I 414-9 
 B9£4 P 
 
 
 
 3 
 6 
 5 
 
 9 
 1 
 5 
 
 POETICAL 
 
 MISCELLANIES, 
 
 CONSISTING Of 
 
 Odes, Songs, and other P»e< 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERICK BOLTON. 

 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
  
 
 POETICAL 
 
 MISCELLANIES, 
 
 CONSISTING OP 
 
 (Dura, 5>ottg0, anti otfjer $trcr*. 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERICK BOLTON. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JOHN LOWNDES, 9, SOUTH-SIDE OF DRURY- 
 LANE THEATRE 
 
 1826.
 
 PR 
 
 P 
 
 TO Mr. JOSHUA LOVE. 
 
 Dear Sjr, 
 
 I trust the juvenile flights of this 
 little Volume, of which I flatter myself your 
 kindness will accept the dedication, will be par- 
 doned, as much by a liberal minded public, as 
 I knoiv they will be by you ; made as they were, 
 at that early age, when the shafts from the bow 
 of criticism ought to be blunted. 
 
 Believe me, 
 
 Your's very sincerely, 
 
 FREDERICK BOLTON. 
 
 Birmingham, October iQth, 1826. 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 The Wish 1 
 
 Spring, (a Sketch) ..... 9 
 
 The Triumph of Virtue 12 
 
 Ode to Fame ---.-..13 
 
 Crispin's Sign ...... ]5 
 
 To Care 16 
 
 Description of a Day in Autumn 17 
 
 Invocation to Venus ..... 19 
 
 Anacreontic 22 
 
 Song 23 
 
 Why should I sigh ... . . 2-1 
 
 Written on retiring to bed, &c. ... 25 
 
 Impromptu on a Lady ----- 26 
 Verses --.--...27 
 
 To Celia - - - . 2 S 
 
 To Rosa 'jg 
 
 Song 31 
 
 Song 33 
 
 To Rosa 3+ 
 
 The Storm (a Ballad ) 35 
 
 To Rosa (on Constancy.) 38 
 
 Lines written in Tettenhall Church-yard - 39 
 
 Stanzas to Mr. Love 40 
 
 Anacreontic ------- 42 
 
 To 43 
 
 Song 44 
 
 To Elvira, weeping at her Father's Tomb - 45 
 
 Song 46 
 
 Elegiac Stanzas 47 
 
 Lines intended for an Epitaph 48
 
 poetical g&i&ttttmit*. 
 
 THE WISH. 
 
 C Written at an early age.) 
 
 O that I were some village swain ! 
 To roam at large the wholesome plain, 
 Where sweet contentment holds his reign, 
 
 Smiling on every verdant field ; 
 Where every heart is light as air, 
 Where every mind is free frem care, 
 Where none can tell of fell despair, 
 
 And health displays her ruddy shield ! 
 
 My wish is small — a humble cot, 
 
 I only ask to be my lot, 
 
 Where every pang and woe forgot, 
 
 For busy scenes no more I'd sigh ; 
 How fain I'd leave each noisy street, 
 And hasten to the lone retreat, 
 Where nature doth her children greet, 
 
 As thro' her walks they onward hie. 
 
 B 3
 
 6 POEMS. 
 
 Beside my cot, the jessamine, 
 
 In branching beauty should recline, 
 
 And ivy round my door entwine, 
 
 With honeysuckles' scented smell ; 
 The village church should catch the sig"ht, 
 And lend the landscape new delight, 
 While in the heart devotion bright, 
 
 Should point above with heav'nly spell. 
 
 There too a tinkling- rill should flow, 
 
 And softly tell its restless woe, 
 
 As thro' each nook with windings slow, 
 
 It mum'ring- soug-ht its mother stream ; 
 And sun rays therein dazzling- pride, 
 Should dailv on its surface ride, 
 And moss should hem its rug-ged side, 
 
 And dew-drops glisten 'neath the beam. 
 
 There in the morn I'd wend mv wav, 
 To meet the sun's first g-lancing- ray, 
 And welcome in the piaciu Jay, 
 
 With watchful eye, but care-free face ; 
 I'd listen to the early song, 
 Which blythely sweet the woodland throng-, 
 Pour g-ently forth on dulcet tong-ue, 
 
 With tuneful voice and am'rous grace.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Then would I seek the maid to find, 
 Whose feeling - breast and g-en'rous mind, 
 In every deed my soul should bind, 
 
 Whose every smile should love impart : 
 Mild truth should sparkle in her eye, 
 And virtue prompt the unfeign'd sig-h, 
 With graceful force and modestv, 
 
 Speaking 1 the language of her heart. 
 
 And when the day was far decay 'd, 
 My feet should seek the lonely g-lade, 
 Where stretch'd beneath the twilight shade, 
 
 I'd seek for bliss in nature's bowers ; 
 Or on some bank whose gentle steep, 
 Could watch the brooklet's solemn sweep, 
 Disturb'd by fish with playful leap, 
 
 I'd spend mineev'ning-s' pensive hours. 
 
 And ere at night I sunk to sleep, 
 My mind should still its vigils keep, 
 Till Somnus did with dullness creep, 
 
 And strew his poppies round my iieaa ; 
 Let Morpheus then serenely hg-ht, 
 And on my brain in fancy brig-ht, 
 With pleasing- visions crown the night, 
 
 While guardian ang-els watch my bed.
 
 S POEM?. 
 
 Should Fate decree an hasty doom, 
 To nip my life in early bloom, 
 And bear my body to the tomb, 
 
 Where I shall rest in silence drear ; 
 When what was life is life no more, 
 And dust is what was life before, 
 When joy and grief alike are o ? er, 
 
 Remembrance ! shed one parting- tear.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 (A SK ET C II. J 
 
 How welcome is the voice of Spring - , 
 Enfolded on a freshening gale, 
 
 Mild zephyrs now tog-ether wing", 
 And stooping- kiss the verdsmt vale. 
 
 Stern winter lo ! has taken flig-ht, 
 We gladly bid the wretch farewell ! 
 
 And with him hies the fearful night, 
 In realms of deepest gloom to dwell. 
 
 See yondtr in a dismal car, 
 
 Away they wend thro' spurning space, 
 And o'er the aerial vault afar, 
 
 In haste they fly with quickning pace. 
 
 The silver snow forgets to fall, 
 As if worn out with hoary age ; 
 
 The blighting frost has heard the call, 
 And trembling soothes its wonted rage. 
 
 The blust'ring winds have swiftly flown, 
 And seek cold Lapland's icy shore, 
 
 AYhere loud with fiendlike notes they moan, 
 And cleave the air with hideous roar.
 
 lo POEMS. 
 
 No more they chill the uncouth swain, 
 For Spring - appears on every field, 
 
 And lightly treads along the plain, 
 To bid the earth its bounty yield. 
 
 The birds shrill twitt'ring on the spray, 
 Or warbling in the cloudless sky, 
 
 Do sweetly usher in the day, 
 
 And chaunt their hymrn to Jove on high. 
 
 On yonder widely branching tree, 
 They sit and softly whisper love, 
 
 How mirthfully they seem to be, 
 Now pairing in their native grove. 
 
 Lo ! high in air the sky -lark floats, 
 When coy Aurora seeks her way, 
 
 Delightful are his changing notes, 
 And musical his melting lay. 
 
 'Tis pleasant in my lonely haunt, 
 When far / stray from worldly strife, 
 
 To hear the shrill choristers chaunt, 
 And blythely sing away their life. 
 
 But see the sun forsakes his rest, 
 In haste begins his custom'd round, 
 
 Now rising from the glowing east, 
 To warm the newly clothen ground.
 
 POEMS. 11 
 
 How glorious is the blissful day, 
 
 And how entrancing- is the sight, 
 To mark the gladly beaming ray, 
 
 Embracing earth with heavenly light. 
 
 Refreshing orb ! all hail to thee, 
 Thy form reflects on dewy stems, 
 
 And twinkling is each stately tree, 
 Besprinkled o'er with thousand gems. 
 
 Beside yon softly rolling rill, 
 
 The primrose rears its lovely head, 
 
 Attended by the daffodil, 
 Both risen from an early bed. 
 
 While daisies fair encharm the morn, 
 And violets blue in beauty glow, 
 
 And lillies white the fields adorn, 
 Blushing as wanton zephyrs blow. 
 
 Such scenes as these with mild controul, 
 
 Sensations give of pure delight, 
 And while they glad the pensive soul, 
 
 How welcome to the wond'ring- sisrht ! 
 
 Tho' here must close my grateful lay, 
 
 Yet will I never cease to sing, 
 The glories of thy earliest day, 
 
 Enchanting gaddess! smiling Spring!
 
 IS POEMS. 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF VIRTUE. 
 
 On Anna's cheek the fairest flower, 
 
 In every season glows, 
 Exempt from Winter's baneful power, 
 
 It blooms in calm repose. 
 
 And bright to view is Anna's hair, 
 
 Bedeck'd with virgin pride, 
 'Tis Zephyr's love to ambush there, 
 
 And on each curl to ride. 
 
 And brilliant is each dark blue eye, 
 Where Phoebus lends his light, 
 
 Whose beams can clear the misty sky, 
 And gild the shades of night. 
 
 While from her mouth the breath of Spring, 
 
 With fragrance fills the air, 
 But ah ! her chams I fail to sing, 
 
 They are so passing fair. 
 
 Yet deem not these alone can move, 
 
 For these will sink and fade, 
 Her virtue makes my bosom love, 
 
 And woo so sweet a maid.
 
 POEMS. 13 
 
 ODE TO FAME. 
 
 I watch thee, Fame, with anxious eye, 
 With ceaseless throb and heartfelt sigh, 
 Thine hand the nausea doth impart, 
 That gives this longing to mine heart, 
 For with or joy or misery, 
 My wistful looks are fix'd on thee ! 
 
 I mark thee on my pillow light, 
 
 Stealing before my busied sight, 
 
 I see thee hov'ring round my bed, 
 
 To hie composure from my head, 
 
 What dwells in this my troubled breast ? — 
 
 'Tis thou — to rob the heart of rest ! 
 
 Thou drivest me from the social board, 
 Where Bacchus reigns with plenty stored, 
 Where laughter sits with merry soul, 
 Draining in bliss the spicy bowl ! 
 And when I tread the lonely plain, 
 For joy, alas ! thou givest me pain ! 
 
 For thee I shun the charms of life, 
 For thee I taste the keenest strife, 
 For thee I know not soothing sleep, 
 And wake — thou knowest why — to weep. 
 Of thee I dream each restless night, 
 But fancy mocks — such dreams are light. 
 
 o
 
 U POEMS. 
 
 Yet there I see a learned band, 
 Trembling- approach thy slippery strand, 
 Who court thy trumpet's loud acclaim, 
 The noise yet nothing- of a name ! 
 For ah ! the path is fraught with pain, 
 And prospects flatter, but are vain. 
 
 So hence— avaunt ! — yet stay— forgive ! 
 
 I'll nurse the vision whilst I live ; 
 
 I'll woo thee with my latest breath, 
 
 Ev'n in the languid arms of death. 
 
 That when I join the peaceful dead, 
 
 Thou o'er my grave immortal flowers may shep i
 
 POEMS. 1* 
 
 CRISPIN'S SIGN. * 
 
 Here Crispin lives — do not his stall refuse, 
 He makes the new and mends the olden shoes, 
 And does them well, for that he's credit just, 
 But works for ready pay, and gives no trust. 
 If Reader thou'st a job — or great or small, 
 Heave up the latch and stoutly " Crispin" call, 
 Thy welcome voice will strike his list'ning ear, 
 And mark ! — the man of wax will straight appear, 
 With modest tongue he'll ask thy fair request, 
 Bestow the job, the man will do his best. 
 No lies he tells, nor will he make delay, 
 If with the cash you can but promptly pay. 
 N.B. — He can cut as well as any born, 
 A long toe-nail, or sorely painful corn ; 
 He draws bad teeth— takes blood — can cut your hair 
 Shave well— and apply leeches passing fair. 
 In fine — his many trades 'twere hard to tell, 
 But all he does he does exceeding well. 
 
 * This extraordinary man is to be found, by all who 
 think proper to visit him, at his residence in Newtown 
 -ja w, near Birmingham.
 
 16 POEMS. 
 
 TO CARE. 
 
 Avaunt, avaunt, my breast, 
 Thou hateful demon — care ! 
 
 The human bosom's pest, 
 Away ! nor harbour there ! 
 
 Man has no joy below, 
 
 For aye perplex'd with thee, 
 
 Thou friend to sullen woe, 
 Thou foe to social glee ! 
 
 Go ! with the miser dwell, 
 To him thyself unfold, 
 
 Go, help his store to tell, 
 
 And guard his heaps of gold ! 
 
 Or at the vessel's prow, 
 Guide thou the pilot's hand ; 
 
 Or seek the thoughtful brow, 
 Of them that rule the land. 
 
 But from me, hence ! nor stay, 
 1 hate both thee and thine ! 
 
 To joy I'll haste away, 
 And quaff ambrosial wine !
 
 POEMS. 17 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF A DAY IN AUTUMN. 
 
 The morn appears, and lo ! the night, 
 Leaves with slow steps the mountains' height, 
 And the gay sun, with splendour drest, 
 Smiles as he quits the golden east, 
 Whilst high in air the larks arise, 
 And chaunt their matins to the skies ; 
 And heavy laden boughs around, 
 Roll their fine fruit along- the ground. 
 
 Meanwhile, my hasty footsteps near, 
 The reapers — cheerful band ! appear, 
 On every face unmeaning round, 
 Is ruddy health, reclining found. 
 The toil begins and the shorn wheat, 
 Craves from bright Sol his rip'ning heat. 
 
 'Tis noon — the rustics leave the field, 
 (For rustics must to Phoebus yield) 
 And underneath the branching trees, 
 Retiring lie and court the breeze ; 
 The genial cup, profusely crown'd, 
 From hand to hand now passes round, 
 While the loud laugh and jokes reveal, 
 The pleasures of the rural meal. 
 Which done — the sickle now once more, 
 Rids Autumn of her bounteous store. 
 
 C 3
 
 1* POEMS, 
 
 'Till ev'ning clad in sable robe, 
 Spreads darkness over half the globe, 
 Still work they on — nor murmur nigh, 
 Steals from the swain a sullen sigh : 
 In every bosom dwells content, 
 From every heart flows merriment, 
 Their vacant long-continued smile, 
 Makes grandeur envy rural toil ! 
 
 Now night draws on, and down the plains. 
 Song - and the dance delight the swains, 
 The sprightly song bids sorrow fly, 
 And the light dance allures to joy ; 
 "While music to enhance the scene, 
 Bestows the buxom tamborine. 
 
 Lo ! to its mirth awak'ning sound, 
 The sportive train trip lightly round, 
 'Till slumber's soft inviting charms, 
 Calls labour to her peaceful arms ! 
 Such general bliss in my lorn heart, 
 Bids from her sphere wan woe depart, 
 Nor wish nor sigh the mind molest, 
 And peace reigns smiling o'er my breait.
 
 POEMS. 19 
 
 INVOCATION TO VENUS. 
 
 " Venus, lo ! I bend my knee, 
 And with sighs petition thee ! 
 Venus ! whom my soul holds dear, 
 To my sorrows lend an ear ! 
 
 " Peaceful was the earth and still, 
 Save a distant gurgling- rill, 
 When, alone my way I took, 
 Glancing o'er a fav'rite book, 
 Gently Phoebus sunk to rest, 
 On the river's placid breast — 
 Round he cast a farewell ray, 
 And in °randeur stole awav. 
 
 »■ 
 
 " Youthful Rosa, tripping by, 
 Struck me with her piercing eye, 
 While she charm'd my ravish'd sight, 
 Joy arose atid woke delight ! 
 Cupid wav'ring in the air, 
 Saw the coy bewitching fair, 
 And, alas ? on mischief bent, 
 Thro' my heart an arrow sent ; 
 Flutter'd then the urchin round, 
 Laughing at the gory wound, 
 And with pleasure beaming face, 
 Left me to my piteous case.
 
 20 POEMS. 
 
 " On the Avon's flowery side, 
 Shakspeare's stream and nature's pride, 
 Rosa, so my vision tells, 
 In a lordly mansion dwells ; 
 Could I clasp her to my breast, 
 Who, than I, more truly blest ? 
 
 " Then I sought, and Pity found, 
 With a cypress g-arland crown'd, 
 And with tears made known my tale, 
 Yet those tears would not avail. 
 Now to thee forlorn I come, 
 Lost to England, lost to home. 
 
 " Far from Avon's flowery plain, 
 Lo ! I worship in thy fane ! 
 Oh! redress my hapless state, 
 And with hope my breast elate ; 
 Wistful at thine altar I 
 Wait my doom, and prostrate lie." 
 
 As I rose behold a throne, 
 Gem'd with lustrous rubies shone : 
 Venus crown'd with g-lory brio-lit, 
 Smiling- met my wond'ring- sight : 
 Naked were her arms and fair, 
 And her ancles too were bare,
 
 POEMS. SI 
 
 While above her purple vest, 
 Rose the beauties of the breast. 
 
 " Hail !" the charming- goddess said, 
 " I decree thy woes are fled, 
 Haste to England's envied shore, 
 Rosa's thine for evermore !"
 
 22 POEMS. 
 
 ANACREONTIC. 
 
 Bacchus drowns the griefs of earth, 
 While the genial cup we fill, 
 
 Bacchus bids the goddess mirth, 
 Banish care and sorrow kill. 
 
 Laughter lightly trips along, 
 Smiling in his joyous train ; 
 
 Age is blythesome at the song, 
 And grows lusty once again. 
 
 Bacchus, 'source of true delight, 
 Hail thou God of good divine ! 
 
 Ever bless us with thy sight, 
 Ever give thy suitors wine ! 
 
 Nectar charms the hu<nan heart, 
 And elates the drooping brain, 
 
 As it bids our woes depart, 
 Lo ! it sweeps off every pain ! 
 
 While on earth thy suitors stray, 
 Loud to thee we'll tune the lyre ! 
 
 Peals of praise shall crown each day ! 
 Wine shall every heart inspire !
 
 POEMS. 23 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I'll meet thee at the morning- dawn, 
 
 When nature smiles serene, 
 When Phoebus' beams play o'er the lawn, 
 
 And gild the glorious scene ! 
 
 I'll n eetthee in the waving grove, 
 When noon full glory brings, 
 
 When every bosom bounds with love, 
 And every warbler sings ! 
 
 I'll meet thee in the meadows gay, 
 
 When Vesper shines at eve, 
 When Zephyrs sport in am'rous play, 
 
 And flowers their fragrance give ! 
 
 I'll meet thee at the midnight hour, 
 When all is hush'd and calm, 
 
 And lull'd to bliss in pleasure's bower, 
 Drink kisses sweet as balm !
 
 94 POEMS. 
 
 WHY SHOULD I SIGH! 
 
 Why should I sigh ? 
 I've nought to make my heart despair, 
 
 Yet here I lie, 
 The foster'd son of joyless care ! 
 
 From want I'm free, 
 Yet still a craving sways my breast, 
 
 And steals from me, 
 Each tranquil hour of soothing rest. 
 
 The cause I sought, 
 A.nd straight these words to me were given, 
 
 (How sweet the thought !) 
 " 'Tis woe on earth, but peace in heaven!" 

 
 POEMS. 25 
 
 WRITTEN ON RETIRING TO BED, 
 
 AFTER AN EXCURSION TO HAGLEY. 
 
 Hush weary soul and sink to sleep! 
 Soft slumber on mine eyelids creep, 
 
 Oh! Somnus make me blest; 
 Becalm the aching- of mine heart, 
 Around my limbs thy balm impart, 
 
 And lull each pang- to rest! 
 
 Brig-ht Fancy o'er my lang-uid head, 
 Some happy vision deig-n to shed, — 
 
 Let me thy blessing's share ; 
 And do, thou ever changing" spright, 
 Enchain my sorrows thro' the nig-ht, 
 
 And trample every care ! 
 
 Ah ! all day long - in Nature's arms, 
 
 I've view'd her tranquil heavenly charms, 
 
 And own'd her ruling- grace, 
 And in the silent sunless grove, 
 The sacred place of slighted love, 
 
 Have nurs'd a hopeless case. — 
 
 Still must my bosom pant in vain, 
 And lodg-ment give to writhing- pain, 
 
 For loving- her so true — 
 If Fate denies the fickle maid, 
 I'll seek the Hermit's peaceful shade, 
 
 And bid the world — adieu 
 D
 
 2G POEMS. 
 
 IMPROMPTU ON A LADY, 
 
 WHO SAID, 
 
 " The Sun had ceased to shine," when hidden behind a 
 
 Cloud. 
 
 Say not the sun hath ceas'd to shine, 
 
 On thee it shines for ever, 
 And in that lovely face of thine, 
 
 Its warmth shall cease — oh, never ! 
 
 For there I see the orb of day, 
 
 In all its beauty glowing, 
 Whence brilliantly descends a ray, 
 
 That needs not Zephyr's blowing 1 ! 
 
 The beam it shoots enslaves mine heart, 
 But does my bosom brighten, — 
 
 Then charmer, haste, the word impart, 
 Which every wish shall lighten.
 
 POEMS. 27 
 
 VERSES 
 
 Supposed to be spoken by a Mother to her Infant, asleep 
 in her arms. 
 
 O how sweet within my arms, 
 'Tis to gaze upon thy charms ! 
 Pressthine head against my breast, 
 Baby ! sleep in peaceful rest. 
 
 Dream not yet of rankling- strife, 
 Spoiling all the joys of life, 
 Sleep ! 'ere bane thy bosom bare, 
 Sleep ! 'ere love thy rest impair ! 
 
 Baby ! yet thou dost not know, 
 Man and woman are thy foe ; 
 Both to thee will prove unkind, 
 For to pity both are blind. 
 
 Dream not yet of man's deceit, 
 Smiling most when most they cheat ; 
 Dream not yet of folly's way, 
 Luring youth to fast decay. 
 
 Wisdom in his early days, 
 Guide him in thy flowery ways, 
 Goddess ! to his breast impart, 
 Cordials healthful to the heart ! 
 
 O display thy soothing charms, 
 Virtue, catch him in thine arms ! 
 Speak to him of bliss above, 
 In the land of endless love !
 
 2« POEMS. 
 
 TO CELIA. 
 
 Bright thine eyes as evening's star, 
 Leading- forth the hosts on high, 
 
 Glorious as Aurora's car, 
 
 Rolling in the morning sky ! 
 
 On thy lips and cheeks, the rose 
 Shines with all its native bloom, 
 
 Where it ever rests and glows, 
 Planted safe by beauty's doom. 
 
 Silken is thy auburn hair, 
 Turn'd in many a glossy braid ; 
 
 Nature nothing boasts more fair. 
 Than my Celia — lovely maid ! 
 
 Music on thy warbling tongue, 
 Conquers all who hear the strain, 
 
 'Twas thy soft and melting song, 
 First that gave my bosom pain. 
 
 See thy suitor trembling kneel, 
 Wildly throbs his drooping heart, 
 
 Let thy answer love reveal, 
 And the joys of hope impart.
 
 POEMS. «> 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 Hail ! thou essence of delight ! 
 Come elate mine heart to night, 
 Round thy neck, oh ! maid divine^ 
 Freely let my arms entwine ! 
 
 Deep to thee I'll drain the bowl, 
 Lovely mistress of my soul ! 
 When boon Bacchus leaves the brink, 
 Rosa's health I'll gaily drink ! 
 
 Music's voice shall tremble near, 
 Whisp'ring pleasure in thine ear. 
 Rousing with extatic bound, 
 Heavenly echoes all around ! 
 
 Can 1 view thy charming face, 
 So replete with every grace, 
 Bless'd by all that's fair to see, 
 And without adoring thee ? 
 
 'Twas for this a rankling dart, 
 Long ago did pierce my heart, 
 Swift, ah ! swift, the arrow flew, 
 Glancing from thine eyes of blue ! 
 D 3
 
 30 POEMS. 
 
 O then meet my soft embrace, 
 From thy cheek that blush erase ! 
 Let not virtues' precepts bind, 
 Woman should be always kind ! 
 
 Surely love's warm wish 1 spy, 
 Lurking" in each gem-like eye ! 
 Craving" in each glowing cheek, 
 Rosy red — as cygnets sleek ! 
 
 Seek not then to damp desire, 
 Nature prompts the ardent fire ! 
 Venus ! touch the coy-one's breast, 
 Whisper her to make me blest, 
 
 On my couch thy limbs recline, 
 Without Rosa, what is wine ? 
 Without woman's raptur'd kiss, 
 Wine's but half a mortals' bliss !
 
 POEMS. 31 
 
 SONG. 
 
 In pity liear my sighs, love. 
 Nor leave this heart to beat, 
 
 O charm these wistful eyes, love, 
 And all my fears retreat ! 
 
 O vou've enchain'd mv soul, love, 
 
 So give the boon 1 pray, 
 I'll own but thy controul, love, 
 
 And Daphne, say not nay ! 
 
 O cease to damp my heart, love, 
 Fair maiden hear my praj er, 
 
 O haste and bliss impart, love, 
 And end a lover's care! ' 
 
 O sing- once more that strain, love, 
 Which won my soul to thee, 
 
 Nor give my bosom pain, love, 
 But fly — oh fly to me ! 
 
 My heart with fears doth rage, love, 
 For thee that heart is prone, 
 
 For thee will ever wage, love, 
 For thee and thee alone !
 
 32 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Then grant thy suitor bliss, love, 
 And heal his aching- smart, 
 
 O gently let him kiss, love, 
 And press thee to his heart ! 
 
 He'll never go astray, love, 
 But worship at thy shrine, 
 
 He'll kneel by night and day, love, 
 And ever more be thine !
 
 POEMS. 33 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Away dull water — haste away ! 
 
 I'll touch thee not again, 
 Too long- I've own'd thy deadly sway, 
 
 Too long- I've felt thy bane. 
 
 Thou'rt like the glow-worms' fire at night. 
 
 That cheats the traveler's eye, 
 With gleams inviting to the sight, 
 
 But lure the wretch to die ! 
 
 With sparkling eyes I welcome wine, 
 
 And hail it with a cheer ! 
 Its charms are sweet — its taste divine, 
 
 And bliss is centred there.
 
 34 POEMS. 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 Is Rosa then for ever mine ? 
 Then Rosa fill the bowl with wine ! 
 See o'er the brim the nectar'd bliss, 
 Would fain my Rosa's fingers kiss ! 
 
 O Rosa is as angels fair ! 
 
 For who with Rosa can compare ? 
 
 Her breath how sweet ! her eyes how bright ! 
 
 Her face how fair ! her step how light ! 
 
 Then Rosa hand me here the bowl, 
 Which lures to joy my longing soul ! 
 And see me drink with extacy, 
 A long and happy life to thee ! 
 
 Anacreon's exquisite lyre, 
 Has fill'd me with its am'rous fire ! 
 And bid my youthful ardour move, 
 To nothing save the sigh of love ! 
 
 Then Rosa ope thy fairy charms, 
 And clasp me in those graceful arms ! 
 O let thy bosom's downy dress, 
 Be naked to my fond caress !
 
 POEMS. 3* 
 
 THE STORM. 
 
 (A Ballad.) 
 
 'Twas at that silent hour of night, 
 
 When church-yards gape — so poets feign, 
 The waning- moon had ceas'd her light, 
 
 And heavy clouds portended rain ; 
 The light'ning darted from on high, 
 
 The heavens had lost each twinkling star, 
 The thunder rumbled in the sky, 
 
 And darkness hover'd in his car. 
 Stern Boreas blew a hideous blast, 
 
 And terror rag'd the human breast, 
 When each to prayers betook him fast, 
 
 And straight bethought of heavenly rest. 
 Destruction strode the globe around, 
 
 And trembling fear look'd ghastly wan, 
 For Boreas knew no common bound, 
 
 But listed in the light'ning clan. 
 On the next morn the news was brought, 
 
 (A shepherd told the doleful tale) 
 How in the night the fates had sought, 
 
 In Ebro's lone and dreary vale.
 
 38 POEMS. 
 
 A cow was roaring - in the air, 
 
 With open mouth and hanging- tongue, 
 And to the wind did tell her care, 
 
 That cow had lost her only young. 
 High in the air she rear'd her head, 
 
 Fell madness now had seized her brain, 
 A butcher shot and killed her dead, 
 
 And out her life's-blood gush'd a main ! 
 A shepherd on the earth was found, 
 
 His hands beneath his wither'd face, 
 His body lengthways on the ground, 
 
 And in his heart, of lite no trace , 
 The lightning struck him with its flash. 
 
 And bore him down along the plain, 
 The thunder roar'd with frightful clash, 
 
 And torrents fell of black'ning rain. 
 No more he'll grace his cottage lone, 
 
 Or blythely kiss his offspring dear, 
 No more he'll glad his honest Joan, 
 
 Or chace away the falling tear! 
 Those cheeks which once were ruddy gay, 
 
 That face where nature shone so sweet.
 
 POEMS. 37 
 
 Have gone to mix with mother clay, 
 
 And s:ive to brother worm a treat. 
 I heard the solemn village bell, 
 
 It struck and thrill'd my pensive heart, 
 As thro' the air the sound did swell, 
 
 To bid the mourners do their part. 
 Straight to the church then march'd the train, 
 
 With them his wife and children dear, 
 And on each cheek there was a stain, 
 
 The remnant of a bitter tear ! 
 Then in the grave the corse was put, 
 
 The priest he mutter'd o'er a prayer, 
 And then from all the earth did shut, 
 
 Both bad and good decaying there ! 
 
 E
 
 33 POEMS. 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 ON CONSTANCY. 
 
 Talk not to me of constant love ! 
 
 I'll hear no more, it ne'er had birth, 
 Unless 'twas in the realms above, 
 
 It never dwelt with us on earth ! 
 
 My heart at least, I know will range, 
 ' And pray whose will not do the same ? 
 Tis useless chiding at the change, 
 'Tis silly saying " you're to blame." 
 
 1 love the women — every soul ! 
 
 Aye, dearly as I love the spring, 
 But ne'er can be at one's controul, 
 
 So Rosa, cease thy murmuring. 
 
 The flowers that grow in yonder vale, 
 
 All boast a varied lovely hue, 
 And with their fragrance scent the gale, 
 
 When sipping up the silver dew. 
 
 Not one of them I fain would spurn, 
 Each has a thousand beauteous charms ! 
 
 For every fair then I must burn, 
 
 Who a-lads these longing outstretch' d arms !
 
 POEMS. S!) 
 
 LINES 
 Written in Tettcnhall Church-yard, Staffordshire. 
 
 Here could I fain repose my weary head, 
 Among the quiet hamlets' humble dead, 
 So lovely, silent, solemn, and serene, 
 Is the fair prospect of each gentle scene : 
 Secure from all the deadly shafts of woe, 
 And all the ills that crowd on man below, 
 Far from the pomp of all the vainly great, 
 To sleep in peace, and my last doom await !
 
 40 POEMS. 
 
 STANZAS TO MR. LOVE. 
 
 Should misfortunes' tearful eye, 
 On thee rest its glist'ning glare ; 
 
 Should'st thou heave one stifled sigh, — 
 LOVE, with thee that sig-h I'd share ? 
 
 Should pale-visaged poverty, 
 Seek thee out and rudely grasp, 
 
 Leaving thee with misery, — 
 
 LOVE! their fetters I'd unclasp! 
 
 Should keen sorrow's fangs entwine, 
 And corrode thy manly heart, 
 
 LOVE I'd make thy sufferings mine, 
 And strive to ease the restless smart. 
 
 Should the dismal torch of care, 
 On thee drop one tainted spark, 
 
 Soon from joy a brand I'd tear, 
 And heal up the cank'red mark ?
 
 POEMS. 4 I 
 
 O forbid, ye powers above ! 
 
 Him to be by sickness led, 
 Let my prayers your kindness move, 
 
 Health with wisdom on him shed. 
 
 And when nature pants for breath, 
 
 Let not pain the hour molest, 
 Calmly bid the hand of death, 
 
 Guide him to the realms of rest ! 
 
 E 3
 
 42 POEMS. 
 
 ANACREONTIC. 
 
 Arouse the song- of smiling mirth, 
 Arouse and stifle pallid pain, — 
 
 My hours shall have a joyful birth, 
 When drinking- with the drunken train ! 
 
 The glasses shedding crimson light, 
 Remind me of the days of yore, 
 
 And bid me as they sparkle bright, 
 To merry be and droop no more. 
 
 Arise the misty shade of Death, 
 And tremble at the powerful rod ! 
 
 Behold ! where girt with viny wreath, 
 In glory shouts the jolly God ! — 
 
 I'll spend my nights with bright-eyed fun. 
 And blythely laugh at strokes of wit, 
 
 I'll roar aloud at some good pun, 
 And every pang my heart shall quit. 
 
 Thus every care I'll quickly kill, 
 The road to bliss I've haply found, 
 
 Up to the brim the glass now fill, 
 And pledge a jovial toast around !
 
 POEMS. 43 
 
 TO 
 
 O let thy lover lull his soul to rest, 
 Enchanting- maid ! upon thine ang-el breast! 
 There let his head repose in holy peace, 
 Where mem'ry of the past shall ever cease ! 
 
 Long- on this dreary world's deceitful way. 
 My feet have trod — but trod — alas ! to stray ! 
 Long have I sought for bliss in pleasure's arms, — 
 But what are pleasure's smiles — to virtue's charms? 
 
 And can it be that I no more may roam, 
 But find within thine arms — a lasting home ? 
 That I shall on thy lovely bosom lie, 
 And bask beneath the sunshine of thine eye. 
 
 With joy, elated burns my grateful heart, — 
 Hence care ! with all thy hideous train depart ! 
 There sorrow sigh no more — be tranquil pain, 
 And cease, for ever cease ! your deadly reign. 
 
 With fervent love, sweet maid ! for thee I glow, 
 For thou canst peace and happiness bestow, — 
 With thee to live ! is to be ever blest, — 
 Where virtue dwells, — no mortal ills molest !
 
 44, POEMS. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Now the genial glass is smiling, 
 Let us be merry blythe and gay, 
 
 And while Care is busy toiling, 
 We'll drink the woes of life away ! 
 
 Love, I'll pledge thee in a bum, er,— 
 A pint of rich nectareous wine ! 
 
 Bacchus laughs to see the thumper, 
 And vows the draught shall be divine ! 
 
 Bacchus says away with thinking, 
 
 And with the bottle so say I, 
 What is like the joy of drinking, 
 
 When Friendship fills the goblet high. 
 
 Thus we'll banish every sorrow, 
 
 And mirth shall dwell with us to night, 
 
 Tell not me of pain to-morrow, 
 I'll hear of nothing but delight ! 
 
 Hence — away with all repining, 
 While we possess such charming fare ; 
 
 See with bliss the glass is shining, 
 Claiming a bright existence there. 
 
 Now with Friendship I'm engaging, 
 O Bacchus warm thy suitor's heart ! — 
 
 Lo ! I feel its weight assuaging 
 And all the cares of earth depart.
 
 POEMS. ±5 
 
 TO ELVIRA, 
 
 Weeping at her Fathers Tomb. 
 
 Why sighest thou fond maid ?— nay do not weep 
 Sobs will not call the dead from endless sleep ! 
 Know sleep is envious on the earth's cold bed, 
 For- none so truly blest as are the dead ! 
 In life what anguish rent thy father's brain ! 
 It creeps not here— the dead are free from pain. 
 No care pervades his wan unruffled brow, 
 Its front is smooth as yonder streamlet now ; 
 Misfortune's tear has left the wasting eye, 
 And sorrow's wounds in dull composure lie. 
 Thou hast no cause to weep, for in the grave, 
 Lies tranquil peace aud want forgets to crave ; 
 In there a solemn stillness reigns around, 
 And Poets say the place is holy ground ; — 
 A safe retreat to which the weary fly, 
 And own the secret bliss it is to die ! 
 Like the run hare fatigued and spent for breath, 
 When dogs rush on and press the creature's death, 
 'Tis sweet for her to end the anxious strife, 
 And with one gasp to close the pangs of life ! 
 Then weep not maid — thy father there is blest, 
 And finds what life denied— a peaceful rest ; 
 The woes of earth are ever there forgot, 
 And pain sighs wishful for thy father's lot ! 

 
 4G POEMS. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 A plague on grief sadness and care ! 
 
 What have they to do with the young- ? 
 Whose souls should be light as the air, 
 
 Enraptur'd with beauty and song- ! 
 
 This bottle of nectar divine, 
 
 Shall chase the dull demons away, 
 
 They tremble beholding the wine, 
 A spell that forbids them to stay ! 
 
 With a hearty good friend all the day, 
 
 One full of convivial glee, 
 I swear to be merry and gay, 
 
 As gay and as merry as he ! 
 
 And the girl of my bosom at night, 
 A nymph with the kind beaming eye, 
 
 Shall make my heart bound with delight, 
 And fill me with rapture and joy ! 
 
 Impillow'd on whose happy breast, 
 
 I'll linger in careless repose, 
 Like a Saint in his mansion of rest, 
 
 And laugh at the world and its woes !
 
 POEMS. 47 
 
 ELEGIAC STANZAS. 
 
 My earthly joys are over now! 
 
 No ray of pleasure brightens nigh, 
 Reflection pale sits on my brow, 
 
 And makes me mourn for days gone by. 
 
 Ev'n Beautv's charms no longer throw, 
 Their glows of rapture o'er my heart, 
 
 Nor wake the spirits buoyant flow, 
 Nor cease the pang of mis'ry's smart. 
 
 Life's vital powers their task decline, 
 And Fate points onward to that shore, 
 
 Where heav'nly joys unsullied shine, 
 And sorrow taints the breast no more. 
 
 Where all is peaceful and divine, 
 Halcyon, pure, supremely blest ! 
 
 Glory and love their charms combine, 
 And mortal ills no more molest !
 
 18 POEMS. 
 
 LINES 
 
 INTENDED FOR AN EPITAPH. 
 
 Stay, gentle traveller ! nor onward bend, 
 
 But hark to me as to a trusty friend ! 
 
 Oh ! shun the vanity of earthly pride, 
 
 Spurn slander hence — have candour by thy side ; 
 
 Revere the form of truth, detest a lie, 
 
 Love virtue well, — her charms will never die, 
 
 She owns the spell that can the breast elate, 
 
 And make you laugh at all the turns of fate : 
 
 And now go on — think of life's final day, 
 
 Nor curse this stone for asking thee to stay ! 
 
 Lowndes, Printer, 9, South»side of Drury-Lanc Theatre"
 
 Second Edition, price Three Shillings and Sixpence, 
 with an engraved Frontispiece, in boards. 
 
 THE 
 
 POETICAL WORKS 
 
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 AMOS, LOVE, ESQ. 
 
 " Abundat dulcibus vitiis." 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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 Bolton - 3 365 915 
 
 Ull*9 Poetical 
 B92Lip miscellanies 
 
 FREDERICK BOLTON— 1826? 
 
 I have in, my possession a book of 
 ' Poetical Miscellanies," by Frederick 
 Bolton, published by Lowndes, 9, South 
 bide of Drury Lane Theatre, 1826. The 
 book is dedicated to Mr. Joshua Love and 
 dared from Birmingham. There are some 
 local references, one to a shoemaker, 
 
 Crispin,." who lives in " Newtown Row, 
 near Birmingham," and can cut corns, 
 draw teeth, let blood or shave, and "all 
 ho does ho does exceeding well." There are 
 references to Shakespeare's Avon and to 
 an excursion to Hagley, and one poem is 
 headed: Written in Tettenhall Church- 
 yard, Staffordshire. So the author would 
 appear to be at least of Midland origin. If 
 any reader could tell me anything of his 
 me, or if he wrote further works, I should 
 be vory interested. G. 
 
 Warwick.