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 THE 
 
 CYPRESS WREATH. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. CORNWELL BARON WILSON. 
 
 — Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine 
 Witli tendrils of the laughing Vine ; 
 The manly Oak, the pensive Yew, 
 To Patriot, and to Sage be due ; 
 But, Lady ! twine no wreath for me, 
 Or twine it of the Cypress tree." 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SMITH, ELDER, AND CO. CORNHILL. 
 
 1828.
 
 LONDON: 
 Printed by Widow Maurice, Fenchurch-street
 
 5B3S 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The whole of the following pieces, with the excep- 
 tion of five, which have appeared in another work, 
 were composed during a few months, at hasty 
 intervals^ snatched from the severer and more anx- 
 ious duties of domestic life. How far such trifles are 
 suited to meet the public eye, is yet to be proved ; 
 but as they contain nothing of so very local a nature, 
 as to destroy their interest for the general reader, I 
 have ventured to commit them to print. Without 
 violating the sanctuary of private feeling, or tear- 
 ing aside the veil which delicacy casts over circum- 
 stances and scenes, exclusively belonging to the 
 " magic circle of Home" — it may not be improper 
 to state, in order to account for the deeper shade of 
 thought which pervades one portion of the vo- 
 lume, — that tlie " Elegiac Poems" were written at 
 a period of severe domestic affliction, and being the 
 
 812754
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 spontaneous out-pourings of a heart, in which at 
 the moment Sorrow predominated, it was but na- 
 tural that the mind and compositions of the Au- 
 thor should assume the hue of the passing hour. 
 For the gay, or the heartless — those who, basking 
 in the meridian sunshine of pleasure and prosperity, 
 consider Poetry but as a vehicle of romance — who 
 seek, in its strains, food to gratify the voluptuous 
 appetite of Fancy alone — for such, I am aware, 
 this volume presents no attractions ; but to " spi- 
 rits cast in purer mould" — the Mother, for in- 
 stance, who has wept over the grave of her fairest 
 and fondest hopes — to all, in short, who have tasted 
 of the " dark-flowing urn" of affliction — its simple 
 minstrelsy may not be uninteresting. 
 
 Conscious as I am of having ever considered 
 Poetry as intended for far higher and nobler pur- 
 poses, than merely to supply a stimulus to the ima- 
 gination— and feeling that its influence should he 
 directed to exalt, sustain, and purify the heart, ra- 
 ther than minister to the passions — I cannot but be 
 amazed at the deliberate charge, proceeding lately
 
 PREFACE. VU 
 
 from a critical work of respectability, that my writ- 
 ings have generally an " immoral tendency.'''' There 
 were times when the writers of the periodical press 
 were not wholly regardless of the courtesy due to 
 the weaker sex ; but those days are now passed — 
 nor am I anxious that they should be revived in my 
 favor. To errors in judgment, taste, and compo- 
 sition, I am ever ready to plead guilty, and would 
 mllingly excuse any animadversions (liowever harsh- 
 ly phrased) of candid criticism ; but, to acknow- 
 ledge the slightest dereliction from moral propriety, 
 in any of my writings, (trifling as they are,) I con- 
 fess I am NOT so willingly disposed. With respect 
 to the charge in question, I shall content myself 
 with the protestation, (which those who best know 
 me will readily believe,) that after having carefully 
 looked over the whole of the pieces I have ever 
 written, I am ready boldly and fearlessly to affirm, 
 so far as regards the momentous points of Mora- 
 lity and Religion, I have never given to the 
 world a single line, which, 
 
 " Dying I could wisli to blot."
 
 VIU i'UKl'ACE. 
 
 If any apology be necessary for adverting to cir- 
 cumstances, which it might be thought had been 
 better treated with the silence of contempt, let it 
 be found in the sensitive delicacy of my sex, and 
 the respectability of a condition in life, which, 
 though it cannot shield me from injustice in others, 
 teaches me to regard myself, and thus to repel in- 
 sinuations entirely and totally unfounded. Hav- 
 ing done so, at present it only remains for me, to 
 
 bid the Public, respectfully, 
 
 Farewell. 
 
 3, Woburn Place, 
 Russell Square.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY STANZAS. 
 
 To my Lyre page 1 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 The Sabbath Bell 7 
 
 The Dying Bard 1 1 
 
 Innocence 15 
 
 Lines, written in a Copy of " Friendship's Offering," pre- 
 sented to a youthful Friend 19 
 
 The Lover to his Dead Mistress 22 
 
 Stanzas to the "Valley of Oberhasti, in Switzerland 25 
 
 The Village Maid , 20 
 
 Impromptu to a beautiful Group of Flowers, painted from 
 
 nature 29 
 
 Hope ' ^0 
 
 The Seasons 34
 
 X CONTENTS, 
 
 Tlie La}' of the Mourner page 3G 
 
 The Poet's Child 39 
 
 One Hour with Thee 43 
 
 The Broken Gold 45 
 
 The Spirit of Poesy 47 
 
 The Death-bed of the Infidel 49 
 
 ToaPicture 52 
 
 Stanzas 54 
 
 An Ode, written on the Anniversary of the lamented Death 
 
 of her Royal Highness the Princess Charlotte of Wales 57 
 
 Stanzas: from the Italian 61 
 
 An Ode, written for the Anniversary -meeting of the Jews' 
 
 Free-school 62 
 
 Hebrew Ode, written for the Anniversary Dinner in aid of 
 
 the Jews' Hospital for the support of Aged Persons 
 
 and Orphan Children 64 
 
 SKETCHES. 
 
 The Gamester 69 
 
 The March of Mind 73 
 
 Love and Duty 80 
 
 The Debutante 86 
 
 The Dance ; . 89 
 
 The Bridal 92 
 
 The Burial 98
 
 CONTENTS. XI 
 
 ELEGIAC POEMS. 
 
 A Sketch from Memory . l^age 105 
 
 The Sick Child 108 
 
 The Mother's Soliloquy Ill 
 
 Death's Progress 114 
 
 Stanzas to my Boy in Heaven 116 
 
 The Dead Infant: a Sketch... 121 
 
 Maternal Regret 123 
 
 Stanzas . . .- 125 
 
 The Resemblance 127 
 
 The Anniversary 129 
 
 Stanzas, written after visiting the Grave of my Child .... 133 
 
 BALLADS AND SONGS. 
 
 Love Deserted 139 
 
 1 watch for Thee : a Ballad 143 
 
 Ballad 145 
 
 Ballad 147 
 
 Gondolier's Song 150 
 
 Ballad 152 
 
 Serenade 153 
 
 Ballad Stanzas 155 
 
 Ballad : from the Italian I57
 
 JPntrotructcni) ^taitiasi* 
 
 TO MY LYRE. 
 
 Echo of former happiness ! 
 
 Relic of earlier, brighter hours ! 
 Time has not made me love thee less. 
 
 Nor Sorrow's hand subdu'd thy powers. 
 Come, then ! resume thy minstrel tone, 
 
 Companion ! long neglected laid : 
 Now Joy is past — and Hope is flown, 
 
 I call THKE to mine aid !
 
 TO MY LYllE. 
 
 Grief is the Poets' patroness ! 
 
 Her sable form and rugged brow 
 Conspire, far more, our dreams to bless. 
 
 Than all that Pleasure can bestow ! 
 ■^. Come, then ! thou nurse of visions wild, 
 
 Companion of the silent hour ; 
 'Tis Sorrow's voice — 'tis Sorrow's child. 
 
 That woos thy soothing power ! 
 
 It is not for the gay — 
 
 When Pleasure's phantoms round them shine. 
 And mirth illumes each festive day, 
 
 To worship at thy shi'ine ! 
 No ! 'tis The hand of Misery 
 
 That best can wake thy soothing strain ; 
 When Grief's low voice, and Sorrow's sigh. 
 
 Echo each note again ! 
 
 4 
 
 My Lyre ! when first we met, 
 
 'TAvas when youth's cloudless morning smiled ; 
 Ere Fortune's glowing sun had set. 
 
 When Hope my heart beguil'd ; 
 I thought thee but a toy 
 ^ Fit to amuse life's idle hours ; 
 
 And careless, ilicn, mid scenes of joy, 
 
 I scorn'd thy gentle powers.
 
 TO MY LYRK. O 
 
 5 
 
 But 710W, I find thou art 
 
 A friend — when other friendships fail ; 
 A soother of the aching heart, 
 
 That tells to thee its tale ; 
 I love thee — and I prize thee now, 
 
 INIore than when pleasure's sun was bright, 
 Since Grief has circled round my brow 
 
 Her deep and starless night ! ' ^ 
 
 6 
 
 Come, then, neglected Lyre ! '"^ 
 
 Now Pleasure's lighter touch has flown, 
 The trembling hand, that wakes thy fire. 
 
 Is thine, and thine alone ! 
 Thou need'st no rival fear. 
 
 To lure my heart, or win my thoughts from thee ; 
 Companion ! lov'd and dear. 
 
 Thou 'rt, now, sole partner in my misery !
 
 POEMS.
 
 P O E M S. 
 
 THE SABBATH BELL. 
 
 1 
 
 Pilgrim !— that hast meekly borne 
 All the cold world's bitter scorn ; 
 Journ'ying through this vale of tears. 
 Till the promised land appears. 
 Where the pure in heart shall dwell. 
 Thou dost bless the Sabbath Bell ! 
 
 2 
 
 Idler ! following Fashion's toys. 
 Seeking, 'raid its empty joys. 
 Pleasure — that must end in pain, 
 Sunshine — that will turn to rain ; 
 What does whisp'rhig Conscience tell. 
 When Ihou hear'st the Sabbath Bell ?
 
 8 
 
 THK SABBATH BELL. 
 
 3 
 
 Poet ! dreaming o'er thy lyre. 
 Wasting health and youthful fire ; 
 Wooing, still, the phantom Fame, 
 For, at best, a fleeting name ; 
 Burst the chains of Fancy's spell. 
 Listen ! 'tis the Sabbath Bell ! 
 
 4 
 
 Monarch ! on thy regal throne. 
 Ruler ! whom the nations own ; 
 Captive ! at thy prison grate. 
 Sad in heart, and desolate ; 
 Bid Earth's minor cares farewell. 
 Hark ! it is the Sabbath Bell ! 
 
 o 
 
 Statesman ! toiling in the mart 
 Where Ambition plays his part ; 
 Peasant ! bronzing 'neath the sun 
 Till thy six days' work are done ; 
 Ev'ry thought of bus'ness quell. 
 When ye hear the Sabbath Bell t 
 
 6 
 
 INIaiden ! with thy brow so fair. 
 Blushing cheek, and shining hair ;
 
 THE SABBATH BELL, 
 
 Child ! with bright and laughing eye, 
 Chasing the wing'd butterfly ; 
 Hasten ! when, o'er vale and dell. 
 Sounds the gath'ring Sabbath Bell ! 
 
 7 
 Trav'ler ! thou whom gain, or taste, 
 Speedeth through Earth's weary waste ; 
 Wamd'rer ! from thy native land. 
 Rest thy steed, and slack thine hand. 
 When the Seventh-day's sunbeams tell. 
 There — they 'wake the Sabbath Bell ! 
 
 8 
 
 Soldier ! who, on baltle-plain. 
 Soon, may'st mingle Avith the slain; 
 Sailor ! on the dark-blue sea. 
 As thy bark rides gallantly ; 
 Prayer and praise become ye well, 
 Though ye hear no Sabbath Bell ! 
 
 9 
 
 iMoTHER ! that, with tearful eye. 
 Stand' st to watch thy first-born die ; 
 Bending o'er his cradle-bed. 
 Till the last pure breath has fled ; 
 What to thee of hope can tell, 
 Like the solemn Sabbath Bell ? 
 
 9
 
 JO THE PABBATH BELL. 
 
 10 
 
 " Mourner ! (thus it seems to say,) 
 Weeping o'er this fragile clay ; 
 Lift from earth thy streaming eyes. 
 Seek thy treasure in the skies ; 
 Where the strains of Angels swell 
 One eternal Sabbath Bell !"
 
 THE DYING BARD. 
 
 To his pale Lamp, Avhose faithiul beam 
 
 Had often shed its ray 
 O'er the young Poet's lyric page. 
 
 He breath'd his parting lay : 
 Too well he knew that quivering light 
 
 Was like his gifted art. 
 Shedding a radiance round his name, 
 
 Wliile feeding on his heart ! 
 
 He sang; — "Life's flower is with'ring fast ; 
 
 ]My pilgrimage is done ; 
 How soon eve's dark'ning shadows cios'd 
 
 Around the noontide sun ! 
 Brilliant, yet short-lived, were the joys 
 
 My youth's brief day has known ; 
 Tliey were too bright, too fierce, to last, 
 
 Like buds, untimely blown !
 
 12 
 
 THK DYING BARD. 
 
 " 'Tis Scaid, on Java's burning waste. 
 
 Where never breeze hath play'd. 
 The Upas woos the wanderer's feet. 
 
 To rest beneath its shade ; 
 Its blossoms, lovely to the eye. 
 
 Shed forth a fragrant breath ; 
 But he who sleeps beneath its bouglis 
 
 Sleeps the long sleep of Death ! 
 
 4 
 
 " Ah ! like that fair, but faithless tree. 
 
 Did Pleasure's syren bowers 
 Extend their wide and wooinff arms 
 
 To me — in Boyhood's hours ; 
 Dreaming beneath their fatal shade. 
 
 Youth's morn soon pass'd away ; 
 Not Fate — but this false heart I blame, 
 
 That sought its own decay ! 
 
 5 
 
 " Break ! much-lov'd Lyre ! thy tuneful chords, 
 
 For, in the silent grave. 
 Soon, must thou share thy master's sleep, 
 
 Beneath oblivion's wave I 
 Nor thou, nor he, shall e'er descend 
 
 Down Time's dark-rolling tide. 
 To be, like Egypt's 'parted kings, 
 
 *Judg'd, the cold Lake beside ! 
 
 * Alluiliny- to a well-known superstition of the Egyplians.
 
 THK DYING BARD. 
 
 6 
 
 "Companions of life's early days ! 
 
 Friends ! to this bosom dear ; 
 Ye will not quite forget the strains. 
 
 That once ye lov'd to hear ! 
 For, though I ask no wreath of Fame, 
 
 To deck my lowly rest; 
 'Twere sweet to have my lays enshrin d 
 
 In Friendship's kindred breast ! 
 
 7 
 " And ye ! — the most belov'd of all. 
 
 Bright Idols ! of the shrine 
 At which I paid my fondest vows. 
 
 When Youth and Hope were mine ! 
 Your magic spells enchant me yet. 
 
 Syrens ! to whom tis giv'n, 
 To dazzle Man's bewilder'd glance. 
 
 With light that seems from Heav'n ! 
 
 8 
 
 " Bright, as the fairy-peopled dream 
 
 An Infant's slumber knows ; 
 Lovely, as Summer's ling'ring smile 
 
 Cpon its last pale rose ; 
 So float your forms o'er eyes, where now 
 
 Death's mists are gath'ring dim ; 
 So steal your voices o'er my soul, 
 
 Like eve's soft vesper hymn !
 
 ]4 THE DYING BARD. 
 
 9 
 
 " Sweet Phantoms, stay ! my shade demands 
 
 One tributary sigh ; — 
 One tear, remembrance of my fate. 
 
 From Beauty's peerless eye ; 
 And at ray cypress-shadow'd tomb. 
 
 Let Loves last off'ring be 
 A -wreath of that ephemeral floM'er, 
 
 Whose morroAv none may see !" 
 
 10 
 
 Thus sang the Bard, — like that lone bird, 
 
 ]\Iost musical in death ; 
 To his pale Lamp, and faithful Lyre, 
 
 Sighing his latest breath ; 
 And as the Lamp's expiring gleam 
 
 Grew paler in decay ; 
 Clasping his Lyre — the Poet's soul 
 
 As gently pass'd away !
 
 INNOCENCE. 
 
 " Innocence, they tell. 
 From Courts dismiss'il, found shelter in the Groves." 
 
 CoWPER 
 
 1 
 
 Daughter fair ! of cloudless skies, 
 With thy meek and dove-like eyes. 
 From whose pure and searching ray, 
 Things unholy shrink away ; 
 Goddess ! of the bower and glen. 
 Flying, from the " haunts of men," 
 To the pine-tree shaded dell, 
 Where the fairies love to dwell ; 
 Or the woodbine-scented grove. 
 Where the fawns and satyrs rove, 
 How shall Poet wake for Thee 
 Strains of fitting minstrelsy?
 
 16 INNOCENCE. 
 
 Nymph ! that dost delight to brood 
 In some woodland solitude, 
 *(With thy meek companion laid, 
 By thee, in the leafy shade ; 
 All his fleecy vestments on, 
 Fair, and spotless as thy own) 
 Watching the pale Lily blow. 
 As she opes her bells of snow ; 
 Where the torrent's headlong tide 
 Rushes down the mountain's side ; 
 While, within its foamy wave. 
 Oft thy sportive fingers lave ! 
 
 Thou ! that, from the cloudless skies, 
 Com'st to Earth in mortal ^uise. 
 With thy brow as marble fair. 
 Shaded by thy sunny hair ; 
 Thou, that lov'st the plaintive song 
 Of eve's bird, the woods among. 
 When she chaunts her vesper hymn. 
 As the twilight shadows dim. 
 Rising froi^ the dewy ground. 
 Cast their silvMg^' veil around ! 
 Why should Poets picture thee 
 But, a 7-ural Deity ? 
 
 * Originally written to illustrate an Engraving.
 
 INNOCENCE. 
 
 Though, upon the village-green, 
 Oft thy sylph-like form is" seen, 
 JMingling with the rustic throng. 
 Leader of the dance and song ; 
 Do thy foosteps never rove. 
 From the meadow, and the grove? 
 Dost thou only deign to dwell 
 In the Hermit's moss-grown cell ? 
 Art thou but in deserts found. 
 Where hush'd Silence reigns around ? 
 Like the flower that shuns the day 
 Shrinking, from the crowd away. 
 
 No ! the Bard would do thee wrong. 
 Who confirm'd such fabled song ; 
 Since thy form of living grace. 
 Sure, hath many a resting place 
 Far remov'd, from sylvan glen, 
 'Mid the " busy hum of men;" 
 Yes ! — in Childhood's laughing eye. 
 Thy pure Temple we descry ; 
 There, (at least till growing years. 
 Dim with guilt, or passion's teai-s,) 
 Thoa dost fix thy chosen shritf^ 
 Like the diamond in the mine ! 
 
 17
 
 18 INNOCENCE. 
 
 6 
 
 Say, in Woman's guileless breast 
 Art thou not a cherish'd guest ? 
 Feel we not, thy presence nigh, 
 In her tear — and in her sigh. 
 Rather than in words of blame, 
 O'er an " erring Sister's shame?" 
 Thou art in the crimson streak. 
 Lighting up her kindling cheek, 
 (As the western sun-beam's glow 
 Tints awhile the mountain's snow,) 
 When unhallowd lips impart 
 Anguish, to lier trusting heart ! 
 
 7 
 
 Though, amid the Nymphs and Swains, 
 
 On the flower-enamel'd plains. 
 
 Thou dost reign acknowledg'd Queen, 
 
 Yet thy steps are often seen, 
 
 'Spite of all that Cynics say. 
 
 Wand' ring in the crowded way 
 
 Of the City's stately towers. 
 
 Pure as in Retirement's bowers ! 
 
 Yes ! the Bard would do thee wrong. 
 
 Who confirm' d such fabled song. 
 
 That thy presence ne'er is found 
 
 In the busy Circle's round !
 
 J9 
 
 LINES, 
 
 M'RITTEN IN A COTY OF "FRIENDSHIP'S OFFERING,' 
 PRESENTED TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 Others may sing to thee of Love, 
 
 At Friendship's gentle shrine 
 I pay my homage ; — Love's may prove 
 
 Dearer, perchance, than mine ; 
 Yet not more faithful or sincere 
 His strains than those I offer here. 
 
 2 
 
 I will not on thy Beauty dwell, 
 That flower so soon must fade ; 
 
 Nor will I of thy Virtue tell. 
 Since Virtue courts the shade ; 
 
 Neither of fhese the theme shall be. 
 To form a votive wreath for Thee ! 
 
 3 
 
 No ! Friendship is the theme I sing. 
 Hers the pure wreath I twine;
 
 20 LINES TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. 
 
 And " Friendship's gentle offering" 
 
 I lay upon thy shrine ; 
 There, may the gift accepted prove. 
 Till banish'd — to give place to Love ! 
 
 4 
 
 Few are the real friends we find. 
 
 Though many boast the name ; 
 But clashing int'rests are combin'd 
 
 On Earth, to quench the flame ; 
 Beauty — Wealth — Envy ; in an hour 
 How these can weaken Friendship's power ! 
 
 5 
 
 I will not boast a heart more free 
 From falsehood's taint than they. 
 
 Who proffer Friendship's hand to thee. 
 In Youth's unclouded day ; 
 
 And strew thy life's smooth path with flowers 
 
 In summer's fresh and morning hours ! 
 
 6 
 
 I will not boast ; — yet I would fain 
 
 Supply the loss you mourn ; 
 And fill up, in affection's chain. 
 
 The link that Death has torn ; 
 And see thy young heart give to me 
 A Daughter's fond fidelity !
 
 LINES TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. 21 
 
 7 
 
 Nay ! — smile not ; — tho' upon my brow 
 
 Time has not set his seal ; 
 The' few the years I number now 
 
 Beyond thyself, — I feel 
 That I would act a Mother's part. 
 And shrine thee in my inmost heart ! 
 
 8 
 
 Nay, smile not ; — Folly's hours are gone. 
 
 Calm Reason rules with me ; 
 My wild romantic days have flown. 
 
 And stern reality 
 Usurps the place of Fancy's themes. 
 Its glowing hopes — and fairy dreams ! 
 
 9 
 
 Others more costly gifts may bring, 
 
 Where gold and jewels shine ; 
 But let MY new year's offering 
 
 Live in that Heart of thine ! 
 Worthy such ])lace may Friendship prove. 
 Nor own a rival there, — save Love !
 
 22 
 
 THE LOVEK TO HIS DEAD MISTRESS. 
 
 1 
 
 My first Love ! — my first Love ! 
 
 I saw thee in thy grave ; 
 And all my cherish'd hopes dissolv'd. 
 
 Like snow upon the wave*; 
 I heard the solemn Reqviiem float. 
 
 Upon thy fun'ral day j 
 Memory recalls each plaintive note^, 
 
 Though years have pass'd away ! 
 
 IMy first Love ! — my first Love ! 
 
 I kiss'd thee in thy shroud ; 
 When darkly fell November's gloom. 
 
 And winds were shrieking loud ! 
 When all seem'd chill, as tliis sad heart. 
 
 And those cold lijos I press'd ; 
 And Sorrow reign'd in ev'ry part, 
 
 A deep — and settled guest .'
 
 THE LOVER TO HIS DEAD MISTRESS. 23 
 
 My first Love ! — my first Love ! 
 
 Fond memory clings to Thee ; 
 Though other links again fill up 
 
 ]My chain of destiny. 
 Fancy yet lingers, as at first. 
 
 On each remember' d grace ; 
 The Idol, my young spirit nurst 
 
 Still, still, I brightly trace ! 
 
 My first Love ! — my first Love ! 
 
 I never can forget 
 All that thou wert, or would'st have been, 
 
 Had'st thou been spar'd me yet ! 
 Fancy, who weaves her brightest dream. 
 
 Through sorrow's veiling tears, 
 Oft pictures what thou now would'st seem. 
 
 In added grace and years. 
 
 5 
 
 My first Love ! — my first Love ! 
 
 I know 'tis vain to mourn 
 O'er early hopes — long past away. 
 
 That never can return ; 
 And thus, when smiling friends are met. 
 
 My brow throws off its care ; 
 But in this Heart I hold thee yet. 
 
 And pay my worship there !
 
 21 THE LOVEH TO HIS DEAD MISTRESS. 
 
 6 
 
 My first Love ! — my first Love ! 
 
 Thy memory is a light. 
 Burning, like that on Erin's shrine,* 
 
 In me, for ever bright ; 
 Time, that doth make most feelinjrs bend. 
 
 Yielding to his decree. 
 Cannot from its fond shelter rend 
 
 One cherish'd thought of Thee ! 
 
 Like the bright lamp which lay on Kildare's holy shrine. 
 
 Fide " Irish INIelodies." 

 
 25 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 TO THE VALLEY OF OBERHASTI, IN SWITZERLAND. 
 
 O PEACEFUL valley ! in thy calm retreat, 
 (Or some like spot,) remov'd from vulgar noise ; 
 Fain would I rest my weary wand'ring feet. 
 Far from the world, its tumults, and its joys ! 
 
 For I am wearied of the busy scene 
 That meets me daily, in Life's crowded throng ; 
 And my heart sickens for the meadows green, 
 Sacred to solitude— and pensive song. 
 
 3 
 
 There, would I rest — remote from care and strife : 
 There, waste the evening of my setting day ; 
 There, gently glide down the smooth stream of lile. 
 And steal unnotic'd from the world away.
 
 26 
 
 THE VILLAGE MAID. 
 
 Blest is the humble village maid. 
 
 Who lingers 'neath the hawthorn shade : 
 
 No anxious cares or thoughts has she. 
 
 Her life from guilt and sorrow free. 
 
 Content she dwells the live-long day. 
 
 And sings her rustic roundelay. 
 
 Yon lowly cot, at distance seen. 
 
 Peeping from out its leafy screen. 
 
 Where warbling birds breathe wood-notes wild 
 
 Bounds all the wants of Nature's child ; 
 
 Her birth-place, and her peaceful home. 
 
 Where worldly follies never come. 
 
 Since Fashion's footsteps ne'er intrude - 
 
 Upon its hallow'd solitude I 
 
 Oft, as morn's blushes tint the skies. 
 
 Or eve's pale dewy stars arise, . 
 
 To Heav'n the whispering Jbreezes bear. 
 
 Prom that calm roof, her artless prayer ; 
 
 Pure incense of a soul unstain'd, 
 
 A shrine which vice has ne'er profan'd. ,
 
 THE VILLAGE MAID. 
 
 Ah ! would not courtly grandeur change 
 It's splendid lot— like her to range 
 Far from the crowded haunts of care. 
 The smiling meads, and pastures fair. 
 Where innocence and rose-crown'd health 
 Are the blest Peasant's only wealth? 
 Yes ! thousands, wearied of Life's toys, 
 It's gilded pomps, it's empty joys. 
 Where, veil'd beneath the flowery guise 
 Of pleasure, sorrow lurking lies, 
 (As the keen thorn beneath the rose. 
 To rob the bosom of repose ; — ) 
 Thousands would quit the busy scene. 
 For rural shades, and meadows green, 
 To roam, at will, the mountain's side. 
 Or watch the streamlet's silver tide ; 
 But Fashion courts, and woos their stay. 
 Longer, in Life's tumidtuous v.- ay : 
 Their leader. Folly, from the throng. 
 Still beckons, and still lures them on ; 
 And there tliey linger, hour "by hour. 
 Slaves to a false Enchanter's power. 
 Longing to break the spell-wrought chain^ 
 And fly to Nature's haunts again ! 
 Till Youth and Manhood pass them by. 
 And Age still finds them, with a sigh 
 E'en on the verge of Life's decline 
 Votaries at pleasure's fatal shrine. 
 
 27
 
 28 THE VILLAGE MAID. 
 
 Oh ! let My steps pursue their way, 
 • Far from the heartless and the gay ; 
 Still let them keep the peaceful shade 
 For the calm joys of virtue made ; 
 There, far remov'd from worldly strife. 
 May all my evening hours of life 
 Pass, as the soft and tranquil beam 
 Of sunset, from th' unruffled stream. 
 Stealing its mellow tints away. 
 With gentle and unmark'd decay.
 
 29 
 
 IMPROMPTU 
 
 TO A BEAUTIFUL GROUP OF FLOWERS, TAINTED FROM 
 
 NATURE. 
 
 Oh ! fair and lovely Flowers ! 
 By Friendship's hand pourtray'd ; 
 Unlike your sisters of the vernal bowers. 
 Ye cannot fade. 
 Or know a change ; — for Time 
 Exerts no power to chase your deathless bloom : 
 Ye will not pass away, with Summer's prime. 
 Into the tomb ! 
 No ! fair and lovely Flowers ! 
 Amid the chilling showers 
 Of surly Winter's blast ; 
 Here ye'll still bloom, and bring to mind the hours 
 Of seasons past. 
 Thus, to the Mourner's eyes, 
 Dimm'd by affliction's storm. 
 Art's magic power supplies 
 
 The lost lov'd form ; 
 Thus, does the Lover gaze. 
 On the fair sculptur'd urn. 
 Dreaming of happier days. 
 Ne'er to return !
 
 30 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 Beautiful fairy Spirit ! that dost take 
 
 More shapes and features than 'tis said, of yore. 
 
 So ancient legends write, (perchance they make 
 The fabled tale,) Proteus, the changeling, wore ; 
 
 Beautiful fairy Spirit ! — can there be 
 
 A breast that does not ope some vista-light for Thee ? 
 
 2 
 
 No ! for thou stealest on, with subtle art, 
 
 Unfelt, unseen, unknown — till thou hast fix'd 
 
 Thy mystic dwelling in the human heart ; 
 But with so many difF'ring passions mix'd. 
 
 That oft we know thee by some other name ; 
 
 But, though miscall'd by us, thine office is the same ! 
 
 Poets have sung, and Painters fashion'd thee. 
 In many hues and colours, as, of old.
 
 HOPE. 31 
 
 Cameleons were ; — some with thy vestments free, 
 
 And zone loose flowing; — some with locks of gold, 
 A fair-brow'd nymph ; — some with thine anchor cast 
 Firm in a rock ; — but all — all own thee Hope, at last ! 
 
 Youth sees thee in the sunbeam's glowing ray, 
 Or on the dancing stream ; for to the heart. 
 
 In tliat glad season, simplest things convey 
 
 Thine image, beyond Bard or Sculptor's art ; — 
 
 The bird's wild song, the summer's budding flow'rs. 
 
 All breathe, alike, of Hope, in youth's unclouded 
 hours. 
 
 The Lover greets thee, in an April smile. 
 
 Half tears, half sunshine ; thence his fancy draws 
 
 A store of Hope, on which his soul aAvhile 
 JMay banquet, till the icy coldness thaws. 
 
 That maiden bashfulness, or worldly art. 
 
 Too often for man's peace wraps round the female 
 heart ! 
 
 6 
 
 The Sailor hails thee in the fresh'ning breeze. 
 That fills his swelling sail, and wafts him Home ! 
 
 The Soldier, 'mid the battle's tumult, sees 
 
 Thy foriu on Vic'try's helm ; and, as the foam 
 
 Whitens his gallant steed, he spurs him on. 
 
 Till Glory's goal is gain'd, and Honor's meed is won !
 
 32 HOPE. 
 
 7 
 Thou visitest the Captive's prison grate. 
 
 In dreams of former years, leaving him free 
 To Fancy's musings ; and, though desolate. 
 
 Thou giv'st to him ideal liberty ! 
 For Memory becomes Hope ; — she bids him roam 
 Back to the forest glades that screen his cottage home. 
 
 8 
 
 Thou comest to the Mother, watching pale 
 Beside the couch on which her First-born lies 
 
 Like a young lily by the summer gale 
 
 Too rudely breath'd on ; — to her anxious eyes 
 
 Thou shew'st thyself in the faint hectic streak ^Z- 
 
 (Like morning's earliest beam) that crimsons o'er his 
 cheek ! 
 
 9 4 
 
 But thou deceivst her, Hope ! for, in the light \5 
 
 That glances wildly from his sunken eye, "^ 
 
 In the flush'd cheek, and brow's transparent white. 
 Less sanguine gazers Death's fell shaft descry. 
 
 They know the blush of that unearthly bloom 
 
 Comes (like a mocking fiend) the herald of the tomb ! 
 
 10 
 
 Hope ! to the aged and expecting Saint 
 
 Thou com'st with rays of glory ! — wearing, then.
 
 HOPE. 
 
 33 
 
 An angel's form ; (as sacred Poets paint 
 
 Those who, of old, dwelt 'mongst the sons of men, 
 Veil'd in their mortal nature for awhile. 
 To make the barren Avaste a second Eden smile !*) 
 
 11 
 
 Thou dost descend to hiui, radiant with love. 
 And cloth'd in white-rob'd mercy ; — at the last, 
 
 Coming, as did the Heav'n-directed Dove 
 To shew the fury of the waters past : 
 
 Thou art the " still, small voice," within his breast. 
 
 Calling the wave-toss'd Ark to everlasting rest ! 
 
 12 
 
 Beautifitl^ holy Spirit ! thou dost bring 
 
 Thy sister. Faith, with her meek up-rais'd eyes. 
 
 And bearing "peace and healing" on her wing, 
 To waft the Soul back to its native skies ; 
 
 With such blest guides — such full assurance giv'n, 
 
 God calls the Just from Earth, to perfect him in 
 Pleav'n. 
 
 * Vide Scripture History. 
 
 D
 
 THE SEASONS. 
 
 Summer suns are o'er and gone ; 
 
 Autumn winds come whistling on ; 
 Winter soon, with storm-charg'd cloud. 
 
 Will the mellow landscape shroud ; 
 Thus — the Seasons glide away, — 
 Thus — Man counts his little day ! 
 
 2 
 
 But though Autumn leaves depart ; 
 
 (Emblems of a blighted heart ;) 
 Though stern Winter's icy chill 
 
 Holds in chains the silvery rill ; 
 And, beneath its with'ring breath. 
 Nature feels a transient death ! 
 
 3 
 
 Soon, fair Spring, with all her flowers. 
 Laughing, comes to deck the bowers ;
 
 THE SEASONS. 35 
 
 While each blossom-laden bough 
 
 Will Young Summer's treasures shew ; 
 And, from ev'ry brake and grove. 
 Warbling Birds sing notes of love ! 
 
 4. 
 
 But when Man's Jlrst Spring is fled. 
 
 When his Summer odour's shed ; 
 And his Autumn gloom appears, 
 
 Follow'd close by Winter's tears; 
 Ah ! what circling sun can bring. 
 To his heart, a second Spring ?
 
 THE LAY OF THE MOURNEB. 
 
 " — It rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye. 
 The morning star of memory." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 It is not 'mid the busy throng. 
 When all around from care are free. 
 That tender thoughts come stealing on. 
 Mingled with fond regret for Thee ! 
 It is not in Life's giddy round, — 
 The crowded scene, — " the hum of men,' 
 My heart is conscious of the wound. 
 That ne'er on Earth shall heal again ! 
 
 No ! — it is when the busy day 
 Is o'er ; — -and night, in sable pall, 
 (Chasing each worldly thought away,) 
 Veils lowly Cot — and lordly Hall !
 
 THE LAY OK THE MOUKNER. 37 
 
 When Sleep sits close, on happier eyes. 
 On lids from Sorrow's tear-drops free ; 
 That phantoms of the past arise 
 And Memory's vision turns to thee ! 
 
 Yes ! — oft thy smile's remember'd light 
 Illumes the darkness of my soul. 
 In the calm hours of " stilly night," 
 When Fancy reigns without controul ! 
 Oft do the morning stars surprise 
 (Those ling'ring gems pale daylight knows,) 
 ]\Iy vigils, — ere these wakeful eyes. 
 Have tasted Slumber's brief repose ! 
 
 They bear me on from place to place ; 
 
 From rustic scene — to lighted hall : 
 
 And, if Joy's sunshine cross my face. 
 
 Deem that I have forgotten all ! 
 
 But wrong they deem ! — unquaffed by me, 
 
 Lethe's oblivious wave may flow ; 
 
 I would not lose one thought of Thee, 
 
 For all that Pleasure could bestow ! 
 
 Thy Memory ! — 'tis the light that flings 
 Radiance, — where darkness else had been
 
 38 THE LAY OF THE MOURNEK. 
 
 The link to which my Spirit clings, 
 
 To draw it from this mortal scene ; 
 
 It is the one inspiring thought. 
 
 From all Earth's grosser passions free; 
 
 The whisper'd Hope, with rapture fraught, 
 
 That where thou art — I yet may be! 
 
 6 
 
 They who would bid my fancy range. 
 
 From dwelling on thy mem'ry here. 
 
 What do they offer in exchange. 
 
 That I could cherish half so dear ? 
 
 My Guide on earth, — my Hope in Heav'n, 
 
 The Pilot of Life's darken'd hour ; 
 
 Oh ! say — what bliss has Pleasure giv'n. 
 
 To equal Sorrow s hallowing power ?
 
 THE POET'S CHILD. 
 
 " Some have envied the minstrel's art. 
 Unknowing his oft -felt smart ; 
 
 But this never might be, 
 
 Could they once but see 
 A minstrel's inmost heart !" 
 
 1 
 
 And do they wish the gift of song 
 May be thine heritage, dear Child ? 
 
 Ah ! little deem the careless throng. 
 On whom the Muse has never smil'd. 
 
 How dark a lot — how sad a dower. 
 
 Is his — who owns her gifted power ! 
 
 T would not that Ihi/ gentle mind 
 The spell of Poesy should know ; 
 
 And all the feelings, undefin'd. 
 
 That in the Minstrel's bosom glow ;
 
 40 
 
 THE POET S CHILD. 
 
 Far from thy life's unruffled way, 
 Be still " tlie light that leads astray !" 
 
 Cold disappointment and regret 
 
 Are his who seeks the Sisters' shrine ; 
 
 A Aveary Pilgrim, — toiling yet 
 
 For fame, that Avithers all his prime ; 
 
 Like that monastic tool and slave — 
 
 Who digs, ere matin-hour, his grave !* 
 
 Though Inspiration's light may shed 
 A halo round the IMinstrel's path. 
 
 Too oft she pours upon his head 
 The fiercer vials of her wrath ; 
 
 Too oft her laurel trophies bloom 
 
 Around her Votary's early tomb ! 
 
 And would they seek to know the cause, 
 Why grief must be the Poet's share ? 
 
 Thus, then, I answer ; — 'tis because 
 He paints the world too good and fair ; 
 
 * Tlie order of La Trappe is represented to be so severe as to. 
 oblige eacli of tlie Brotlierliood to dig a part of iiis own grave every 
 morning before matins.
 
 THE poet's child. 41 
 
 And thinks each glowing dream will be 
 To him — a bright reality ! 
 
 He pictures Life — as never yet 
 
 Life has been found — all love and truth ; 
 
 Then mourns too late, with vain regret. 
 The blighted visions of his youth ; 
 
 And bears, untold, the bitter smart 1- 
 
 That rankles in his bleeding heart ! 
 
 7 
 
 He deems the World the fairy thing 
 
 That first to youth's fond glance it seems ; ' 
 
 Then sees each vision'd bliss take wing. 
 Like INIorning's fair but fleeting dreams ; 
 
 And finds his worship'd idols clay. 
 
 His own bright hopes more false than they ! 
 
 8 
 
 To fancy ev'ry hand that grasps 
 
 His own, — is Friendship's sacred touch ; 
 To find, within it hid, the Asp's 
 
 Or Adder's poison ; — worse than such ; 
 To bear the Stoic's chilling scorn. 
 And the false smile by Envy worn, —
 
 42 Tin: poets child. 
 
 9 
 
 Such is His lot ; — as meteor fires 
 
 To wand'ring Hinds seem morning's ray. 
 
 So led by Hope — till Hope expires, 
 The Poet's hourr, consume away ; — 
 
 Then who would wish the gift of Song 
 
 To those they lov'd should e'er belong ? 
 
 10 
 
 No ! — rather in the quiet road. 
 
 Where Reason, Truth, and Virtue, stay, 
 ]\lay THY steps wander ; — all unti'od 
 
 By thee be Fancy's flower-strown away ; 
 And, for the JMuses' fabled shrine. 
 Let other hands their ofF'rings twine !
 
 ONE HOUR AVITH THEE ! 
 
 1 
 
 One }i -'iir with Thee ! when Summer's sun-set closes. 
 And Day's last blushes gild the quiet grove ! 
 
 One hour with Thee ! to watch the shutting roses. 
 And whisper, in thine ear, soft tales of love ; 
 
 All the fond heart has treasur'd through the day. 
 
 At evening's dewy close, for faithful lips to say ! 
 
 One hour with Thee ! when day's dull toils are over, 
 And wearied nature courts the peaceful scene ; 
 
 One hour with Thee ! when gentle spirits hover 
 Around our guarded path — unheard, unseen ; 
 
 Then, all the vexing cares of busy day — 
 
 One hour with thee, at eve, can well repay !
 
 44 ONK HOUR WITH THEE. 
 
 3 
 
 One hour with Thee ! — when infant eyes are sleeping 
 The dove-like sleep, that only childhood knows ; 
 
 One hour with Thee ! when eve's pale star is keeping 
 Her lonely watch^ till Heav'n with radiance glows; 
 
 Like that true star, thou art the guiding ray 
 
 That cheers my path, and lights me on my way ! 
 
 4 
 
 One hour with Thee outweighs the empty splendour^ 
 The heartless joys, for which so many live; — 
 
 One hour with Thee ! and gladly I surrender 
 
 All fashion's crowds and fashion's pomps can give ; 
 
 Sick of life's gaudy scenes, I steal away. 
 
 To share thy converse, at the close of day !
 
 45 
 
 THE BROKEN GOLD. 
 
 1 LOOK upon this Broken Gold — 
 And memory traces o'er each scene. 
 
 Of happier hours, and days of old. 
 When life and love were green ; — 
 
 Joys that danc'd o'er my light heart then 
 
 Such as can ne'er be mine again ! 
 
 I look upon this Broken Gold : — 
 
 'Twas sever'd in love's trusting hour ; 
 
 Ere the young pulse of Hope grew cold. 
 Or the world's storms had power 
 
 To make the spirit's gladsome wing 
 
 A drooping and a blighted thing ! 
 
 3 
 
 I look upon this Broken Gold, 
 
 When from the busy crowd I steal ; 
 
 I would not scoffers should be told 
 All I have felt— and all I feel ;
 
 46 THE BROKEN GOLD. 
 
 Nor mark how throbs this burning brow 
 With thoughts — that should be banish'd now ! 
 
 4 
 
 I look upon this Broken Gold — 
 Remembrancer of years gone by ; 
 
 The hand, pledg'd with it, now is cold. 
 The heart too, long has ceas'd to sigh ; 
 
 And of Love's early riven chain, 
 
 I — (sever'd link,) — alone remain ! 
 
 I look upon this Broken Gold, 
 
 Alas ! it glads these eyes no more ; — 
 
 As sinking mariners behold 
 
 Some beacon light the distant shore 
 
 Too late to save, — it shews to me — 
 
 The wreck that life must henceforth be ! 
 
 6 
 
 I look upon this Broken Gold. — 
 What lesson does it teach me now ? 
 
 It says, that years have o'er me roll'd ; 
 That Time, in shadow, wraps my brow ; 
 
 And whispers, 'tis as wrong as vain — 
 
 To sigh for youth's bright dreams again !
 
 THE SPIRIT OF POESY. 
 
 1 
 
 'Tisnot when chilling wreaths of snow 
 Hang thick upon the mountain's brow ; 
 Tis not when Winter's icy zone 
 Around the leafless earth is thrown ; 
 That Fancy wakes the ^Minstrel's lyre. 
 Or passion breathes its notes of fire ; 
 Not then — not then, to him belong 
 The flow of Poesy and Song ! 
 
 Tis in the Summer's laughing hours. 
 When wild birds sing amid the bowers ; 
 When deepest blushes dye the rose, 
 And soft the murmuring fountain flows; 
 That, borne on ev'ry Zephyr's sigh. 
 The Spirit of fair Poesy, — 
 'Mid breathing sweets and sunny beams, 
 Visits the Poet's noon-tide dreams !
 
 48 THK SPIRIT OF POESY. 
 
 Bring the young Bard his gifted Lyre, 
 And bid him wake it's magic fire. 
 When Summer skies and streams are bright. 
 And Beauty's eye sheds warmer light ; 
 Then, o'er his cheek — and on his brow. 
 Soon Inspiration's light will glow ; 
 When ev'ry thing in Earth and air 
 Glad Nature's joyousness doth share ! 
 
 Ah ! f/ie7i the World seems all romance 
 To the wrapt minstrel's ardent glance. 
 Blithely he'll wake to Love the string ; 
 Of Wars' or Woman's triumphs sing ; — 
 But spare him now ; — these wint'ry hours 
 Chain up the Poet's mental powers ! 
 And banish, by their chill controul, 
 " The flow of reason, and of soul !
 
 49 
 
 THE DEATH-BED OF THE INFIDEL. 
 
 " Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on Heav'n's bliss, 
 
 Hold up thy hand — make signal of thy hope : 
 
 "He dies, and makes no sign." 
 
 Shakspbabe. 
 
 1 
 
 It is the hour when Nature owns 
 
 Her dread destroyer's sovereign sway ; 
 
 When, amid low convulsive groans. 
 The spirit leaves its house of clay ; 
 
 And, from the lips, by anguish worn. 
 
 Life's mingled cup away is torn ! 
 
 2 
 
 It is the hour when Nature lies 
 
 Powerless beneath the grasp of Death ; 
 
 When all man's proudest energies 
 Wax fainter than an Infant's breath ; 
 
 And bursting hearts are stifling there 
 
 The grief, — the dying may not share !
 
 50 THE DEATH-BED OF THE INFIDEL. 
 
 Yon chamber — mark its darken'd shade. 
 That scarcely shews a gleam of day ; 
 
 There, — on his couch of torture laid. 
 The Atheist breathes his life away; 
 
 While mute attendants linger near. 
 
 The death-sob of his heart to hear ! 
 
 The pillow, by Affection's hand. 
 
 Has oft been smooth' d — but smooth'd in vain ; 
 And all that fortune can command 
 
 Has tried to lull the sense of pain ; 
 But in his Soul reigns dark despair. 
 No sei'aph-voice speaks comfort there ! 
 
 Though Love approach with gentlest mien, 
 Around its soothing balm to shed ; — 
 
 Though Friendship's purest form is seen 
 Beside the dying sinner's bed ; — 
 
 Yet, void of Heav'n's sustaining arm. 
 
 Love cannot soothe — or Friendship charm ! 
 
 6 
 
 " Is there a God?" — his darken'd heart. 
 Awaking, asks at this dread hour !
 
 THK DEATH-BED OF THE INFIDEL. 51 
 
 " Is there a God ? " — in ev'ry part 
 
 He feels his wrath, — and owns his power ; 
 And dreadful are the fears tliat roll 
 Like wild- waves through liis guilty soul ! 
 
 7 
 
 " Oh, for ONE hour 1 " — he struggling cries, 
 
 "■ But one brief hour, of all I've lost. 
 To fit my Spirit for the skies. 
 
 Ere yet the fatal gulf is cross'd !" 
 Frail Du^t ! does Truth around thee shine 
 Now — when all other lights decline ? 
 
 8 
 
 Blame thine own heart ;— for it was steel'd. 
 
 Against Conviction's strongest ray ; 
 Resisting all that Grace reveal' d. 
 
 While yet around thee shone the day ; 
 Now, thy bark nears the fatal shore. 
 Where Hope shall fill its sails no more ! 
 
 9 
 
 The last — dread mandate has gone forth. 
 That bids the "dust to dust return;" 
 
 Here let the Infidels of earth 
 A deep — an awful lesson learn ; 
 
 " Grant, me, oh God ! one hour," he cries. 
 
 His first — LAST prayer ; — the Spirit flies !
 
 52 
 
 TO A PICTURK 
 
 1 
 
 Idol of all my heart holds dear ! 
 
 Where all my earthly wishes bow ; 
 Forgive — forgive — the starting tear 
 
 That falls upon thy 'semblance now ! 
 It does not flow o'er buried joys. 
 
 O'er youth, and health's too transient reign 
 How can it mourn such fleeting toys. 
 
 While yet thy truth and love remain ? 
 
 Nor does it mourn the darken'd shade 
 
 That fortune o'er our lot has cast; 
 Friends may deceive, and hopes may fade. 
 
 But we'll be faithful to the last ! 
 Though years have fleeted since the hour 
 
 That saw this heart first pledg'd by me ; 
 Time o'er its truth has had no power. 
 
 Unless to bind it more to Thee.
 
 TO A PICTURE. 
 
 53 
 
 3 
 
 'Twas THEN the sunny morn of Youth, 
 
 When Love's romantic dreams were ours ; 
 'Tis NOW the sober noon of Truth, 
 
 And Time has withered hope's gay flowers; 
 But it has left affection still. 
 
 And faith, — confiding faith, the same ; 
 Love, which no change of time can chill, 
 
 No varying fortune quench its flame ! 
 
 This, from the wreck of joys long dead. 
 
 We yet have cherish'd, and enshrin'd ; 
 And, though youth's brighter dreams have fled, 
 
 Dear are the blessings left behind. 
 Idol of all my heart holds dear ! 
 
 Thou shrine, where all my wishes bow ; 
 Forgive — forgive — th' unbidden tear 
 
 That falls upon thy 'semblance now.
 
 54 
 
 STANZAS. • 
 
 'Tis over ! — the dark hour of trial is past. 
 
 And the spirit is broken that never would bend ; 
 It has flown where the injur'd find justice at last, 
 
 And the griefs of the heart-wearied Pilgrim must 
 end. 
 Well, peace to her ashes, and calm be their rest, 
 
 Nor let Virtue's pure bosom deny them a tear ; 
 May she find in that land, where the wretched are 
 blest. 
 
 More mercy than mortals accorded her here ! 
 
 2 
 
 She is gone ! — and the loud tongue of Faction should 
 cease. 
 And her faults (if they were such) be thought on 
 no more ; 
 Oh ! surely the Spirit may slumber in peace. 
 
 When life's bark has once quitted Mortality's shore !
 
 STANZAS. 55 
 
 O'er the past, let the shade of Oblivion be spi'ead. 
 And ne'er may the hand so unhallow'd be found. 
 
 That would wantonly tear from the shrine of the dead 
 The veil with which Silence has curtain'd it round. 
 
 3 
 
 Poor Mourner ! whatever thine errors have been, 
 IMan knew not the lesson that Mercy has giv'n ; 
 But exacted from thee, in this frail earthly scene. 
 That perfection of Virtue, which d^vells but in 
 ^Heav'n ! 
 Let those who would judge with severity, say. 
 
 If toss'd in the tempests Avhere thou hast been tried^ 
 'JNIid the waves that rag'd round thee, how better 
 would they 
 Have steer'd through the billows of life's troubled 
 tide ? 
 
 4 
 
 They, who know not the snares that encompass'd thy 
 path, 
 (Where beneath ev'ry flow'ret destruction was 
 spread) ; 
 May pour out the vial of faction and wrath. 
 
 Without shame, or remorse, on thy shelterless head. 
 But they, whom the wild-waves of passion have 
 toss'd. 
 Will weep o'er thy sufferings with feelings sincere ; 
 And sighing acknowledge their hopes must be lost. 
 If Heaven were, as man to his fellows, severe !
 
 56 STANZAS. 
 
 Fare thee well ! since the tomb is the shrine of repose^ 
 Where the Pilgrim lays down ev'ry anguish and 
 pain ; 
 Since there^ and there only, thy sufF'rings could close. 
 We can ne'er wish thee back, in this cold world 
 again. 
 Then peace to thine ashes — and calm be thy rest, 
 Tho' far hence thou'rt entomb'd with the great and 
 the brave ; 
 May thy mem'ry — thy sorrows, still live in each breast. 
 And thy errors be giv'n to the sleep of the grave !
 
 57 
 
 AN ODE 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE 
 
 ANNIVERSARY OF THE LAMENTED DEATH OF HEH ROYAL 
 HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES. 
 
 1 
 
 Time urges on his course ! 
 
 'Tis but a transient day 
 Since Death, with overwhehning force. 
 
 Tore England's Hope away ! 
 But yet, in depth of woe, 
 
 It seems an age of gloom ; 
 A night that can no morning know. 
 
 Its darkness to illume ! 
 
 The Warrior claims his wreath — 
 The Poet's bays are twin'd; — 
 
 Shall Beauty, when it sleeps in death. 
 To silence be resign'd ?
 
 5n AN ODE. 
 
 No ! — on this morn's return, 
 
 Each British bard should throng. 
 To offer up, at Charlote's urn, 
 
 A sad funereal song : 
 And though on Earth no more 
 
 She makes her blest abode. 
 Still let us ti-ace her journey o'er, 
 
 And follow where she trod ! 
 
 In HER each virtue shone. 
 That life has e'er display'd ; 
 All that adds lustre to the Throne, 
 Or dignifies the shade ; 
 With nobleness of birth. 
 
 And greatness, were combin'd 
 That which alone can give it worth- 
 Nobility of mind ! 
 
 Shunning the haunts of pride. 
 Life's simplest scenes she trod. 
 And turn'd from Folly's paths aside. 
 To purity and God ! 
 On Her each eye was fix'd. 
 And England joy'd to see. 
 How polish'd manners may be mix'd 
 With calm simplicity !
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 O. 
 
 59 
 
 The Artist's gen'rous friend. 
 To Taste and Science dear, 
 Her ffoodness ne'er disdain' d to lend 
 To all a favouring ear. 
 And native talent grew. 
 
 And rose beneath her smile. 
 Whose genial warmth extended too 
 To Albion's Sister-Isle 
 As summer-buds expand, 
 
 Warm'd by the Sun, to flowers ; 
 So Genius, 'neath her fostering hand. 
 Put forth its brightest powers. 
 6. 
 
 The Pencil and the Lyre 
 In her a patron knew ; 
 She lov'd the Poet's lyric fire— 
 The scenes the Painter drew ; 
 And Music's hallow'd tone 
 Was welcome to her heart ; 
 Each gifted science was her own. 
 And ev'ry sister art. 
 
 7. 
 
 Can Britons then forget 
 The lesson she has giv'n ? 
 The bright example she has set. 
 
 Speaks as a voice from Heaven 1
 
 60 
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 And when our breathless dust 
 In silent earth is laid ; 
 When many a Hero's laurel'd bust 
 Moulders beneath the shade ; 
 
 8 
 
 When princely halls and towers 
 Are sunk in dark decay ; 
 When Claremont's groves and Esher's bowers, 
 Time's scythe has swept away ; 
 When Statesman, Bard, and Sage, 
 Fade from the leaf of Fame ; — 
 Still Hist'ry to Time's latest age. 
 
 Shall cherish Charlotte's name ! 
 And prove, though, 'mid the dust. 
 Empires and States may fall. 
 The " sweet remembrance of the Just" 
 Will still survive them all !
 
 61 
 
 STANZAS, 
 
 (From the Italian.) 
 
 Oh ! how blest is the jVIother, who calls thee her child. 
 In thy freshness of beauty so playfully wild ; 
 As she gazes with transport, that wakes the warm tear. 
 On thy cheek, like the young rose, when Summer is 
 near. 
 
 2 
 
 Oh ! how blest is the Father, who kisses thy cheek; — 
 j\Iark the smiles on his lip ! — what affection they 
 
 speak ; 
 While thy heart glows with fondness, thine eyes 
 
 beam with Love. 
 And thy breast owns the pureness and peace of the 
 
 Dove ! 
 
 3 
 
 But most blest will the Lover, who calls thee his 
 
 Bride, 
 Be in wealth, fame, and honor, all others beside ; 
 Or, should Fortune prove false, he's a balm for each 
 
 care, 
 In the smiles of his Home, and the bright sunshine 
 
 there.
 
 02 
 
 AN ODE 
 
 WniTTEN FOR THE ANNIVERSARY-MEETING OF THE JEWS' 
 
 FREE-SCHOOL. 
 
 (Recited ly a Child.) 
 
 1 
 
 Guardians and Guides ! whose outstretch'd hands 
 Protect and shield our infant ways; 
 
 Each offspring of your bounty stands. 
 With ready lips, to h3^mn your praise ! 
 
 They breathe, on this auspicious day. 
 
 The tribute of their thanks, through me ; 
 
 For years of mild paternal sway — 
 
 For cares that made them — what you see ! 
 
 And, as their thanks and praises blend, 
 In grateful union, for the past ; 
 
 Fain would each lisping voice ascend. 
 To bid your deeds of mercy last.
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 That God, who hears the Infant's prayer 
 And warms your breasts with pity's glow ; 
 
 Whose love all sects and nations share. 
 Still bids, through us, your bounty flow. 
 
 5 
 
 To YOU we look, — that white-rob'd Truth, 
 
 And Innocence, of spotless mien ; 
 Blest guardians of our helpless youth. 
 
 May shield us through Life's checquer'd scene. 
 
 6 
 
 Guardians and Guides ! ye generous Band, 
 Whose bounty o'er our infant days 
 
 Extends to each a Father's hand ; — 
 Hear your adopted Children's praise ! 
 
 63
 
 64 
 
 HEBREW ODE, 
 
 WRITTEN FOR THE ANNIVERSARY-DINNER IN AID OF THE 
 jews' HOSl'ITAL FOR THE SUPPORT OF AGED 
 PERSONS AND ORPHAN CHILDREN. 
 
 (Recited by a Child.) 
 
 Patrons and Friends ! whose cares assuage 
 Each want that wears the garb of Truth ! 
 
 Who cheer the tottering steps of Age, 
 And guide the erring feet of Youth ; — 
 
 Both offer, on this joyful day. 
 
 Thanks for those blessings ye provide ; 
 
 Youth — for your raild, paternal sway. 
 For all its wants, so well supplied. 
 
 3 
 
 Age, for the peaceful, calm retreat, 
 
 Shelter'd from Want's unpitying frown, 
 
 ^here it may rest its wandering feet. 
 And watch Life's evening-sun go down.
 
 HEBREW ODE. 65 
 
 Grey hairs, and orphan'd Childhood, blend 
 Their prayers and praises, as one heart ; 
 
 Trembling, they bid your love extend. 
 To shed new blessings ere ye part ! 
 
 Still let your breasts with mercy glow. 
 
 Ye, to -whom Wealth's best power is given; 
 
 And, for each mite ye here bestow. 
 Lay up a countless store — in Heaven!
 
 SKETCHES.
 
 69 
 
 THE GAMESTER. 
 
 1 
 
 See, where the Victim stands ! — not crown'd with 
 flowers,* 
 But ompass'd round by Fiends; — his haggard 
 cheek. 
 His beamless eye, — what tell they ? — Of lost hours. 
 With mute, but dreadful eloquence they speak ! 
 Of fame, and fortune blighted — hopes betray'd — 
 And all the fearful wreck one cherish'd vice has 
 made ! 
 
 2 
 Hark ! to yon hollow laugh of desp'rate mirth. 
 
 That while it fires the brain, and lights the eye. 
 Sounds the last knell of peace — owing its birth 
 
 To the fierce pangs of mental agony ; — 
 
 * The victims offered at the ancient sacrifices usually wore wreaths 
 of flowers.
 
 70 THE GAMESTER. 
 
 'Tis the convulsive joy of wild Despair, 
 Wrung from the tortur'd heart ; — a joy that Demons 
 share ! 
 
 3 
 
 (Oh ! love of Play ! — so called in Fashion's phrase. 
 
 Blighter of social hearths and peaceful hours ; 
 Cank'rer of IManhood's fair and opening days, 
 
 That, but for Thee, had else been strewn with 
 flow'rs ; 
 Thou direst passion of the human heart. 
 Would that my feeble hand could paint Thee as thou 
 art! 
 
 4 
 
 Oh ! vice of all most hurtful to the soul. 
 Climax of ev'ry other vice ! — the mind 
 
 That ONCE acknowledges thy fell controul. 
 Spreads desolation round it ; — like the wind 
 
 That sweeps the Desert in its poison'd wi-ath. 
 
 Shedding where'er it breathes. Destruction in its 
 path ! 
 
 5 
 
 Oh ! vice of all most deadly ! on thy sln-ine. 
 Nature's soft links, — Love's sweet and holy ties. 
 
 Fall early victims ; — all the bonds that twine 
 Around Man's heart, light up a sacrifice 
 
 More cruel than on Bramah's blood-stain'd pyre. 
 
 Where Hindoo mothers joy to see their Babes expire !)
 
 THE GAMESTER. 
 
 71 
 
 6 
 
 Fame, honor, fortune — all are swept away ; — 
 
 All swell the gen'ral wreck ; — Why stands he here, 
 
 A ruin'd, hopeless Wretch ? — as breaks the day. 
 He quits the scene of plunder ; — in his ear 
 
 Ring the still rattling dice ; his throbbing brain. 
 
 Is crowded now with thoughts that ne'er shall rest 
 again ! 
 
 7 
 
 Rushing, with horror, through the silent streets. 
 And shrinking from himself, he seeks his Home ! 
 
 (Once 'twas a happy one ;) his pale Wife greets 
 
 His wish'd return with smiles; — how can Man 
 roam 
 
 From Woman's fond endearments, to partake 
 
 Those scenes that of his sovd, a leafless desert make ? 
 
 8 
 
 Ah ! SHE has listen'd with a beating heart. 
 To ev'ry passing footstep ; — she has told 
 Each ling ring hour's dull chime, with frequent start. 
 And tears, that none might chide and none be- 
 hold; 
 And she has kiss'd her Infant in its sleep. 
 Praying that Heav'n from hibi such fatal vice may 
 keep !
 
 72 THE GAMESTEK. 
 
 9 
 
 But now she meets the Lost One with a smile, 
 
 That would seem cheerful ; — save that her pale 
 brow 
 And faded cheek tell other tales the while^ 
 
 Of suff 'rings which her lips will ne'er avow ; — 
 Fondly she clasps the wand'rer to her breast, 
 Alas ! — not even there can his wreck'd heart find rest! 
 
 She leads him to the couch, where calmly sleeps 
 His beggar'd Child ; — Then e'en the Gamester's 
 soul 
 
 Owns all a Father's feelings ; — see, he weeps, 
 (But they are tears that madden as they roll,) 
 
 Oh ! drops, by years of anguish cheaply bought. 
 
 Could ye but wash away the ruin he has wrought ! 
 
 11 
 
 It may not be I — already on his brow, 
 
 Cain-like is stamp'd, the burning mark of shame ; 
 And the chill hand of Scorn is pointing now 
 
 Its with'ring finger, at his blighted name ; 
 It may not be ! — ere sinks another sun. 
 Self-murder crowns his guilt, — Despair's last work is 
 done !
 
 73 
 
 THE MARCH OF MIND. 
 
 The Authoi- is well aware that the following trifle, in the 
 present age of universal education, is very likely to be 
 misunderstood and condemned, by many, as containing 
 narrow-minded and confined ideas, on a subject which now 
 engrosses so much public attention. In refutation of this, 
 she begs to state, that it is not the knowledge which is calcu- 
 lated to make our fellow-creatures of all ranks happy, — but 
 the system of scientific and superficial information, too fre- 
 quently bestowed, in the present days of modem refinement, 
 on the humbler classes of society, (without a proper founda- 
 tion oi religious principles on which to build the fabric,) that 
 the sentiments contained in the following lines aim at de- 
 scrying. The baneful effects of such injudicious instruction, 
 particularly on the female mind, having in many instances 
 fallen under the writer's personal observation, naturally led 
 to such unfashionable remarks. That she is the advocate of 
 MORAL and RELIGIOUS education, ou its most extended scale, 
 must, she hopes, be obvious to every reader, and that she 
 ALONE condemns the too general diffusion of scientific and 
 mathematical knowledge among that class of persons for 
 wliom such knowledge was never intended, and which can 
 only unfit them for those lower but equally valuable pursuits 
 of life to which it has pleased Providence to call them.
 
 74 THE MARCH OF MIND. 
 
 All are polish'd grown, and Fashion runs 
 
 Down into scenes still rural, — but, alas ! 
 Scenes rarely graced with rural manners now." 
 
 CoWPEIt. 
 
 While yet the dew hung on the blossom'd thorn. 
 
 And feather'd warblers hail'd the rishig morn. 
 
 The Village-Maiden, innocently gay. 
 
 Through flowery meadows took her early way ; 
 
 And as she caroll'd forth a matin-song, 
 
 Each playful breeze bore the wild strain along. 
 
 Nature's untutor'd songstress ! from whose brow 
 
 No stormy passion swept the sunny glow ; 
 
 For 'neath her rustic garb and simple vest 
 
 She wore a heart in innocency drest ; 
 
 A heart that fear'd no ill, and knew no guile. 
 
 Whose sole ambition was a Parent's smile. 
 
 Content and happy in her humble lot, 
 
 A joy was her's that wealth could purchase not ; 
 
 Peace was her bosom's guest — Truth her pure guide. 
 
 And Health dwelt with her, on the mountain's side. 
 
 Such AVAS the Village-Girl! — Time has flown by. 
 
 Yet still her form is fresh in IMemory's eye. 
 
 The pleasing vision of life's spring-tide hours. 
 
 When my young footsteps trod their native bowers. 
 
 Wasting, 'mid sylvan haunts, the summer-day, 
 
 liike the free tenant of the airy spray ! 
 
 Now shew me where such rustic Lass is seen, 
 
 Simj)le in dress, retiring in her mien ? —
 
 THE MARCH OF WIND. 
 
 75 
 
 Ah! we may seek the shade,— but she is gone. 
 
 And lives in Fiction's fairy dreams alone. — 
 
 Thanks to the modish arts of modern times, 
 
 That bring with polish'd manners, polish'd crimes; 
 
 Thanks to the growing state of taste refined! 
 
 Thanks to the fast-advancing " march of mind," 
 
 That, under colour of improvement, can 
 
 But spread dissension between man and man! — 
 
 Improvement!— word too oft an empty sound. 
 
 Like the Lagenian ore, but tinsel found ! 
 
 Virtue's f win-sister, meek Simplicity, 
 
 Driven from the scenes where she was wont to be 
 
 Acknowledg'd Queen,— drops from her nerveless hand 
 
 The lilied sceptre,— flies her once-loved land. 
 
 Ceding to modern Art her spotless reign. 
 
 Till blushing Virtue looks for her in vain. 
 
 O leave the Peasant in his straw-roof 'd cot ! 
 
 What heart, in courts and crowds, would envy not 
 
 The peaceful calmness, — the unbroken ease. 
 
 The playful group that circle round his knees, 
 
 (When toil is o'er and labour's cares are done,) 
 
 Waiting him duly with the setting sun ? 
 
 Sweet are the pleasures of his social hours. 
 
 And light the slumbers of the lowly bowers. 
 
 Oh leave him these, nor let Refinement still 
 
 His mind with thoughts beyond his station fill! 
 
 No ! — ^let him tread tlie path his Fathers trod, 
 
 " Looking through Nature, up to Nature's God !"
 
 76 THE MARCH OF MIND. 
 
 Enough for him, if rightly understood, — 
 
 The truth that tells, " Whatever is, is good." 
 
 And while to higher ranks Fate hath assign'd 
 
 The richer cultivation of the mind. 
 
 Nature's more ponderous secrets to explore. 
 
 Her heights and depths ; — to tremble and adore. 
 
 Leave him, as happy in his lowly birth, 
 
 (Happier, perchance,) to dress his native earth ; 
 
 To raise its fruits, to store its golden grain. 
 
 And clothe with verdure the once barren plain. 
 
 By the great God of Seasons wisely sent. 
 
 His humble, but most useful instrument. 
 
 And still let England's happy cottage-child 
 
 Dwell in his native bowers, with feet as wild 
 
 As the bird's wing, with bright and laughing eye. 
 
 Chasing through air the circling butterfly ; 
 
 A careless, happy wand'rer, free from guile. 
 
 Nor spoilt by Education's misplac'd smile ; 
 
 His knowledge this, — (what should he further know?) 
 
 " Virtue alone, is happiness below," 
 
 And as he bounds along the flowery sod. 
 
 He'll learn to love his Country — serve his God. 
 
 Patrons of Learning ! (now a mighty throng,) 
 
 To whom Improvement's growing toils belong, 
 
 Who every hour pursue some new-form'd scheme. 
 
 The darling vision of your waking dream; 
 
 Think not (if any such this verse should scan,) 
 
 That it would bid ye, hold your fellow-man
 
 THE MARCH OF MIND. 
 
 77 
 
 In mental darkness ; — deep as erst of yore 
 
 Priestcraft design' d, to make its slaves adore 
 
 Wonders and miracles, by Heaven ne'er sent. 
 
 To win the Simple,— fright the Ignorant ; 
 
 Warping such minds, by worse than demon-skill. 
 
 To bend them easier to their tyrants' will. 
 
 Perish such thoughts !— Be Truth Divine reveal'd 
 
 To every cottage-babe, — from 7ione conceal'd : 
 
 Oh ! freely as the blessed light of Heaven, 
 
 That shines on all, — to all let it be given ! 
 
 Yes ! throw the Sacred Volume open wide ! 
 
 Such knowledge spread, such wealth for all provide ! 
 
 Let Labour's sons be early taught to know 
 
 The hallow'd fount whence living waters flow. 
 
 Make Him their guide, whose lamp burns ever bright. 
 
 To chase the gloomy shades of Error's night. 
 
 Whose beams shed forth their soul-enliv'ning ray, 
 
 'Waking the darkness into "perfect day!" 
 
 Here, let their knowledge rest ; — 'twas never meant 
 
 All should, alike, be learn'd — all eloquent ; 
 
 Nor, that the cunning of the draughtsman's pen. 
 
 Problems, and figures, should be taught to them ; 
 
 With many an art that Science has display'd. 
 
 The curse and wonder of the rural shade ! 
 
 Too much of this ; — your work is overdone. 
 
 Ye, who Refinement's subtil thread have spun. 
 
 Your zeal has wove a net, — though undesign'd, 
 
 To entangle — rather than enlarge the mind !
 
 7«*{ THE MARCH OF MIND. 
 
 And raise dissatisfaction on the brow, 
 
 Where rustic innocence was wont to glow ; 
 
 Thorns ye have planted in too many a heart. 
 
 That feels its simple liappiness depart. 
 
 As Learning's light breaks in ; — the steady plough. 
 
 How can its guide pursue such labour now ? 
 
 He's become learned ; — he can write and read, 
 
 "And cypher too" — disgust must soon succeed. 
 
 Where peace once dwelt ; — he seeks the busy Town 
 
 His ev'ry dream of learning and renown ! 
 
 There, — like a bird, with wet and drooping wing. 
 
 He finds himself a solitary thing. 
 
 Unfitted 'mid the busy throng to soar ; — 
 
 Till, all too late, his dream of greatness o'er, 
 
 Heart-bruis'd he sinks in mis'ry's pining shed. 
 
 Eating with bitter tears his scanty bread ! 
 
 Or — plunging deep in Vice's wild excess. 
 
 Shuts out for ever peace and happiness ! 
 
 And She — so artless once — the Village Maid, 
 
 By false Ambition's air-built hopes betray 'd; 
 
 She, too, must quit the forest-shaded glen. 
 
 To shape her fortune, " 'mid the hum of men ;" 
 
 Tired of the rustic hamlet's sheltered bowers. 
 
 She seeks, with eager haste, the City's towers ; 
 
 Since Education whispers she will be 
 
 Something beyond her present destiny ! 
 
 Why need I trace her steps ? — why tell the tale 
 
 That busy rumour wafts on ev'ry gale.
 
 THE MARCH OF MIND. 
 
 79 
 
 Of shame and sorrow, to a Parent's ear ; — 
 
 Whose heart, now torn by doubt, now chill'dby fear, 
 
 ]3,.eaks— Avhen at last the fatal truth it knows, 
 
 And shrouds within the Tomb its many woes ! 
 
 Oh ! Innocence ! pure Daughter of the Skies ; 
 
 Foe of false principles in modern guise. 
 
 Thou first, best safeguard of a Country's good. 
 
 Thou firmest barrier, 'gainst corruption's flood ; 
 
 Descend once more upon our heath-clad plains, 
 
 And 'mid the rose-wreath'd nymphs and rustic swains. 
 
 Oft let thy sylph-like steps at eve be seen. 
 
 Leading the dance upon the dewy green ; 
 
 Goddess of sylvan sports ! and artless joys. 
 
 Par — far remov'd from Fashion's glitt'ring toys ; 
 
 Beyond the fatal influence of the throng. 
 
 Whose chief is Folly ! — ever leading wrong ! 
 
 Come thou ! and make the grot, the grove, the glen. 
 
 Thy peaceful habitation once again ; — 
 
 Come thou ! - and lead the fairy-footed hours. 
 
 Amid the woodland dells, and forest bowers ; 
 
 Come thou ! and make in many an unstain'd lieart 
 
 Thy lasting dwelling — never to depart ! —
 
 80 
 
 LOVE AND DUTY. 
 
 Shall she quit her fair home and its peaceful bowers, 
 AVhere tlie sunny-light peeps through the jasamine flowers ; 
 The home of her heart, in its earliest truth. 
 To follow the steps of a Stranger Youth, 
 The world's wide wand'ring path-way through, 
 What will not Maids, when Love leads them, do ? — 
 
 'TwAs summer evening's soft and shadowy calm ; 
 
 When a fair-hair'd and graceful Village Girl, 
 
 Upon whose gentle cheek the ripening rose 
 
 Had scarcely blush'd to womanhood, stole forth 
 
 From the fond shelter of her Father's cot. 
 
 To meet the youth she lov'd ! — The trysting place 
 
 Seem'd a fit spot, chosen by Nature's self. 
 
 For Love to build his shrine in ; — overhead, 
 
 The sweet-brier and wild honeysuckle tAvin'd ; 
 
 Their scented blossoms ; — while young flowrets round. 
 
 The blue-tip'd violet, and the heath-bell pale, 
 
 As if to add more fragrance to a scene. 
 
 Where Nature had been prodigal of sweets, 
 
 Gave, like some youthful, Beauty, coyly kind.
 
 LOVE AND DUTY. 81 
 
 Their dewy perfume to the wooing breeze. 
 That kiss'd them, as it pass'd ! — 
 
 At this still hour. 
 When nothing, save the nightingale, was heard. 
 Breathing her lonely lay, the maiden came. 
 With noiseless step gliding unmark'd along. 
 To join her Soldier-lover ! — He was one. 
 Who, to "the pomp and circumstance of war," 
 And the fond eloquence that Women prize. 
 Owed many a village conquest; — nobly born. 
 And ranking with the lofty ones of earth 
 At courtly feast, or princely-crowded hall, 
 Where jewel'd Dames contended for his smile ; 
 Yet would he stoop to pluck a lowly flower ; 
 And having snatch'd it from the parent stem. 
 To blossom in his heartless breast awhile. 
 Leave it to droop and perish. Light of mood. 
 Light too of love was he ; and oft would make. 
 With gay companions, o'er the festal board. 
 Such griefs a theme for merriment. — 
 
 This Eve, 
 (The last that would behold him in these shades, 
 For War had wav'd her crimson banner high. 
 And call'd her Sons to arms ;) — this very eve. 
 Ere the chaste m.oon shovild look upon the Avorld, 
 Blushing, to mark its follies ; — she had sworn. 
 She, who now stands beneath the woodbine boughs. 
 That drop their honied blossoms on her head. 
 To share a Soldier's fortunes ; — though she knew, 
 
 a
 
 82 LOVE AND DUTV. 
 
 For " quickly comes such knowledge" to the heart, 
 She could be his, by none but guilty ties, 
 Ties, Virtue may not sanction ! — 
 
 As she stood, 
 On the appointed spot, in pensive mood. 
 Listening the well-known footstep, her blue eyes 
 Bent on the earth, her finger on her lip. 
 In silent contemplation ; — through the leaves 
 A gentle rustling stirrd. — Not his the step. 
 Nor HIS the touch, that met her drooping hand. 
 And rous'd her musing fancy ! — but she turn'd. 
 And at her side beheld an humble friend, 
 *The duiTdb attendant on her infant sports. 
 Whose shaggy neck, in Childhood's blameless years 
 She oft had wreath'd with flowers ; — his presence now. 
 As with caressing joy, he greeted her, 
 Wak'd feelings stiffl'd long, — but vmsubdu'd! 
 How oft in life the simplest incidents, 
 A word, a look, a tone — at once recall. 
 Striking some answering chord within the soul. 
 The Wanderer back to virtue ; — or arrest 
 Vice in her mad career ; — o'er Lillias' heart 
 Such feelings now held empire ; — when a child, 
 A fearless, happy, laughter-loving thing, 
 Reaching for water-lilies in the stream. 
 Its faithless bank gave way ; ere any saw. 
 Ere any guess'd her danger. Tray had borne 
 
 * Tliis Poem was written to illustrate a Plate,
 
 LOVE AND DUTY. 
 
 83 
 
 His little Mistress, dripping to the shore, 
 Pale as the flowers she sought for ! 
 
 Thought of this, 
 Broug-ht thoughts of others with it ; — how alas ! 
 How shall her trembling, swelling heart decide, 
 'Twixt Love and Duty ? shall she cling to H'm, 
 And, fearless, follow on, through distant climes, 
 War's checquer'd prospects ? Love has mighty power, 
 But Duty's " still small voice" pleads in her soul 
 With greater eloquence ; — at Nature's bidding, 
 A thousand tender, gentle thoughts arise, 
 To win her from such purpose !— now they steal. 
 Like distant music, o'er her strug'ling heart. 
 And melt it into softness ; — Memory too, 
 (Memory, the potent Sorceress, who keeps 
 The golden key that opes the gate of tears,) 
 Tries her kind influence ; — leads the doubting maid, 
 (Untwisting many a thread of tangled thought,) 
 Back to the pleasures of her cottage-home ; 
 Painting, in glowing tints, to Fancy's eye, 
 Joys she would sigh to leave ; — the rustic dance. 
 To the brisTc pipe, upon tlie village green. 
 At Summer's sun-set hour ; — the merry tale. 
 Or sportive jest, told o'er the social fire. 
 When Wintry torrents fall. 
 
 Then shifts the scene. 
 And lo ! the sterner attributes of War — 
 The field of carnage, and the bed of Death, 
 Rise to her mental sight ; — with all the wants.
 
 84 LOVE AND DUTY. 
 
 The wasting care;*, indignities^ and woes. 
 
 That Woman never meant to share such toils, 
 
 Following a camp, must suffer : — then, again. 
 
 As busy Fancy plies her skilful loom. 
 
 Weaving the griefs of many years to come 
 
 Into a moment's space ; — again she sees 
 
 Tears, (and the bitt'rest tears, that man can shed,) 
 
 Wept for a Daughter's shame, in eyes that once 
 
 Gleam 'd with Affection's pride; — those hallow'd lips. 
 
 Whose morning prayer, whose nightly orison, 
 
 Breath'd o'er her head new blessings, — shall they grow 
 
 Wither'd and pale with curses ? — shall the heart 
 
 That did enshrine her, as a precious gem. 
 
 And own'd no other treasure, live to feel 
 
 Its milk of love turn'd into bitter gall. 
 
 Loathing a Child's dishonour ? Ah ! strange chance, 
 
 Cupid ! thou boasted archer ! — could thy dart 
 
 Sever at once, as with a giant's stroke. 
 
 Kind Nature's earliest ties ! — Happy the maid. 
 
 Who, pausing upon Vice's flower-crown'd brink. 
 
 Feels that no Lover, and no power in Love, 
 
 Can pay her, for a Parent's banish'd smile. 
 
 Made stranger by her folly ; — Oh ! did all 
 
 But feel as Lillias felt, there would not be 
 
 Wandering about our crirae-fill'd, crowded streets 
 
 So many wretched ones. 
 
 The maiden fled — 
 Nor dar'd to trust her heart ; — fled when she saw 
 A waving plume between the opening boughs ;
 
 LOVE AND DUTY. 
 
 85 
 
 Nor sought another glance ; — nor stay'd to view- 
 One pleading look — nor hear one subtil sigh, — 
 Convinc'd the maid who hesitates — is lost ! — 
 
 Time, with his checquer'd wing, lightly pass'd on. 
 And shew'd beneath a wealthy Yeoman's roof 
 A happy family ; — beside the fire 
 In the warm chimney's nook, a grey-hair'd Man, 
 Loaded with age, reclin'd ; — around his knees 
 Two playful urchin's gambol'd; — one, a Boy, 
 Robust and sturdy, fearlessly bestrode 
 His grandsire's idle crutch ; — his gentler mate, 
 A lovely Girl, who wore her mother's smile. 
 Hung fond and silent on the old man's cheek ; 
 And with her little hands parted the locks 
 That envious Time had left him ! — 
 
 At the board. 
 Well spread w ith rural luxuries, a form 
 Of manly grace presided — while, beside 
 Her husband's chair, a youthful matron sat. 
 Blessing the comforts round her ; — it was she. 
 Who, at the twilight hour, ten summers past. 
 Yielded her girlish love, with scarce a sigh. 
 At Duty's bidding !
 
 80 
 
 THE DEBUTANTE. 
 
 She stood in all that bashful tenderness 
 
 Which marks a Maiden's entrance to the world ; — 
 O'er her fair forehead wav'd each raven tress. 
 
 And down her neck in soft luxuriance curl'd. 
 Shading its whiteness ; — while her full dark eye 
 
 (Half hidden by its silken lash from sight) 
 Beam'd with expression ; — yet one might descry 
 
 A pensive feeling mix'd with her young heart's 
 delight ! 
 
 Soft was her cheek and beautiful ; — the hue 
 
 Of the young rose-bud lightly rested there ; 
 While many a wandering vien of deepest blue 
 
 Stray'd o'er her brow of purest marble ; — where 
 No trace of stormy passions yet was seen, — 
 
 No with'ring marks, stamp'd by the hand of Care. 
 Nought, that the loveliest form might ill-beseem. 
 
 Of blight or blemish dwelt upon a shrine so fair .'
 
 THE DEBUTANTE. 87 
 
 3 
 
 Such was the form that, vision-like, came o'er 
 The desert pathway of the scenes I trod ; 
 
 And many a ling'ring year must pass, before 
 (If e'er again) we track Life's thorny road 
 
 An hour together ; — Time will then have chang'd 
 The bloom and freshness of that fair young brow ; 
 
 And more than all — that guileless mind estrang'd 
 
 From the pure saint-like thoughts that make it lovely 
 now ! 
 
 How many a form, that meets us in the gloom 
 
 Of this dark world, and cheers the passing hour. 
 Must fade away, and lose its sunny bloom 
 
 Ere we again behold it ! — Like the flow'r. 
 Whose buds at morning woo the Pilgrim's eyes. 
 
 And fill the air with sweetness ; — till the shower 
 Or mid-day sun hath touch'd it ; — then it lies, 
 
 A drooping, faded thing, beneath the Evening 
 skies ! 
 
 5 
 
 And such a fate is Wojian's ! — what so fair. 
 So pure and lovely, as iikr morning prime ? 
 
 Ere the heart's blight, or cankering touch of care. 
 Hath done the Avork of the destroyer. Time,
 
 88 
 
 THE DEBUTANTE. 
 
 And stol'n away her freshness ; — ere the hour 
 
 Has come, that comes to all things — when Decay 
 
 (The universal foe) asserts his power. 
 
 And sweeps, with ruthless stroke, youth, beauty, 
 all away !
 
 89 
 
 THE DANCE. 
 
 1 
 
 It is the Night ! — from far and wide the band 
 Of revellers are gather'd ; clad in smiles, 
 
 Along the lighted hall the gay groups stand, 
 Rang'd for the mazy Dance in glitt'ring files ; 
 
 While Flattery's tongue is whisp'ring in her ear 
 
 Those strains that Woman's heart too well delights to 
 hear! 
 
 Thus are they met ! —the Young, the Fair, the Brave, 
 In one bright circle;—" Music breathes around,'' 
 
 And radiant eyes shed light, and gay plumes wave 
 O'er ivory brows. Pleasure, with roses crown'd. 
 
 And laughing cheek and sportive glance, is there, 
 
 With fairy spells awhile,— to charm her rival Care ! 
 
 Gay, happy Triflers ! — such a scene as this, 
 Beyond a few brief hours, can never last. 
 
 Dance on ! — it is a gleam of earthly bliss, 
 
 That with the IMorn's first dawning will be past ;
 
 90 THE DANCK. 
 
 That Morn, whose beams on faded cheeks and eyes. 
 And aching limbs, — (perchance on aching hearts) 
 shall rise ! 
 
 4 
 
 Wine, Mirth, and 'witching Music ! all conspire 
 To steep the youthful sense in ecstasy ; 
 
 And light the blazing torch of Love's young fire, 
 In breasts that from his thraldom yet were free ; 
 
 For here the Urchin-God delights to rove. 
 
 For scenes like this he quits his Mother's Paphian- 
 grove. 
 
 5 
 
 Beware those ills at which thine heart has laugh'd, 
 Bold Youth I with confidence ; — retreat in time. 
 
 Ere thou hast drunk too deeply of the draught 
 From Pleasure's cup ; — ere Joy becomes a crime ; 
 
 While yet thine heart is guiltless, and thine eyes 
 
 Beam with the pure delight that Innocence supplies! 
 
 6 
 
 Here the young Maiden first essays to prove 
 The magic of those charms her glass proclaims 
 
 To be resistless ; — here the sigh of Love, 
 
 With answering sighs, her gentle breast inflames ; 
 
 Fond Gii-1! — while yet with joy thy fair cheek glows. 
 
 Beware the poison'd sting that lurks beneath the rose !
 
 THE DANCE. 
 
 91 
 
 7 
 See ! how her young ear drinks the breath of praise 
 
 And bends to listen to a Lover's voice ! 
 Oft shall her thoughts return, in after-days, 
 To him — the object of her earliest choice j 
 Him, to whose suit her virgin faith was giv'n, 
 Though Fate denied on Earth those hearts to meet 
 which Heav'n 
 
 8 
 
 Form'd for each other ;— Time, long years must calm 
 Her soul, ere such wound closes ; — tis the grief 
 
 Of Woman's heart that knows no present balm. 
 And hopes no future comfort — or relief; — 
 
 The blighted canker-worm that leads her bloom 
 
 (Ah! why not kill at once?) to a slow,— ling'ring 
 Tomb !
 
 92 
 
 THE BRIDAL 
 
 Within the sacred Fane they stand — around 
 
 The Bridal group is gather'd ; — the young Bride 
 
 Casts her meek dove-like eyes upon the ground 
 With woman's tenderness ; seeking to hide 
 
 The strug'ling sighs that heave her gentle breast;, 
 Where Hope and Fear by turns become a trembling 
 guest ! 
 
 Look to her heart ! what thoughts are passing there 
 
 That cast a pensive shadow o'er her brow ? 
 Thoughts in which Love's bright dream can claim no 
 share, 
 (Yet thoughts, which Love himself must still allow,) 
 Rush o'er her soul, and leave that trace of care. 
 Which throws its shade awhile o'er features heavenly 
 fair !
 
 THE BRIDAL. 93 
 
 3 
 
 Perchance the thoughts of home ! — that home which 
 now 
 She leaves to grace another ; — happy years 
 Of peaceful, calm endearment ; — as the vow 
 
 Her scarce-heard voice has iitter'd, wake those 
 tears 
 That, bursting through concealment, or controul, 
 Down her fast-fading cheeks in pearly currents roll ! 
 
 Perchance — a Father's dying look of love 
 Yet hovers o'er her ; — or a IMother's voice. 
 
 Whose gentle accents sanction and approve 
 The object of her young heart's early choice^ 
 
 Dwells in her ear ; — but who shall dare reveal 
 
 All the fond, tender thoughts that through her bosom 
 steal ? 
 
 Youth ! if her gentle heart and eyes o'erflow. 
 From thoughts like these, it augurs future bliss 
 
 And coming years of peace and love shall show 
 Til' unfathom'd depth of Woman's tenderness ! 
 
 Years, which from thee their future hue must take. 
 
 As THY Love's ebb or flow, shall bright or gloomy 
 make !
 
 i)4 THE BRIDAL. 
 
 6 
 
 Chide not these signs of Sorrow, — for they tell 
 No tale of coldness, or distrust to thee ; 
 
 But feelings of the heart, that only dwell 
 
 Where Truth and Love have made their sanctuary. 
 
 Chide not these mournful smiles — these gentle tears. 
 
 Like April's dewy showers, through which the sun 
 appears. 
 
 And now the Rite is o'er — the whitc-rob'd train, 
 'Mid joyous peals that float upon the air. 
 
 Depart those sacred walls ; — where ne'er again 
 Shall either of that happy Twain repair 
 
 To seal such holy bond, — till one shall be. 
 
 The Bridegroom or the Bride — of cold Mortality ! 
 
 8 
 
 The fate of one is seal'd for aye on Earth, 
 
 It may be both :— thrice happy they who prove 
 
 The depth of faith that in the soul has birth. 
 
 And the true heart, that knows no second Love ! 
 
 That on one altar kindles all its fires. 
 
 And when that altar falls, in the bright blaze ex- 
 pires.
 
 THE BBIDAL. 
 
 95 
 
 Now, all is bliss and tenderness, — no storm 
 
 Comes o'er the summer-heav'n of Love's pure sky; 
 
 No angry frowns his rose-wreath'd brows deform, 
 No lightning glances kindle in his eye ; 
 
 Calm and unheard those whirlwind passions sleep, 
 
 That rise within Love's bowers, as billows from the 
 deep. 
 
 10 
 
 Fair Bride ! thou know'st not all the varied ills 
 That ?«aj/ o'ertake thee ! — all the painful hours. 
 
 The pangs of Hope deferr'd— the blighting chills 
 That sometimes visit e'en Love's fairest flowers. 
 
 And steal away their fragrance ; — nor the woes 
 
 Woman untold must bear, that wreck her souls 
 repose ! 
 
 11 
 
 To watch, perhaps, a wild and wand'ring heart. 
 To chain by love the Rover ; — to beguile 
 
 His wayward mood, when tears are fit to start. 
 With soft persuasive eloquence, — to smile 
 
 E'en while the heart is breaking, — is the lot 
 
 Of Woman's life, alike in Palace or in Cot!
 
 96 THE BRIDAL. 
 
 12 
 
 To linger through the long night's gloomy reign, 
 'Till morning breaks in Heav'n, and the stars fade 
 
 From eyes that watch — a heart that aches in vain ; 
 To mourn o'er blighted Hopes — Love ill-repaid ; 
 
 To shed Affection's tears o'er vows forgot, — 
 
 In ev'ry age and clime, such has been Woman's lot ! 
 
 13 
 
 To chide, — ah ! not to chide him ; — that his love 
 Esteems her peace so lightly ; but to twine 
 
 Her arms round his ; — nor, by a look reprove ; — 
 To lay her heart before him, as the shrine 
 
 That it has sworn to worship ; — to win back 
 
 The Wanderer's erring feet to Virtue's peaceful 
 track, — 
 
 14 
 
 These, and a thousand cares like these beside. 
 Make vip the lot of Woman ; — all the hours 
 
 Of HER life are not sunshine ; — to provide. 
 
 While summer lasts, against those wintry showers 
 
 That Love must sometimes know, should be her care. 
 
 If e'er she hopes on Earth one peaceful hour to share !
 
 TIIK BRIDAL. 97 
 
 Fair Bride ! — the die is east — and thou must stand 
 Its utmost hazard ; — never may the heart. 
 
 That now is pledg'd, together with thy hand. 
 Repent the love it trusted ; — may thy part. 
 
 Through all Life's future scenes, be bright as now. 
 
 Nor deeper shades of care, veil that unwrinkl'dbrovv.
 
 98 
 
 THE BUKIAL. 
 
 ' And what's her history ?" 
 
 A blank, my Lord !" 
 
 Shakspbare. 
 
 1 
 
 To the slow music of the sullen bell. 
 
 With measur'd pace the mournful Pageant moves ; 
 One heart is there, whose o'er wrought feelings swell 
 
 Almost to bursting; — following her it loves ! 
 A Father's, — from whose eyes the frequent tear 
 Falls fast as summer-dew, upon that flower-strown 
 bier. 
 
 Her name, her age — it boots not here to shew. 
 Or the disease that nipp'd her opening bloom ; 
 
 It is enough, — Death struck the fatal blow. 
 That hurl'd his victim to an early tomb ; 
 
 And now they bear her to her virgin bed. 
 
 As bright and pure a gem, as Earth e'er treasured I
 
 THK BURIAL. 
 
 99 
 
 The tale is brief; — she was an only child, 
 A fair and lovely blossom ; — on her birth, 
 
 Each favouring attribute of Fortune smil'd, 
 She was among the great ones of the Earth ! 
 
 But in so fair a casket was enshrin'd 
 
 Riches that wealth ne'er gave^ — nobility of mind ! 
 
 And she was sought by many ; but to one 
 
 Her maiden heart was giv'n ; — and he possess'd 
 
 The bright inheritance of Honour's son, 
 
 A fair untarnish'd name, and stainless crest ; 
 
 The tale is common to Life's changing tide. 
 
 For many a Youth has lov'd, and many a Maiden died. 
 
 I reck not of the cavise, that Jirst estrang'd 
 The Youth's deluded heart ; — but it was so ; 
 
 His love, his tenderness, his soul were chang'd 
 Unto the maid ; — and many an envious foe 
 
 Gladly stept in, with cunning, fiend-like art, 
 
 To tear Love's severing links wider, and more apart!
 
 10f» THE BURIAL. 
 
 
 
 She could not bear the world should deem she pin'd 
 From slighted Love ; — so wore Joy's sunny smile 
 
 Upon her cheek ; — though in her heart was shrin'd 
 E'en at it's core. Grief's canker-worm the while ; 
 
 Coiling its' venom'd folds within her breast. 
 
 Like the consuming theft, beneath the Spartan's vest ! 
 
 7 
 
 Many a bright eye grows dim, and young cheek pale. 
 That pass Life's crowd unnotic'd ; — some keen 
 breath 
 
 Or with'ring blight, from Winter's ruthless gale 
 Comes o'er the Flower, and chills it unto Death. 
 
 Thus, deems the World — that never probes the smart. 
 
 But, ah ! the blight that kills, — that blight is of the 
 
 HEART ! 
 
 8 
 
 She faded gently from the sight, — as flowers 
 Wither ere Summer closes ; — day by day. 
 
 As melts the rain-bow after sultry showers 
 Within the arch of Heav'n, — she sank away. 
 
 Pale, pure, and lovely j — like the snow that lies 
 
 Upon the mountain's breast, — and in the sun-beam 
 dies 1
 
 THK BURIAL. 101 
 
 9 
 
 And they have lain her in her resting place. 
 
 Strewing fresh flow'rets o'er her ; — and they twine 
 
 Around the sculptur'd ornaments that grace 
 
 With chaste device, the Maiden's saint-like shrine. 
 
 Each fragrant blossom, that the early Spring 
 
 Showers on the smiling Earth, from Aprils dewy 
 wing ! 
 
 10 
 
 And HE looks on — the Spoiler ! whom too late 
 The shaft of Grief has wounded ; — he is there. 
 
 Cursing, " not loud, but deep" — the wayward fate 
 That bade him wreck the peace of one so fair ! 
 
 The tale is told : — nor let the Stoic chide, 
 
 'Tis sketch'd from Nature's book ; — she was my 
 Friend who died !
 
 ELEGIAC POEMS. 
 
 My Lyre! it is a sad one now, 
 
 Its chords with Cyprkss are entwin'd ; 
 It hangs upon the willow bough. 
 
 And sighs to ev'ry passing wind !
 
 105 
 
 A SKETCH FKOM MEMOKY. 
 
 1 
 
 To watch him sink through slow decay, 
 His pale cheek with'ring, day by day j 
 To mark his wildly beaming eye. 
 To count each strug'ling fever' d sigh. 
 To linger round the drooping flower. 
 The broken lily of her bower ; — 
 Gazing upon the hectic streak. 
 That sometimes lights his faded cheek. 
 Till something like a hope appears, 
 Whisp'ring of long and added years ! 
 To catch that Hope's least, faintest ray, 
 Then see it melt, and pass away. 
 As in the far-off western skies. 
 Day's last bright tint of glory dies ! 
 
 To tend him through each varied ill, 
 Untir'd, unchang'd, unmurmuring still ;
 
 106 A SKETCH FROM MEMOKY. 
 
 To Stand beside his dying bed, — 
 
 Yet shew no sign of fear or dread ; 
 
 Wiping with gentle hand, away 
 
 The cold dews o'er his brow that stray ! 
 
 While list'ning to each shorten'd breath, 
 
 That heralds the approach of Death ! 
 
 To view with resignation's eye. 
 
 Her First-born, and her fairest die ; 
 
 And when Life's latest sand is run, 
 
 " Father ! to say. Thy will be done !" 
 
 " Not mine, but thine, this beauteous clay, 
 
 " Thou gavest, and thou takest away !" 
 
 With humbled lips, to kiss the rod. 
 
 And own the chast'ning came from God ! 
 
 3 
 
 To keep within the heart and mind. 
 
 One fond remembrance still enshrin'd ; 
 
 And in the chambers of the brain. 
 
 To let one chcrish'd guest remain ; 
 
 Its daily thought — its nightly dream, 
 
 Yet never made complaint or theme, 
 
 Of converse, to the vulgar crowd. 
 
 Who ne'er at Grief's pale altar bow'd ! 
 
 To let no future love impart 
 
 Its glow of sunshine to the heart ; 
 
 Nor ever, through Time's changing scene. 
 
 To fill the place, where he has been !
 
 A SKETCH FROM MEMORY. 107 
 
 4 
 
 To think the envied wreath of Fame, 
 A fading crest — an empty name ; 
 To tear its laurel from the brow, 
 Blanch'd o'er by early tints of snow ; 
 To cast away the once lov'd Lyre, 
 Quenching each pulse of lyric fire ; 
 Or — only wake the silver string, 
 Whence purest, holiest, numbers spring ; 
 To shed when none can chide or see. 
 The tears of silent misery ; — 
 This sketch'd from 3Iemory's fadeless leaf, 
 Pourtrays a INIgther's love — records a Mother's 
 grief! 
 
 e
 
 108 
 
 THE SICK CHILD. 
 
 a /ttitinigl)! Sfeetcf). 
 
 He sleeps ! — the infant suff 'rer sleeps 
 Unconscious of the bitter pain, — 
 
 The anxious watch a Mother keeps ; 
 The sighs she would repress — in vain. 
 
 While o'er his couch she leans and weeps. 
 East as the drops of Summer rain ! 
 
 He sleeps ! — nor dreams he of the care. 
 That rends a Mother's aching breast; 
 
 He hears not the low-murmur'd prayer, 
 
 (Where Hope seems wrestling with Despair,) 
 That asks his life — while others rest ! 
 
 3 
 
 He hears it not ; — " Oh ! God," she crie.'^j 
 " Give ME to bear this Infant's pain ;
 
 THE SICK CHILD. 
 
 109 
 
 I'll murmur not, — so those sweet eyes 
 Awake to health and joy again; 
 
 And light will seem my agonies. 
 
 So that HIS lips may not complain !" 
 
 Fond Mourner ! know'st thou not, in love, 
 In mercy, was this chastening sent 
 
 By Him who rules and reigns above ; 
 Some greater evil to remove, — 
 And not for wrathful punishment ? 
 
 Perchance, — to shew thy heart, how frail 
 Are the best hopes we cling to here ; 
 
 To warn thee, by that cheek so pale. 
 And that fair brow, as marble clear, 
 
 How early Death may rend the veil 
 That covers our existence here ! 
 
 6 
 
 To teach thee, — should yon sufF'rer live, 
 To train him for a world more pure ; 
 
 Not for the honours Earth can give, 
 (They only glitter to deceive,) 
 
 But make his Heavenly calling sure !
 
 110 THE SICK CHILD. 
 
 7 
 
 Perchance, 'twas sent to bid thy heart. 
 That too much worship'd earthly things ; 
 
 Embrace that wiser, better part, 
 
 To which no worldly passion clings ; 
 
 To shew how weak^how frail thou art. 
 How vain the blessings Fortune brings. 
 
 8 
 
 Deem it not hard ; — Heav'n- doth approve 
 The feelings of a soul like thine ; 
 
 For sacred is a Mother's love. 
 
 And Angels waft such sighs above. 
 
 As offerings at Religion's shrine !
 
 Ill 
 
 THE MOTHER'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 BESIDE THE COTCH OF HETl DYING INFANT. 
 
 ; 1. 
 
 And thou must die —my pretty Boy ! 
 
 I see the fatal shade 
 Of death, upon thy cheek of joy 
 
 (An awful hue) is laid ; — 
 And o'er thy ashes I must weep, 
 With grief— not clamorous— but deep ! 
 
 I lov'd to gaze upon thy face. 
 
 And mark thy open brow ; 
 Where care as yet had stamp' d no ti-ace. 
 
 Nor passion learn'd to glow ; 
 Where all was peaceful, — all was fair, 
 Like the calm smile that rested there ! 
 
 3 
 
 Must I no more behold that smile, 
 Nor feel thy hand entwine.
 
 112 THE mother's soliloquy. 
 
 In fond endearing sport awhile 
 
 Its gentle clasp in mine ? 
 Or see thy pure young spirit glow 
 With joys — that only youth can know ? 
 
 Fond memory oft will picture thee 
 
 In many a playful scene ; — 
 "With thoughtless heart, and childish glee. 
 
 Ranging the gi-ass-plot's green ; 
 Thy step so light — so soft thy tread, 
 It scarcely crush'd the daisy's head ! 
 
 Ah ! I shall miss thee in my walk, 
 When Spring's first flow'rets bloom ; 
 
 When Summer clothes the verdant stalk. 
 Or Autumn breathes perfume ; 
 
 And by the Winter fire will be 
 
 An empty place— once filled by thke ! 
 
 6 
 
 By these are selfish thoughts — that wrong 
 
 A Christian-mother's love; 
 Vain thoughts ! ye suit the worldly throng. 
 
 Who never look above 
 Earth's bounded scene — Earth's narrow sphere. 
 But centre all their treasures here !
 
 THE mother's soliloquy. 113 
 
 7 
 
 Let ME not mourn, that thou wilt be 
 
 A tenant of the sky ; — 
 That 'scap'd from life's tumultuous sea. 
 
 And frail mortality, — 
 When " storms arise, and tempests blow. 
 No adverse gale thy bark can know ! 
 
 8 
 
 No ! — L'll rejoice to think that thou 
 
 Hast early join'd the Bless'd, 
 Before thy spotless heart could know 
 
 Aught that might mar it's rest ; 
 Before Earth's chilling storms had giv'n 
 A blight to fruit prepar'd for Heav'n ! 
 
 9 
 
 And though, while watching o'er thy bed. 
 
 Through ling'ring hours of pain. 
 Some natural tears these eyes may shed 
 
 These murmuring lips complain ; 
 Yet, — when above thee blooms the sod 
 The bruised reed will bend to God !
 
 114 
 
 UKATH'S PROGRESS. 
 
 1 
 
 When April flow'rets deck'd the ground. 
 And odours breath'd in ev'ry gale ; 
 While verdant Nature smil'd around. 
 His gentle cheek grew wan and pale ! 
 We bore him to the purest air, 
 Beside the fountain's crystal springs, 
 And deem'd each murmuring zephyr there 
 Would come ^' with healing on its wings !" 
 
 When Summer led the joyous hours. 
 And Nature, 'neath his glowing ray. 
 With richer foliage cloth'd the bowers, 
 More shadowy still, he wore away ; — 
 E'en then ; — with eager hearts we caught 
 Hope's faintest gleam, and hail'd the streak 
 Of hectic hue, that Season brought. 
 To light, at times, his fading cheek !
 
 ])KATH S PROGRKSS. 
 
 115 
 
 Delusive Hope ! the breeze that play'd 
 Among the yellow- waving corn, 
 Sigh'd o'er the turf, where He was laid 
 To restj one bright Autumnal morn ! 
 Now Winter comes, with brow of gloom. 
 And cheerless blasts — and stormy skies ; 
 To deck with snowy- Avreath the Tomb 
 Where our heart's buried Treasure lies!
 
 116 
 
 STANZAS, 
 
 TO 3IY BOV IN IIEAVEX. 
 
 ( Written on the nifiht following his Death. J 
 
 Sweet smiling Cherub ! well I ween. 
 
 With truth I now may call thee so ; 
 Since thou hast left this earthly scene. 
 
 This pilgrimage of grief and woe ! 
 All the fond wishes I could twine. 
 
 Had thy Life's web been wrought by me. 
 Full, pure and perfect, now are thine. 
 
 Young Heir of Immortality ! 
 
 2 
 
 How have I wish'd, as day by day, 
 I watch'd thy outward form decline. 
 
 And saw thy beauties fade away. 
 
 That lengthen'd life might yet be thine !
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 il7 
 
 Mistaken love! — a better lot 
 
 Than earthly Parent could provide, 
 
 Where sorrow, sin, and care are not. 
 Is thine, beyond Life's changing tide ! 
 
 As Israel's royal mourner knelt 
 
 Before the Temple's sacred shrine. 
 And all a Parent's anguish felt, 
 
 Sirch heart-wrung sorrow has been mine, 
 When by thy restless couch IVepray'd, 
 
 Unheard by all — save One alone ; 
 And knew that Hope's last fleeting shade. 
 
 That ev'ry thing, but Life, had flown! 
 
 4 
 
 Yet, when I saw thy closing eye, 
 
 Disturb'd by no convulsive start ; 
 And heard thy last-drawn, gentle sigh. 
 
 How swell'd with gratitude my heart ! 
 Heaven, that had tried my faith so long. 
 
 Repaid me months of anguish past, 
 Spar'd me the worst, the keenest pang, 
 
 To see thee suffer at the last ! 
 
 5 
 
 They best can tell, who, round thy bed, 
 Gaz'd with mute rev'rence on the scene, 
 
 (Nor deem'd the happy soul had fled, 
 So all unalter'd was thy mien,)
 
 118 STANZAS. 
 
 How lovely was the smile that play'd 
 O'er thy pale cheek and forehead fair : 
 
 No with'ringlook — no dark'ning shade ; 
 All, all, was heavenly radiance there ! 
 
 6 
 
 Why should we paint the mighty King 
 
 Death ! — in such terrible array ? 
 A spectre form — a grisly thing. 
 
 Before Avhose look all shrink away ? 
 A IMinister of Vengeance ! sent 
 
 To blight, to conquer, and destroy ; 
 Heav'n's fierce and dreaded instrument. 
 
 Blasting each bud of hope and joy ? 
 
 7 
 
 (Ah ! such he may be, when he stands 
 
 To strike the Sinner in his way ; 
 Waiting in wrath to loose the bands 
 
 That chain him to his house of clay !) 
 To THEE, in sunshine, not in storm. 
 
 He came, — of all his terrors riv'n ; 
 Taking a kindred Seraph's form. 
 
 To bear a Brother back to Heav'n ! 
 
 8 
 
 And, as I bent me down to kiss 
 Thy placid and unalter'd brow. 
 
 How did I yearn to share thy bliss. 
 
 Could Heaven th' impatient wish allow !
 
 STANZAS. ■*!" 
 
 But tho' the "iron's in iny soul," 
 I still must hold my journey on ; 
 
 A Pilgrim to that heavenly goal. 
 
 Where thou, brief space, before art gone 
 
 Thy Brother claims a JM other's love, 
 
 Thy Sisters ask a IMother's care ; 
 And I must rise this grief above. 
 
 Or learn with fortitude to bear ! 
 Yes ! I must seek the World again. 
 
 And mingle with its busy crowd, 
 Though anguish racks my throbbing brain. 
 
 And grief to earth my soul has bow'd ! 
 
 10 
 
 But few will say, in after-years. 
 
 That smiles upon my cheek they see ; 
 Though none may guess the secret tears 
 
 These streaming eyes must shed for Theel 
 Sweet smiling Cherub ! well I ween. 
 
 With truth I now may call thee so, 
 3Iay I so pass this troubled scene, . 
 
 This vale of Shadow here below ;
 
 120 STANZAS. 
 
 11 
 
 That when these wearied eyes shall close. 
 
 And sleep the last, long, dreamless sleep ; 
 When my worn heart shall find repose. 
 
 Where Care and Sorrow cease to weep ; 
 I may have stem'd each stormy wave 
 
 Of Life, from its pollutions free ; 
 And feel assur'd beyond the Grave, 
 
 Thou wait'st to ope Heaven's gate for aiE !
 
 121 
 
 THE DEAD INFANT. 
 
 — " It is not dead, but sleepcth !" 
 
 1 
 
 Yes ! this is Death ! but in its fairest form, 
 And stript of all its terrors ; — that clos'd eye 
 
 Tells nothing of the cold and hungry Worm 
 That holds his revel-feast with frail JMortality ! 
 
 2 
 
 Yes ! this is Death !— but like a Cherub's sleep, 
 So beautiful — so placid ; — who, of Earth, 
 
 (And tasting earthly cares,) would wish to weep 
 O'er One that has escap'd the woes of mortal birth ? 
 
 3 
 
 Hebe might the Sculptor gaze, until his hand 
 Had learn'd to fashion forth yon lovely thing. 
 
 Pale as the chissel'd marble ; — here command 
 Those beauties that defy all Art's imagining !
 
 122 THE DEAD INFANT. 
 
 The still, calm brow — the sraile on either cheek. 
 The little folded hands, — the lips apart, 
 
 As though they would the bonds of Silence break, 
 Are they not models fair, meet for the Sculptor's 
 art? 
 
 Proud Science, come! learn of this beauteous clay. 
 That seems to mock the dread Destroyer's reign. 
 
 As though in Slumber's downy links it lay. 
 
 Awaiting but the Morn, to wake to Life again ! 
 
 Yes ! this is Death ! but in its fairest form. 
 And stript of all its terrors. — That seal'd eye 
 
 Tells nothing of the cold and hungry Worm 
 
 That holds his revel-feast with frail Mortality !
 
 123 
 
 MATERNAL RECiRET. 
 
 1 
 
 Love's cord is broken ;— rent in twain, 
 This heart can know no other joy ; 
 
 Ne'er feel that fervid glow again,— 
 As, once, it felt for thee, dear Boy ! 
 
 2 
 
 Hope's light is shaded ;— o'er my soul, 
 There steals no ray, to give relief ;— 
 
 Time, on its circling course may roll. 
 But never heal such rooted grief! 
 
 3 
 
 No ! it is fix'd and settled— where 
 
 No joy, no hope, henceforth is giv'n ; 
 
 Deep in a breast, whose only care 
 
 Is now, to meet the Lost— in Heav'n !
 
 121 
 
 MATERNAL llEGRET. 
 
 Yet, deem not that I madly blame 
 The ways of Providence to man ; 
 
 Or would with impious lips arraign 
 Great Nature's fix'd, unerring plan. 
 
 5 
 
 No ! for I feel the Babe I mourn. 
 
 With all a mothei-'s soul- wrung tears, 
 
 By kindred spirits, hence was borne. 
 
 Ere Time had dimm'd his spotless years ; 
 
 6 
 
 A pure, unsullied, stainless thing, — 
 Transplanted to its native skies ; 
 
 (Like that bright Bird, whose ling'ring wing 
 Just touches Earth — and onward flies !) 
 
 7 
 
 Though thus I feel — Grief will intrude. 
 At times, within the firmest heart ; 
 
 In the calm hush of Solitude, 
 
 IMemory will force the tear to start ! 
 
 8 
 
 Such Grief is guiltless in His eye 
 
 Who searches through the suff'ring breast ; 
 Pardon'd — by Him, who hears each sigh. 
 
 And says to storm-toss'd Sorrow — " rest !"
 
 125 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 1 
 
 There's a darkness over all my Days; the sunny light 
 is gone 
 
 That used to cheer Life's rugged path, and guide my 
 footsteps on ! 
 
 There's a shadow now, on ev'ry scene, that once 
 look'd bright to me ; 
 
 For each object seems to breathe a tale of cold mor- 
 tality ! 
 
 When, worn by Grief and care, I seek my chamber s 
 
 silent gloom, 
 With tearful glance, my wand'riiog eyes gaze round 
 
 the vacant room ; 
 Seeking, in vain, for something dear, to meet their 
 
 anxious ken ; 
 For Him, who play'd his gambols where, none e'er 
 
 shall play again !
 
 120 STANZAS. 
 
 If, flying from myself, I seek awhile the haunts of 
 mirth ; 
 
 Or join the calm domestic band, beside the social 
 hearth ; 
 
 Still — still — each place, each scene recalls, to me- 
 mory's aching sight. 
 
 The Vision, that no time can chase, till Reason veils 
 her light ! 
 
 4 
 
 I see Him, in the IMorning's ray, and in the glowing 
 Noon; 
 
 Or, when the Twilight mists disperse before the ra- 
 diant moon ; 
 
 No time, no change, from this sad Heart, can rend the 
 Idol shrin'd 
 
 Deep, in its bleeding core, and close with ev'ry 
 thought entwin'd ! 
 
 Oh ! what can ever fill the space of that unfathom'd 
 
 void. 
 The chaos of a Mother's breast, that mourns each 
 
 Hope destroy'd? 
 Her heart is like the dreary Tomb, to which its Hope 
 
 is giv'n ; 
 No light can pierce the darkness there, except the 
 
 light of Heav'n !
 
 127 
 
 THE RESF.MBTANCE. 
 
 I 
 
 Fair image of my lost and sainted Child 
 
 How does my heart o'erflow, beholding Thee ; 
 
 Here is the very look with which He smil'd, 
 In hours of playful mirth, — and artless glee ; 
 
 Ere pale Disease had worn his infant frame. 
 
 And, 'neath its iron hand, less lovely he became ! 
 
 Less lovely ! — never ! — As he sank away 
 Unearthly Beauty glow'd upon his cheek ; 
 
 As the last radiant smile of parting Day 
 
 Sheds, o'er the western skies, its crimson streak ; 
 
 Sinking to slumber 'mid a flood of light. 
 
 That leaves the mourning World to a still deeper 
 night !
 
 128 'I'HK KKSEMBLANCE. 
 
 Tliose sunny beams again shall brightly rise, 
 And with fresh tints, the mountain-tops illume ; 
 
 But ah ! He comes not, to these aching eyes. 
 Who sank in Beauty to an early Tomb ; 
 
 Till the Archangel's shout thro' Heav'n shall spread. 
 
 Calling on Earth and Seas, to render up their dead !
 
 129 
 
 THE ANNIYERfiARY. 
 
 1 
 
 Thou art in Heaven ! and canst not know 
 The grief that rends this aching breast ; 
 
 Thou art in Heaven ! — where tears ne'er flow. 
 But all are happy, — all are blest; 
 
 Unconscious of the bitter woe. 
 
 That breaks on Earth the mourner's rest ! 
 
 The grass grows long upon thy grave, 
 The Summer's smile is even there ; 
 
 And high the branching willows wave: 
 E'en these the Season's gladness share ; 
 
 E'en these put on their vestments brave, 
 As though they mock'd at my Despair ! 
 
 K
 
 130 THE ANNIVERSARY. 
 
 Alas ! for me no Summer springs. 
 For me no joyous Seasons bloom ; 
 
 But Nature's bridal only brings 
 
 New tears of grief — new thoughts of gloom ; 
 
 Since memory, like the Ivy, clings 
 To Thee — lov'd tenant of the tomb ! 
 
 And now, upon thy natal day. 
 
 My Heart o'erflows with added grief; 
 
 Pale Hope withdraws her dawning ray. 
 As though she scorn'd to yield relief; 
 
 And turns her flick'ring gleam away. 
 That shone a moment — faint and brief ! 
 
 5 
 
 Yes ! tis the Day that gave thee Birth ! 
 
 'Twas ever hail'd with Infant glee ; 
 And smiling faces throng'd our hearth. 
 
 Keeping up high festivity ; 
 Now — thou art laid in silent Earth, 
 
 And worms must thy companions be ! 
 
 6 
 
 When thou wast born to me, dear Child ; 
 
 When these fond eyes first gaz'd on thee ; 
 Fortune and fame united smil'd, — 
 
 Filling Life's cup with ecstasy ;
 
 THE ANNIVERSARY. 
 
 And my vain heart — deceiv'd, beguil'd, 
 Knew not the draught was agony ! 
 
 7 
 
 But when the rushing torrent came. 
 That swept Hope's fairest buds away, 
 
 How swelled my heart, with grief and shame. 
 To find its Idols were but clay; 
 
 How wither'd 'neath the wasting flame 
 Of sorrow's slow — yet sure — decay ! 
 
 8 
 
 I flew to Pleasure's festive scene — 
 
 To Fashion's gay — but heartless throng ; 
 
 Where Mirth assum'd her brightest mien. 
 And led the sportive hours along ; — 
 
 But though her festal wreath look'd green, 
 Despair was hid, each flow' r among !* 
 
 9 
 
 I turn'd to Learning — sought in Fame 
 
 A wish'd relief for all my woe ; 
 Ah ! soon I found the Poet's name, 
 
 Though laurel-crown' d, could nought bestow ; 
 Twas as the western sun-beam's flame, 
 
 Gilding some ruin with its glow ! 
 
 * At the banquets ot" the Ancients the person wlio presitletl wort- « 
 wreath or crown of Howers.
 
 132 THK ANNIVERSARY. 
 
 10 
 
 Religion ! tis from thee alone 
 
 The heart-bruis'd Pilgrim's only shrine, 
 
 (Each secret pang of grief made known) 
 That peace can dawn on souls like mine ; 
 
 For, when Earth's meaner aids are flown. 
 The gift of healing still is Thine ! 
 
 11 
 
 To Thee I fly ! unlike the world. 
 
 That mocks the Mourner's fest'ring smart, 
 
 (When fate its keenest shaft has hurl'd,) 
 Thou'lt pour thy balsam on the Heart ; 
 And safely steer, (Hope's sail unfurl'd,) 
 The storm-toss'd Wand'rer, by thy chart, 
 
 12 
 
 To that bright shore, where tears ne'er flow. 
 Where Grief ne'er wrings, or rends the breast ; 
 
 Nor Sin, nor Sorrow entrance know. 
 But all its 'habitants are blest; 
 
 Free from the cares, and crimes, and woe 
 That wreck the earthly Pilgrim's rest !
 
 133 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 f Written after visiting the (/rave of my Child.) 
 
 I look'd upon thy Grave 
 With a calm and tearless eye ; 
 And none could guess the grief I felt. 
 Or the weight of agony ! 
 
 They deem I mourn thee less, 
 Because my tears are dried ; 
 But, what affliction is so deep 
 As that we strive to hide ? 
 
 For what are sighs and tears, 
 Or a dark and troubled brow ? 
 'Tis the silent heart that inly mourns, 
 And bleeds — as mine does now !
 
 134 STANZAS. 
 
 Smiles would be seldom seen. 
 And sunny looks be less, 
 On many a cheek — did it disclose 
 The bosom's wretchedness ! 
 
 I look'd upon thy Grave 
 With bending osiers twin'd. 
 And felt my heart, and all its hopes. 
 In that low spot was shrin'd ! 
 
 6 
 
 I've sat beside thy couch 
 Through many a night of pain ; 
 'Till morn has dawn'd upon the tears 
 Nature could not restrain ; — 
 
 I've watch'd thy dying bed, 
 Thou fair and beauteous clay ! 
 And wip'd the chill-damps from thy brow 
 With trembling hand away ; — 
 
 8 
 
 I saw thy closing eye, 
 I heard thy last-drawn breath ; 
 Calmly I stood — till all was past, — 
 It was THy hour, oh ! Death !
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 9 
 
 135 
 
 But never felt I then, 
 As I have felt to-day ; 
 When gazing on thy new-rais'd urn, 
 'Mid th' emblems of Decay ! 
 
 10 
 
 Yes ! of Decay and Death, 
 Each object spoke to me. 
 As I stood in the sad and crowded field 
 Of cold Mortality ! 
 
 11 
 
 For there were ruin'd Graves, 
 And many a broken stone. 
 Placed by some sorrowing heai% to tell 
 A tale of lov'd ones gone ! 
 
 12 
 
 And then methought, how soon 
 Thine, too, may share their fate ; 
 And, 'neath the crumbling touch of Time 
 Grow worn — and desolate ! 
 
 13 
 
 Turn from this earthly scene ; 
 Look upwards, oh ! my Heart ' 
 Look from this mould'ring mortal clay, 
 To the diviner pai't !
 
 }3(j STANZA8, 
 
 14 
 
 Think of the Soul, enshrin'd 
 Like a pure crystal gem ; 
 The brightest 'mid the radiant host 
 In Heav'n's rich diadem ! 
 
 15 
 
 Glance round the World — behold 
 Dangers on ev'ry side ; — 
 And then rejoice thy Babe has 'scap'd 
 From the dread strife untried ! 
 
 16 
 
 The Hebrew Mother brought. 
 Though dark the path she trod. 
 Her First born, and her dearest Hope, 
 To wait before his God ! 
 
 17 
 
 Shall Christian Mothers mourn. 
 To whom the light is giv'n. 
 When God himself vouchsafes to call 
 Their cherished ones to Heav'n ? 
 
 18 
 
 No ! — dried be ev'ry tear 
 Be hush'd each murmuring sigh ; 
 Let us so track their steps on Earth, 
 To follow through the Sky !
 
 BALLADS AND SONGS.
 
 139 
 
 LOVE DESERTED. 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 Wilt thou not stay, my Lover dear- 
 Wilt thou not stay till morn ? 
 
 By this wan cheek's fast Falling tear. 
 By all the vows thou'st sworn, 
 
 2 
 And I've believ'd ;— oh ! stay with me, 
 
 Till these drear hours are past ; 
 The Owl moans from the cypress tree, 
 
 And hollow sounds the blast ! 
 
 3 
 
 He heeds me not ! — his courser's feet 
 Spring o'er the turf-clad ground ; 
 
 In vain these lips his name repeat, — 
 Echo but mocks the sound !
 
 140 I^OVE DESERTEB. 
 
 He hastens to some fairer Maid, 
 
 To breathe into her ear 
 Those vows which have my heart betray'd 
 
 Through many a ling'ring year ! 
 
 5 
 
 I wept not, when to Battle-plain 
 His proud steed bore him on ; 
 
 But now, to join a courtly train 
 The Reveller is gone ! 
 
 6 
 
 Where Beauty's hand bestows the prize ; 
 
 Where Ladies grace the ring; 
 Where jewel'd crests, and radiant eyes, 
 
 Are proudly glittering ! 
 
 7 
 To crowded feast, and stately hall. 
 
 His faithless steps have flown ; 
 For mask, and midnight festival. 
 
 He leaves me here alone ! 
 
 8 
 
 To where the wine-cup's draught inflames. 
 
 He hies, his scorn to prove ; 
 And, for the smiles of courtly dames. 
 
 Forsakes his rustic Love !
 
 liOVE DESERTED. 14J 
 
 9 
 
 Ah ! silly Maid ! — I might have known. 
 
 When summer fled the bowers. 
 He'd leave me too, — blighted and lone. 
 
 Like Winter's drooping flowers ! 
 
 10 
 
 How could I hope that One, beside 
 
 Whose glance all eyes look dim. 
 Would ever choose a woodland Bride 
 
 To share a Court with him ? 
 
 11 
 
 Fond, silly heart ! the fault was thine. 
 
 To trust the flatt'ring tale ; 
 And think, where courtly beauties shine. 
 
 Thy charms could e'er prevail ! 
 
 12 
 
 Yet 'twas not for his vestments brave. 
 
 With gold and jewels wrought. 
 That this true heart the fondness gave. 
 That ne'er by wealth was bought ! 
 
 13 
 
 Nor was it for the plume so gay 
 
 That danc'd above his crest. 
 White as the snowy flakes that stray 
 
 Upon the mountain's breast !
 
 142 LOVE DESERTED. 
 
 14 
 
 Ah, no ! — it was his flatt'ring tongue, — 
 It was his sun-bright eyes, — 
 
 It was the tender lays he sung. 
 
 That woke my young heart's sighs ! 
 
 15 
 
 Poor, silly Maid ! thou'lt rue the hour. 
 
 Deep in thy bleeding breast. 
 When first Love sought thy humble bower. 
 Clad in a courtly vest !
 
 143 
 
 I WATCH FOR THEE ! 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 1 
 
 I WATCH for Thee ! — when parting day 
 Sheds on the earth a ling'ring ray ; 
 When his last blushes, o'er the rose, 
 A richer tint of crimson throws ; 
 And ev'ry flowret's leaves are curl'd. 
 Like Beauty, shrinking from the world ; 
 When silence reigns, o'er lawn and lea. 
 Then, dearest Love ! I watch for Thee ! 
 
 m 
 
 I watch for Thee ! — when Eve's first star 
 
 Shines dimly in the Heav'ns afar. 
 
 And twilight's mists and shadows grey '{!__ ^:\/ 
 
 Upon the lake's broad waters play ; 
 
 When not a breeze, or sound, is heard. 
 
 To startle evening's lonely bird ; 
 
 But hush'd is e'en the humming bee — 
 
 Then, dearest Love ! I watch for Thee !
 
 144 BALLAD. 
 
 I watch for Thee ! when on the eyes 
 Of Childhood slumber gently lies ; 
 When sleep has still'd the noisy mirth 
 Of playful voices, round our hearth. 
 And each young cherub's fancy glows 
 With dreams, that only childhood knows, 
 Of pleasures past — or yet to be — 
 Then, dearest Love ! I watch for Thee ! 
 
 I watch for Thee ! Hope of my heart. 
 Returning from the crowded mart. 
 Of worldly toil, and worldly strife. 
 And all the busy scene of life ; — 
 Then, if thy brow of brightness wear, 
 A moment's space, the shade of care. 
 My smile, amid that gloom, shall be 
 The rainbow of the storm to Thee !
 
 145 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 I SAW her, when flow 'rets 
 
 Bedeck'd the Spring thne, 
 In the first glow of beauty, 
 
 And maidenly prime ; — 
 Her heart was all gladness. 
 
 Her soul was all truth. 
 As she walk'd in the freshness 
 
 Of feeling and youth ! 
 
 Love came with the Summer, 
 
 'Mid roses and smiles ; 
 And the heart of the maiden 
 
 Was caught by his wiles ; — 
 I saw her, when blushes 
 
 Glow'd bright o'er her brow. 
 As she knelt at his altar. 
 
 And plighted her vow ! 
 
 L
 
 14() BALLAD. 
 
 3 
 
 But the roses soon faded. 
 
 That deek'd Love's gay bowers. 
 And the bright skies were shaded 
 
 By tempests and showers; 
 Then Autumn winds scatter'd 
 
 The leaves, as they pass'd ; 
 And hearts, too, like flow'rets. 
 
 Were chill'd by the blast ! 
 
 I saw her, when Sorrow 
 
 Had blighted her cheek. 
 When the heart of the mourner 
 
 Must wither — or break ; 
 'Mid the chill of affection. 
 
 That waits on Decay, 
 When the flowers of existence 
 
 Have faded away !
 
 .H7 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 Tho' many the scenes that thro' life may look smiling, 
 
 Tho' many the joys that around me I see ; 
 None, none, ever look'd half so fair and beguiling, 
 As when Youth's gay morning first dawn'd upon me! 
 One dream of enchantment 
 
 Around me then hung. 
 And I sigh'd with delight 
 When Life's morning was young ! 
 
 There's a freshness around us in life's early spring. 
 
 That the years which come after can never impart ; 
 There's a feeling of bliss, that for ever takes wing 
 When the first bloom of morning has quitted the 
 heart ! 
 
 Thro' the world, as we wander 
 
 Its roses among ; 
 Still we sigh for the time 
 
 When Life's morning was young !
 
 148 BALLAD. 
 
 'Tis THEN Love looks faithful, and Friendship seems 
 true. 
 Then Hope wears a smile — (tho' 'tis oft to betray ;) 
 But the warm sunny side of the world is in view, 
 And Life shines before us one long summer's day ! 
 Then careless we wander 
 Each blessing among ; 
 For no sorrow can wound 
 
 When Life's morning is young ! 
 
 Then the strains of the Poet, the Minstrel, the Lover, 
 
 Are dear to the bosom, and sweet to the ear ; 
 Around Youth's wild path bright illusions still hover. 
 And joy springs before us, and pleasure is near ! 
 Then Music speaks gladness. 
 
 Love breathes from each tongue; 
 Every face wears a smile. 
 
 When Life's morning is young ! 
 
 There are riches and honors for those who may choose 
 them. 
 
 That only the cold age of Reason can bring ; 
 But it never can give the light joy of the bosom, 
 
 WhenLove and when Life were alikein their spring.
 
 BALLAD. " 14U 
 
 There's a fullness of rapture. 
 
 Youth's wild hopes among. 
 That the heart only feels 
 
 When Life's morning is young !
 
 150 
 
 GONDOLIER'S SONG. 
 
 The first star of even 
 
 Illumines the deep. 
 
 Shining down on the waters. 
 
 As calmly they sleep ; — 
 While all things around us, in Earth, Sea, and Air, 
 The softness and peace of the vesper-hour share ! 
 
 What fairy-like music 
 
 Steals over the sea ; — 
 
 Entrancing the senses. 
 
 With charm'd melody ? 
 'Tis the voice of the Mermaid, that floats o'er the main. 
 As she mingles her song with the Gondolier's strain !
 
 gondolier's song. 151 
 
 3 
 
 The winds are all hush'd. 
 And the waters at rest : 
 They sleep, like the passions 
 In Infancy's breast, 
 Till storms shall unchain them, from out their dark 
 
 cave. 
 And break the repose of the soul— and the wave !
 
 152 
 
 BEAUTY OUTWITTED. 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 Beauty, that Love no more should fly. 
 Sent Friendship forth one sunny clay. 
 When sleep had clos'd the urchin's eye. 
 To steal his rainbow wings away ! 
 
 2 
 
 Charm'd with the silken treasures won. 
 Their taper form and glossy hue, — 
 Beauty would try Love's pinions on 
 Poor faithful Friendship's shoulders too ! 
 
 Cupid, whose power each scheme defies. 
 With new-fledg'd plumes soon woke to rove ; 
 " Ah ! Beauty ! I'm revenged," he cries — 
 " Friendship can fly — as well as Love !''
 
 153 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 Oh ! meet me here, 
 
 My gentle Deai', 
 When twilight shadows fall ; 
 
 With length'ning ray, 
 
 At close of day. 
 On yonder ivied wall ! — 
 
 When from the leaves 
 
 The glitt'ring eaves 
 Hang pendant drops of light; 
 
 And ev'ry stem 
 
 Displays a Gem, 
 Beyond the Diamond bright! 
 
 When moonlight beams. 
 On silver streams.
 
 ]54 SERKNADE. 
 
 Dance, with a faii-y ray ; 
 
 And from the Grove, 
 
 The Bird of Love 
 Attunes her plaintive lay ; 
 
 When all is still 
 
 O'er vale and hill. 
 In Ocean — Earth — and Sky ; 
 
 And none are near 
 
 Our vows to hear 
 Or scan with jealous eye ! 
 
 3 
 
 Oh ! meet me then, 
 
 In this sweet Glen, 
 Dear Love ! at that hush'd hour ; 
 
 When Evening's pall 
 
 Shrouds courtly hall 
 As well as rustic bower ! 
 
 Such scenes of Heav'n 
 
 Were only giv'n. 
 For Lover's lips to say ; 
 
 What each fond heart 
 
 Long hours apart 
 Has treasur'd through the day !
 
 155 
 
 BALLAD STANZAS. 
 
 1 
 
 When dreary Night has spread her curtains round 
 me. 
 
 And fairy visions hover o'er my soul ; 
 When Slumber's hand hath in her fetters bound me. 
 
 The scenes return, o'er which Time's waters roll ! 
 
 The days of Youth, in all their splendour, greet me. 
 And hopes, long buried, rise in bright array ; 
 
 The friends I lov'd with early kindness meet me. 
 And smiles long vanish'd, bless me with their ray ! 
 
 Life's cloudless morn, in early freshness glowing, 
 Again returns, with all its sweets and flowers. 
 
 Like a calm stream, whose waves unruffi'd flowing-, 
 Glide smoothly on, through Summer's laughing 
 hours !
 
 ]56 BALLAD STANZAS. 
 
 4 
 
 And other years come back, to Memory dearer 
 Than all the years that life has yet in store ; 
 
 Departed joys, and faded hopes look clearer. 
 When Slumber's fairy visions trace them o'er ! 
 
 Thus, when the Night has spread her curtains round 
 me. 
 
 And Fancy's spells beguile my dreaming soul ; — 
 When Slumber's hand hath in her fetters bound me. 
 
 The scenes return, o'er which Tijie's waters roll!
 
 157 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 (From the Italian.) 
 
 1 
 
 When Life's enchanting dream was new. 
 Our feelings and pvir suits the same ; 
 Beneath the veil of Friendship grew, 
 In our young hearts. Love's warmer flame; 
 Together through Youth's path we trod. 
 With bosoms light — and spirits gay ; 
 While Pleasure met us on our road. 
 And strew'd her flow'rets o'er our way ! 
 
 If e'er a thought did intervene 
 While Pleasure's fairy race was run; 
 'Twas but to wish some future scene, 
 ■ Should see us yet, more closely One ! 
 This was the Hope, whose magic power. 
 When absent from each other's eyes, 
 Through many a lone and ling'ring hour. 
 Could calm our griefs, and hush our sighs !
 
 ]r)}{ BAI.LAI). 
 
 3 
 
 How soon those blissful days have chang'd ! 
 A few brief, circling years gone by ; 
 In Hearts, in hopes, in all estrang'd. 
 With changeless cheek — and unmov'd eye. 
 And steadfast brow — and distant mien. 
 Without one rising throb of pain. 
 Forgetful of each earlier scene. 
 We coldly meet — and part again ! 
 
 Yes ! it is so — a few short years. 
 
 Have heal'd this deeply wounded heart ; 
 
 And chas'd away those bitter tears. 
 
 That flow'd, when doom'd from Thee to part 
 
 And wherefore longer should they flow. 
 
 Since thou hast found another breast. 
 
 To share thy joy — to cheer thy woe — 
 
 And make thy life's young morning blest ? — 
 
 5 
 
 IndifF'rent to each other's lot, 
 Along life's desert shore we stray ; 
 Each feeling now subdued, forgot. 
 The passion of Youth's happier day ! 
 Indiff'rent! No, that ne'er can be ! 
 My heart still owns a sacred flame ; 
 Still feels a Brother's love for thee. 
 Which Virtue's self would blush to blame!
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 6 
 
 When in the "haunts of men" we meet. 
 Why should it be, with scornful air ? 
 Why should thine eyes, from mine retreat. 
 As if a scorpion's met thee there ? 
 Oh ! better learn to know the Heart, 
 That once was deeply, wholly Thine; 
 And, though Love's links are torn apart. 
 Let Friendship's still around us twine ! 
 
 L^9 
 
 THE END.
 
 
 lONDO.M : 
 
 Printed by Widow Maurice, Fenchurch-street.
 
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