shatter it ! 
 
 57. 
 Deeming Annette a long, a tedious while, 
 
 Widi high-rais'd expectations floating round — 
 Julie at loss the moments to beguile, 
 
 Thus gently twitter'd concords of sweet sound, 
 (Altho' her maid declar'd -- but who'll believe her 1 
 Far sweeter sounds the marrow-bone and cleaver !)
 
 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS ; OR, 
 
 JULIE'S SONG. 
 
 TO A TASSY*. 
 1. 
 
 Thee, sweet Flow'r, 
 When a-budding, 
 
 Men devour 
 In a pudding. 
 
 2. 
 
 St. Bridget, bad men 
 
 Only do it : 
 Time shall come, when 
 
 They will rue it ! 
 
 * To imagine a reason for Julie's selection of a " Tansy," to 
 string her " pearls" upon, were no easy task ; but we may still 
 have recourse to that infallibly convincing argument every wo- 
 man so well understands, viz. " because she did."
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 23 
 
 3. 
 
 Only think, now, 
 
 (Oh the wretches !) 
 Not to let grow 
 
 Loveliest vetches. 
 
 4. 
 
 Ah ! 'twill break my 
 
 Heart, or near it : — 
 I know not why, 
 
 Yet I fear it. 
 
 5. 
 
 Mercy sweet is, 
 
 Bright and charming, 
 And most meet is 
 
 For the carvien*. 
 
 * Let not the fair admirer of "pearls," be deceived by the 
 cacophany of this unhappy word. Think not the heroine of our 
 verse would condescend to hold communication with carmen! — 
 No, no — in the mysteries of her latinity, she was eyer esteemed
 
 24 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OR, 
 
 6. 
 
 Bless my (heav'n's race !) 
 Muse and metre ; 
 
 Then reviews base 
 DareQ't ill treat her. 
 
 7. 
 
 Then shall glory 
 
 Deck my strains, and 
 
 My proud story 
 Evermore stand ! 
 
 58. 
 Whilst Julie, thro' her last remaining pegs, 
 
 (Which you may fancy icise ones, if you will) 
 Thus trill'd forth her best tones, so sweet, cfegs ! 
 
 " The air, a charter'd libertine, was still* !" 
 
 more profoundly scientific, than can be conceived by tlie super- 
 ficial capacities of modern days! Besides, it is said, 
 
 " Minuentur atrte 
 
 Carmine curie." — -Hon. 
 
 * " That when he speaks, 
 
 The air, a charter'd libertine, is still." — Shak. Hen. V.
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 25 
 
 But whether charm'd by harmony or no, 
 Alack, is more than I have pow'r to show ! 
 
 59. 
 It's more than I have pow'r to show — because 
 
 I was not there — nor can I ascertain it; 
 And, therefore, by indisputable laws*, 
 
 'Tis clear, I cannot possibly explain it; 
 But notwithstanding this, I trust you pant to 
 Pass on with me into the Second Canto ! 
 
 * Vi<Je " T.orke on the Understanding." 
 
 END OF CANTO FIRST.
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 " And now St. Peter at. Heav'n's wicket, seems 
 To wait them with his keys." — Milton. 
 
 1 hat " Patience is a Virtue," all agree, 
 And laud it too ; yet still on most occasions, 
 
 (And so, at least, the thing appears to me) 
 Folks wish to make — a virtue of Impatience : 
 
 That Julie thus the maxim verified, 
 
 Must not, because it cannot, be denied ! 
 
 2. 
 
 Oh ! she was full of very pious fears, 
 
 Lest the great saint at last refuse to meet her ; 
 
 At ev'ry rap, the clouded feature clears — 
 
 Yet enter not — no, not one saint-like creature, 
 c 2
 
 28 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS ; OR, 
 
 And then, (as oft you see for loss at Ombre) 
 The lady's face assum'd a tinge quite sombre. 
 
 I would not have you think that Miss was amorous, 
 Tho' it doth seem particularly funny — 
 
 Not, perhaps, that she felt a little clamorous, 
 But that she parted freely with her money ; 
 
 That circumstance, indeed, there's no disguising, 
 
 And still it's no less true, than it's surprising ! 
 
 4. 
 
 My muse would joyfully explain th' event: 
 Yet, as she cannot, (and it grieves me too) 
 
 I'll term it. at hap-hazard, " cent, per cent.," 
 And leave the problem to be solv'd by you : 
 
 Not that I really think she meant to play so ; 
 
 Indeed I should be quite asham'd to say so ! 
 
 5. 
 
 But still, if things did take a turn outre, 
 She could not well reject them, to be sure, 
 
 For tho' her n>odesty might answer, " nay," 
 Will — would vociferate, " de tout son caurV
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 29 
 
 And horrid 'twere to give a saint refusal, 
 Whose voice mellifluous beats the lark or ousel! 
 
 6. 
 
 But to Annette, 'tis fit I turn my tale, 
 
 (The maid of burning eye and rosy cheek) 
 
 And hoist before the breeze my scudding sail, 
 To the far haven I have yet to seek ; 
 
 But ye, whose livers overflow with bile, 
 
 At least be silent, if ye cannot smile. 
 
 7. 
 
 First au restaurateur, in haste she posted, 
 To order this grand supper — nor in vain ; 
 
 Annette, indeed, most confidently boasted, 
 It beat all ever heard of in Cocaigne* ; 
 
 " Oh ! it is," oft in great delight, she cried, 
 
 " Sweetest of all the world can shew beside I" 
 
 * " Pais, oil le ciel oft're les viandes toutes cuites, et ou 
 eomme on paile, les alouettes tombent toutes roties." — Duchat.
 
 30 THE COUNTERFEIT SAfNTS; Or.. 
 
 8. 
 
 But you may well believe, no small surprise 
 
 In the restaurateur was thus excited ; 
 He twirl'd aloft the whites of both his eyes, 
 
 With an arch leer, that spoke him much delighted . 
 " I know Madame can pay," he said internally, 
 " And she shaU pay, and that too most infernally. 
 
 9. 
 
 " And yet 'tis very strange," continued he, 
 
 " What can the old lass want with such a supper? 
 
 " She's superannuated, and may be 
 
 " Has taken by mistake an extra cup ; or, 
 
 " Probably, she's mad ; however, I know 
 
 " All viy concern is, to procure the rhino." 
 
 10. 
 
 Away from this most conscientious Dripping, 
 (In England, verily, they're much the same) 
 
 Behold the fair Annette so gaily tripping 
 
 On to the jeweller's — Guillaume, his name: 
 
 And after sundry turns about and bending, 
 
 She reach'd the threshold, whither she was wending
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 31 
 
 11. 
 
 Seest thou the maiden's cheek, with crimson flushing 
 Sudden, as caus'd by some all-pow'rful spell ? 
 
 In former days, this was consider'd blushing, 
 But what you term it now, I cannot tell; 
 
 For truly, (ladies don't be in a passion) 
 
 Blushing has long been wholly out of fashion! 
 
 12. 
 
 But Annette blush'd — ay deeply blush'd, .young ladies, 
 And can ye notvthe wondrous cause discover?, 
 
 I guess a few of ye'd increase your pray-days 
 For such a reason — 'twas, ye gods — a lover! 
 
 But then he was (doubtless, great discontent is) 
 
 Only a goldsmith's journeyman-apprentice. 
 
 13. 
 
 Yet, still he was a lover, spruce and comely, 
 
 And to Annette it was sufficient quite. 
 I am not certain, were he poor and homely, 
 
 Whether so much she would have lov'd the wight. 
 Homely and rich has quite another sound ; 
 And as to worth, you weigh that by the pound.
 
 32 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINT?; 6K. 
 
 14. 
 
 Ambrose had wealth, and she would fain possess it ; 
 
 Therefore, no doubt, the couple meant to marry. 
 Unless (I don't affirm, altho' I guess it) 
 
 A larger fish the bait away should carry ; 
 For tho' I term'd her silly, (Fame doth bark it) 
 She ever kept an eye upon the market ! 
 
 15. 
 
 Ambrose, it seems, was now the best that offer' d, 
 And so, for him, her ruby lips shed kisses ; 
 
 And by fair Venus, they were nought to scoff at : 
 Few others yielded half so many blisses ! 
 
 Blisses, in truth, that bade that happy swain 
 
 Who once had sipt, oft haste t* sip again 1 
 
 16. 
 
 Oh! I remember One, whose lips a fountain 
 
 Of nectar'd kisses seem'd — full, rich, and dewy ; 
 
 Hang it ! I almost fancied I could count 'em, 
 Fix'd on their rosy beds. Altho', 'tis true, I 
 
 Have gaz'd at beauty, hours of life's short span. 
 
 Yet, the like saw I never — never ean !
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 33 
 
 17. 
 
 But 'twas not lips alone, nor sparkling eyes, — 
 Sweetest expression o'er each feature rov'd ; 
 
 I do not think there lives a man so wise, 
 
 That could behold such excellence unmov'd ; 
 
 And yet, (deuce take the women, I say) yet 
 
 This perfect beauty was a sad coquette* ! 
 
 18. 
 I fear me too, Miss Julie's pretty wench, 
 
 The fair Annette, had notions of coquetting ; 
 Indeed, it is a thing so truly French, 
 
 The word is but a stone in English setting: 
 So long we've had it too, you well may doubt 
 If Nature meant the land to be without. 
 
 19. 
 
 But we have got it, and I'm sorry for't, 
 'Tis such a paltry piece of affectation, 
 
 * Should this faint portrait ever meet the eve of her for whom 
 it was drawn, and that eye acknowledge its resemblance, let her 
 be lhanktui for the hint, and appear what nature first intended— 
 " wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best!" 
 c 5
 
 34 THE COUNTFKFEIT SAINTS: Oil. 
 
 Brought o'er by some lost character at Court, 
 
 Who'd no necessity for reputation. 
 Fashion spreads fast, from shore to shore Ave find. 
 As chaff is toss'd on all sides by the wind ! 
 
 20. 
 'The vermeil blush, by this, had slipt her cheek of. 
 
 Yet her bright eyes she still did sweetly cover: 
 For oh! how was it possible to speak of 
 
 One earthly thing, whilst looking at a lover ? 
 Her little heart, in truth, was very tumorous ; 
 And as for glances, why they were innumerous \ 
 
 21. 
 
 Ambrose, delighted, roll'd his roguish eve. 
 
 And verily seem'd ready to devour her; 
 And let me just inform you, by the bye, 
 
 That was almost enough to overpow'r her I 
 But tho' she didn't faint, la delicatesse 
 Made her extremely nervous, ne'ertheless. 
 
 22. 
 After some pretty hesitations ended, 
 
 He ventur'd to inquire her pleasure there;
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 35 
 
 And with the finest of confusions blended, 
 
 She summon'd resolution to declare : 
 And most magnanimous it was, no doubt — 
 What! have a secret, and not let it out! 
 
 23. 
 
 That it was difficult, I need not paint ; 
 
 And she'd have told it, but the anger dreaded, 
 Not of Madame alone, but of the Saint, 
 
 To whom she judg'd her mistress would be wedded; 
 And, therefore, told him merely of their want 
 Of some rich gems and plate — tres elegantes. 
 
 24. 
 
 Had Jove " omnipotens" (with all the thunder 
 They flog perforce, at school, into one's pate) 
 
 Come rattling past him — not with half the wonder, 
 Had he been rous'd — as now, to hear her state 
 
 Miss Julie's wants. Not stranger was it, when 
 
 Circe transform' d a herd of hogs to men* ! 
 
 * A race, who^e kugghh propensities have, I believe, since then 
 but little varied. We have still, thank Pleaven! princes and no- 
 bles of the " true legitimate cut!'"
 
 36 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OR, 
 
 25. 
 
 "* mon Dieu," exclaim'd the astonish'd lad, 
 " Is Madame, (thus by courtesy they call her) 
 
 " Is Madame Julie then, become quite mad ? 
 " The saints forbid such misery befall her ! 
 
 " Diable ! what wants she with plate or jewel ? 
 
 " Make her, Annette, a plate of water gruel!" 
 
 26. 
 
 *' Pray, don't be quite so saucy, Mr. Ambrose," 
 Replied the fair, with anger-lighted eyes 
 
 And smiling scorn, turn'd up her lovely nose, 
 
 " Really one might suppose you wondrous wise ;— 
 
 " But, Sir, we want, and we will have the plate too, 
 
 *' You ugly wretch, — how heartily I hate you 1" 
 
 27. 
 " Nay, nay now, dearest, sweetest, best Annette. 
 
 " Can you inflict a punishment so cruel '? 
 " I meant not, love, to put you in a pet, 
 
 " Altho' I mentioned water — water- gruel." 
 This was a specimen of joke, you see, 
 For gruel nourish'd Julie's piety.
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 37 
 
 28. 
 
 Howe'er, submission and a dose of flattery, 
 Clos'd up the breach that anger made before, 
 
 As light (a poet tells us, is term'd " scattery*") 
 Bedawbs the world, and darkness is no more ; 
 
 Indeed it must be false, what libels teach us, 
 
 Women are ever found good-natur'd creatures ! 
 
 29. 
 
 And soon Annette smooth' d her contracted brows, 
 While sweetest smiles, like fairy visions spring, 
 
 That, mocking all the ecstacies they rouse, 
 Elude the grasp, yet chide the lingering ! 
 
 And Ambrose, all but hope's gay dreams forgetting, 
 
 Smil'd at the maiden's pleasure in coquetting. 
 
 
 * Vide a " Story of Rimini," by L H 
 
 " Who had stout notions on the scribbling score." 
 
 Idem. 
 " It was a pity — so it was, 
 
 " That villainous affectation should be digg'd 
 
 " Out of the bowels" of so fair a soil. 
 
 Hotspur's Description of a Coxcomb,
 
 38 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS: OR, 
 
 30. 
 
 But Ambrose Avas a cunning dog; he spy'd 
 Some mystery with her request connected ; 
 
 Miss Julie never had before applied 
 
 For plate — nor was it now to be expected ; 
 
 Hers was no house of gaiety : and, therefore, 
 
 'Twas doubly wonderful what these things were for ! 
 
 31. 
 
 Touch but the secret spring, and all can tell, 
 
 (At least all those who pore upon romances) 
 The pannel flies — and deeds that darken hell*, 
 
 ' Or, bags of shiners+, meet your searching glances ! 
 And Ambrose tried the ways maids deem enchanting, 
 To gain th' intelligence that he was wanting. 
 
 32. 
 
 The girl had made her mind up, to declare 
 The wondrous secret, long before she told it ; 
 
 * As in the " Old English Baron." 
 
 f As in the " Mysteries of Udolphn," and other mysteries- 
 passim.
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. T9 
 
 But then lie coax'd her so charmingly — did swear 
 Such pretty oaths of love; that still to hold it 
 Her panting bosom strove: there secrets lie, 
 Like full-fledg'd birds — the first fair day, they fly ! 
 
 33. 
 
 Think ye that birds their young ones can retain, 
 Longer than they have means and place to soar ? 
 
 Not they : and secrets in love's nest remain, 
 You may believe it, not a minute more : 
 
 I'd trust a secret with a lady too — 
 
 But one I car'd not if the kingdom knew. 
 
 34. 
 
 Annette, indeed, made many a long demur, 
 
 As if, to tell, or not to tell, contesting ; 
 But that was sauce piqitante to give a spur, 
 
 And make the story doubly interesting: 
 At length it came, and he was bade, " discover 
 " To none, the coming of this htav'ulu lover!" 
 
 35. 
 
 If Ambrose was surprised before, I'm curst, 
 If now he was not petrified with wonder;
 
 40 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS ; OR, 
 
 He stood — not as my simile describ'd the first— 
 
 But just as if he'd gorged a bolt of thunder, 
 Which Jove dispatch'd from his celestial store, 
 Pop thro' his jaws, and screw'd him to the floor ! 
 
 36. 
 
 But when, at last, his tongue had found a voice, 
 'Twas not a member ever fond of speaking, 
 
 Whence all the house re-echoes to its noise — 
 But rather like a water-barrel leaking : 
 
 A gentle voice it was, whose tame condition 
 
 Knew no alternative, than meek submission* ! 
 
 * Sir William C— t-s's " meek submission" to his " noble 
 friend," excellently illustrates the text ! 'Tis a singular coinci- 
 dence, that Horace in the Ninth Satire of the First Book, should 
 (as if anticipating Sir William's political feelings) exclaim in 
 astonishment, 
 
 — — " vin tu, 
 
 Curtis, Juda-is* oppedere?" 
 No one, howev cr, can for a moment imagine, the Baronet's rotun- 
 dity, or his eloquent speeches, bear any resemblance to a " icater- 
 barrel leaking." 
 
 * Judstis— irf« translated " Ministers."
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 41 
 
 37. 
 
 £uch may be found; and wary Ambrose dreaded 
 
 Again to see bis mistress in a fury. 
 " Only," thought he, " let's wait till we are wedded, 
 
 " And then I'll show who's master, I assure you ; 
 " But Madame wed a saint! Lord, what a joke — 
 " Straw blazes high, but finishes in smoke 1" 
 
 38. 
 
 It cannot be suppos'd that perfect credit 
 By Ambrose should be given to the tale ; 
 
 But tho' he deem'd it false, think not he said it-, 
 For well he knew how little 't would avail. 
 
 Full steadily doth superstition run 
 
 Darkling along, despite the beaming sun ! 
 
 39. 
 
 The goldsmith was from home: this Ambrose stated; 
 
 And so the maid, alack ! must wait content ! 
 But he resolv'd the tale should be related, 
 
 Before or plate or gems to Julie went; 
 Yet, that the time might swiftly glide along, 
 Annette agreed to charm him with a sons:.
 
 42 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; Oil, 
 
 40. 
 
 Of course, it was not without much entreaty ; 
 
 But that you readily may understand ; 
 Because young Misses think it very pretty, 
 
 Never to sing, or squall, at first command : 
 Yet did i/jesing, (and when does flattery fail?) 
 As to the rose, th' enamour'd nightingale* ! 
 
 ANNETTE'S SONG. 
 
 1. 
 
 Where yon elm trees that loftily wave in the wind, 
 Afford a cool shade from the sun's dreaded heat, 
 
 On a couch overspread with sweet flow'rs I reclin'd, 
 And my heart in my bosom tumultuously beat; 
 
 I ponder'd — and what was it on, do you think? 
 
 Why, on Love; for last night I could scarce sleep a wink. 
 
 * Such an opportunity to introduce this lady-like simile was 
 not to be lost sight of. The nightingale (and the " to po^ov twv 
 ?r<«JTuiv,") is become so exclusively the property of the fair sex, 
 that their throats might not, I think, be inaptly termed, "Night- 
 ingale Lane."
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 43 
 
 2. 
 
 So this morning I rose, (as I usually do, 
 When tir'd of lying,) and hither I came; 
 
 And I trust you will think it was wonderful too — 
 My heart, like the sun, appear'd all in a flame! 
 
 And I felt — (oh ! for me may some kind breast be 
 yearning) 
 
 I felt with delightfullest love I was burning. 
 
 3. 
 But, still as I ponder'd, big sighs that were hatching 
 
 Fann'd the flame, till it blaz'd at a terrible rate, 
 A.nd I found that the parts all adjacent were catching ; 
 
 'Tis true, on my word, tho' Fm sorry to say't ; 
 Then I said, " Ah ! if such be the state of the weather, 
 *• Heart, body and all, will be burnt up together!" 
 
 4. 
 
 J\ow I turn'd my eyes downward ; but sorrow still 
 springs — 
 Dandelions* and daisies, all seem'd to complain ; 
 
 * I ought here to take occasion to say sometlriug smart against 
 rhat unfortunate race of beings, " the Dandies:" but I pass
 
 44 THR COUNTERFEIT SAINTS ; OR, 
 
 For they hung down their heads, pretty innocent things'* , 
 
 Tho' I fervently hope they'll be happy again ! 
 Alas ! I had press'd there — oh ! do not condemn — 
 I painfully feel — much too heavy for them ! 
 
 5. 
 
 Why, why did I ramble, recline 'neath the trees, 
 And cruelly injure what Nature has sown? 
 
 Forgive, oh! forgive, and in future, the ease 
 
 Of sweet flow'rs I'll consult, ere I think of my own ; 
 
 And if I survive, a fine sonnet I'll pen ; 
 
 But never, oh never, be wicked again ! 
 
 (however reluctantly) the opportunity, and only request the gen- 
 tle reader to turn his eye to the first newspaper within reach — 
 there he will find much of what was doubtless intended to be good 
 — and the intent alone is " good in law !" 
 
 * I have indisputable authority for the epithets here applied; 
 viz. that of Mr, Wordsworth, " The orb of whose genius (as he 
 himself candidly enough confesses) is gloriously resplendent." 
 Vide Wordsworth' s Poems,
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 45 
 
 41. 
 
 What is it man's dull way thro' life beguiles, 
 And brightens up his day ? 'Tis love, 'tis love ! 
 
 Like the fair insect which at midnight smiles, 
 And gaily sparkles in the desert grove. 
 
 What is it helps to eke out many a sonnet? 
 
 'Tis love, 'tis love — you may depend upon it ! 
 
 42. 
 Since such, then, are the proud excess of glories 
 
 That circle love, why faith it isn't queer. 
 (For women ever are invet'rate Tories 
 
 In love affairs!) the maid should sing on't here ; 
 Altho', perhaps, (yet grieving is but folly !) 
 The mournful strain may make ye melancholy. 
 
 43. 
 
 Ambrose — it almost is beyond belief — 
 
 Was so affected, salt tears ran each cheek off; 
 
 But if they ran from laughter or from grief, 
 The chronicle I quote, forgets to speak of; 
 
 So curiosity I cannot sate — or 
 
 Could I — what would be left my commentator 1
 
 46 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OR, 
 
 44. 
 
 The song — which probably, the youth encor'd, 
 Beguil'd the time, till Guillaume interrupted 
 
 The soothing cadence — and sweet peace restor'd, 
 Whose virgin purity they had corrupted ; 
 
 Then Ambrose told his tale, but bade, " discover, 
 
 " To none, the coming of this heavenly lover!" 
 
 45. 
 
 Upon " surprise," have I said much ; the rout it 
 Doubtless hath made among the learned, may 
 
 Save me, the pain of lab 'ring more about it, 
 And leave me, freely to pursue my way ! — 
 
 Suffice it then, our Goldsmith was astounded, 
 
 And worse than all — confoundedly confounded* /" 
 
 46. 
 On some expedient to hit revolv'd he, 
 With hasty step, parading to and fro, — 
 
 * Upon the excellence of this epithet, consult " Epithetonia !" 
 I flatter myself it is no way inferior to " Confusion worse con- 
 founded." — Milton.
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 47 
 
 And after much deep thinking, thus resolv'd he: — 
 
 To do directly — what ? He did not know ! 
 He struck his forehead, it was hard and thick, 
 And might have been a tenement of brick. 
 
 47. 
 It sometimes happens, in the densest head, 
 
 A bright thought rises — like rare birds that soar, 
 And by strange chance, to unknown lands are led — 
 
 A wondrous thing — none ever saw before ! 
 So 'twas with Guillaume — like a flame it shone — 
 An ignis fatuus, scarcely seen, ere gone. 
 
 48. 
 But thus he did determine, all she wanted, 
 
 Of plate and gems he'd send. Then to complete her, 
 With glory yet unparalleled, he panted, 
 
 To act himself heav'n's porter, — holy Peter; 
 Array'd in which disguise, he meant to wait, 
 Catch his gull'd saintship, and secure the plate ! 
 
 49. 
 
 So off he sent Annette, to Julie, — whom 
 
 We left poor creature, big with vast impatience
 
 48 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS ', OR, 
 
 Her pious brow, had gain'd a holy gloom — 
 
 Which it had known before, on some occasions 
 Occasions which — (God help a maiden Miss!) 
 Requir'd not half the temper, that did this. 
 
 50. 
 But now, the rascals — Martin and that Herraon, 
 
 1 told you of, (1 hope you've not fogot 'em) ; 
 Who meant to read Miss Julie, sueh a sermon, 
 
 As she'd remember long enough, — od rot 'em ! 
 When ev'ning's shades slipt down, the former stole. 
 Unknown, unquestion'd to the splendid goal. 
 
 51. 
 
 But the last rogue, — videlicet — young Hermon. 
 
 Station'd himself, as sentry at the door ; 
 The very spot, I'd willingly determine; 
 
 Only remember, what I said before: — 
 It would so vex the learned, when around 'em- 
 Lay piles of books, and nothing to confound 'em. 
 
 52. 
 When holy Thomas enter'd the saloon, 
 By art adorn'd, as gaily as it could be.
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 49 
 
 Poor Julie, felt inclin'd to try a swoon, 
 
 Only — she fear'd it indecorous would be ; 
 Besides the saint — (a thing, alas how madding !) 
 Might then discover all the art of padding ! 
 
 53. 
 
 Such thought, as I have heard, from heads profound, 
 Hath often sav'd a lady from a fainting, 
 
 Lest it appear the form so plump and round, 
 
 Turn bolstered, and the lovely face — a painting* ; 
 
 But these must be aspersions, — all mere lies, 
 
 Nor if I saw, would I believe my eyes ! 
 
 * '• Ladies, conscious of no personal defects, and convinced 
 i! of their own graces, may, upon eccasion, drop into a faint ; 
 " but I would earnestly caution them, first to provide arms and 
 M supporters — without which, this carriage of the fair one will only 
 '•' prove useless and empty show." — Extract from an undent Latin 
 Manuscript, now in the possession of the " Fudge Family." 
 
 As to the antiquity of the faint, it cannot indeed be doubted; 
 Virgil himself says, " procumbit humi bos,"— the lady fainted ! 
 D
 
 50 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS ; OR, 
 
 54. 
 
 But who can wonder, at a lady's qualms, 
 
 When a great Saint, thus popt himself before her — 
 
 Instant, she rais'd aloft, her wither'd palms; 
 And humbly knelt his most profound adorer; 
 
 Yet ere we travel further, on our way, 
 
 How he was drest, 'twere not amiss to say. 
 
 55. 
 
 His garb was of the Jewish Patriarch kind — 
 
 While from his chin, a reverend beard down flowing, 
 
 Prov'd— as it must, to ev'ry thinking mind; 
 
 The monstrous length of time it had been growing, 
 
 But where it grew, in heav'n, or earth, or hell ; 
 
 Ask the first goat you see — and it may tell! 
 
 56. 
 
 An antique book in very sumptuous gilding, 
 
 From one arm apostollically fell, — 
 The other, a stout oaken sapling wielding, 
 
 Seem'd to support his steps, extremely well ; 
 Us'd as a horse, it may be, when the cloud 
 Opens its womb, and thunders roar aloud,
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 51 
 
 i 
 
 57. 
 For such were dang'rous riding ! Julie's knees 
 
 Bent in obsequious reverence to the rogue, 
 Who rais'd her up, politely as ye please, 
 
 But told her praying — now was out of vogue* ; 
 And tho' he'd no objection to her mumming, 
 He trusted supper would be quick in coming ! 
 
 58. 
 The lady, seem'd aghast, says our recorder, 
 
 To hear this holy one, so strangely speak ; 
 However, keeping under, her disorder, — 
 
 Thus she replied in lowly tones and meek. 
 " Oh ! thou all glorious, suffer me to thank, 
 u Your saintship for my elevated rank I" 
 
 59. 
 
 Here, let the muse, delay her wantonning, 
 And as the heart, swells o'er the fated past, 
 
 * Are not the "polite" audience at St. James' pretty much of 
 the same opinion ? and may we not say -with Horace, to most of 
 such congresses, " Non es quod simulas." 
 D 2
 
 52 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OK,. 
 
 Strike to deep notes of sorrow, the wild string — 
 
 And (as she may), sweet mournful music cast; 
 For superstition comes, and woe the while, 
 Death sits exulting there, and courts her ghastly smile, 
 
 60. 
 And say — has blood yet ceased for her to flow, 
 
 Does peace, to bless a wasted world appear ? 
 Oh ! do we not, too well — too dearly know, 
 
 Her hated influence draws the bitter tear* ? 
 
 * Spain, and her re-established Inquisition, need but be men- 
 tioned to demonstrate the truth of this position ; but without 
 wandering thither, let our domestic hearths, haunted as they too 
 often are by this horrible demon, afford their lamentable proofs. 
 The following account, extracted from undoubted sources, is of 
 itself too dreadful to require additional comment, and may per- 
 haps serve as a beacon to warn the slaves of superstition against 
 the encroaches of their tyrannical oppressor! 
 
 July, 1818. — " A few weeks back, a shocking murder was per- 
 petrated at the village of Ower, near Galway, Ireland, on a wo- 
 man named Flaherty. The husband of this woman, with her 
 whole family, consisting of her father, mother, and two brothers, 
 were led to imagine, that the deceased was possessed of some
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 53 
 
 Then be their none, that view our tale with scorn, 
 Eve, may have dangers — fatal as the morn ! 
 
 61. 
 
 The rogue perceiving the last words he'd spoken, 
 Had rous'd no little wonder in madame, — 
 
 Resum'd awhile, the silence he had broken, 
 For his pulse beat, betokening some alarm ; 
 
 But soon, with solemn phiz, most energetically, 
 
 He spoke, altho' perhaps too hypothetically 1 
 
 62. 
 *' Fair Julie, — the delight, the joy of heav'n, 
 
 " Thy piety proclaims thee pious —very ; 
 "Ask therefore what thou wilt, it shall be giv'n, 
 
 " And thou and I, to-night will be right merry ; 
 " But see — the supper waits us ! come my fair, 
 ■" Proud is Saint Thomas to conduct thee there." 
 
 evil spirit, and that the husband had power from the priest to effect 
 a cure. Under this impression, her own family were not only in- 
 duced to look on, but even to assist, while he strangled her, by 
 putting a pair of iron tongs around her neck, and pressing them, 
 till she expired. The father of this unhappy victim of supersti* 
 ,tion has been committed to tbe county gaol."
 
 54 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OR, 
 
 63. 
 
 Bounce, on her marrow*bones, once more fell Julie, 
 Remembering nought of -what had pass'd before : 
 
 And on this second fall, grown wiser truly ; 
 Martin spoke not, lest he should blunder more : 
 
 So having raised her, from her knees again — 
 
 She happy damsel was — he happy swain ! 
 
 64. 
 
 Sage gluttons ! tho' at supper, if you look 
 For a description, you're mistaken much, 
 
 Because, I don't pretend to be a cook, 
 Tho' possibly indeed, you may be such : 
 
 But still — (to make a final peroration), 
 
 I shall omit the tempting avocation* ! 
 
 * " Tempting," in truth, if we may give credit to the cormorant 
 appetite of your modern Epicure ! Astonishing as the assertion 
 may appear, I was once gravely informed by one of the genus, 
 that he supposed the chief part of happiness hereafter would be 
 in re-gorging (so I understood him) the " tid-bits" which had so 
 delectably tickled the palate upon earth! !
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 55 
 
 65. 
 
 Martin, might well be anxious to set to : 
 
 Each friandise, he made so quickly fly, 
 That Julie, found she had enough to do, 
 
 To follow all his motions with her eye ! 
 At last, she deem'd it certain, that her guest, 
 Eat part, and sent to paradise the rest. 
 
 66. 
 
 But whilst she watch' d this gourmand, lo ! a rapping — - 
 Like volleying thunder, o'er the cloud-capt hill : 
 
 Rous'd up Annette, who, wearied out, was napping 
 To the deep base, her minsfrel nose, did trill : 
 
 But soon its music hush'd, and nought around 
 
 Was heard, save that loud terrifying sound. 
 
 67. 
 
 The saint ! — oh where was now, the holy saint ! 
 
 What was he doing, in this dreadful hour '{ 
 Alack ? 'tis truth, and truth alone, I paint — 
 
 He had no will to help, or will, no pow'r ! 
 Louder, and louder, grew the outrageous knocking ; 
 But Thomas bade her — " hold, forbear unlocking."
 
 56 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OR. 
 
 68. 
 
 Poor Thomas ! — that celestial voracity 
 Had stuck a something bony, in his jaws, 
 
 And when the maid, with wondrous pertinacity 
 Would ope the door, against his holy laws, 
 
 To bar th' endeavour, putting forth his strength, 
 
 The bony substance loos'd, — and tumbling came at 
 length ! 
 
 69. 
 But with great force it flew, and hit the girl, 
 
 Who frighten'd beyond language to discover ; 
 Believ'd the saint with dread, vindictive hurl, 
 
 Had spit a thunder bolt — -and all was over ; 
 With a wild shriek, whose terrors can't be painted, 
 Turn'd pale as parsneps, and directly fainted. 
 
 70. 
 
 Guess, if you can, the mighty consternation, 
 That siez'd Miss Julie, on her maiden's fall ; 
 
 Her joy had risen, like an exhalation, 
 And vanish'd just as speedily an' all ; 
 
 She look'd at him imploringly and just, 
 
 Had bent in adoration to the dust.
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 57 
 
 71. 
 
 When that same door, they had so long been battering 
 With a tremendous crash, gave way — and straight 
 
 In twice three angels* rush, their hobnails clattering, 
 Upon the pavement at a desp'rate rate ; 
 
 But oh ! 'tis most distressing to the muse, 
 
 These heav'nly spirits came in dirty shoes ! 
 
 72. 
 Julie's grand staircase, was " besmirch! d+" in truth; 
 
 But let not this afflict ye much, I pray, 
 Nor think celestials had so little ruth ; 
 
 These were but angels — " for the working day+." 
 In fact, they were — (nor better much than geese!) 
 A small detachment of the French police. 
 
 73. 
 
 Before them march'd along, most magisterially 
 Enveloped in a Jewish gaberdine — 
 
 * " Sunt mihi bis septem?' &c. &c— Virgil, 
 
 f Shakspeare. 
 
 D 3
 
 58 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OR, 
 
 With a bald pate, that look'd — oh so imperially*, 
 
 And reverend beard of most antique design ; 
 The great Saint Peter ! at whose side hung keys, 
 That lock and unlock heav'n's bright gates with ease. 
 
 74. 
 
 Fathers of learning, deeply read in Greek, 
 
 Think — (and there seems much wisdom in the thought) 
 What we call thunder, only is the creak 
 
 Of jarring gates, which Peter — as you're taught ; 
 Opes to let pass, with many bows and scrapes, 
 To vast varieties of lovely shapes ! 
 
 75. 
 The truth of such a doctrine, I don't vouch, 
 
 And all I've got to say of master Peter, 
 Is a warm hope, he bears not such a -pouch 
 
 As doth Saint Thomas,— such a monstrous eater ; 
 Or shrewdly I suspect, each victualling cargo, 
 That enter'd heav'n would suffer an embargo ! 
 
 * Hence, then, we observe, that the Emperor of Russia's head 
 dress is a palpable plagiarism !
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 59 
 
 76. 
 
 Julie, recover'd from each doubt and fear, 
 When she beheld another saint's sweet face ; 
 
 This night, she thought, would certainly appear, 
 The whole, all-glorious apostolic race ! 
 
 But mark, oh ! mark, how fleetly joys fly from us, 
 
 As thus St. Peter did address St. Thomas. 
 
 77. 
 
 •' Oh ! Thomas, Thomas ! how dar'st thou transgress 
 " The laws that were to thee enjoin' d in heav'n ? 
 
 " For set aside th' immoderate distress, 
 
 " That must be mine forsooth ; behold th' eleven 
 
 " With paradise lament, and all that be, 
 
 " Have left off singing to look after thee! 
 
 78. 
 " Now gentle Thomas, — pr'ythee onward troop ; 
 
 " Brief are the moments, giv'n thee too delay ; 
 " Borne thro' dense clouds, by yon angelic group, 
 
 " Thou' It bend submissive, where I lead the way : 
 " But as for you, madame,I do entreat, 
 " Have nought to do with spirits that can eat."
 
 60 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OR, 
 
 79. 
 
 Now whilst St. Peter, is haranguing, I 
 May just return to Hermon, in the street r 
 
 Who could not fail, you may suppose, to spy 
 This host of angels : when he saw them beat 
 
 Miss Julie's door, with such excessive clatter, 
 
 The rascal soon imagin'd, what was matter. 
 
 80. 
 
 Whisk ! with a bullet's speed, he flies away, 
 Onward and onward, not a jot delaying ; 
 
 To an old chapel, where folks us'd to pray ; 
 Yet now, alas ! but little us'd for praying I 
 
 It stood, " a ruin amid ruins," — 'round 
 
 Was nought but waste and desolation found. 
 
 81. 
 
 Here, in a subterranean recess, 
 
 Dwelt imps of darkness — evil-doing dogs ; 
 That like your lawyers, " levy bij distress*," 
 
 And whom too, conscience very rarely jogs ; 
 
 * " Thou wouldst know, if property be so safely guarded as 
 is generally believed. It is certain, that the whole power of a
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 61 
 
 Here they carouse, in diabolic glory, 
 
 And toast the rascals most renown'd in story. 
 
 82. 
 Hermon soon reach'd this place, such speed he made, 
 
 And popping thro' the burrow, like a rabbit, 
 Quickly rous'd up his brethren in the trade, 
 
 And bade twice six assume an angel's habit ; — 
 Disguises of all sorts, such lads provide, 
 Which hide their tricks, — when rogues have tricks to 
 hide*. 
 
 83. 
 
 The youth, himself became a second Peter, 
 And with his troop, sped swiftly to the house ; 
 
 No wind, indeed, could possibly be fleeter, 
 E'en tho' old yEolus the blast arouse ! 
 
 king of England cannot force an acre of land from the weakest 
 of his subjects^ but a knavish attorney will take away his whole 
 
 estate by those very laws which were'designed for its security." 
 
 Persian Letters. 
 
 * Vide Pope's " Rape of the Lock." 
 " Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide."
 
 62 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS^ OR, 
 
 And just as Peter Senior, with his crew, 
 Brought Thomas forth, the junior came in view. 
 
 84. 
 A dozen strapping fellows, against six, 
 
 E'en magnanimity, I think must say, 
 (However we may " kick against the pricks,") 
 
 Would hardly be in Britain thought fair play ; 
 And Frenchmen, in such cases, are not nice, 
 Running, besides, is national exercise! 
 
 85. 
 So off ran Guillaume with the rest, and left 
 
 Thomas to joy in this successful plan ; 
 But ah ! of what a strain, are you bereft — 
 
 The fight of angels — and the fall of man ! 
 Oh ! what great things, which might have come to light, 
 Are now enveloped in eternal night ! 
 
 86. 
 Ay — fate is most omnipotent ; and so 
 
 I yield to fate. Gladly would I rehearse 
 Some bloody despVate deed ; because I know 
 
 'Twould spin another canto into verse !
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 63 
 
 And yet, it may not be ; well ! " let that pass," 
 What is to be, will be ; what was to be so — was!* 
 
 87. 
 St. Peter and St. Thomas now in union 
 
 Enter'd again Miss Julie's ; and expounded 
 In earthly phrase, — how they in sweet communion 
 
 TV ambitious enemies of heav'n confounded ; 
 And then they said, a demon, most uncivil, 
 Had borrow'd Peter's form — to wit — the devil ! 
 
 88. 
 That Uriel, an angel, quite respectable, 
 
 Who lodges " at the sun," — had seen him winging 
 To earth, and as it was from thence collectible 
 
 To be no legal flight, directly ringing, 
 He sent a waiter with the strictest orders, 
 To watch the rebel spirit to earth's borders. 
 
 * I am told, this stanza is a Byrunism ; I hope not — for, 
 " Byron, with all thy faults, 1 love thee still!" 
 But I fear this acknowledgment too much resembles the gnat upon 
 the bull's horn !
 
 64 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS 3 OR, 
 
 89. 
 
 There he beheld him take St. Peter's form, 
 
 And then proceeding, the best road to Paris — 
 
 The waiter presently perceiv'd a storm ; 
 And so the news to Paradise he carries ; 
 
 For Uriel's lodgings were remoter far, 
 
 Whilst Paradise was but a neighbouring star. 
 
 90. 
 
 " And Julie," — thus went on the rogue St. Peter, 
 " I wist St. Thomas had descended here, 
 
 " And Satan — who in truth's a clever cheater, 
 " I judg'd might probably presume t'appear 
 
 " In arms, 'gainst him unarm'd and without aid, 
 
 " Which brought me too, oh I most immaculate maid. 
 
 91. 
 
 " But now sweet Saint! thy mission quick dispatch, 
 " Time hurries onward at a fearful rate, 
 
 " And I the gates of Paradise must watch !" 
 Said Thomas ; " Julie, we do want thy plats, 
 
 " For a great feast is coming on, and we 
 
 " Do take it, for we love thy piety .'"
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 65 
 
 92. 
 
 Are there who laugh at Julie's superstition, 
 
 Wisely incredulous ? Let such that are, 
 Turn their sagacious eyes; the same condition 
 
 They'll find, I warrant, without glancing far ! 
 Who tremble at the rustling leaf— nay boast, 
 To've seen the saucer eyeballs of a ghost ? 
 
 93. 
 
 Who shudder, if perchance the salt be spilt? 
 
 Who, if the knife and fork alack ! be cross'd, 
 With humble reverence turn aside the hilt, 
 
 Lest some invaluable gem be lost ? 
 Who 1 why the greater part of this great nation, 
 Do more or less, feel the infatuation* ! 
 
 94. 
 
 Then think it not impossible that Julie, 
 Should in this vision of supreme delight 
 
 * I once knew a lady (whether akin to the Pythian Prophetess 
 er not, is a matter of doubt) who could augur great things from 
 the peculiar cocking of a magpie's tail ! — and now, even as of yore 
 • — " Seepe sinistra cava prsedixit ab ilice comix." — Vino.
 
 66 THE COUNTERFEIT SAINTS; OR, 
 
 Yield up, not merely plate and jewels coolly, 
 
 But all that came unluckily in sight : 
 The Saints oft blest her, and 'mongst other things, 
 Promis'd to send a splendid pair of wings ! 
 
 95. 
 Poor Julie ! very little had she need 
 
 Of wings ; alas ! Imagination's bore her 
 Too far beyond her altitude ; indeed, 
 
 But few e'er soar'd so loftily before her ! 
 Yet that there may be some, who've wing'd as high, 
 I fancy, 'tis not many will deny. 
 
 96. 
 
 Folly will not be limited, or madness, 
 
 And I imagine, carried to excess; 
 It yields a melancholy sort of gladness, 
 
 That tortures half — and half perhaps may bless: 
 But then destroy th' illusion, — all is ended, 
 And, fancy's long lov'd light, with night's deep gloom is 
 blended. 
 
 97. 
 For, when the dearest hopes, that warm the heart 
 In youth enkindled, and in age awake ;
 
 FEMALE FANATICISM. 67 
 
 Twin'd with the very soul of all thou art, 
 
 Fade — why the heart itself, perforce must break ; 
 Snap, like a high-stretch'd lutestring, and the tone, 
 No more resembles, what we once have known ! 
 
 98. 
 And such the lot of her, who so believ'd, 
 
 Returning reason dawn'd — but not to save ; 
 Enough to point the phantom that deeeiv'd ; 
 
 Then sunk — like lamps hid in the damp cold grave ! 
 Yet left's the tale ; I've tagg'd a moral to it, 
 Because the ladies — " like a moral poet*." 
 
 * I have taken this, I confess, upon report ; but, I trust, I am 
 sirculating no libel, 1
 
 TO 
 THE WHOLE RACE 
 
 OF 
 
 TERRESTRIAL OR OTHERWISE, 
 
 THESE COME GREETING. 
 
 v^kitics, ye're cross old Gentlemen, I'm told — 
 And most prodigiously delight in snubbing : 
 
 Permit me just to make a little bold, 
 
 And thank ye not to pickle me a drubbing ; 
 
 Or — (tho' I don't suppose he mill forsake ye) 
 
 I may sincerely wish, " The Devil take ye I" 
 
 Yet, in the name of wonder, Noble Crits! 
 
 What could he make of ye with all this hasting? 
 Ah me ! I fear, to turn his cursed spits, 
 
 And give poor scribbling folks a hearty hasting. 
 Farewell ! be merciful ; and tho' but men, 
 I'll dream you're angels, nay — arc/t-angels, then !
 
 ffultan* 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 What tigre or what other salvage wight, 
 
 Is so exceeding furious and fell, 
 
 As wrong, when it hath arm'd itselfe with might? 
 
 Not fit 'mongst men that do with reason mel, 
 
 But 'mongst wilde beasts and salvage woods to dwell. 
 
 Faerie jlueene.
 
 3>uitau* 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 I. 
 
 Heard ye the tramp of steeds in yonder glen? 
 Mark'd ye the squadron, winding down the steep? 
 Tho' the still hour of midnight, thou may'stken 
 The stern array of death ; who soon shall sweep 
 That host away, — and scarce an eye will weep 
 The wrack he leaves behind. "Where heroes trod. 
 Where heroes died, the husbandman shall reap, 
 And heedless trample en the hallow'd sod, 
 That hides from human eye, the image of a God !
 
 74 JULIAN. 
 
 II. 
 
 But say ; in night's dim veil, why horsemen throng, 
 Cautiously must'ring in yon gloomy dell ? 
 Cheer'd not by trumpet, rous'd not by the song 
 That wakes the soul of war 1 No martial swell 
 Echoes along; silent as by a spell 
 Onward they move : — and hark ! that loud alarm, 
 Now do they play the part of cowards well ; 
 By heav'nl they fly, the dastards spurn the palm 
 That aye should firm the heart, and nerve the warrior* 
 arm ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Yet such they seem not : — and in sooth, again 
 Embattled re-appear, the scatter'd troop I 
 What means that hasty course along the plain, 
 The shrill halloo, and wide resounding whoop ? 
 Perhaps some foe, pursues the timid group, 
 Or they but feign to fly, — then wait the attack ! 
 Like the fierce vulture, ere with fearful swoop. 
 She pounce upon her victim's feather'd back, 
 Hov'ring, she hangs awhile, then cleaves the airy 
 track.
 
 JULIAN. f5 
 
 IV. 
 
 And such their fate! behind a jutting rock 
 They skulk : the adverse bands make head, 
 Rush unprepar'd-^and sink beneath the shock ! 
 Where is their once presumptuous boasting sped ? 
 Life, honour, all — in one sad moment fled ! 
 Deem'd they forsooth, that warriors would submit 
 Without one struggle? Not thus wolves have bled, 
 Not thus, the steed is broken to the bit, — 
 And shall proud man alone, stoop as proud man think; 
 fit? 
 
 V. 
 
 Stoop ! oh ! 'tis grating to the meanest ear^- 
 Think then, how galling to a soul of pride, 
 A fiery heart, submission loth to bear, 
 Or stem th' impetuous flow of passion's tide :— 
 And such the heart of him, who now did ride 
 Heading the victor troop ; 'twas he first drew 
 With sinewy arm, the sabre from his side; 
 And, as his glance, caught its ensanguin'd hue, 
 His vengeful soul beat high, and on the warrior flew. 
 e 2
 
 76 JUXIAV. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thou — that ambition's treacherous heights would 
 
 dare, 
 And madly tempt the dangers of its way ; 
 The rock thy grasp, will loosen, — yet beware 
 For if it fall, no pow'er its force can stay I 
 'Twas to ambition, Julian, fell a prey. 
 The noble proud Lord Julian ; once he rose 
 As the young eagle, springs to meet the day, 
 But scaling heav'n, ere yet that day had close, 
 His weary pinions sunk, the scorn of haughty foes. 
 
 VII. 
 
 It boots not to unfold, his fortunes past, 
 The pow'r that dragg'd him downward ; 'tis enough 
 He fell — and like the tempest riven mast, 
 Crush'd all beneath him : Tho' the shock was rough. 
 His callous soul, but spurn'd the fierce rebuff, 
 On blood he rose, nor dropt one pitying tear ! 
 Alas ! ambition, should be sterner stuff; 
 Compassion, vainly looks for refuge there, 
 In whose dark wild domain, she ever finds a bier !
 
 JULIAN. 77 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Beneath a larch-crown'd mountain's haughty brow, 
 Where stand the ruins of an ancient pile, 
 He and his followers fled — sole refuge now ! 
 Proudly magnificent it once did smile, 
 Tho' now the ivy creep along the aisle, 
 And its decaying pillars scarce support 
 The tott'ring tow'rs. But a little while, 
 And thou shalt mourn its lofty honours brought 
 To nothing : nothing ! lo, it is already nought ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 In its dilapidated halls, the jay 
 
 And rook, hoarse screaming, seem to Fancy's 
 
 eye, 
 To mourn the ravages of Time's dread sway, 
 And o'er its ashes croak the funeral cry. 
 There, if the roving hunter chance to pry, 
 Or to secure his prize, the robber wight, 
 Redoubled clamours fill the vaulted sky — 
 Then wheeling round and round, in airy flight, 
 Pitch on the ruin'd tow'r, or in the field alight.
 
 7S JULIAN. 
 
 X. 
 
 By scenes of mirth and joyous pastime, caught 
 Haply of yore, gay triflers flutter'd here, 
 Sporting till loath' d satiety had wrought 
 The death of sense, and clos'd the mad career: 
 E'en then did beauty turn a willing ear 
 To him who breath'd the adulating strain ; 
 And still, to heart of woman, what so dear? 
 Ah me! how seldom hath it breath'd in vain — 
 The ear the Serpent charm'd, what charm shall free 
 again ? 
 
 XL 
 
 But my Muse wanders from her beaten track, 
 To what might haply be. What was, what is, 
 Should now demand her song. The mighty wrack 
 Of ages, is as nothing : present bliss 
 And present woe weigh heavy, and to this 
 The heart of man is thrall ; except the few 
 Who desp'rately dash down life's precipice, 
 Careless of all ; to them, the fond adieu 
 Of hearts enchain'd by love, assumes no sadd'ning hue.
 
 JULIAN. 79 
 
 XII. 
 
 To them the sigh of hope, the trickling tear, 
 That wars with nature in the human heart, 
 That should speak grief — yet is joy's harbinger, 
 From whence dear pleasures, long untasted, start 
 Back into life — to them no care impart ! 
 But wherefore linger? To that Chief I turn, 
 Whose hopes defeat but nourish'd, tho' the smart 
 Of ruin'd fortunes, made his proud soul burn 
 With a still, smother'd fire, like embers in the urn
 
 HG> JULIAN. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 High birth, and lofty hopes, were Julian's ; never 
 So fair a blossom met the sun's warm ray ; 
 The blast of pride came — blighted it for ever, 
 And his dark soul no mere beheld the day ! 
 Yet it was great — 'twas form'd for greatness ; they 
 Who first its dawn had witness'd, deem'd it bright 
 As ever beam'd in boyhood's young essay ; 
 But when to man it ripened 1 — Oh let night 
 Hide, in her densest shroud, the awful truth from 
 bight !
 
 JULIAN. 81 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Fell he alone? 'Mid iron solitude 
 Was there not one who cheer'd the lingering hours, 
 And calm'd his spirit's haught, impatient mood, 
 By spells all mighty ? scatter'd a few flow'rs 
 Upon his dreary way ? In gloomy bow'rs 
 Few enter, ay but few with gentle care 
 Warm the cold heart, that feels the deadening pow'rs 
 Of a long train of ills. They come not there 
 Where the lone couch is press'd by sick'ning wan 
 despair. 
 
 XV. 
 
 But he had one ; one comforter, who shed 
 The meed of pity, tho' he claim'd it not, 
 Whose fortune, fame — whose heart for him had bled, 
 Had deeply bled ! Could this be all forgot ? 
 Ill-fated Laura, may the hand that shot 
 The poisoned arrow in thy youthful breast, 
 So fond and so devoted ! May his lot 
 Be still to seek, in vain to seek, for rest ; 
 A mark for shudd'ring man, to point at, and detest ! 
 e 5
 
 £2 JULIAN. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Her fair arm rested on the mossy stone, 
 And her dark tresses floated in the gale, 
 That thro' the ruin pour'd a gentle moan, 
 Like the soft sigh of sympathy, the tale 
 Of sorrow draws ! * *
 
 JULIAN. 83 
 
 XVII. 
 
 # # * 
 
 * * Thro' the flow'ry vale 
 
 (Flow'ry no more), war's clamorous voice was heard, 
 And Julian, triumph'd in the bitter wail 
 Of widows, and ef orphans ; but the word 
 " Destroy," rose up a prayer of vengeance to heav'n's 
 Lord! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And now, yon bloody standard, in the eye 
 Of his ambitious hopes, wav'd far and wide, 
 Blazing in all the pomp of victory ! 
 Again his soul, soaring on wings of pride 
 Savagely pour'd along the furious tide, 
 Of war, and crime, and horror; o'er his head 
 His beamy falchion, waving, fell to hide 
 Its brightness, but in death's dark sheath ; — it sped 
 Like the strong lightning flash, vindictive, fierce and red.
 
 S4 JULIAV. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 On, on he flew ; thro' the impetuous fray, 
 The straining eye scarce follows where his might. 
 Swept down th' opposing host, whose fair array 
 • Now broken, sunk beneath the blast, and flight 
 Starting, on phrenzied wing, forsook the fight. 
 But this the fate alone, where Julian fought 
 Desp'rately brave : not far upon the right 
 An aged warrior toil'd: nor he untaught 
 To guide the strength of war, with glorious trophies 
 fraught. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Unspent the vigour of that arm, tho" time 
 And sorrow's keener pow'r, its force assail'd, 
 And had perchance impair'd; yet many a clime 
 Its mightiness had felt : the lofty quail'd 
 Before it; direly the oppressor wail'd, 
 Its patriot indignation ! — In decay 
 Amid the battle's fury, it prevail'd, 
 And thrice, had turn'd the fortune of that day, 
 Which mighty wrongs provok'd — wrongs blood alone 
 could pay !
 
 85 
 
 XXL 
 
 Julian, enraged, beheld the squadron yield* 
 To that bold leader, and his martial few ; 
 " Dastards," he shouted, and the blood stain'd field 
 Echoed the sound ; full well his warriors knew 
 Tts fearful tone, and to th' attack they flew ; 
 'Twere better to sustain the whirling blade 
 Of death itself, than the proud chieftain view 
 In his dark mood. Something unearthly play'd, 
 In that full eye's stern glance, — they felt it, and obey'd ! 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Fiercely he rush'd along, where 'mid the shock 
 Of adverse hosts, the aged warrior fought, 
 Still unsubdued : — 'Gainst a projecting rock 
 Wounded he stood at bay, by toil and draught 
 O'erpower'd, yet firm ; until his keen eye caught 
 The flash of vengeance there : then swiftly sunk 
 Their clashing sabres. Rapidly as thought 
 Stroke follows stroke, till Julian's weapon drunk 
 The valiant heart's best blood, and reeling, fell the 
 trunk !
 
 86 JULIAN. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Where the tall sycamore, and graceful ash 
 Drink the cool freshness of the summer stream, 
 The lost one, sorrow'd. Like a meteor flash 
 Across the firmament, had been the dream 
 Of youthful fancy ! oh ! so bright the beam, 
 So glorious too, — her soul had caught its flame 
 To burn, nor be extinguish'd : the dear theme 
 That dy'd her cheek in blushes of sweet shame, 
 And bade her bright eyes glow, — was Julian's morning- 
 fame !
 
 87 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Wealth may attract, and titles oft allure 
 The female soul, but Laura, felt the glow 
 Of a devoted heart, as bright, as pure, 
 When glory twin'd her wreath around the brow, 
 Of him she lov'd ; — alas ! how darken'd now 
 The light of her young hopes ; — and such shall be 
 Thy fate, who mak'st thine idol^ and dost bow 
 Before th' ignoble shrine, a patient knee — 
 A y, such shall be thy fate, then weep, weep bitterly ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 'Twas evening, and the stars sparkling above 
 Diffused their radiance round. The time gone by, 
 And those dear hours of extacy, when love 
 So sweetly shone, return'd, — but as the eye 
 Of thought shot thro' the past, the chilling sigh 
 Of agony arose. Her father left 
 'Mid life's dark woes, to feel the misery 
 A thankless child prepar'd him ! Oh this cleft 
 Her erring heart in twain, of joy, of hope bereft.
 
 88 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The lone lorn tear, crept down her pallid cheek. 
 Wrench'd from its frozen souree ! In bitterness 
 Too exquisite to tell, she vow'd to wreak 
 Curses on her undoer; — to redress 
 Her sorrows, and her wrongs, (whose fierce excess 
 Destroy'd her youthful excellence) — and die ! 
 But her heart could not curse him, — it could bless, 
 'Twas made for blessing, tho' the scornful eye 
 Of him, who won the gem, regardless pass'd it by !
 
 JULIAN. 85) 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 ;i What! whining still fond thing? those eyes should 
 
 " shoot 
 •' Love's burning fires, — thou quenehest them chastt 
 
 " maid, 
 " No more on't pr'ythee, touch thy magic lute, 
 " And charm some wand'ring sylphid to thy aid !" 
 In covert scorn he spoke ; trembling, dismay'd 
 Vainly she strove : " Cease, cease, the jarring strain, 
 " Poor melancholy fool, when I am laid 
 " Deep in the grave's dark nothingness ; again 
 " Weep, if thou lov'st it so — I hate thy sick'ning plain ! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " To night I'll pledge thee, and thou too shalt quaff, 
 " From such a glorious bowl, the sparkling wine 
 " That it will sparkle brighter; and the laugh 
 " Of merriment bid that dull soul of thine 
 " Leap in a glad delirium ! Barnardine, 
 " Give me the bowl of victory, — there pour 
 " The vine's rich juice ; 'tis heav'n to hearts like mine!" 
 His henchman came, — a skull, yet warm he bore, 
 Thro' whose long hoary locks, drop'd mingled win» and 
 gore !
 
 90 JULIAN. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Flash'd the dark eye of Laura, as he held 
 Malignantly exulting to her lip 
 
 The tomb's foul spoil, which shudd'ring she repell'd: 
 " So my coy fair one, thou disdain'st to sip 
 *' The proffer'd blessing ; 'tis a goodly scrip 
 " Of eloquence however, nor e'er yet 
 " Spoke it so soundly ; 'tis the very tip 
 " Of orat'ry ! come drink, and thou'lt forget 
 " List'ning to its soft strain, thy heart's foreboding 
 threat." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Loathing, she turn'd away. — " Drink Laura, drink, 
 
 " And thou shalt yet hear more — much more ; 
 
 " Thy wanton soul, why start? would scarcely think, 
 
 " This gorgeous canopy, contain'd the store 
 
 " Of— brains, would'st term them ? — that did subtly 
 
 pour 
 " Immeasurable ruin on my head! 
 " Kneel to it gentle Laura, and adore 
 " Its mightiness ! Oh may his earthy bed 
 " Be an immortal curse— such, such as I would spread !"
 
 JULIAN. 91 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Had'st thou beheld the phrenzied staring eye, 
 That Laura, darted at th' infernal chief, 
 It would have palsied thy young frame ! the sigh 
 That follow' d too, was horrible, — belief 
 Staggers in her wild flight : it was a grief, 
 That thou may'st/eeZ, not tell! Madly she spoke, 
 " My father, oh ! my father!" — as a leaf 
 Drops, blasted from its withered branch, the stroke 
 Came o'er her shatter'd soul, and the worn heartstring 
 broke ! 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Her dull glaz'd eyeball, on the chief was turn'd 
 In all death's gloomy terror : then, but then, 
 His haughty spirit consciously burn'd 
 'Mid the decay of nature !
 
 92 JULIAN. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " Father, a tale of anguish thou hast heard, 
 " But I have felt it — oh how deeply felt ! 
 " Curs'd be those honors, for they but conferr'd 
 " The misery I endure and must. Impell'd 
 " By pride and fell ambition, I have held 
 " My steady course along — a noxious star, 
 " Shedding its baneful influence ; I've swell'd 
 " The stream of desolation ; pour'd afar 
 " The thirsty scourge of fate, thro' all the ranks of 
 war!
 
 95 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " I won — I trampled on the loveliest flow'r 
 " That ever blossom'd, near the lonely cell ; 
 " I might have sav'd it from the winter's pow'r, 
 " But demons bade me, and it fell — it fell ! 
 " For this I suffer all the pains of hell, 
 " For this my soul burns, deathless it must burn, 
 " And know no healing ! When I'm dead thou'lt tell 
 " My woeful story, — bid the stranger turn 
 " From the proud Julian's hopes — to his unhonor'd urn I"
 
 DR. MAC SAP; 
 
 ©fie ff&Um &tet. 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 His mountain back mote well be said 
 To measure height against his head, 
 
 And lift itself above; 
 Yet, spite of all that nature did, 
 To make his uncouth form forbid — 
 
 This creature dar'd to love ! 
 
 Parnell.
 
 DR. MAC SAP, 
 
 1. 
 
 '*n Love ! what a sly little urchin art thou 1" 
 
 Hath often been sung, by sweet bards, male and fe- 
 male, 
 "Who sigh'd as they felt thee, they could not tell' how, 
 
 Heaving the heart, like a bark that we see sail; 
 Tumbled and tost by the wild waves of ocean, 
 
 Ready to sink at one moment, and then, 
 As if it had taken a brisk working potion, 
 
 Rapidly shoot up to heav'n again! 
 Such thou art, Love, say the songs and the singers ; 
 
 And if it be true, what a turbulent lad ; 
 Good heav'n, no wonder that wisdom should bring us 
 
 Strait jackets, and bid us be chain'd up for mad; 
 r
 
 98 
 
 DR. MAC SAP: OR, 
 
 Should curse all thy witcheries ; spurn at thy wiles; 
 And like gold on a coffin, see death in thy smiles \ 
 
 2. 
 For me, tho' the bells of gay folly should sound, 
 And the cap (so delightful to most !) should be found 
 Adorning my head ; I so doat on thy charms, 
 Little Love 1 I must live — ay, and die in thy arms. 
 Why wisdom may frown : let her rail if she will, 
 To the last ebb of life, I'm thy votary still, 
 Whilst loving and lov'd; let who will head her cries : 
 I'll tell her 'tis folly — 'tis base to be wise ! 
 
 But wisdom may fall down the precipice too, 
 
 In pursuit of a brilliant cameleon hue; 
 
 May feel (the fine sneers of its excellence past) 
 
 'Tis caught by a vapour — a nothing, at last ; 
 
 And will raise large pretensions to folly, as soon 
 
 As another, and cry like a child for the moon ! 
 
 'Tis then that we laugh, loudly vulgarly laugh, 
 
 At the vast erudition that made him a calf; 
 
 Then proudly we crow o'er the arrogant elves, 
 
 That deeming us mad —prove the madmen themselve?.
 
 THE FALLEN STAR. 99 
 
 4. 
 
 Doctor M'Sap was a man of some breeding ; 
 
 O'er Scotia's bleak regions there liv'd not a wight, 
 For learning so fam'd — of such wonderful reading, 
 
 As he of whom now I've the honour to write ! 
 He was — and re-echo it, all ye fair vallies, 
 
 Ye mountains sublime, with your snow-cover'd tops, 
 Throw, throw the proud tidings as far as that wall is 
 
 Where the bright flaming bound of the universe stops ; 
 He was, so profoundly immers'd amid sines, 
 
 'Mid co-sines and tangents — 'mid Greek too, and 
 Latin — 
 So vers'd in the sound of Falernian wines — 
 
 That oh ! if the carcase, like minds, we could fatten, 
 It had never been his, I will venture to say, 
 To have slept upon sounds at the close of the day ; 
 To have dreamt o'er a page of Horatian treats, 
 Or guess how a hog nicely barbecu'd eats : 
 No, no : he'd have gorg'd a brave supper, instead 
 Of wind in his stomach, and froth in his head ! 
 
 5. 
 
 Yet learning he had ; and ('tis fit the world know it) 
 On each fair occasion could learnedly show it, 
 f 2
 
 100 dr. mac sap; on. 
 
 Argumentum absunlo, he <rrew such a dab in, 
 He forc'd the proud pardon to quit his mud cabin, 
 To acknowledge that he had, as well as ray lord, 
 No right to be equally mad and absurd ! 
 Nay, such was his wit, his wise lordship would yield, 
 And the birch-wielding pedant decamp from the field: 
 Who left him at length, in the midst of despair, 
 To find the tenth part in the breadth of a hair! 
 
 6. 
 
 With a mind so celestial, so brilliantly wrought, 
 
 'Twas just, that its case should be excellent too : 
 'Twas just, that the dome of the palace of thought 
 
 Should be bright as the rays of the sun shining thro 1 
 But, alas ! how perverse is Dame Fortune to man, 
 
 How sparing of gifts, and how futile to beck them : 
 If pockets be given — so saving her plan — ■ 
 
 She often denies a few shillings to deck them ! 
 
 7. 
 Dr. Mac Sap had a visage whose leanness, 
 Had little been worn by his efforts of cleanness : 
 He judg'd, and most soundly,— whatever is spare, 
 Has little about it, that should not be there : —
 
 THE FALLEN STAR. 101 
 
 He judg'd, and could prove it, with infinite stress, 
 
 Whatever is small, has small need to be less, — 
 
 And ergo, his lean and lank features should not, 
 
 Lose one little atom of all they had got ! 
 
 But added to this, (you'll believe it, I hope), 
 
 [t sav'd him a wonderful fortune in soap ; 
 
 And — (whilst I am yet, on the topic of saving), 
 
 Prevented expences enormous in shaving; 
 
 Because like a plaster, it cover'd the chin, 
 
 And nourish'd his beard on the dainties within. 
 
 Then his person, as chronicles tell — (be they true) 
 
 Was as lank as his face, and as beautiful too j 
 
 As tall as a May-pole, I'd certainly say, 
 
 But a hump on his back, took the tallness away ; 
 
 His legs were like pins, when inverted, and you, 
 
 If it please, may suppose, that each head was a 
 
 shoe; — 
 Tho' his foot, to adhere to the truth, was as large 
 As, compar'd with its mast, is the keel of a barge ! 
 
 Ay, wisdom may fall, I have said it, and mark 
 What fate had decreed to this gay letter'd spark.
 
 102 DR. MAC SAP: OR, 
 
 9. 
 
 Embosom' d in woods, of the growth of an age. 
 
 Tradition says, stood the magnificent house 
 Where Lord Donald dwelt, when the season bade wage 
 
 Dread war on the ptarnigan, moorcock and grouse. 
 His lordship was now in the downhill of life, 
 And had known all the plagues of a termagant wife: 
 All the moments of fretfulness incident to one, 
 And he hourly regretted the moment he knew one! 
 She govern'd his " lordship,'''' and paid him the rent 
 In coin that a miser had anxiously spent, 
 Had lavish'd profusely around him, and giv'n 
 The bountiful donor, a portion in heav'n ! 
 One morning the chase having tempted to roam, 
 Ere evening clos'd in, he turn'd wearily home; 
 But alas ! no dear thought of its comforts arose, 
 For home was to him, not a home of repose ! 
 All was bustle, and seem'd a huge chaos of strife, 
 As he tremblingly ask'd for my lady, his wife : — 
 " She's dead" — was the answer; " what dead!" my lord 
 
 cried — 
 " Good Stephen inform me, how was it she died ?" 
 " As a christain should !" — " Ah ! what pleasure to find 
 " Thro' life she had ever the cross in her mind :
 
 THE FALLEN STAR. 103 
 
 " Did she bear it with firmness ?" " Oh firmly, my 
 
 lord." 
 " Ay, ay, I believe it, still firm to her word, 
 *' ' I will? was the rule of her conduct thro' life ; 
 "But she's dead — and her lord is at peace with his 
 
 wife!" 
 Oh happy the heart, that finds peace once again, 
 
 Who can welcome the dove that had wander'd astray ! 
 And no longer oppress'd by the conjugal chain, 
 
 His lordship pass'd gaily life's desolate way. 
 
 10. 
 
 Sweeter pledges of love, then remain'd to Lord Donald 
 
 No eye ever witness'd — no heart ever lov'd ! — 
 u Tiva bonnie Scotch lassies :" — but Matilda, the one 
 call'd;— 
 
 That 'mid all the mazes of loveliness rov'd; 
 A light fragile form, where the soul's ardent play, 
 
 Buoy'd up by high spirits, was never at rest — 
 Like that soft, ever changeable, beautiful ray 
 
 Of the gem*, whose pure splendour shed light on a 
 breast 
 
 * The Opal— 'remarkable for its diversity of colour.
 
 104 HR. mac sap: or, 
 
 As warm as 'twas innocent — gentle as gay — 
 
 From which hearts that had feeling turn'd never away, 
 
 But would glow, as her eyes beam'd that magical thrill. 
 
 Which governs the soul in despite of the will. 
 
 Then, if moments of anger, gave birth to a frown, 
 
 The smile that still follow'd was heav'nlier grown : 
 
 And the heart far more happy in tasting of this, 
 
 Than all the pure radiance of unalloy'd bliss. 
 
 For it was not the frowning, 'tis torture to hide, 
 
 More pain to one's self, than all others beside! 
 
 Not that hell of ill-humour, that deadens each grace 3 
 
 And pictures the heart in the gloom of the face! 
 
 No, no : 'twas the breeze that culls sweets from the throng: 
 
 Of the flow'rets it woos, as it passes along ; — 
 
 'Twas the clouds in a heav'n of beauty, that throw 
 
 O'er the contrast, a brighter, a heav'nlier glow. 
 
 Oh ! ever she shone — whether smiling or grave, 
 
 £sew charms but succeeded, like wave upon wave; 
 
 Like an exquisite lute, touch its chords as you will, 
 
 Ev'ry tone that it yields must be exquisite still ! 
 
 11. 
 
 Such, such was Matilda; and who then can blame 
 The omniscient Mac Sap, if a terrible flam.*
 
 THE FALLEN STAB. 105 
 
 From her bright eyes enkindled, first sing'd ev'ry part, 
 ( As ye si nge a wild goose), and then blaz'd round his heart ; 
 That heart, which till thrown in this dreadful quandary, 
 Had repell'd all the charms of his kitchen-wench Mary; 
 That heart so courageous, that ne'er before thought 
 Of love — save in learning, or saving a groat; 
 Now sad and perplex'd, and consuming to boot, 
 Look'd wan like a lover, and sigh'd to a lute; 
 Perhaps the " Scotch fiddle,'' 1 had better been nam'd — 
 But then I, and the Muse, and the Doctor were sham'd ; 
 For lutes 'mong poetical lovers, you know, 
 Are the essence of elegance now — all the go ! 
 
 12. 
 
 Matilda, who sometimes bestow'd, as she pass'd, 
 A nod, or a smile, in return for his bow, 
 
 'Mid mirth and astonishment found out at last, 
 What a conquest adorn'd her invincible brow ; 
 
 What glory she'd won, over Greek verbs and Latin, 
 
 Now love amid learning had tumbled so pat in ! 
 
 13. 
 
 iiut the Doctor discover'd, his " dignified ease" 
 Had lost all its charms, and no longer could please ; 
 f 5
 
 106 DR. mac sap; or, 
 
 And what, alas ! what could he do 1 Should he call ? 
 Ah me ! he could summon no courage at all ; 
 Still this love of his ev'ry way tortur'd him so, 
 Each varied expedient but varied his woe! 
 They tell me that love is a rose among thorns : 
 
 And one poor opinion no axiom unsettles, 
 Or I'd boldly declare, tho' each oracle scorns — 
 
 That love is a full-blooming rose among nettles! 
 Which grasp as you ought, like a sage man of mettle, 
 And then, forsooth, where is the sting of the nettle '. 
 After alL should she scorn, from love's touches exempt, 
 Throw back on the coy one the glance of contempt ; 
 Let the scorn Oi thy heart in each eye be pourtrav'd. 
 That ever should follow the insolent maid : 
 Thus ever act bravely, in courtship or marriage, 
 And nine points to ten, you avoid a miscarriage* '. 
 
 14. 
 Long waver' d the Doctor ; this — that way he steer' d ; 
 Rejecting one plan, as another appear'd ; 
 
 " Br : ^k confidence the best with woman copes." 
 
 Child* Harold.
 
 THE FALLEN STAR. 107 
 
 Till at last (and oh ! genius, how greatly dost thou 
 Shine eminent e'en from no beautiful brow— 
 How proudly thou lookedst from him that I sing of r 
 When his excellent thoughts, like to jackdaws a string of, 
 That in order arrang'd, swing about in the air — 
 Came tossing and tumbling brilliantly there!) 
 He resolv'd a magnanimous note to compose, 
 And call the fair lady, the " Summer's best Rose;" 
 For he oft had been told, that a rose and a lily 
 Would make up a cheek for Elysium ; and still he 
 Knew the laws of the Ancients, regarding the fair, 
 Gave them ample permission to seat themselves there; 
 Besides, as a lover, what less could he do, 
 Than at once be polite and poetical too ? 
 
 15. 
 
 Now he fumbled his books, and he conn'd ev'ry phrase, 
 That might throw the young heart of the maid in amaze; 
 That might force her submission to th' wonderful scholar, 
 
 Who knew ev'ry word's derivation and kind; 
 And for him, like a spaniel, wear love's glassy collar; 
 
 For him, leave the halls of her fathers behind! 
 He wrote, and he alter' d — then alter'd again ; 
 'Twas now in too harsh, now too florid a strain;
 
 108 DR. mac sap; or, 
 
 Till at length, having labour'd a day and a night, 
 A safe accouchement gave the following to light : 
 
 16. 
 
 THE DOCTORS EPISTLE. 
 
 Sweet Rose of the Summer ! 
 
 Thine eyes' intense glory 
 
 Hath dazzled my soul: and so sweet is thy fame, 
 That if thou'lt affect me, hereafter in story, 
 
 With mine, future ages shall couple thy name. 
 
 Think, think! when the Genius of History, rising 
 With her light-beaming pencil, shall scribble my life 
 
 In stateliest phrases — how sweetly surprising 
 That—" Dr. Mac Sap took Matilda to wife'.'' 
 
 Yes, yes : but my keen mathematical senses 
 
 This love hath so dull'd — so encumber' d my breast, 
 
 '['hut mechanics can't heave me, with dull moods and 
 tenses, 
 Is my sweet adolescence, abstracted from rest.
 
 TUP. FALLEN STATU 109 
 
 Algebraical reasonings die as they're born, 
 
 In the cloud that engender'd 'em. — Euclid himself, 
 
 Alack ! hath been view'd with unmerited scorn, 
 Bespangled with cobwebs that cover my shelf. 
 
 My ventiduct's stop'd— scarce a breath is embowel'd ; 
 
 Oh ! virgin, in effumability, I 
 Shall be quickly diffus'd, if my wounds are not now 
 heal'd 
 
 With the balm that exudes from thy dulcified eye. 
 
 Nunc vale et vive : this heart's oscillation 
 
 Can thine alone guard from a fearful mishap; 
 
 And oh! how lucif'rous will be the ovation, 
 The resuscitation of 
 
 Sandy Mac Sap. 
 
 17. 
 A little gossoon, in a rude tatter'd coat. 
 Was dispatch' d to the fair, with the erudite note, 
 Repeatedly caution'd to act circumspectly, 
 And deliver the embassy charg'd with correctly ; 
 While for fear of omission, the diffident lover 
 Bade the boy tell his messages over and over;
 
 110 DR. mac sap; or, 
 
 Sent him off; then recall'd him, again and again — 
 Re-repeating, each time, the bewildering strain, 
 Till at length, as he thought, being fit for discharge, 
 Twang'd the string — and the arrow flew straight to the 
 targe ! 
 
 18. 
 
 From a flight such as this, 'tis but fair to suppose, 
 
 Ere long he beheld Summer's favourite Rose; 
 
 When, making a bow with astonishing grace, 
 
 (For in truth he had practis'd a fortnight before, 
 
 As the Doctor believ'd it a requisite case, 
 
 To be able to bam* to the fair you adore !) 
 I pay, having- bow'd to the lady, he took 
 From his old ragged pocket a time-shatter'd book, 
 Which the Doctor presented, to keep the note clean, 
 And fit to be touch' d by the hand of a queen ! 
 'Twas a grammar, he said, and an emblem to prove 
 That his heart was the worn tatter'd grammar of love; 
 Rut which, if she pleas'd to accept of — oh Venus! 
 That heart would be happy, and gay, and serene as 
 
 * Lk'i.ce. doubtless, his " hump" arose!
 
 THE FALLEN STAtt. I'll 
 
 The bee, whose loud music exultingly greets 
 The flow'ret it rifles of virginal sweets! 
 
 19. 
 
 Ceas'd the lad: but his accents, so piercingly shrill, 
 On the organ of hearing reverberate still. 
 
 "20. 
 Could I picture the fairest expression of charms, 
 
 The bright-laughing eye, and the dimpling chin, 
 Where the soul's animation the dull heart alarms, 
 
 And a smile of applause from the Stoic can win — 
 By heav'n ! 'twere nothing to that which now shone 
 In this light of the North— in this loveliest one! 
 'Twas a mirth like rich blossoms, gay, varied, and free, 
 That adorn, in its season, the promising tree ; 
 'Twas a mirth, from which spleen could recoil not — a 
 
 thing 
 Whose charms, in malevolence, deaden' d the sting ; 
 With a wit, whose refinement, a brilliancy gave 
 To the forms it reflected, like stars in the wave; 
 And graces, which not all the flourish of schools, 
 All the airs affectation bestows on her fools,
 
 112 DR. MAC sap; or, 
 
 Can impart : no, not one single ray, 
 
 Round Fashion's mad votaries, ever will play : 
 
 It was Nature's own workmanship, purest and sweetest, 
 
 Of all that in woman approacheth divine ; 
 'Twas that something unknown — but with which if thou 
 meetest, 
 Oh treasure it up, in thy heart's inmost shrine ; 
 'Tis a spell will preserve thee, thro' life make thee blest, 
 And gild thy dark tomb, when thou sinkest to rest ! 
 
 21. 
 
 But yet she was woman — after all. but a woman, 
 
 And sarcastieal gaiety rules more than one breast : 
 Coquetry perhaps is a word, that's more common, 
 
 And better describes the idea of a conquest! 
 And Matilda resisted not, could not resist, 
 
 The pleasure arising from such a flirtation ; 
 A thing far too tempting by maids to be mis/d, 
 
 Especially fools, the delightful occasion I 
 So the lad with his trappings all flutt'ring in air, 
 Was bade to await the commands of the fair, 
 Who with arch smiling countenance, took up a pen, 
 And scribbled the^e lines, to " The wisest of Men,''
 
 THE FALLEN STAR. 113 
 
 22. 
 
 THE REPLY. 
 
 To him, on whose visage sage learning hath written 
 The art to subdue the most prudish and coy — 
 
 May a young blushing maiden confess herself smitten- 
 Confess how she doats on her wise Highland boy ? 
 
 Oh! thou, erudition's profoundest support, 
 
 Whom wealth or nobility ne'er could bewilder — 
 
 Fly, fly on the wings of impatience to court, 
 To glad the sad heart of thy anxious 
 
 Matilda 
 23. 
 
 All the transports of Dr. Mac Sap I must leave, 
 
 Kind reader, for thee, and thy. fancy to weave ; 
 
 For if thou hast past thro' a similar fate, 
 
 Thou wilt forcibly feel what I cannot relate ; 
 
 Wilt confess with a sigh, even short as it seems ; 
 
 And dream tho' it be — 'tis the sweetest of dreams! 
 
 24. 
 
 '• Fly, fly," said the lady ; and he had obey'd 
 - Her commands to a tittle, if will, altho' ^ood..
 
 114 DR. MAC sap; OH, 
 
 Necessity had not unhappily stay'd, 
 
 And bade him, by no means — do more than he could. 
 
 For -wings he had none : and what worse is, indeed, 
 
 He had not so much as the tail of a steed. 
 
 And truly, ill-luck must that lover betide, 
 
 Where will and necessity sadly divide! 
 
 A dreadful dilemma it is, let me tell ye, 
 
 And happy, if never such evil befel ye; 
 
 But happier far — oh, there cannot be a doubt of it, 
 
 If in it, you meet with a way to get out of it ! 
 
 And the Doctor remember'd, his miller would lend 
 
 A steed with delight, to so learned a friend ! 
 
 Thus far it was well ; and he quickly prepares, 
 
 With scissars to lop the superfluous hairs, 
 
 Which (if memory serve me aright) you have heard, 
 
 His chin proudly nourish'd — a king of a beard ! 
 
 25. 
 
 But now, let me haste to equip him, complete, 
 And fix him on horseback, confirm'd in his seat. 
 
 26. 
 
 Reports have prevail'd, that long us'd to the dirt, 
 He found inconvenience in changing his shirt;
 
 THE FALLEN STAR. 115 
 
 Moreover, (and let it not modesty shock, 
 
 One whole one, alas ! being the whole of his stock* !) 
 
 When the dirt became plentiful— pr'y thee, don't flout it — 
 
 Like a man of much sapience, he travell'd without it ; 
 
 Now, this anchorite shirt had been mended, and wash'd 
 
 With the very be3t mint water, lavishly dash'd, 
 
 And plaited so neatly, it beggar'd the skill 
 
 Of the whole tribe of washers to brighten the frill ; 
 
 To make it, in short, more delightfully sweet, 
 
 Or to fold it in any one form so complete ! 
 
 27. 
 When such was its exquisite plight, only think, — 
 
 Gentle reader, vouchsafe my petition to heed ; 
 From the chain of thy thoughts just to separate a link, 
 
 And say, if it were not hard-hearted indeed, 
 To break up its purity, sully its whiteness, 
 
 As dark clouds envelope the face of the moon, 
 
 * The caution of the present day may presume to doubt the 
 reracity of our record ; but on consulting D'Herbelot (Biblio- 
 theque Orientale), it will be found, "That the potent Caliph 
 Omar Ben Abdalaziz himself had only one shirt; and in an age 
 of luxury, his annual expense was no more than two drachms!"
 
 116 DR. MAC SAP; OK, 
 
 And hide from the regions of earth all its brightness, 
 Which erst had appear'd with the splendour of noon; 
 
 Oh ! yes, if thou felt'st but one half what the Doctor 
 On this sad occasion, combin'd to distress, 
 
 Thou hadst gone to thy lady, altho' it had shock'd her, 
 To view thy broad shoulders in nudity's dress ! 
 
 Thou hadst gone — and if sticks o'er those shoulders were 
 laid, 
 
 Might'st have shewn unreservedly " marks of a maid .'" 
 
 28. 
 Let the block strike his skull — nought appears — for 
 
 nought's in it — • 
 Your heads that have wit, haul it out, in a minute; 
 And our lover, determin'd with no little force 
 As he slipt on his jacket and mounted his horse, 
 To bear in his hand, this supreme among linen, 
 As the only sure way to preserve it from sinning — 
 From catching the evil, the proverb displays, 
 " 111 company teaches the purest ill ways," 
 Till he reach a snug avenue, leading to th' hall, 
 Where his body, once more, might submit to its thrall; 
 And present to the nose of his lady, a savour 
 That would help not a little, in raising her favour,
 
 THE FALLEN STAR. 117 
 
 And ensure a reception, more flatt'ring than 'twould, 
 When the warmth of the weather excited his blood ; 
 And " the white and round pearls," (as the poets ex- 
 press) 
 In pretty large quantities roll'd on his dress ! 
 
 29. 
 
 So thought — and so done. Upon horseback now rear'd, 
 The ladder-like form of the doctor appear'd, 
 Half alarm'd, as the horse trotted briskly along, 
 Provok'd at the ceaseless sharp touch of the tho^ig 
 Of the whip, which the rider, unskilfully held 
 In fancied importance prodigiously swell'd ! 
 
 SO. 
 
 Boast not of thy knowledge, unfortunate wight, 
 
 All learning is useless, if learn'd not aright ; 
 
 If it tells thee not, gives thee not, sense to perceive, 
 
 The absurdities, madnesses, folly must weave; 
 
 The mark of derision to each sotted elf, 
 
 Who can feel not in thee, the true semblance of self; 
 
 But, with fine air of candour, still cries, " on my word 
 
 " I lament that my friend so and so's so absurd '."'
 
 118 DR. mac sap; or, 
 
 Whilst his friend, with as equally candid an air, 
 Exclaims — " so and so's a great fool I declare !* 
 
 31. 
 
 Well ! let the world wag as it will, there must be, 
 Some perhaps that laugh with, more than laugh against 
 
 me ; 
 And it matters not much ! Is your neighbour a calf '. 
 Another will think it of you, and the laugh, 
 The proud laugh of scorn, curls the lip and defies 
 The warm heart of friendship, that shrinks at its lies! 
 Then friendship believes, and we see it in turn 
 Tormented, tormenting : — and fatally learn 
 That just as the pique of the moment arises 
 The heart of the man, or reveres or despises ! 
 
 32. 
 
 To return to the doctor ; behold him approach, 
 Uncas'd on his steed, and about to slip on 
 
 The bright spotless shirt, when the whirl of a coach 
 Disturb'd in his grazing, the spirited son 
 
 Of a spiiited sire: what his name, what his race 
 
 It is needless to mention perhaps in this place
 
 THE FALLEN STAB. 119 
 
 And I know not indeed ; but the miller, don't doubt it, 
 Will satisfy those, who are anxious about it! 
 Suffice it, the steed in a frolicksome mood, 
 Or offended at those who had dar'd to intrude; 
 On the new fashion' d toilette of him who bestrode, 
 His proud back as he leizurely pac'd on the road: 
 With a bound that set all at defiap.ee, flew past, 
 Whilst the rider, imagin'd that moment his last ; 
 His immaculate shirt — his antique copper coat, 
 The delicate kerchief, that twin'd round his throat ; 
 His hat, wig, and — whip, that he'd borrow'd alack : 
 All, all fled their master, ne'er more to come back : 
 Never more to hehold the bald pate, naked brawn, 
 Of him like a swallow, now skimming the lawn. 
 
 33. 
 
 No longer erect, see his head on the mane, 
 
 And his legs moving backward — then forward again ; 
 
 While his hands firmly clench'd round the neck of the 
 
 steed, 
 In vain strove to check the excess of his speed, 
 As he past by the house, where — (oh shame to relate!) 
 Stood the bright laughing fair one beholding his fate;
 
 120 DR. mac sap; or, 
 
 Who begg'd him to stop, while with no little force, 
 The doctor oft beg'd the same thing of his horse: 
 And vow'd, and protested with many a groan, 
 If but once he escap'd he'd leave courting alone; ' 
 Or at least adore one, who'd more care for his nouse, 
 And would come and be courted at home, in his house I 
 
 34. 
 
 The waves of a river that skirted the lawn, 
 
 And cherish'd the flow' rets its brink that adorn 
 
 Flow'd nigh ; — and the steed unoppos'd gallop'd down. 
 
 "When the Doctor, who more than his danger perceiv'd. 
 Thinking better to break e'en a neck, than to drown, 
 
 Jump'd off, and the horse of his burden bereav'd; 
 On the soft mossy turf, all his learning was laid, 
 Somewhat bruis'd, it is true — but less hurt than afraid, 
 
 35. 
 Now troops of fair handmaids all anxiously flew, 
 To be told oi the tumult, and talk of it too; 
 And wonder, and reason, as women will do 
 Of all that they knew not, and all that they knew 1 
 And when the denudated doctor, they saw, 
 They chatter'd, and blush'd, and re-echoed — " oh law '."
 
 THE FALLEN STAR. 121 
 
 (As to blushes, 'tis proper to add, that some could not, 
 And perhaps if they could, it is probable, would not!) 
 Then back again flew, (like young birds from the chaff, 
 When they've peck'd all the grain out) with laugh after 
 laugh. 
 
 36. 
 
 Hut ceasing at length, for e'en laughter must cease, 
 And the mirth-heaving bosom, sink gently to peace ; 
 My lord bade his train, healing unguents provide. 
 For the woful result, that attended the ride ; 
 To cloth him, and feed him, and fill high the bowl, 
 
 With the heart warming eloquent juice of the vine; 
 Till the ills of the morning, should die on his soul, 
 
 And the bright wreath of joy again playfully twine : 
 Till the love that, yet faintly illumin'd his heart 
 From its ashes, with double the splendour should start! 
 
 37. 
 They say that love sinks, 'ncath the goblet's eclipse ! 
 
 But they err, widely err, who such faith will maintain. 
 Stol'n glances are sweet — sweet the pressure of lips ; 
 
 But he wets his gay wings in that fount, and again, 
 
 G 
 
 1
 
 122 DR. MAC SAP- OR, 
 
 With a far bolder flight up to happiness soars, 
 And around, all the charm of his witchery pours I 
 Oh ! say not the bowl, is the grave of the boy, 
 
 'Tis a sparkling beam of a rapture that is, 
 Like the dream of a Saint, when the world's base 
 alloy 
 
 Hath fled, and the soul drinks a foretaste of bliss ! 
 
 38. 
 Ay, the doctor soon felt all the warmth it inspires, 
 
 All his troubles forgot, and but love now alive ; 
 With a look of proud consciousness oft he inquires 
 
 When the Lady Matilda, might haply arrive. 
 Delay on delay, put his patience to trial, 
 
 Till the shades of the ev'ning envelop'd the sky, 
 And then to himself, he protested denial 
 
 Should hold him, no more from the flash of her eyp. 
 
 39. 
 
 And now he discerns, (with what joy let those say, 
 Who themselves have been tortur'd by fearful delay) : 
 He discerns a fair maid, with a curtsy of grace 
 And a look, scarce repelling the smile from her face :
 
 THE FALLEN STAR. 
 
 12$ 
 
 Who beg'd he'd obligingly honour her lady, 
 
 With a short tete-a-tete, where she then would con- 
 duct ; 
 
 With gladness renew'd, altho' greatly afraid, he 
 His breeches and courage resolvedly pluck'd ! 
 
 40. 
 
 Now with heart, that would fain have been joyous, — ad* 
 
 vanc'd he, 
 And in spite of his bruises right merrily danc'd he; 
 Till he reach' d the saloon, where the lady awaited : 
 
 Oh then how that heart beat about, pit-a-pat ! 
 He opeu'd the door, and with glee so elated, 
 
 Fell headlong (unfortunate man!) o'er the mat; 
 Why runs not the lady to help up her lover? 
 
 Why stands she, like marble dejectedly there? 
 Oh say, did not modesty wisely behove her 
 
 Of false steps, and man's cunning arts to beware? 
 He rose ; still she mov'd not 1 Sweet maiden, the gloom 
 With her thick flowing veil, hath now darken'd the 
 
 room, 
 It needs not to him, thou ador'st, be so coy; 
 Oh speak to him, mute, and bewitch him with joy ! 
 G 2
 
 124 L>R. MAC sap; OR, 
 
 41. 
 
 'Tis silence around, and how sadly ye stand, 
 Ye lovers, as touch'd by some magical wand ! 
 Rouse Dr. Mac Sap, all your courage arouse, 
 Think no more, think no more, of the whys and the 
 
 hows. 
 'Tis bravery wins all the beauteous and fair, 
 And 'tis this must alone win that excellence there ! 
 
 42. 
 " Miss — Lady Matilda," the doctor began. 
 
 Not a sound, not a decimal part of a word, 
 Gave the wish'd for response, to this desperate man. 
 
 Who had spoken, so much, to the child of a Lord ! 
 What now shall he do ? He had heard 'twas a rule 
 
 'Mongst the fair, that dull silence, gives hearty consent: 
 And heard, the short time he had been in love's school, 
 
 'Twixt lovers, a kiss was a pleasing event ! 
 Such boldness was horror ; but then, did he not, 
 
 Offence might be giv'n, tho' he hardly knew how ; 
 So unus'd to the art, he had almost forgot, 
 
 If perform'd on the nose, on the lip, or the brow ! 
 What must be done, must be, who is there can doubt it .' 
 
 The doctor himself, altho' giv'n to distrust,
 
 THE FALLEN STAR. 123 
 
 Would allow a self-evident truth had about it, 
 
 A something that even uncertainty must 
 Yield up without contest— so no other book did, 
 Demonstrate its truth, but that sage fellow Euclid. 
 
 43. 
 
 Well, the " mast" being allow'd him the how follows 
 
 next : 
 And oh ! what great men, have small matters perplext j 
 Some yield up their fame, to one error political, 
 And lovers their bliss, in a moment, as critical ! 
 One unfortunate "point," unprovided for, starts 
 (Tho' doctors say, form'd nor of "greatness or parts* ;") 
 And o'erwhelms in the maze it created, the learning, 
 That pompously boasted, of nicely discerning ; 
 And proves, without wisdom, or logical skill, 
 Good sense is victoriously eminent still ! 
 
 44. 
 
 But some way Necessity wills him ; the Fair 
 Unmov'd and in silence, dejectedly there 
 
 * " A point is that which hath no parts, or which hath no mag- 
 nitude,"-— Definitions.
 
 i c Z6 »K. Mac sap; ok. 
 
 Seem'd lo hope his advance ; (at least so, I suppose. 
 For the fair seldom love to be far from their beaux : ) 
 And at last, after long evolutions of thought, 
 His contemplative mood, into action was brought I 
 " Oh! Virgin, I come !" with deliberate pace 
 He gravely stalk'd up to that sweet bashful face ; 
 Then extending his lips to their utmost extent, 
 And with wonderful force, a loud sigh giving vent, 
 He rush'd to th' attack ! But oh ! earth, sea and skies, 
 There came from the maiden's mouth, nostril and eyes. 
 A black liquid ocean, that spirting outright, 
 Shot direct in the doctor's large organs of sight ! 
 
 45. 
 Oh ! Heav'n ! what sounds from this lover arose, 
 As the water, in floods, trickled down from his nose; 
 As it forc'd itself channels in many a place, 
 And mark'd with fair streaks his magnificent face! 
 Oh Heav'n ! how echoed the roof with his cries, 
 As the puddle, in floods, trickled into his eyes ! 
 Rage swell'd his big heart; in a fury he flew, 
 And — (ill luck betide thee, oh doctor !) o'erthrew 
 That kind loving maid; but he shar'd the disgrace, 
 And prostrate reolin'd, 'mid the gloom of the place!
 
 THE FALLEN STAR. 127 
 
 46. 
 
 Now burst in upon them, resplendent as noon, 
 (Or, since it is eve, we will mention — the moon !) 
 The black and the blue, and the soft hazel eye, 
 While loud peels of laughter exultingly fly ; 
 &nd around the poor culprit, the mirth-loving throng, 
 (As asham'd and crest fallen, he yet lay along), 
 Buz like moths round a half wasted taper at night, 
 That haply escape from the blaze of its light 
 
 47. 
 
 But worse the confusion, his senses possessed, 
 
 When he found, oh ! ye gods ! 'twas a puppet he'd 
 
 prest ; 
 'Twas a puppet drest up, like my lady, which he 
 Had mistaken, for that, he so wish'd it to be ; 
 And he saw but too clearly, tho' hard to believe, 
 That a man of his learning, young maids could de- 
 ceive ; 
 That a man of his great mathematical skill, 
 Was no match for a woman ; and bitterer still, 
 The thought that his name, would be handed about, 
 The scorn of each ignorant, mischievous lout !
 
 128 DK. MAC SAP; 0]{, the fallen stah. 
 
 48. 
 Oh! -worlds would he give, to escape from the string 
 That mock his disaster, and jceringly fling. 
 Condolement of sorrows, those eyes must bespeak, 
 That could thus have bedew'd his magnanimous cheek 
 
 "Twas too much, 'twas too cutung for even the one, 
 
 Whose vanity bade him, be practis'd upon : 
 
 So wildly enraged, without utt'ring a word, 
 
 He fled from their taunts — from the house of my lord ' 
 
 With many an excellent vow, in his wrath 
 
 To hate all the sex, as the snake in his patli ; 
 
 To fly, as the greatest of pests that invade, 
 
 A. frolicksome horse, and a frolicksome maid,
 
 ©mat. 
 
 AN EASTERN TALE. 
 
 This is the state of Man; to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of Hope ; to-morrow blossoms, 
 And bears \i\>. flushing honors, thick upon him : 
 The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost, 
 And, — when he th'nks, good easy man, tall surely 
 His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, 
 And then he falls, as I do. 
 
 Shakspeaue's Hex. VIIL 
 
 G 5
 
 ©mar* 
 
 Auream quisquis mediocritatem 
 Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti 
 Sordibus tecti, caret invidenda 
 Sobrius aula. 
 
 Hon. 
 
 •'< Oh ! be but humble, and thou shalt be happy, 
 " Nor writhe beneath the heart-consuming pangs 
 " That rack th' ambitious soul; and tho' thy days 
 " Pass not along, in undisturb'd repose, 
 " Nor all thy nights be tranquil, — (for such bliss 
 " To hope were vain !) yet happiness may be 1" 
 Thus spoke the hoary sage of Aubukabis*, 
 And soft as music, floating o'er a hill 
 
 * A mountain to the east of Mecca, 
 1
 
 132 OMAK. 
 
 Wafted by summer's breath, upon a vale 
 
 Of fiow'ry sweets, — fell all the words of wisdom. 
 
 On Omar's listening ear* and so they sunk, 
 
 Calming his troubled soul : " It is, my son, 
 
 " The lot of some to climb the trackless paths 
 
 " Cf fortune's adverse steep, adverse indeed 
 
 " When most she favours ! vigorous they ascend 
 
 •' Of toil, of danger, and of death regardless, 
 
 " And furiously push on : how few succeed, 
 
 " To touch the envied glitter ! Say they do, 
 
 " Say ev'ry hope completed ; even so. 
 
 •' View that emaciated frame, fatigue 
 
 44 And dread anxieties of ill, have worn 
 
 " To a poor atomv. Oh! wilt thou then 
 
 4 ' Dream still ? wouldst thou then seize the splendid 
 
 bowl, 
 " And quaff its nectar' d poison? Go, my r - o 1 1 , 
 *' Be wise, and to her heav'nly arms, True Bliss 
 " Shall woo thee !" 
 
 Thou hast seen 
 The dark cloud big with waters, whilst a glory 
 Bright and ineffable, around its edge 
 From the departing sun, shone forth 3 and seen
 
 OMAR. 133 
 
 When his wide glaring orb had disappeared, 
 That cloud wax cold and colder ! Omar so 
 Felt all the warm impression fade away, 
 As his eye, follow'd up, the lessening form 
 Of wisdom's reverend counsellor: in sooth 
 To list that soft persuasive tongue, to mark 
 The whiten'd blossoms of the grave, that fell 
 Adown his aged temples, all unmov'd, 
 Were not to be a man : and Omar's heart 
 Yielded due credence, but could yield no more- 
 lie, was as a rock, down which the cataract 
 Leaps thund'ring, but whose indurated bed 
 Long laughs defiance at the falling mass ! 
 •' The prophet's will be done," the youth exclaim'd, 
 And forward trod, whilst ever and anon, 
 lie thus held dangerous commune with his heart: 
 ; ' Shall I ingloriously my day consume, 
 • ; Life's little day, nor trace the path to heav'n ? 
 " Thou err'st old man : thy subtle spell-fraught tongue 
 *' Speaks falsely '. Can it be th' all righteous will 
 •■ To light up fires, that must annihilate 
 • ; The creatures he has made .' Would he have giv'n 
 •' Aspiring thoughts, nor will'd me to aspire,
 
 134 OMAR. 
 
 " Or willing, desolate all hope of bliss 
 " When prov'd ? old man, it cannot be I" 
 
 So murmuring he sped, and ere the eve 
 Mournfully turn'd her dark and tearful eye, 
 On the world's hated throng ; high minarets 
 And tow'rs of holy Mecca, dimly seen, 
 Like visionary forms amid the gloom 
 Rose on his wavering sight. Here turban'd head? 
 Of many a dye, mov'd variously along, 
 Like gaudy flow'rets scatter'd by the storm : 
 And there, the bright ey'd beauties of the east 
 Within their rosy tinctur'd veils conceal'd, 
 .Started along his path ; while oft the sound 
 Of golden bells, that gracefully adorn 
 The beauteous neck of Love's devoted fair 
 (Whose long voluptuous lashes, shaded not 
 The eye of fire, beneath), floated around, 
 And in the breeze of Even, died away. 
 
 Omar pass'd on, unheeding thro' the crowd, 
 And as unheeded ! little thought, the gay 
 And busy world, bestows upon the brow
 
 OMAR. 
 
 135 
 
 Of sadness and of care ; e'en Azrael comes 
 Unnoted ; still the long loud laugh 
 Of merriment goes on, and like the ocean foam — 
 One bubble bursts, and others still succeed ! 
 
 Amurath, 
 Now reign'd, the dark destroying Amurath, 
 And Omar his vizier : 'twere long to tell 
 The acts of blood and horror that o'er ran 
 The kingdom of the prophet! The dire lists 
 Of death swell' d hourly, and the people's cry 
 By force suppress'd, now broke out, like a stream 
 That bursts its flood banks, and o'erwhelms the hope 
 Of a fair harvest's promise! Omar saw 
 The threatening storm, and shunn'd its violence, 
 Fay' ring the rebel powr's — himself the first, 
 The mightiest! It may be, the wan form 
 Of his enfeebled country, first inspir'd 
 His soul to vengeance for her wrongs ; but thence, 
 Thence sprang a latent cause, that darkly twining, 
 Hung like the adder, and instill'd its poison 
 In his unquiet breast : he was ambitious, 
 And when the step from nothing to a throne — 
 From the slave subject, to the despot king,
 
 136 OMAR. 
 
 Appear'd so safe and easy ; then arose 
 
 Black thoughts, that spoke forsooth of damning crimes. 
 
 But so gilt o'er by sophistry's deceit, 
 
 They proudly glitter'd in the borrow'd forms 
 
 Of justice and of peace ! " Yes, he must die, 
 
 " And mine too, let it be from death's cold hand 
 
 " To snatcli the wreath of popular applause! 
 
 " Ay, then shall I be honor'd, and 'tis meet; — ■ 
 
 " Who risks the greatest, should receive the most ' 
 
 " But if I fail — the prophet's will be done, 
 
 " 'Tis he inspires me, and it must be right, 
 
 " 'Tis he inspires me, and I must be bless'd L" 
 
 Thus he ; and ah ! how many have believ'd 
 
 The will of passion is the will of God, 
 
 And call'd their fond imaginings divine! 
 
 How many maddened dreamers there exist 
 
 Who wander o'er destruction's flow'ry paths, 
 
 And deem heav'n's hand directs them on the way I 
 
 The golden chain that binds us, is so fine, 
 
 So subtly wove, the soul in slavery dwells, 
 
 Yet fancies she is free ! 
 
 Uproar, and that wild anarchy, that founds 
 Her mightiness on horror, ruled the day.
 
 137 
 
 And night escap'd not the infectious touch : 
 
 Now thro' the royal halls of Amurath, 
 
 Loose mirth's inebriated form had sunk 
 
 Like the expiring taper's ray — loathsome 
 
 And darkly flashing, till at length extinct 
 
 The gloom and still of night, assum'd again 
 
 Their melancholy sway : cloth'd in the hue 
 
 Of living death, the trembling anxious Omar 
 
 (Himself, commission'd harbinger of death !) 
 
 Bent his reluctant, and yet eager steps 
 
 In cautious silence, thro' long corridors 
 
 And rooms of regal state : The guard, remov'd,, 
 
 Presented free access to his fell hopes : 
 
 But to his soul, the solemn warning voice 
 
 Of conscience, yet alive, spoke audibly. 
 
 It whisper'd, murderer, inhuman murderer; 
 
 It bade remembrance, tell of days gone by, 
 
 Of Omar, rais'd to glory — honor'd, lov'd, 
 
 By him he would destroy ; and then it rung 
 
 Ingratitude, black base ingratitude : 
 
 Like spirits muttering o'er a grave! appall'd 
 
 He shrunk before the monitor, but yet 
 
 Turn'd not away : ah ! no, the blood stain'd wreath)
 
 138 OMAR. 
 
 Ambition, twines around her votary's soul, 
 Is as indissoluble, as the links 
 Of Fate's eternal will,' — and 'tis as hard 
 For mortal strength to break ! 
 
 Onward he pass'd, with that determin'd fear 
 Which cowards have assum'd amid despair, 
 And so, done boldly: but He never knew, 
 Until this darken'd hour, the withering blast 
 Guilt spreads upon the soul, and till this hour 
 His heart had been undaunted. He had brav'd 
 War, in ten thousand rugged shapes, but ne'er 
 Felt half the horrors of a scene like this ! 
 
 The tyrant slumber'd o'er the gilded couch, 
 
 Breathing last eve's debauch. His very rest 
 
 Perturb'd and fearful, whilst a dreary smile 
 
 Play'd with such ghastliness upon his brow 
 
 As had affrighted horror, and excell'd 
 
 His deepest, phrenzied mood ! The eye-balls sunk 
 
 And fixt on air, inanimately dim, 
 
 Mock'd living nature, and bequeath'd to death, 
 
 More terror, than he brought!
 
 OMAIt. 139 
 
 Still Omar gaz'd, 
 Fearfully gaz'd, upon that awful sight, 
 And half forbore the stroke ; but now to turn 
 Argued a weakness, which his soul despis'd. 
 Died he or not, the morrow must display 
 Rebellion's crimson'd banner, streaming round, 
 And one — as he, ambitious of a throne, 
 Usurp dominion, and to death consign 
 The envied favourite of a tyrant lord ! 
 Here, hesitation ceas'd ; the sparkling blade 
 Descended, whirling thro' the gloom of night, 
 And dy'd its lustre in that heart, the chill 
 Of inhumanity had frozen o'er. 
 The black blood slowly trickled, and a groan, 
 One agonizing groan, rung the sad knell 
 Of his unwept decay, while death's dark angel 
 Bore from a gladden'd world, the evil one 
 That troubled all its peace ! 
 
 Hark, oh hark! 
 Heardst thou, but now, a deep drawn bitter sigh 
 That seem'd to rend in twain, the o'er-fraught breast 
 It sprang from ? Was it fancy all? again 
 It meets the ear, and Omar trembling stands, 
 A.nd awe-struck ; there, there, the shadowy drapery
 
 140 
 
 Shakes, — tho' without the breeze hath died away. 
 
 And not a leafs in motion ! Sure some pow'r 
 
 Hastes to avenge the bloody massacre, 
 
 And hurl the fated thunder at that form, 
 
 So pale and tremulous ! One busy moment 
 
 Rife with despair like this ! Oh ! it had arm'd 
 
 Against divinity his impious hand : 
 
 He would have struck — (so hopeless seem'd his fate !) 
 
 Tho' pregnant with eternity of woe ! 
 
 With a strange savage laughter, he uprais'd 
 
 An unstain'd sabre, that had grac'd his side 
 
 But on high days of festival, (such day 
 
 The last bright morning smil'd on) nor ere yet 
 
 Had drank red slaughter, from the rapid tide 
 
 Of all o'erwhelming war. P'iercely it fell 
 
 Where the sad sounds had utterance, and blood 
 
 Warm human blood, from the pure spring of life 
 
 Follow'd the blow : a fearful, deathly shriek 
 
 Succeeded, as convulsively there rush'd 
 
 To his scarce conscious ken, a beauteous form, 
 
 Like the struck dove from the entangled brake, 
 
 Wet with her own heart's blood : her tresses hung 
 
 In wild disorder, o'er a brow, that shone 
 
 With a pale sickly lustre, but e'en so 
 
 In excellence unrivall'dl wildly too
 
 OMAR. 141 
 
 Eyes that once beam'd but tenderness, and seem'd 
 
 Image of love's divinity, to which 
 
 All hearts were sacrific'd ; and whose bright flame 
 
 Consum'd the offering, but new splendour shot 
 
 O'er the pure altar's holiness ! how dim 
 
 How darkling now. and oh ! could virtue say 
 
 Its purity was still, still undehTd ? 
 
 A groan of anguish from the bleeding fair 
 Gave back to Omar's soul, the fleeting sense, 
 And drove the filmy darkness from his eye: 
 He look'd — again, and dreadfully he look'd 
 On this young lovely one. Oh ! could it be? 
 Was it a vision that he saw, and what 
 Its monstrous import I In a madd'ning voice 
 Loud, and as terrible as his, the fiend*, 
 Whose fearful tones, on the last awful day, 
 Will rouse the sinner from his mould'ring tomb 
 He spake: " Woman, who — what art thou V 
 A sich of deepest bitterness was all, 
 All his foreboding heart had need I It was 
 
 * Monkcr.
 
 142 OMAR. 
 
 (And fate could curse no deadlier,) the one, 
 
 The chosen one, in whom all life, all love, 
 
 That warm'd his youlhful bosom, was concenter'di 
 
 'Twas his own darling Zara ; she, for whom 
 
 He first but dream'd of honor, and for whom 
 
 He woo'd the name of regicide! Now, now 
 
 He felt ingratitude's severest sting; — 
 
 A damned one's torments, for he felt them just : 
 
 Hell hath no fire more terrible than that 
 
 Which burns the trusting heart, betray'd to death 
 
 By all it lov'd the dearest, and he, too 
 
 Of harsh experience, tried the bitter fruit! 
 
 True, Amurath was a tyrant, and he died 
 
 A tyrant's death ; but 'twas not thine to kill — 
 
 Not thine, ungrateful traitor ! He who shed 
 
 The early dew upon the springing fiow'r, 
 
 And beam'd bright rays of sunshine, merited 
 
 No such return! Thou feel'st it now, indeed. 
 
 Heavily, heavily — one dark hour too late! 
 
 Oh '. the decrees of heav'n are wondrous : they rise 
 Amid intensest darkness ; but the flash 
 Of Justice strikes the unexpecting world, 
 And thro' its dread magnificence appears
 
 143 
 
 The hand of the Omnipotent! Then swells 
 The vengeful storm of Fate; the guilty then 
 May tremble, for they feel, and they confess, 
 The Lord is God, and mighty to destroy! 
 
 That bitter drop, on Omar's woe-blanch' d pheek, 
 Bespeaks his fearful agony of heart : 
 Zara, the fall n Zara, beauteous still, 
 E'en amid guilt and death, clasp'd his cold knees, 
 Upholding scarce their burden ; whilst her eya 
 (That eye, whose ever-varying glance, his soul 
 Once rapturously hail'd, now turn'd 
 Dim 'mid the damps of death!) sought mercy yet ;. 
 Not in warm hope of life — for that was past, 
 Fleeting like guilty dreams : " Canst thou forgive 
 " A wretch like me '?" — at intervals, she said, 
 Gasping for breath — whilst ev'ry passing word 
 Struck like a datrffer, the lorn heart of Omar ; 
 " Canst thou forgive th' enormity of wrong 
 " I've done to thee 1 Didst thou but know the toils 
 " That won me to destruction, thou wouldst pity, 
 " And then, perhaps, wouldst pardon one so lost! 
 :t But I could never tell thee all — 'tis too, 
 5 ' Too terrible, and conscience — oh! it burns,
 
 144 OMAU, 
 
 " It maddens me: more deadly pangs lie there, 
 
 " Than all thy dooming sabre can inflict 
 
 " On this adulterous breast ! Omar, dear Omar, 
 
 " I die — but do not curse me; Alia then 
 
 " May pardon- thee!" The wings of Azrael, 
 
 Striking the midnight air, were heard afar; 
 
 And as her spirit fled, the angel's breath 
 
 Chill' d the warm fount of life, and Zara sunk 
 
 A pallid corse, in that red shroud of blood! 
 
 The verdant branch, by gentle force essay'd, 
 May bend unbroke; but suddenly constrain' d 
 From nature's course, it spurns the rude assault, 
 And snapping — fades for ever on (he stem ! 
 Thus died the lofty hopes ambition rais'd — 
 Thus sunk into decay the aspiring Omar ; 
 Whose busy mind, weigh'd by unforeseen, 
 Unthought of evil — could sustain no more; 
 And die pure ray that lights the human frame, 
 That spark of heav'n's own fire, expir'd: and there 
 A pitiable darkness cover'd all. 
 
 What ill, what punishment can man endure, 
 So terrible to poor humanity, as is
 
 145 
 
 The wrack of intellect ? oh ! it is bitter ; 
 And bitterly it shews the weaknesses, 
 The nothingness of man; it bids him look 
 With less presumption to the Lord of all — 
 To Him who gives — to Him who takes away ! 
 
 Now Omar rush'd impetuously along, 
 Back from the hall of death, in safety led 
 By the sure guidance of the Prophet's arm ! 
 No sound escap'd him ; but his wild eye shone 
 With all the glare of madness. Having pass'd 
 Unseen the confines of the Haram wall, 
 He hurried on, fleet as the antelope 
 Bounds o'er the flow'ry turf, when the loud cry 
 Of her pursuers mingles with the breeze; 
 So on, throughout the city's lonely paths, 
 Unchalleng'd. 
 
 Borne by some secret impulse, 
 O'er the wide champaign rapidly he sped, 
 And ere the morning ripen'd in the east, 
 A lofty mountain rear'd its stately head, 
 Stretching along his way. Wearied he fell 
 Beside a rugged cave's dark aperture,
 
 146 OMAR. 
 
 And sleep, sweet comforter! in magic spelt 
 Enwrapp'd his sbatter'd soul! 
 
 " Father of mercies ! let thy servant bend 
 " His knee in thankfulness, to Thee that gave — 
 " That giv'st him life and being! Man in vain 
 " Would be, if thy directing providence 
 " Pointed not out the realm of future bliss, 
 " And bade him win it ! Holy Alia, this, 
 " And this alone, proves thy beneficence 
 " To man, fall'n creature ! and for this is due 
 " (A.nd ah! how little worthy of thy name!) 
 " His warmest pray'rs and praises !" 
 
 Thus, in the purest fervency of soul, 
 The sage of Aubukabis pour'd to heav'n 
 His morning orisons, and thankfully 
 Bless'd Alia and his Prophet, who had shed 
 The calm of Virtue o'er his blameless heart! 
 
 Now, from his rocky habitation see 
 The holy man step slowly forth, to hail 
 The bright sun's rising majesty, and mark 
 In the magnificent and peerless works
 
 OMAR. 147 
 
 That overspread creation, the all-wise, 
 
 All-beauteous law of the Supreme Creator. 
 
 Why starts he now ? and why, with uprais'd hands, 
 
 And tremulous, so sadly sighs ? Ah! there 
 
 Lies the wild haggard countenance of one 
 
 He dearly lov'd — the sleeping, madden' d Omar. 
 
 He wakes, he wakes — and oh ! how horrible 
 To see the vacant roll of those large eyes 
 That once shot lightnings o'er his manly frame, 
 When war's shrill voice stirr'd up his soul to arms ! 
 
 With sudden spring, 
 Shouting, he rush'd precipitately past, 
 And scal'd a massy rock, that beetling hung 
 O'er the wide waste beneath : no transient pause 
 Upon its verge, gave one short breath to horror ! 
 A dreary howl, loud and long, and fiend-like, 
 Fled from his bleeding body, as he leap'd 
 Headlong adown the steep ; while his sad soul 
 Left its dark tomb, to meet the just decree 
 Of an offended and almighty Judge : 
 
 The sage beheld the woeful scene o( death 
 h 2
 
 148 OMAR. 
 
 With many a heart-felt pang, and pitying tears 
 Wet, with their kindly dew, his furrow'd cheek. 
 Much had he lov'd the youth ; and could grave counsel 
 Have turn'd the fiery bent of passion's law, 
 Omar had yet liv'd happy — yet belov'd ! 
 But vain th' attempt to fertilize a soil 
 Nature forbade to flourish ; vain th' attempt 
 To ripen fruits 'mid winter's chilling sky !
 
 MISCELLANEA, 
 
 " Spissis indigna theatris 
 jcripfca pudet recitarc, et nugis addere pondus." 
 
 Hon.
 
 [ 151 ] 
 
 FROM ANACREON. 
 
 EI2 EPX2TA. 
 
 Wretched indeed, is that man's fate, 
 Whose heart obdurate cannot know 
 
 What joys on love sincere await, 
 Or taste the " luxury of woe 1" 
 
 And he who feels love's poison'd dart 
 Glide swiftly thro' his trembling frame, 
 
 And feels it rankling at his heart, 
 
 The term of " wretched," too may claim. 
 
 But ah ! can words express the pains 
 Of him who loves to love's excess, 
 
 When not one single hope remains 
 To blunt the keenness of distress ?
 
 [ 152 ] 
 
 FROM THE GREEK 
 
 She sang — and Philomel mute, 
 With envy heard the rival strain, 
 
 And then, as if to dare dispute, 
 Began to trill her notes again ! 
 
 Soon ceas'd the lay ; in deep despair, 
 To find her own sweet sounds surpass'd, 
 
 She sunk, exhausted, on my fair, 
 And on her bosom breath'd her last ! 
 
 October, 1816,
 
 [ 153 ] 
 
 TO KATE. 
 
 Nay, call me not fickle, altho', dearest Kate, 
 
 My heart at this moment is ranging, 
 For it flies to repose on thy bosom its fate, 
 
 But there it remaineth unchanging ! 
 
 Yet wilt thou receive it? Oh kindly comply ; 
 
 It shall shield from thy heart ev'ry sorrow ; 
 And the tear that to-day may have moisten'd thine eye. 
 
 Shall be dried by its warmth ere to-morrow. 
 
 October, 1816. 
 
 h 5
 
 [ 154 
 
 THE QUARREL. 
 
 Talk on, fair maid, I'll calmly hear thee- 
 
 I'll keep my temper in despite ; 
 But if thou deemst that I shall fear thee, 
 
 In sooth, thou art mistaken quite. 
 The man who fancies by assuaging, 
 
 To bend a woman to his will, 
 Like oil pour'd on the ocean raging, 
 
 Will only find — it rages still! 
 
 No, no : besides, I like the roaring, 
 I like to see huge waves arise ; 
 
 Now down upon the sea-beach pouring, 
 Thtu re-asct-nding, touch the skies:
 
 THE QUARREL. 155 
 
 I love to hear thee scolding, sweet ! too, 
 To see those orbs of sparkling flame ; 
 
 To view thee stamp thy little feet too — 
 It proves thou'st eyes, and art not lame I 
 
 What ! nay pry'thee do not cease, love, 
 
 So grand, thy little angers are ; 
 We will not sink so soon to peace, love, 
 
 Indeed, we've hardly tasted war ; 
 And, — sullen now ! well, that's a change too, 
 
 Variety is pleasing still; 
 Tho' thou'rt lovely, I can range too, 
 
 Feel, perhaps a warmer thrill ! 
 
 Ay, ope the window, strong winds blowing 
 
 May drive that dark cloud from thy brow ; 
 E'en as I thought, the smile is growing, 
 
 And sunshine, will appear just now ! 
 Not so, by heav'n 1 the clouds are breaking, 
 
 And tears in copious show'rs descend ; 
 Thy grief, my stubborn heart partaking, 
 
 Herefeign'd indifference must end.
 
 156 THE QUARREL. 
 
 Why do you weep ? I love you dearly. 
 
 There's not on earth, a heart so true 
 That loves so fondly — so sincerely ; 
 
 Or would more gladly bleed for you ! 
 Dear Mira, no ; then but one kiss love, 
 
 Sweet pledge of peace, ne'er tried in vain ! 
 For thrilling hearts, know most of bliss, love. 
 
 When anger, yields to love again, 
 
 Nov. 1816.
 
 [ 157 J 
 
 ANACREONTIQUE. 
 
 Away with all sadness, 
 
 Iii grief there is madness — 
 Why should we hearken to sorrow and care I 
 
 Fill, fill the thirsty bowl • 
 
 Let ev'ry joyous soul, 
 Pledge, till he drain ev'ry drop that be there. 
 
 'Twill add a new vigour, 
 
 'Twill soften the rigour ; 
 The storms of adversity waken, alas ! 
 
 As the clouds, dropping rain, 
 
 Give a beauty again, 
 To the fjow'rets all faded, and withering grass.
 
 158 ANACREONTIQUE. 
 
 Then shun ev'ry sorrow 
 Think not of the morrow, 
 Old Time's done sufficient to mellow our wine, — 
 If the rogue dare appear. 
 To admonish us here, 
 We'll drown him, by Jove ! in the nectar divine. 
 
 Jan. 1817.
 
 [ 159 ] 
 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 " Nos procul expulsos, communia gaudia fallunt." 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 In search of happiness, man flies, 
 Each scheme, and each expedient tries. 
 
 All, all alas ! how vain ! 
 And what, altho' he labour hard, 
 Too often is the sole reward 1 
 
 Pain — agonizing pain. 
 
 Thus children thro' a thorny brake, 
 Rush with extended arms to take, 
 
 The warbler's downy bed : 
 The pointed thorns, the way oppose, 
 They wound their flesh, they tear their clothes j 
 
 But all they sought, — is fled ! 
 
 May, 1817.
 
 [ 160 
 
 ALTERED FROM CATULLUS, 
 
 She vow'd she lov'd me, dearly lov'd- 
 And I believ'd her true, as fair ; 
 
 But oh ! my broken heart has prov'd 
 She wrote with water — on the air ! 
 
 May, 1817. 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 I love devotedly, where most I hate ; 
 
 Ask ye the meaning of a thing so new? 
 Alas ! I know not, — 'tis the curse of fate, 
 
 To feel it torment, yet to love it too !
 
 [ 161 ] 
 
 TO CLARA 
 
 * Give me a thousand kisses, sweet, 
 The thousand kisses, oh ! repeat ; 
 Repeat them, dearest, o'er and o'er ; 
 Repeat them till thou hast no more ! 
 Thus whilst thy lips of weight are eas'd, 
 The heart of malice will be pleas'd, 
 And envy too, will be content, 
 When all thy gifts of love are spent. 
 So each some profit finds in this— 
 Then kiss my dear, begin to kiss, 
 
 June, 1817. 
 
 * " Da mi basia raille, deinde centum," &c. 
 
 Catullus, Lib. I. Car. 5.
 
 [ 162 ] 
 
 TO MIRA, 
 
 Come, Mira ! let us seek the bow'r, 
 Where roses bud, and woodbines twine, 
 
 Enjoy at least, one happy hour, 
 Nor thus at destiny repine. 
 
 For ah ! it but augments our woe, 
 
 And whilst time moves with tardy wing, 
 
 'Tis hope alone, can bid joy flow, 
 And happiness 'mid sorrow spring. 
 
 Then pr'ythee, be no longer sad ; 
 
 Sing, sing that mournful song again, 
 Which once had pow'r, would now it had 
 
 To dull the keennest thought of pain!
 
 TO MIRA. 163 
 
 Nay, look not thus, for oh! 'tis hard 
 To watch that sorrowing tearful eye, 
 
 And yet denied the sweet reward, 
 To soothe thy heartfelt misery. 
 
 Yet sing, yet sing ; for who can tell 
 When angels catch the heav'nly strain, 
 
 Obedient to thy magic spell, 
 
 E ? en happiness may come again ! 
 
 October, 1817.
 
 [ 164 ] 
 
 ON WOMEN. 
 
 (FROM CHAUCER.) 
 
 This world, alas 1 is full of guile. 
 
 And all, as onward they proceed, 
 Will often find the sunbright smile 
 
 Is not a sunbright smile indeed ! 
 
 Woman alone, alone can plead, 
 Free from deceit, and form'd to bless, 
 
 Yet somewhere, have I chanc'd to read, 
 " Beware, beware of doubleness !" 
 
 How fresh and gay, are summer flow'rs, 
 The white and red, the blue and green ; 
 
 But soon the blast of winter pours, 
 Destroying what so fair hath beeD !
 
 ON WOMEN. 165 
 
 Thus change in ev'ry thing is seen, 
 But not in woman, all confess, 
 
 And yet it is but right I ween, 
 To warn you against doubleness. 
 
 The pallid orb of night appears, 
 
 Often array'd in silvery hue, 
 And oft a face of darkness wears, 
 
 Changing each rolling month anew ; 
 
 And who duration ever knew ? 
 What can the fickle pow'r repress ? 
 
 But woman is— oh ! ever true, 
 Yet still beware of doubleness ! 
 
 The bright and lovely summer's day, 
 
 The sun's effulgent cheering pow'r, 
 As night approaches, die away, 
 
 And leave the dark and silent hour; 
 
 O'er all inconstancy doth tow'r, 
 And learned men have said no less, 
 
 But woman, truly all that know her;, 
 Know her free from doubleness !
 
 166 ON WOMEN. 
 
 The billow, that the high rock laves, 
 
 And proudly threats, will soon again, 
 Retreat, and mix its foamy waves 
 
 With the calm'd waters of the main ; 
 
 How fair the day, yet heavy rain 
 Descends, and proves all fickleness* 
 
 But who of woman, can complain. 
 Devoid of change or doubleness ! 
 
 Noveynber, 1817, 
 
 L'ENVOI. 
 
 Then since inconstancy hath been — must be, 
 O'er all of mortal nature ; were not we 
 Madmen, nay worse than mad, hoping to find 
 Constant, the fickliest of a fickle kind 'I 
 
 December, 1818.
 
 f 167 ] 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 Love, in thine eyes delighted plays, 
 
 And shines, as sparks on di'monds glow. 
 And oft the wily urchin strays, 
 
 Roving that bosom white as snow ! 
 But, ah ! sweet girl, in time beware, 
 
 Dost thou not know his roguish art ! 
 The little plunderer hides him there, 
 
 To steal thy unsuspecting heart ! 
 
 June, 1817.
 
 L ,6S ] 
 
 TO 
 
 My dear and hallow'd name, 
 
 How could my Muse so long forget, 
 
 To kindle at the purest flame 
 That ever burnt to heav'n yet ? 
 
 Could feel affection's warmth inspire 
 
 Nor joyful strike th' enraptur'd lyre! 
 
 Forgive — and now perhaps the strain, 
 Which votive thus, I wake for thee, 
 
 May strengthen the too feeble chain 
 That binds the throne of memory ; 
 
 And bid me sing in sweeter song, 
 
 As time shall sweep the chords along. 
 
 2
 
 169 
 
 Perhaps too, when the bitter thrill 
 
 Of misery hath pass'd away, 
 And Peace shall come — (for come it will !) 
 
 And thou shalt hail a happier day; 
 Then thou wilt hark, no longer sad, 
 To tales of thy all-rhyming lad. 
 
 Wilt thou not ? yes ; for there's a pow'r 
 On Poesy's enchanted ground, 
 
 That sheds like some sweet scented flow'r, 
 Its perfume over all around; 
 
 And ah ! tho' some may scorn the gem, 
 
 The Poet only pities them ! 
 
 His soul, has many a rapturous minute, 
 Which the cold bosom, cannot know, 
 
 That feels no spark electric in it 
 Of Poetry's inspiring glow. 
 
 Then may he not well pity such, 
 
 Insensible to softest touch I 
 
 And what, tho' trifling be the lay : 
 The bard's creation, rude and wild-— 
 
 i
 
 170 
 
 Companion of life's doubtful way. 
 He loves it, as a favorite child ! 
 Then think, oh ! only think how hard 
 To blast the day-dreams of the bard. 
 
 To blast them, said I ? that were vain, 
 A foolish — an absurd endeavour, 
 
 For wake him, and he'll sleep again 
 As sound, ay more enwrapt than ever! 
 
 Such happiness can only yield 
 
 Fair Poesy's elysian field. 
 
 And wonder not, I harp so long 
 On such a strain — the dearest, best : 
 
 For I must be the child of song 
 Till sinks this beating heart to rest: 
 
 Whate'er my fate, where'er I roam, 
 
 Here, 1 shall find a peaceful home ! 
 
 If pleasure's cup, before me glow, 
 
 Which neither fears, nor sorrows dull— 
 
 This talisman, will bid it flow 
 
 E'en yet more bright, more beautiful!
 
 171 
 
 As glittering gems, in water thrown, 
 Give it a lustre, not its own. 
 
 But if — ah ! sad reverse of fate ! 
 
 Tempests shall rend the shatter*d sail, 
 The lyre that bless'd my happy state, 
 
 Shall soothe me, in the boist'rous gale ; 
 And as I mournful touch the string, 
 Hope, 'mid the dreary wreck will spring. 
 
 Farewell! my — may st thou find, 
 
 This day, and each succeeding one, 
 
 Unruffled by the stormy wind, 
 
 Bright'ning beneath the glowing sun ; 
 
 And when — retard it heav'n ! thy day 
 
 Shall sink, oh ! be't in peace away, 
 
 January, 181S.
 
 [ 172 J 
 
 TO JOHN ST. M , ESQ 
 
 Fly, fly, my St. M from the cares of the sou), 
 
 And pledge me to-night, in the eloquent bowl, 
 Which sparkles as brightly, as if, my dear boy, 
 The nectar we quafT'd, could partake of our joy ; 
 As if it too, were anxious, one moment to spare 
 From that hoary old vagabond, Dominie Care ! 
 
 There are moments, believe it, whose sunshine of bliss 
 May prove perhaps, even more transient than this ; 
 When the blast of Misfortune, with terrible pow'r, 
 Shall strike the fair bud as it opens to flow'r : 
 As it feels the Avarm glow of the ripening sun, 
 And we view it decay, when its beauty's begun '. 
 Ay, here, when the rod of affliction shall smite, 
 Farewell — oh farewell ! to the cup of delight :,
 
 TO JOHN' ST. M , ESQ. 173 
 
 ~So more shall it sparkle before us ; no more 
 
 Can the dear voice of Friendship, its sweetnesses pour, 
 
 Unfelt and unheeded, it passes away ; — 
 
 As meteor beams, o'er the cold waters play, 
 
 You behold their bright forms, in the stilly profound, 
 
 But darkness and death, are enveloped around. 
 
 Yet thou, my kind friend! oh never may'st thou 
 The dark hand of Sorrow, more heavily know, 
 Than that soft soothing pressure, whose touch will im- 
 part 
 A pain— but a pain, that yields balm to the heart! 
 Yes ! still may the thrill of enjoyment be thine, 
 And to witness thy happiness, ever be mine ; 
 Be it mine, to exult as thy genius glows, 
 And warm, as that laurel encircles thy brows, 
 Which shall form a pure wreath, as unfading and dear 
 To the Muse that inspires thy young bosom, as e'er 
 Amid Immortality's temple, was furl'd, 
 By the glad hand of Fame, to astonish the world ? 
 
 June, 1818,
 
 [ 174 ] 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Fear you the noise of scribbling folk ? 
 
 They're harmless all the brood : 
 Like the young raven's dismal croak 
 
 'Tis but demand for food ! 
 
 Nor let it aught thy anger raise, 
 If crowds admire their strain — 
 
 The spark of genius, soon will blaze, 
 And prove the slander vain. 
 
 But scorn their praise, a foolish race 
 Love fools ! and thou shalt find, 
 
 The wreatli they twine, a last disgrace, 
 To chain the manly mind ! 
 
 June, 1818.
 
 [ 175 ] 
 
 TO - 
 
 'Opy^ojjic/o; tw aJfXpw avroV, EIKH, hoyj>s serai TH KPISEI 1 '' 
 St. Matthew, Chap. V. Ver. 22. 
 
 " For he'd a way, that many judged polite — 
 " A cunning dog — he'd fawn before he'd bite." 
 
 Cfubbe. 
 
 Yes, venom'd adders lurk unseen, 
 
 And dart upon their trembling prey; 
 But thou, dark monster! — thou hast been 
 More veil'd, more venomous than they ! 
 Causeless, yet terrible, the hate 
 Which urged thee calmly to await 
 A moment big with utter ruin, 
 And load it with a friend's undoing!
 
 176 
 
 Oh ! oft to his deluded eyes, 
 
 Thy shallow soul was trick'd in lies ; 
 
 And oft thy arts rais'd hope of joy, 
 
 More deeply, direly, to destroy. 
 
 As moon-struck wretches sometimes may 
 
 Their sorrowing hoping friends deceive 
 With semblance of returning ray, 
 
 Whilst subtle lines of death they weave! 
 
 Is it not sad, in life's young day, 
 To view our dearest hopes decay? 
 And manhood's harp, so newly strung, 
 
 But vibrate each discordant tone ; 
 Whose chords that should to bliss have rung, 
 
 Make the cold heart more drear and lone! 
 And oh '. the bitter heartfelt sight, 
 
 Of cheeks that once could brightly smile. 
 Turn chill away, their long-lov'd light — 
 
 The victim of a villain's wile ! 
 
 Yet Til not curse thee, wretch ! — no, no : 
 Thy bosom needs no curse to know,
 
 177 
 
 Than that awaken'd conscience brings — 
 More poignant than the scorpion's ire; 
 
 It bears along ten thousand stings, 
 And burns in unconsuming fire ! 
 
 June, 1818. 
 
 i 5
 
 [ 178 ] 
 
 TO . 
 
 (on being presented with " falconer's shipwreck.") 
 
 Dear Lady, when I read the lay — 
 This mournful lay — I'll think of thee : 
 
 And pausing often, will I say, 
 Does Fanny yet remember me ? 
 
 And if the flatterer Hope reply, 
 
 " Her feeling heart could not forget"' — 
 
 Oh ! it will stay the bitter sigh 
 
 Of many a sadd'ning fond regret ! 
 
 'Twill come, like spirit tongues, that breathe 
 O'er youthful visions, music's strain — 
 
 "V\ hilst Joy her fairy bands shall wreathe 
 Around the gloomy couch of pain !
 
 For trust me, tho' I've often sung 
 The speaking eye, the pouting lip ; 
 
 And often too, delighted hung 
 O'er extacies too — fleet to sip. 
 
 Never in dream, or dreaming song, 
 
 (And oh ! this heart might well be calmer !) 
 
 Have I believ'd, 'mid life's gay throng, 
 A. heart — a kinder, or a warmer ! 
 
 But yet— and thou'lt believe me, Fanny — 
 'Tis not thy loveliness — no, no ; 
 
 Beauty may brighter beam from many. 
 Tho' not, in sooth, to charm me so. 
 
 It is, it is, the open heart, 
 
 That link'd in friendship's dearest ties, 
 Bids hallow'd rays of splendour start, 
 
 That kindles in thy laughing eyes. 
 
 It is that something, which t' impart, 
 Words were in vain; and all I know, 
 
 ? Tis a bright halo, round the heart, 
 That lights, that lives but in its glow ! 
 
 179
 
 180 to . 
 
 And thou wilt give me Friendship's right- 
 A right I'll proudly, fondly own; 
 
 The thought, that tho' remov'd from sight, 
 To memory but dearer grown ! 
 
 Wilt thou not ? — yes, I know thou wilt 1 
 And haply if some future day, 
 
 Thine eye glance o'er the tale of guilt, 
 Or love, that marks my lowly lay. 
 
 Oh ! let it whisper a kind thought 
 Of him thou never more may'et see; 
 
 And Time, whate'er he brings to nought, 
 Shall never harm — one thought of thee.^ 
 
 October, 1818
 
 [ 181 ] 
 
 TO 
 
 Can my soul cease to love thee? Say not so, 
 Friend of rav youth ! Altho' thy sallow cheek 
 The hectic flushes, and the pulse of woe, 
 Beats thro' thy care-worn frame, and bids thee seek 
 The refuge of the grave. Ah me! how weak 
 Is man ; the frost-work of a winter's morn, 
 Which the first blast that rudely blows, shall break, 
 And leave him stript of beauty and forlorn, 
 For ev'ry passer-by to look upon and scorn ! 
 
 Once o'er the rest thou wert pre-eminent, 
 And they to thee as nothings: blended now, 
 Almost with nothing thou art ! This th' event 
 Of Fate's harsh edict — to which all must bow, 
 But who. of all, hath sufler'd more than thou '. 
 On! they be few, if any: never yet 
 Did the young heart with fairer visions glow ; 
 And never did the sun of glory set, 
 In darker, bitterer hour, or night more sternly threat.
 
 182 to ■ . 
 
 And now thou dost inhale the vital air, 
 A mockery of man ! Ay, we may smile 
 'Mid storm and sunshine — happiness and care, 
 The sweet vicissitude will reconcile : 
 But thine is all dark cloud — no hopes beguile 
 Thy long long day ; and tho' the stern arrest 
 Of Death claim sole dominion — he, the while, 
 Laughs at thy misery, and denies the rest, 
 Which shuts the languid eye, and stills the throbbing 
 breast ! 
 
 November, 1818,
 
 [ 183 1 
 
 SONNET TO TIME. 
 
 Time! what a peevish wayward thing art thou — 
 Now in the rainbow's vivid colours drest, 
 Soothing to sweetest peace, the care-worn breast, 
 
 And driving clouds from Sorrow's wrinkled brow : 
 And now with chilling aspect of despair, 
 Destroying the bright buds that flourish' d there, 
 
 In all Spring's freshest beauty. Woe is me ! 
 Oft have I seen thine eyes vindictive flash 
 Consuming Hope's young day, and felt the lash, 
 
 The scorpion lash of bitterest misery ! 
 
 Yet have I known thee too, in fairer hours, 
 
 When joy danc'd gaily down the path of life — 
 When heav'nly dreams, in Pleasure's fairy bow'rs, 
 
 Were more to me than heav'n! but oh! thine ills were 
 rife! 
 
 August, 1818.
 
 [ 184 ] 
 
 TO LAURA. 
 
 Yes! I must love, tlio' frowning Fate, 
 Darken the ray that brightly shone ; 
 
 Tlio' Youth's gay dreams be desolate, 
 And blisses pass untasted on ! 
 
 Tho' all that warm'd my raptur'd heart, 
 When first it beat for love and thee — 
 
 Should like the lightning flash depart, 
 And leave but vengeful flame for me. 
 
 Still must 1 love — well, fondly love — 
 And let the censuring world condemn ; 
 
 'Twill glad my care-worn heart to prove, 
 I lov'd thee more, in hating them !
 
 [ 185 ] 
 
 REMEMBER ME ! 
 
 TO H TTE. 
 
 Remember me, when fleets the hour 
 Of bliss, and pleasure's passing flow'r 
 No more delights thy weaned eye ; 
 When from thy bosom bursts the sigh, 
 And tears adown thy pallid cheek, 
 The agony of fate bespeak • 
 When friendship's feigned caresses flee,- 
 Then, lady, then remember me. 
 
 For I would soothe the hour of ill, 
 And tell thee, there were moments still, 
 That after all of misery past, 
 Should wear the face of joy at last :
 
 186 REMEMBER ME. 
 
 And I would bid thee hope • and while 
 Thy cheek put on the timid smile, 
 I too could joy — for sweet will be 
 The thought that then remembers me. 
 
 Yet tho' the smile, thy smiles impart, 
 Should never reach the sorrowing heart, 
 (As sunshine on the tomb may rest, 
 Tho' cold beneath the mould'ring breast!) 
 Still thou shouldst hold dominion here, 
 To this fond heart for erer dear ; 
 And little all the world would be, 
 If thou, in sooth, remembe r est me. 
 
 Remember me ! oh ! wilt thou not ? 
 And must I live, and be forgot ? 
 Must I endure e'en this, and yet 
 Unable, if I would forget ? 
 No — tho' that heart, the hallow'd shrine 
 Where burns this glowing heart of mine, 
 Reject its incense — there will be 
 Sometimes a eentle thought of me.
 
 REMEMBER ME. 187 
 
 Dear lady, do I err ? — the rill 
 That wanders onward, freely still 
 Refreshes with its silver spray, 
 Each flow'ret ere it wends away, 
 And tho' it pause not, yet will give 
 The gentle show'r that bids it live ! 
 And lady, thus that thought will be, 
 The thought that once remembers me. 
 
 February, 1819,
 
 188 1 
 
 TO FANNY 
 
 Where are now the glad moments of exquisite pleasure 
 That gilded life's path with a heav'nly hue? 
 
 Oh ! long ago faded — but yet the lost treasure 
 Can memory's dream of delusion renew. 
 
 Resplendently there the dear flow'rets she nourish'd, 
 Once more re-illum'd, their wild beauties display: 
 
 And again the heart feels as at first, when it flourish'd. 
 Ere it bitterly drank of the cup of decay ! 
 
 Yet, Fanny, those moments, so dear to this bosom, 
 So lov'd — I ne'er welcome, ne'er wish their return ; 
 
 Tho' sweet while they last, 'tis such anguish to lose 'em, 
 Hope weeps a farewell from the desolate urn ! 
 
 Thou pitiest me, Fanny? If aught could awaken 
 A beam of delight o"er a heart chill as mine, 
 
 It would be the proud thought, that my grief was 
 partaken 
 By a heart so beiov'd, and so thrilling as thine.
 
 [ 189 J 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Away, far away from the false one ; believe me, 
 Death lurks in the wave he will press thee to sip; 
 
 He will swear that he loves, and while swearing, deceive 
 thee, 
 And poison the goblet he holds to thy lip I 
 
 Thou hast seen the bright beams of the day-star at morning, 
 Thou hast seen all their brilliancy darken'd at noon; 
 
 And thus shall thy happiness die 'mid the scorning 
 Of him. who so prais'd thy harp's virginal tune ! 
 
 And then all abandon'd — life's hopes dull and darkling — 
 Like the lorn tear, that drops from that lustre-dimm'd eye, 
 
 One moment, the sun in its ray saw it sparkling, 
 The next, and amid the cold earth it shall lie ! 
 
 By heav'n ! 'tis madding to think, that with feeling, 
 With the warm heart of woman, man ever should play * 
 
 From the temple of peace thus insidiously stealing 
 The gem of the soul from the shrine where it lay, 
 June, 1818.
 
 L 190 ] 
 
 TO H TE. 
 
 I've seen, with scarce a wish, a sigh, 
 
 The brightest beams of loveliness ; 
 I've gaz'd upon a dark blue eye, 
 
 Nor teit its magic pow'r to bless ! 
 But then I sn\v no soul as bright, 
 
 Shine thro' that radiant world of charm 
 And 'tis not brilliant specks of light, 
 
 'Mid the cold atmosphere, that warm. 
 
 Ah no ! the fluttering vacant throng, 
 
 That pass o'er life's delusive way, 
 May ciaim, perhaps, an idle song, 
 
 But cannot light Love's ardent ray. 
 The blush of gentleness — the thrill 
 
 Of feeiing — oh! their pow'r is such, 
 The heart indignant spurns the will, 
 
 And melts before a single touch.
 
 TO H TE. 191 
 
 Then blame not, lady ! if I dare 
 
 To love where all I love's combin'd ; 
 Too soon I saw that thou wert fair ; 
 
 Too soon — thou hadst a fairer mind ! 
 Hopeless, perhaps, I feel the sting; 
 
 Hopeless, perhaps, I'm doom'd to pine; 
 Yet I will love the loveliest thing, 
 
 Tho' Heav'n deny that blessing mine ! 
 
 AuEUbt, 1818.
 
 [ 192 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 WRITTEN BY MOONLIGHT, AMONG THE RUINS OF KIRKSTAI.L 
 ABBEY, YORKSHIRE. 
 
 Amid the mould'ring monuments of Eld, 
 
 With reverential awe inspir'd, I stand. 
 
 Oh ! for the stroke of an enchanter's wand, 
 T' embody all that Fancy hath impell'd 
 
 Upon the straining thought! Youth— age may 
 dream 
 
 Touch'd, like the ruin, with the moon's pale beam : 
 But youth alone feels all the charms that glow, 
 
 With more than real bliss, when calling back 
 
 Things that have been, in the bewildering track 
 Of ages far gone by ! Oh! ye who know 
 
 The world's vain joy — unreal too as this — 
 Say, can ye deem a happiness more pure 
 
 Thrills thro' the human heart, when from th' abyss 
 Of misery ye turn — forgetting to endure ? 
 
 August, 1818.
 
 [ 193 ] 
 
 TO 
 
 Yes, there are moments, when the heart 
 All that it lov'd, can love no more. 
 
 Yet feel again th' envenom'd smart — 
 A ray of what it felt before ! 
 
 And like that transient soften'd flame 
 The day-star at his parting throws, 
 
 Bright, with a minute's flush, it came, 
 Then sunk — ah ! fleetly as it rose. 
 
 But could the sun with warming beam, 
 Glow thro' the world, yet leave it chill ? 
 
 No, tho' this bosom's fev'rish dream 
 Is past, yet I will love thee still.
 
 194 
 
 Love thee, with all a brother's love— ■ 
 
 And if it be my fated lot, 
 O'er the dark waste of life to rove, 
 
 By few regarded — or forgot, 
 
 For thee (tho' sear'd and blighted fall, 
 
 The hopes that light the youthful breast) ; 
 
 For thee, again, I'll woo them all, 
 
 To bless thee— and thou shalt be bless'd ! 
 
 March,
 
 EPIGRAMS*. 
 
 -• T love thee, Curio," longing Delia cries, 
 As full on me, she turn'd her goggling eyes ; 
 Spare me — oh! spare me — by the pow'rs above, 
 Thy love were hate — thy hate, to me were love! 
 
 * The following are extracted from an unpublished MS. en- 
 titled, " Sketches from Nature," and which may one day meet 
 the eye of "a candid and enlightened public," 
 
 K 2
 
 196 EPIGRAMS. 
 
 LITTLE ELEGANCIES. 
 
 Hear'st thou yon madam '! how her tongue doth roll ; 
 
 On " little elegancies," bless her soul ! 
 
 From day to day, her song is still the same, 
 
 Still trembles there, the consecrated name ; 
 
 O'er all she does — o'er all she means to do, 
 
 This phrase, the clust'ring verba ge, twinkles thro'; 
 
 Yet spite of all the pains she takes to show it, 
 
 Not one alas ! not one in twenty know it! 
 
 What then the reason? not in her it lies, 
 
 She's all she says: why 'tis the world wants eyes ! 
 
 THE TRAVELLER. 
 
 Mark that gay sailor : — heavens ! how he talks, 
 As like a land leviathan, he stalks ; 
 While little people, such as you, or I, 
 His knowledge know not, nor his height can spy. 
 How indeed should we ? None of us have been 
 Where he has wander'd — seen, what he has seen : 
 That often people, who admire his skill, 
 Applauding tell us — " he is wantTring still I"
 
 EPIGRAMS. 197 
 
 THE GENEROUS FRIEND. 
 
 " Doubt not my faith! whatever some pretend, 
 " I will stick to you, to the last, my r riend;" 
 So Quitam said: writs, bailiffs, soon undo him — 
 Yet Quitam's true, he — to the last stuck to him ! 
 
 C boasts his great acquaintance, proudly dwells, 
 
 On what this lord, or what that lordling tells ! 
 Think ye 'tis true ? The question we will wave — 
 A peer may be acquainted with a knave ! 
 
 TO WOMAN. 
 
 They say I do not love thee ! but I do, 
 And as I love thee — I would chasten too : 
 For well I know, Perfection's not a dream, 
 And Women might be — ev'ry thing they seem !
 
 198 BP1GRAMS. 
 
 THE TIPSY FAIR. 
 
 " Dear Dr. Slyboots," cries a would-be saint, 
 " Support me, oh ! support me, or I faint;" 
 " Miss," says the doctor, "have you had a call?" 
 " Oh! often, doctor, catch me, or I fall!" 
 Her maid displays young madam's saintly case, 
 But were she silent, view that radiant face ! 
 
 Law's like a two edg'd sword — it cannot miss, 
 And now it cuts on that side, now on this : 
 To rush in law, wise men are ever loth, 
 For, (cut on one side) then you're cut on both ! 
 
 EXTEMPORE EPITAPH 
 
 MISS . 
 
 Here lieth one, who'd all the world could give, 
 And yet she died — because she could not live I
 
 EPIGRAMS. 199 
 
 EPITAPH 
 
 ON A LADY OF NOTORIETY, BURIED NEAR THE PLACE 
 
 SHE INHABITED. 
 
 Here lieth one, they say, she liv'd and died, 
 And lieth here — 'where she thro' life hath lied! 
 
 TO 
 
 Yes, you are listen'd to, but not believ'd, 
 For if we trusted, we should be deceiv'd ; 
 Yet, if you say your meaning's to deceive, 
 'Tis more than probable, we shall believe ! 
 
 ADVICE TO 
 
 Laugh, laugh — nor heed what other fools may do, 
 Laugh you at them, they can but laugh at you !
 
 200 EPIGRAMS. 
 
 Let Philip call his friends — this lord and t'other — 
 Lords oft are fools, and fools regard their brother ! 
 
 Seest thou yon red plump cheek and chuckling air, 
 And think'st aught excellent can harbour there ? 
 Pious, yet most irreverent ; with care 
 Sparing, when very madness 'twas to spare ; 
 Without one generous feeling, tho' he gave, 
 He lives— a compound both of fool and knave ! 
 
 " Jack, Jack/jou drink ; give o'er — 'tis your undoing! 
 " Drink, rat me, drink ? you lie — I'm only going .'" 
 
 Ned hates a niggard — yet the cautious elf 
 Has too much wit to quarrel with himself! 
 
 FINIS. 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
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