mmiym/A '^oximmi'^^ ^^^AWHeii-#" ^^^i^m'soi^'^ ^\WE UNfVER^/^^ v^lOS/\NGELfj>, ^lllBRARYdk^ .. ^TOIWDJO n:^^ / ^^WEUN!VER% ^KlOSANGELfj^^ .^OfCAIIF0% . IBRARYQ^ ^EUNlVERfej, r?]30NVSffl^ '^^ IHVy^n-lV^' ^^^AHVHHIl-^^' ^Sm^^v-KO}^ \\\EI!N1VER.V/^. ^lOSANCELj> ^IL1BRARY<9/. ^'mmym^ v/^a3AiNii-3vvv^ ^^\l-LlBRARYa/ , .^^^lLlBRARYQ^ SENSIBILITY, THE STRAMGEM^ AND OTHER POEMS. /hi^i'et anil ii.iiir.es, Prinlers, Maiden- Lane, Cuviut-Garden. THE STRANGER, AND 'HI>TED FOR JAMES HARPER, 46, FLEET-STREEX. 1U18. r 4nb'^ I9rtrtcat(0it TO HIS SERENE HIGHNESS* THE PRINCE LEOPOLD OF SAXE-COBOURG. SIR, May I he allowed to assure you how deeply sensible I am of the honour you have done me, by permitting me to inscribe the following Poems to your Serene Highness. It is to me pecu- liarly gratifying, that my first effusions before the public, as a poet, are under the sanction of your illustrious name a name endeared to Englishmen by the fondest associations, and IV hie h they shall continue to cherish while a single heart is found among them capable of appreciating such rare virtues as your Serene Highness has always eviticed. The language of IV DEDICATION. adulation 1 have never learned; and I am well aware that the exalted personage whom I now have the honour to address, is placed far beyond the reach oj Jiattery ; yet it may he permitted me, as an individual, to pay the tribute of just praise to those peculiar qualities oJ distinguished worth, which are so deservedly the thetne of universal panegyric. I have the honour to bcy Sir, with most profound respect, Your Serene Highnesses most obliged and most humble servant, W. C HARVEY. 1, York Place, PentonviUCf Jan. 2, Ibis. PREFACE. J. o plead youth, and the hurry of com- position, as excuses for the faults of their productions; is a practice but too common among the votaries of the Muses, while making their first essay before the public. The Author of the following Collection of Poems might resort to this trite apology, but he wishes not to propitiate the just VI PREFACE. severity of criticism by any such assertion. If an Author writes verses at an early age, and in a hasty manner, it does not therefore follow as a necessary consequence, that he is obliged to send his effusions into the world without revising and correcting them. No young poet ought to offend the good taste of the public by such a premature exhibition, and he who does so, most certainly deserves to find them quite as fastidious as his own presumption is untoward. Sensibility, the first poem that occurs in this volume, is one of the earliest of the Author's productions ; but before he ventured on giving it publicity, he took PREFACE. VH care that it should receive those emenda- tions which were suggested by a more mature judgmeat. He does not however presume to assert that it has not yet several defects, for these are inseparable from the works of poets of all ages, as well as of those who at the present day, are so highly established in the public favour. The Stranger, which is the next piece that follows in the collection, will not, it is hoped, be found altogether an unsuccessful attempt at a species of versification in which it is difficult to excel ; and the Tale itself, though not replete with the marvellous, may at VHl PREFACE. the same time create some interest in the mind of the reader. Of the Miscellaneous Poems the Author has only to observe, that they were written at different periods, and that he is sanguine enough to anticipate a favourable reception for many of them, if others should be deemed objectionable. As the work now submitted to the public, was going through the press at the time of the late national catastrophe, the Author found himself called upon by his feelings to conclude it with an Elegy on that melancholy subject; nor is he without a hope, that amidst the various PREFACE. IX poetic wreaths with which youthful bards have graced the urn of England's lamented Princess, the one he has entwined may be suffered to mingle with equal justice to her memory. Penionville, Dec. 1817. CONTENTS. PAGE Sensibility 1 61 The Stranger 65128 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. Monody in Memory of the Right Honourable R. B. Sheridan 131 Sir Bertrand 138 To Lucy 158 Adeline l6l Lady Rosabel l64 The Approach of Winter 168 XU CONTENTS. PAGB The Flower Girl 177 To Laura 179 Happiness 183 The Grave of Otway 193 Song 197 Song 199 Sunday 201 To my Dog 204 Song 207 The Battle . 209 TJie Tournament 218 FareweH 227 Azid's Complaint 229 Eustace and Eleanor .......... 233 The Friends '. 241 Paraphrase on the last words of the Emperor Adrian 250 Anna 252 Elegy 255 The Oak Tree 258 The Humble Petition of Timothy Dreamer, Gentle- man, to her Visionary Majesty Queen Mab . 26 1 CONTENTS. Xlll PAGE To Belinda 271 Hymn to Forgetfulness 273 Ode to Melapcholy 279 Ode to Mirth 287 Song . , 296 Song 298 The Curfew 300 Elegy 302 Inscription for a Sun-Dial 304 Inscription for a Triumphal Arch 306 Th Grave of Hope 309 Aensiliiatg. PART I. SENSIBILITY. PART I. When Wisdom in the pensive hour is led Amidst the dreary mansions of the dead, And, wand'ring sad thro' groves of sable yew, Sepulchral names attract her silent view ; When by the moon's pale beam 'tis her's to scan The frail memorials of departed man ; While not a breath disturbs the tranquil scene, And all around is awfully serene; How does she then with solemn feelings muse, As round each grave her walk she still pursues! 2 SENSIBILITT. How stops the soul to mark the weary bourn Where trav'lers enter, never to return : And, mutely listening, stands intent to hear The counsel graves can murmur in the ear : How when she marks the ruin time hath made, And sees the wise and great in dust low laid ; How when she reads upon the mould'ring tomb, Whose white head rises through the sacred gloom, Grav'd by the finger of unerring truth *' This is the home of beauty, wit, and youth. " Dumb is a voice more sweet than Orpheus' lyre, " And dull the eye that wak'd love's ardent fire. " Alas ! too poor were all these gifts to save *' Their frail possessor from this lowly grave." How at the sight upheaves the frequent sigh, While the salt tear hangs trembling in the eye ! Owning a noble woe, while o'er her mind Steals sympathy, t' embrace all human kind ; The sacred influence rectifies the heart. Bidding each grov'ling, selfish thought depart : SENSIBILITY. Q Warm and more warm the gen'rous transports grow, And the soul mingles with the tears that flow. At such a time as this, in such an hour, Thou wilt descend from heav'n, immortal pow'r. Sweet Sensibility ! and deign to hear The Bard who wooes thee to this nether sphere. Hail, child of heav'n! benign and gentle maid. Thou com'st an angel, with thy cheering aid To soothe affliction, ease the troubled mind, And bless where fate and fortune prove unkind. Inspiring pow'r ! at whose behest the soul Darts o'er the world, and flies from pole to pole; Explores untrodden wilds, and treads a shore Where never human footstep trod before; Braves the rude bosom of the shapeless deep, Where, lock'd in icy chains, the wild waves sleep : Or, borne sublime on science' eagle wing, Above all height beholds Creation's King ; 4 SENSIBILITY. Learns where bright Sol pours his young morn- ing ray, And whel-e bids farewell to the closing day ; Enquires what other worlds fill other skies, What other suns in other systems rise ; Explains what hand bright Cynthia's progress guides, And makes her potent o'er the swelling tides ; Bursts from the fett'ring clogs of grosser sense, And vindicates the laws of Providence. At thy command, divine Philanthropy Visits the abode of want and misery; Uplifts despair from off her thorny bed, Recalling Hope, that long, too long had fled ; Opens the prison door, and sheds the light Upon the breathing grave, the sleepless night : Enters the gloomy cell where horror reigns. Unlocks the fetters, breaks the heavy chains ; Bids hoary-headed woe forget its grief, And to the friendless captive brings relief; Leads slav'ry to the light, and bids it see The long-desir'd gay gleam of liberty. SENSIBILITY. O Sweet Sensibility, to thee we owe A type, a foretaste of what angels know ; To thee belongs to soothe life's rugged way. And gild the darkness of its stormy day : Tis thine to feed the hungry, ease rough toil, Dry sorrow's cheek, and make the mourner smile; To kiss the glist'ning tear from friendship's eye, And in its heaving bosom hush the sigh : Thou dost not slight the wretched thou wilt share All their afflictions in this world of care; The good shall still behold thee, thou'lt attend On virtuous mortals to their journey's end. When the unfolding mind of gen'rous youth Traces the pages of historic truth ; And by the midnight taper's glimm'ring light, Views ancient days arise in glory bright ; And marks where shadowy honour past ap- pears. Dimly discover'd in the mist of years ; Q SENSIBILITY. Where, like a half-form'd ghost, the shade is seen Oftow'ry Babylon, Syria's haughty queen; Her lofty bulwark and her mighty wall, Thy hand, O Time, in dust has laid them all : Of all that once she was, deceitful Fame Preserveth nothing save an empty name. Let ev'ry wind be hush'd they come! they come ! Clad in unfading robes, old Greece and Rome! Ah ! at the sight what ardent transports swell. How loves the heart upon such scenes to dwell Go on, ingenuous youth, thy task pursue, The glory of past ages charms thy view. See where, emerging from their dusty beds, The sons of Sparta rear their laurell'd heads Behold the godlike form, the piercing eye, The feet in battle still unus'd to fly; The nervous arm that lifts a glitt'ring spear, The breast that scorn'd to own the name of fear; All Asia, to subdue them, strove in vain, Worlds for Laconia could not forge a chain. SENSIBILITY. 7 But look where great Lycurgus from afar, Fairer than evening's mildly shining star, Uplifts his rigid sceptre, and surveys, Well pleas'd, the glory of the realm he sways : Great patriot sage ! who by his death would prove He sought no honour but his people's love. Peace ! lo, Leonidas erects his head, Distain'd with gore from heaps of Persian dead; See on his breast unnumber'd gashes shew The fate he brav'd to quell his country's foe. Does not the tale with wonder fill thy mind. And raise the heroic chief 'bove human kind ? Dost thou not wish to share his godlike deeds, A rival in the cause for which he bleeds ; And, when in thought thou hear'st his parting sigh , Dost thou not wish a death like his to die? Oh ! feeling worthy an immortal soul, A feeling which no dangers can control ; Yes, while emblazon'd on th' historic page, This record shines the brightest of its age, Each nobler bosom shall with ardour feel A glorious impulse to devoted zeal. 8 SENSIBILITY. Look where Minerva's sacred town appears, Cover'd with time's grey dust, oppress'd with years ; Think of her arts, her arms, her letter'd fame, Remember Solon's laws, and Plato's name. See Aristides, and wrong'd Phocion rise, With Socrates, whose mem'ry never dies ; And all those other worthies, whose renown Applauding ages long have handed down. But ah! how chang'd the scene when Fancy views Whereher proud bulwark the dull earth bestrews; When the ear marks her tott'ring walls among The solitary owlet wake its song ; When the eye sees, in mournful ruin laid, The tranquil porch, the academic shade ; Sees the tall fane that once with grandeur tow'r'd, An ample shelter for the bat afford : And where Pericle's voice was heard to swell, The foxes burrow and the adders dwell ; The headless marbles, bound with ivy sees. And the worn turrets trembling in the breeze ; SENSIBILITY. 9 The streets o'ergrown with weeds and long rank grass, That mantling spreads, where crowds w^ere wont to pass : Here laid a column, there a monld'ring wall, And there a temple tott'ring to its fall ; One wide destruction in the dust appears. The work of demi-gods, the toil of years. Lo ! at the sight how sadly heaves the breast, Mark the pale cheek with sorrow's dew op- press'd ; Th' indignant soul that would in fury rise, And snatch destroying thunder from the skies, To hurl a ruin on proud Philip's head. And give the foes of Freedom to the dead ; The hand that grasps in thought Jove's vengeful flame, And would thy laurels, injured land, reclaim ; The eye that sparkling with a patriot's ire, Beholds thy despots' odious reign expire Oh! gen'rous wrath, methinks I see ia thee Thy living image Sensibility. 10 SENSIBILITY. And say, when Rome amidst the honourd dead, Majestic lifts her trophy-cover'd head; When fancy's mirror to the sight displays The dazzling lustre of her better days ; When awful from their long, their silent home, The ghosts of Cato and stern Brutus come ; When Caesar's eagles o'er thy rapt eyes soar, And Tully's heavenly accents charm once more Feels not thy soul th' inspiring ardour bum, While the fond heart reveres each sacred urn ! Or, when retracing through less ancient years. Where olden Albion's brilliant fame appears, Thou dost behold her sons for freedom bleed. And Spartan spirit shine at Runnymede ; Her dauntless heroes, who, when Caesar bore His conq'ring standard to the wave-girt shore, Nobly upon its beach, defending stood. Till Roman swords were purpled with their blood Sydney and Russell, they whose patriot fire Consign'd them victims to despotic ire SENSIBILITY. 11 Hampden, whose breast with holy fervour glow'd, Who nobly died to rescue freedom's code When these great souls appear in bright array, Reflection dwells delighted on their day; And yet admiring their exalted fame, Pursues them to the heav'n from whence they came. Or on thine ear when Shakespeare's pleasing theme Delights in nature's negligence to stream, And breaking sweetly on thy solitude, Wraps up thy spirit in a musing mood ; When Locke detains thee in thy studious hour, And clearly traces Reason's varied pow'r; When Milton rises on seraphic vving, And sings where none but Milton's self could sing; Bums not thy heart, does not thy kindling soul Confess sensations of supreme control ; And languishing to emulate their praise, Weep o'er the virtues history displays? 12 SENSIBILTTY. Dost thou not wish to strike a Shakespeare's lyre, Dost thou not pant for Sydney's noble fire; And askwhen patriot Hampden yields his breath, To share with him his enviable death? Yes, I behold enkindled in thy heart, A light to burn till life itself depart ; 1 see pure honour on thy forehead shine, I trace the features of a pow'r divine ; Heav'n beams effulgent on thy alter'd face, And o'er thee sheds a more than human grace; The clouds disclose a bright celestial ray. And pour around thy form a blaze of day ; While in a moon-beam bright yet mild appears The sadly-pleasing pensive queen of tears. Fair sprite ! thy dove-like angel wings can find The house of woe, and to the sadden'd mind The balmy medicine of peace convey, Till every painful feeling pass away. At the still hour when weary mortals sleep, And in lethean dews the senses steep, SENSIBILITY. 13 When the gaunt wolf forsakes his dark abode, And the pale raoon looks through a silver cloud, Thou lov'st to leave thy seat above the sky, To chase despair from misery's humid eye ; To bid the afflictive throb of care subside. And peaceful pleasures in the heart abide. Lo, where the widow'd mourner lays her head In the deserted solitary bed, Fast down her cheek the beads of anguish fall, Gone is her lord, her life, her love, her all; How sadly wild her tearful bright eyes roll To find the dear lost sov'reign of her soul. Vain search ! alas, sad vacancy is seen Where late appear'd the fair, the noble mien ; Death from thy arms thy tender spouse has torn, And left thee widow'd, hapless and forlorn. Hark ! on her Henry's nmch-lov'd name she calls, The sound re-echoes from the lonely walls ; But, ah, he never never more shall come, His only bed is now the silent tomb. 14 SENSIBILITY. Fast by her side a lovely infant lies, Clos'd are its ruby lips and sparkling eyes ; A smile seems mantling; on its rosy face. And ev'ry limb is cloth'd with seraph grace ; Its mind, as yet, calm as a tideless stream, The blissful mansion of Hope's first-born beam. Thus lull'd, it rests in the soft arms of sleep, Unknowing why a mother wakes to weep ; In vain her heavy eyelids seek repose, Deploring grief forbids them once to close; The dews of sorrow tremble on her cheek. And the poor heart at ev'ry sigh would break : She thinks with anguish on her darling boy, Once the fond promise of long years of joy ; And while she mourns his father snatch'd away, In doleful accents thus begins to say : *' Ah, rest my babe, blest be thine early years, " May no affliction dim thine eyes with tears, ** May Hope thy steps through life's rough path attend, " And never leave thee till the journey end ; SENSIBILITY. 15 '* May'st thou in form be manly as thy sire, " Thy heart like his, the hearts of all acquire ; ** Still sip thou from a full-crown'd cup of bliss, ** Thy saddest hour, thy worst of moments this : " Through night's dim shade the restless couch I flee, '* For, ah, thy mother cannot sleep like thee." Midnight is past, and all is still around. E'en the leaves rest, and hush'd is ev'ry sound ; The screaming night-owl now hath sunk to sleep. And countless glow-worms feeble watch-fires keep ; The church-yard, where repose the village sires, When from earth's prison the freed soul retires, Is now enveloped in a dewy pall Of pearly drops that from night's mantle fall; The gloomy cypress casts a mournful sliade On osier'd graves, where group'd in dust are laid 16 SENSIBILITY. The great and lowly, doom'd in death's domain One common rank and level to obtain. But hark! what noise, what strange unusual sound Echoes so sadly o'er the hallow'd ground ; See where the willow's parting boughs disclose Poor Isabella, victim to her woes ; Adown her shoulders the fair tresses stray, And mingling with the passing breezes play ; Her sorrows talk in the inconstant gale, And Echo moans responsive to her tale. She comes to tell the joyless grave her fears, And pay dead love the tribute of her tears ; She comes to weep beneath the midnight sky, And breathe her troubled soul with ev'ry sigh, To scatter fragrant vi'lets o'er the sod That wraps her lover in his last abode. See as with trembling feet she tracks the gloom, A moon-beam plays upon her Henry's tomb ; Full in her sight it shines, and shows the place Where hope and love expir'd in death's em- brace ; SENSIBILITY. . 17 While on the grave the mourner joys to gaze, And sad remembrance wakes to former days ; Recurring still, these thoughts are always near " Here oft we walk'd, here shed the mutual tear, ** Here, when pale Cynthia in her orbit shone, " And beam'd on each grey monumental stone, " Those paths have heard us sigh forth vows of love, ** And woo its influence in the silent grove." Heart-rending truth ! how her sad bosom heaves, Oppress'd with woe, no solace she receives ; She sees that moon which from the blue-cloth'd skies Mark'd with approving ken their mutual sighs. Now from dark broken clouds a faint ray shed On Henry's urn, on Henry's earth-cold bed ; She hears his dirge sung by each dismal breeze That murmurs fearful through the drooping trees. And in wild accents doth her loss deplore. While Echo answers, " Henry is no more !" c 18 SENSIBILITY. And lo, she throws her arms round Henry's urn, Doom'd in the bitterness of grief to mourn : See from the clear bright fountain of her eye A pearly tear-drop answer ev'ry sigh ; Victim of sorrow ! who shall soothe thy woes, Relieve thy bosom, and its pangs compose ! Can the world charm thee? once each object smil'd, But now, alas, the world's a barren wild. Can heavenly music one sweet sound convey To chase the canker-worm of care away ? Can aught on earth afford thee pleasure now. Or e'en one ray of cheering hope allow ? Alas ! her widow'd soul no joy can taste, All nature seems a solitary waste; From time she looks with care-distracted eyes,. And fain would call her Henry from the skies. Yet while she still directs her view to heav'n, More tranquil moments to her soul are giv'n ; For contemplation, prophet-like, surveys The distant dawnings of far happier days. SENSIBILITY. 19 Sweet Sensibility, thy powr can chann The breast of care, and the poor mourner warm; In hope's delighting page thou bid'st her see The perfect glories of futurity ; 'Tis thine to breathe in her attentive ear " Hush all thy sorrows, banish ev'ry fear, *' Soon shall the sigh be sooth'd, the tear be o'er, " And thou and Henry meet to part no more." Hark! from her honied lips soft music breaks, And pleased Echo listens while she speaks : " Accept, dear shade, while thus with pious care " Garlands of flowers I for thine urn prepare; " Thy Isabella s tears, now sadly due ** To bleeding love, to mem'ry, and to you ; *' Soon shall this woe- worn spirit glide away, *' And love meet love, where joy can ne'er decay." What though the feeling heart must sometimes know, 'Midst rapture's trance, thepoison'd draught of woe; Though the pain'd breast at memory's bitter smart May feel its hopes and joys at once depart : 20 SENSIBILITY. Though Recollection, with a weeping eye, Sees from her ken each fairer prospect fly, And o'er the grave of friendship sadly pines, Till life's dim taper its pale flame resigns ; Yet, oh, ye worldly throng, whose first, last care, Is all for self, who cannot nobly share A brother's anguish, comfort hapless grief, Or to despair's dark spirit bring relief. Think not no joyful sun e'er lends his ray To light the feeling o'er life's thorny way ; Think not your treasur'd gold can ever buy A transport equal to one virtuous sigh. What will't avail you when triumphant death Exhausts the trembling frame of its last breath ? Will all your jewels, lands, and hoarded wealth, Give an hour's respite, or restore lost health? Where then will be your proud, your air-blown schemes, Your plans for greatness, your delusive dreams? All, all will vanish, and the sunk eye see The bubble world with its enchantments flee ; SENSIBILITY. 21 Stinging remorse will ev'ry thought attend, And struggling life in pain and horror end ! But oh ! how diff'rent shall the last hour be Of thy blest vot'ries, Sensibility ! Look where the good man calmly lays his head Upon the pillow of affliction's bed: No pangs remorseful rend his peaceful breast. Death wafts his spirit to eternal rest ; While health and fortune crown'd his destin'd days, His gen'rous deeds secur'd him grateful praise ; His hand convey'd relief, and from his eye Look'd down benignant white-rob'd Charity ; He liv'd for all men, yet a chosen few Of purer worth, he join'd in friendship true. Was he in sorrow, a kind friend would share All his afflictions, and soothe ev'ry care ; Did thy pale visage, poverty, appear. He found relief in sympathy's sweet tear: Lov'd in his life, lamented in his end. His latest sigh was echo'd by a friend : 32 . SENSierLlTY, His parting soul, while sense remain'd, could see Thy unfeign'd sorrow, Sensibility ! And triuraph'd as she left her house of clay. Since thou smil'dst on her as she pass'd away. Are all thy smiles, benignant pow'r, confin'd To letter'd nations, or the polish'd mind ? Ah, no, thy comfort-bearing wings can soar Above the prejudice of learned lore ! Lo, where thy tears imbue the barren sand In the vast forests of Columbus' land, Mark the salt torrent gush from Logan's* eye, And his rack'd soul in starts convulsive sigh. * The person who is here adverted to, and the circumstances connected with his sufferings, are fully described in the following extract from Winterbotham's History of America, vol. i. p. 133, 134. " We may challenge the whole orations of Demosthenes and Cicero, and of any more eminent orator, (if Europe has furnished more eminent,) to produce a single passage superior to the speech of Logan, a Mingo chief, to Lord Dunmore, when Governor of the state of Virginia. The story is as follows ; of which, and of the speech, the authenticity is unquestionable. " In the spring of the year 1774, a robbery and murder were committed on an inhabitant of the frontiers of Virginia by two SENSIBILITY. 23 Well may thy bold breast heave, unhappy chief, Its pangs, alas, can never know relief; The sword of Albion is with blood defil'd, Drawn from the bosom of tliy wife and child ; Indians of the Shawanee tribe. The neighbouring whites, ac- cording to their custom, undertook to punisit this outrage in a summary wa}'. Colonel Cresap, a man infamous for the many murders be had committed on those much-injured people, col- lected a party, and proceeded down the Kanhaway in quest of vengeance. Unfortunately a canoe of women and children, with one man only, was seen coming from the opposite shore, unarmed, and unsuspecting any hostile attack from the whites. Cresap and his party concealed themselves on the bank of the river; and the moment the canoe reached the shore, singled out their objects, and at one fire killed every person in it. This happened to be the family of Logan, who had long been distinguished as a friend of the whites. This unworthy return provoked his ven- geance. He accordingly signalized himself in the war which ensued. " In the autumn of (he same year a decisive battle was fought at the mouth oi the Great Kanhaway, between the collected forces of the Shawanees, Mingoes and Delawares, and a detach- ment of the Virginia militia. The Indians were defeated and sued for peace. Logan, however, disdained to be seen among the suppliants; but, lest the sincerity of a treaty should be dis- trusted, from which so distinguished a chief absented himself, he sent by a messenger the following speech, to be delivered to Lord Dunmore: ' I appeal to any white man to say if ever ho entered Logan's cabin hungry, and he gave him not meat; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clotlifd him not. Duriii.;: 24 SENSIBILITY. Britons, whose souls should be humane as brave, Have doom'd the guiltless to an earlj"^ grave. And is it thus that freedom's sons deface The well-earn'd glories of their honour'd race ? Think'st thou, proud England, that the Indian's heart Without a sigh from its lov'd mate can part? Think'st thou a father shall no sorrows shed Upon the spot where his poor infant bled ? Or that to thee the all- wise will of heav'n A master's pow'r o'er fellow-men has giv'n? the course of the last long and bloody war, Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, Logan is the friend of white men. I had even thought to have lived with you, but for the injuries of one man. Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the rela- tions of Logan, not sparing even my women and children. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it; I have killed many ; I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country, I rejoice at the beams of peace; but do not harbour a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one!'" SENSIBILITY. 25 And wilt thou load the free-born chief with chains, And dye with blood Columbia's fertile plains ? When at the Omnific Word, from chaos rear'd, The earth, the ocean, and the heav'n appear'd When first the lamp of day on high was hung, And the glad planets round their centre sung When first night's empress o'er yon cope of blue The lustre of her borrow'd glory threw ; And the bright host of stars around their queen Lent sparkling charms to her retiring mien, And all the varying forms of matter came With prompt completion to their shape and frame 'Twas the Eternal's will, heav'n's high decree, That man, its earthly semblance, should be free ! Yes, haughty nations ! dreadful from afar, Whose bold bands rush impetuously to war. Whose fearful standard o'er the ocean borne, Frowns ruthless vengeance on a race forlorn. Stop in your high career the time shall come When pitying heav'n shall meliorate their doom ; 26 SENSIBILITY. Virtue shall triumph where oppressors reigii, And Liberty asunder break her chain ; The fetter'd savage shall assert his right, And truth's fair flame dispel his mental night ; O'er his rapt eyes wisdom's mild lights shall roll. And heavenly science shine upon his soul. From golden clouds, in some propitious hour, Justice shall come, inexorable pow'r ! While retribution quickly must await The unfeeling realms who urge the Indian's fate. But when loud Fame to Logan's startled ear Her tidings told, shevv'd his fond partner's bier, Displayed his little son, distain'd with gore. Unwept, unburied, on the lonely shore. How heav'd his breast with wild conflicting woes, What frenzied thoughts of fierce distraction rose ! Stretch'd o'er the dead, he sigh'd his soul away, And in bewailing pass'd the cheerless day : Night came, and burning vengeance fir'd his mind, His black locks harshly murmur'd in the wind ; SENSIBILITY. 2/ Darkness and silence heard the chief complain, Poor Logan wept, but all his tears were vain ! In misty veils the bright stars shunn'd the sight. And the pale moon look'd mournful through the night. But when Aurora chas'd the gloom away, And from his throne beani'd forth the king of day, The chieftain rose; while summon'ckfrom afar, His heroes answering came, and threaten'd war ; On each cold corse he cast his sullen eyes. While these imperfect words came mix'd with sighs *' Oh, friends, if e'er by Logan ye were led, " If ever Logan for his country bled, " Give him the perjur'd Briton to destroy, " And in revenge to taste a dreadful joy : ** Cold is my son, hush'd is Almora's breath, *' Silent they lie in the sound sleep of death ; *' No more her soft arms with a fond embrace *' Shall welcome Logan victor from the chase : " Ah, boy, no more thou'lt fill my heart with bliss, '* While eager climbing for a father's kiss ; 28 SENMBILITY. ** Away with peace ! let furious war alone *' Rule ev ry heart, till my revenge is won." They heard, they stalk'd to fight, they fought, they bled, And chief on chief was number'd with the dead ; Oh, scene of horror ! let the salt tear flow. Your free-born tenants, Indian woods, are low ; The geniuskof the forest long shall mourn Her noble spirits that can ne'er return ; Exempt from danger shall the panther stray. And the fierce lion glare in broad-ey'd day ; For all ! the empty quiver's idly hung, The branches of the wildling oak among, The arrow's pointless, and the bow's unstrung; The gallant hunter winds the horn no more, Silent he lies, all bloody on the shore. Still spar'd by fate, though life he scarce can bear. Poor Logan stands abandon'd to despair; Beholding war his smiling plains deface, And whelm in blood his country and his race. E'en then, brave hero, gen'rous tears could flow, Not for thine own, but for thy people's woe : SENSIBILITY. 29 As o'er the fields the flames of havoc fly. The big drops roll with anguish from his eye ; Yet soon came Sensibility, to cheer His tortur'd heart, and dry his briny tear : Through his sad soul the heav'nly influence glides, Till its wild woes in pensive grief subsides ; And tasting of the hallow she best gives, Logan looks down on trouble, and yet lives; Awhile with humble resignation bears The weary burden of his baleful cares ; Pleas'd with the hope that shortly they shall be Lost in the shade of calm eternity ! Now where the English bands no longer toil'd, But shar'd the plunder, and midst horror smil'd, The warrior came. Fix'd was his heavy look, His listless hand no beamy jav'lin shook, He did not weep, but deeply-seated care Threw o'er his face a melancholy air. " Behold, (the hero said,) behold in me, ' Your past, your present, future enemy; 30 SENSIBILITY. " Though once, ere ruthless murder came to ^ rend " My heart-strings, and the joys of peace to end, y " Log-an by all was call'd * the white-man's friend :' " And I appeal to ye, if e'er in vain " Ye sought of Logan succour to obtain ; ** If e'er he sent you hungry from his cot, " If e'er ye ask'd his aid, and gain'd it not? " When bloody war rag'd in our fields of late, " And brother brother smote with vengeful hate, *' Idle at home I stay'd, imploring peace " From the Great Spirit, that those ills might cease. " With zeal I serv'd you, and my zeal was true, " I even thought to live and die with you ; *' But English hands accurs'd have been defil'd " With the life-blood of Logan's wife and child ; " Hence all his future days with grief are dim, " And nothing but despair is left to him ; " Life is a dreary blank, in none remains " One drop of blood that flow'd through Logan's veins. SENSIBILITY. 31 " Fir'd by these wrongs, revenge alone I sought, ** I found it, and some dreadful deeds have wrought : " And though 'twould much relieve myburden'd breast " To see my bleeding country set at rest, '* Tliink not that Logan cowardice can feel, " For life he would not turn upon his heel ; ** Fear o'er his spirit no cold pall can spread, " The heart of Logan never shook with dread. *' Who is there left that will for Logan mourn *' When he sleeps in the silence of the urn? " Who will deplore his loss when he is gone? " Alas! poor Logan must reply, not one!" The half-form'd sentence trembled on his tongue, The unfinish'd accents on his pale lips hung, He died his sorrows are for ever o'er, Ilis eye shall weep, his breast shall heave no more. Sweet be thy slumber in death's drear abode. Soft pity's tear shall oft bedew thy sod ; 32 SENSIBILITY. The midnight fairy o'er thy tomb shall sing, And modest blue-bells round thy green grave spring. Thus shalt thou rest, while oft thy injur'd shade Receives those rites to patriot virtue paid ; Till call'd by heaven from thy untimely grave, Thou shalt arise amidst th' illustrious brave. And angels shall rejoice to see thee free, Poor Logan, child of Sensibility ! END OF PART I. I^ensitfitltts. PART II. SENSIBILITY. PART II. When the sad mariner from far descries The southern tempest black'ning in the skies, While through the shrouds the howling wild winds roar, And dash the whiten'd billows on the shore ; When all the stars are quench'd in thickest night, And the blue lightnings flash across the sight ; How does his troubled soul in thought survey The found'ring bark, wreck'd on the watery way ! His hopes, his joys, lost in the threatening wave, No succour near, no cheering aid to save. How does thine eye, sad Fancy, then deplore His wife, his children, on a distant shore, 36 SENSIBILITY. A husband and a father doom'd to weep, Entomb'd amidst the rude unpitying deep ! But from heav n's arch should Cynthia's beam appear, A ray of hope illumes the dismal sphere ; His gladden'd eye a brighter prospect sees The storm subsides, but leaves a fav'ring breeze To waft the vessel o'er the yielding main, While hast'ning still the wish'd-for port to gain. Thus when meek virtue, 'mid the storms of life Desponding sinks, unequal to the strife, Sees envy rise and malice dart its sting, Inconstant joys escape on sable wing ; Ah, then how beats, how heaves the troubled breast. What anxious cares expel its wonted rest, Whatmournful prospects fill thegrief-dimm'd eye. While fancy paints fresh woes for ever nigh ! Down the pale cheek the tears incessant flow, And sorrow hangs dejected on the brow ; Thy light, celestial hope, bums dim and pale, And the pain'd soul hovers o'er death's dark vale I SENSIBILITY. 37 111 such an hour, shouldst thou, ethereal guest, Dawn on affliction's woe-benighted breast Shouldst thou, O heav'n-born Sensibility, Comfort the virtuous man in misery Swift as a moon-beam breaks the shade of night, Does thy blest influence fill the soul with light ; Sweet as a moon-beam smiling on the wave, Dost thou look down to guide, to cheer, and save ! So when Jehovah on lov'd Lazarus'* bier Let fall the unearthly, heaven-descended tear, The cold cheek smil'd, the sunk eye op'd again. Corruption fled, and death unlocked its chain ; Earth felt the tear, the present God ador'd. The bursting tomb oonfess'd and prais'd its Lord ! In all the joys that fill the human mind. From boisterous mirth to pleasure more refin'd, Varied gradations still the heart must know, Comfort's calm current and full rapture's flow ; Hope's flame by fits burns dim or heav nly bright, Presents one joy or thousands to the sight ; * John xi. Xi. 38 SENSIBILITY. Now lifts US far above the reach of fear, And now but just restrains the gushing tear; Now buoys us raptur'd from earth's dull abode. And makes the wretched mortal seem a god ; And now in sorrow s hour, the light divine Only at intervals is seen to shine ! So thou, sweet pow'r, hast thy degrees of bliss, From pensive joy to the ecstatic kiss ; Some hearts transported own thy heav'nly reign, While thy blest light on others beams in vain. Lo, Caesar musing on the Rubicon, Exclaims, " The die is cast, the work's begun " Let Janus, now obedient to the fates, *' Unbind his fiends, ope wide his massive gates." Had not ambitious wishes, undefin'd, Then check'd the dictates of a feeling mind ; Had he but heeded what his conscience spoke, Nor doom'd his country to an iron yoke, A free-born Roman ne'er had worn a chain. Nor Pompey bled on Egypt's faithless plain ! SENSIBILITY. 39 Lo, what a conflict in lost freedom's cause, As Brutus strikes for Rome's insulted laws ; On ev'ry stab mark sorrow's dew attend, He hates the tyrant but he loves the friend ; In speechless agony the hero stood. And his tears mingled with great Caesar's blood ! Or look where Pythias from his foamy horse Leaps joyful, to encounter death's keen force ; See Damon tremble while his friend appears, Melt at the sight, and all dissolve in tears : Pythias enraptur'd, his last breath to spend For his lov'd Damon, for his faithful friend ; And Damon in despair denied to save His life's best part, his Pythias from the grave The scene a tyrant of his rage could charm. Melt his stern soul, his cruelty disarm ; Angels came down, their high reward to give. E'en Dionysius cried, " Oh, let them live!" Mark Sensibility wake all her charms, While Damon faints in Pythias' eager arms ; See the tear stream incessant from the eye, Hear the cliok'd voice, the interrupted sigh ; 40 SENSIBILITY. Behold they stand unable to repress The swelling tide of blissful soft distress. O come, fair nymph, thy heav'nly smile bestow. And chase the sad form of intrusive woe ; Ah, lead me where the shade of the brown wood Defends the haunt of pensive Solitude ; Lay me along in some sequester'd glade, Where from the tall rock pours the hoarse cas- cade; Where, borne by Echo from the distant vale. The sheep-bells' music floats upon the gale. And gentle winds, in gratitude prolong The dulcet warblings of the linnet's song : There while the sun's ray, through the beech- boughs seen, "^ O'erstreaks with gold the sweetly smiling green ; Oh, strike thy harp divine, thy silver lyre. And fill my soul with more than mortal fire ; With sounds celestial soothe my throbbing heart, Till ev'ry grov'ling, earth-born care depart : SENSIBILITY. 41 Awake, awake, blest pow'r, thy hallow'd lay. Attune thy chords to move with gentlest sway; Enlarge my soul, and let mild reason find A friend, a brother, in all human kind ; Teach me to scorn the pride of idle state. And only count the virt'ous, truly great; To heal the pain'd heart, wipe the humid eye, Give woe to smile, and hush misfortune's sigh ; And let me by thy mild instructions learn At human woe in ev'ry stage to yeani ! Thrice happy they who from the world remote Find friendship, love and peace, within a cot; Whose humble riches yet enough can spare To comfort mis'ry and compose its care ; Whose hearth can still a place of rest supply To glad the way-worn trav'ler's lonely eye ; Whose simply-furnish'd, yet inviting board, Can still a welcome to the poor afford ; To whom kind heav'n has just sufficient sent To make their days pass on with true content. 42 SENSIBILITY. Blest they whose hearts no greater care can know Than the sweet wish to share another's woe; Who bles% the present hour and that to come, Possess'd of ev'ry happiness in home ; Who, when stern winter spreads his icy wing, Look on as though it were but genial spring ; Unmouru'd the laughing summer flees away. Clear and unruffled is their cloudless day ; Resign 'd they mark the light of youth go down, And coming age assume its silv'ry crown ; Kind hope shall gently soothe .their parting breath, And holy fervour bless their tranquil death. How^ sweet to them when spring's returning ray Bids winter with his blasts to pass away; Calls forth the latent seed to timely birth, And with her grassy mantle decks the earth ! How sweet to them o'er dew-pearl'd lawns to rove, And hear tlie raptur'd iiuisic of the grove; Or wander up some gently sloping hill. At whose green base still winds the crystal rill: SENSIBILITY. 43 There pause with gladden'd wond'ring eye to view The sun's first smile shed o'er an heav'n of blue, That when the glorious king of day appears, They may declare their gratitude in tears: And when the autumn comes, how sweet to share The harvest smile, and ease the reaper's care; When sunk by labour, his tir'd spirits fail. To cheer his honest heart with nut-brown ale : And when the drowsy shades of night descend, To bid his sun-burnt hands their toil suspend. Kindly with added thanks his work to pay. While gladsome to his cot he shapes his way. Ah then, how sweet to hear, devoid of art, The warm expressions of his grateful heart ! Autumn, rich season, brings in kindly hour The ripen'd promise of each vernal show'r; The feeling eye shall view^ her boundless store, And lost in transport, wonder and adore ! Let winter come and shake his icy chains, Still to the virtuous many a joy remains ; 44 SENSIBILITY. How sweet when tempests howl along the sky, And driving snows o'er the heath's bosom fly, To see the crackling fagots light the hearth, Nor heed the gloom that wraps the lab 'ring earth ; Or ope with eager hand the cottage door. And give the pilgrim welcome to its store; Bid with a cheerful voice his woes to cease. And pledge the full-crown'd glass with words of peace ; And when soft slumber would his eyelids close. Attentive lead him to secure repose ! Ah, happy such ! would that the world but knew To prize the course these nobler souls pursue ; Soon should theglitt'ring pomp, the pageant train. From reason's sons no more regard obtain ; All would deem virtue the sole way to find A clear unclouded sunshine in the mind ; Each heart, delighted, then would welcome thee "With heav'nly rapture, Sensibility ! Then peace should reign, wild war forget to rage, And man once more behold a golden age. SENSIBILITY. 45 Look where extended on the bed of death, The wretched father draws his painful breath ; Around his babes, a mournful train appear, Bathing his cold hand with affliction's tear : On the sad spectacle 'tis his to gaze, While hope before his ling'ring eye decays. Oh then, what pangs his tortur'd bosom wrung, While anguish thus broke fault'ring from his tongue " Alas, I leave you, hapless babes, behind, " Ah, where on earth a refuge can you find ! *' No sun shall ever bid your parent rise *' To make joy mantle in your infant eyes; " This woe-exhausted frame can toil no more " To chase intrusive soitow from the door; " My taper's dwindled, life's last heat is fled, " Death's chilling hand lies heavy on my head; '* Soon shall ye see me stretch'd upon the bier, " Forgot the sigh, for ever ceas'd the tear." He could no more, life half forsook his heart. And his paind soul seem'd ready to depart; 46 SENSIBILITY. But pitying heav'n spoke peace to virtue's end, And breath'd it from the kind lips of a friend : Hush'd be thy anguish lo, to ease thy fears, Sweet SensibiHty descends in tears! Hark, what blest sounds soft pity's lips convey To cheer thy parting spirit on its way,- Hear o'er thy children heav'd affection's sigh, And these kind accents softly utter'd nigh : " When life's last breathings from thy lips expire, " Thy babes are mine yes, I will be their sire; " My care shall guide their thoughts in early youth, ' And lead their footsteps in the paths of truth: *' When in thine eye life's beam no longer burns, '* And thy tir'd frame to kindred dust returns, " My care shall scatter roses in their way, '* And chase dark frowning poverty away. " From the sweet dawn of childhood, till the hour " When ripen'd reason shall assert her pow'r, " A father's love shall precepts sound impart, *' And plant the seed of virtue in each heart ; " Till wisdom, pleas'd, a temple there shall find, " And make them bless and ornament their kind SENSIBILITY. 47 ** Wanting no more a parent's mild control, " I shall behold with joy each op'ning soul, " Shall see perform'd the promise hope display 'd, " And ev'ry careful anxious hour repaid. *' Thus shall the tender group, beneath my care, " Abundant fruits of early culture bear, ** And to my glad paternal eye disclose. " The fondest sight on which it can repose; " Through ev'ry path thine offspring I'll attend, ** In life, in death, their father and their friend! " As when a dew-drop, from night's mantle shed, Falls on the drooping vi'let's modest head, The conscious flower forsakes its bed of earth, And from the dust obtains a second birth. So the soft accents of a faithful friend On the sad sire's desponding soul descend ; The glad heart throbs, forgetting>. " I was my father's only pride " In his declining age ; " Alas, he knew no joy beside, " None other could engage. " For ah, he thought, that when for him " Fate should a grave prepare, " His glory was not to grow dim, " But flourish in his heir. * Vain thought! it never can be mine ** His hopes to realize, " The palms of honour I resign, " My proud ambition dies. " Remembrance would recall those hours " Of undissembl'd joy, ** When youth and love in myrtle bowers " The moments did employ. SIR BERTRAND. 145 " Transport and health flush'd m mine eye, " Hope shone where'er I sped ; " But these are gone for ever by, " All earthly joys are fled. " Who rests on earth, Fitzallan, he " Rests on a bending reed, " That from misfortune's storm will flee, " And break in time of need. " My youthful joys appear'd secure, " I saw no danger near; " I fondly thought they would endure, " Nor entertain'd a fear. " But ah, the winter wind of care *' Swept all ray bliss away ; " Consigned my heart to black despair, " And left me here its prey. L 146 SIR BERTRAND. " Scarce eighteen summers had array'd " My frame with manhood's pride, " When, tripping bhthsome from the glade, " A lovely maiden hied. " Swift through my ardent anxious breast, '* A flame unusual ran, " Its subtle pow'r my sighs confess'd, " Ere its full force began. " Fair was the maid whom nature's hand " Form'd in her finest mould ; " With charms, the wonder to command "Of all who did behold. *' In all her actions there was grace, " Virtue her soul enshrin'd ; " Her bosom was the dwelling-place " Of sentiment refin'd. SIR BERTRAND. 147 " In her were those mild beauties seen " That win the raptur'd heart, " Nor e er appear'd upon the green " A fair so void of art. '* Full soon to gain the maiden's ear " My fearful bosom strove, " With wooings Dian's self might hear, " Offspring of real love. " Then did unbidden blushes rise " On my Constantia's cheek ; " The light of love shone from her eyes, ** Which more than words could speak. " There rose a blush that sped my pi'ay'r, " Of feeling kin to mine ; " It whisper'd, * Bertrand, cease thy care, " * Constantia will be thine.' 148 SIR BERTRAND. " Our parents, with approving ken, " Beheld our hearts entwin'd, " And long'd to see the moment when " The nuptial tie should bind. " And soon came round our wedding-day, " When we were call'd to bow " Before the altar, there to pay " The solemn mutual vow. " In bridal habit, rich and fair, " I sought the blooming maid, " But vain I sought, for gloom and care " Were all that I survey 'd. " I ask'd the cause, but none could tell, " All answer'd with a sigh, " That ah, Fitzallan! told too well, " Sad Bertrand's misery. SIR BERTRAND. 149 ** With hasty step, my trembling feet " The castle stairs did clear, " Where, woe of woes ! mine eyes did meet ** Constantia on her bier ! " Heav'n, that a rival would not brook " In treasure so divine, " From earth in haste the virgin took, ** In purer sphere to shine. ** Much did I strive of life to take *' Unwarranted adieu ; " That so the mattock dull might make " For me a dwelling too. " But cruel friends forbade the blow, " And would not let me rest " With my Constantia, freed from woe, *' On earth's maternal breast. 150 SIR BERTRAND. " 'Twas mine to view her pale cold corse, *' So late in beauty first, " Laid in a tomb, while murm'ring hoarse, " The priest cried, ' dust to dust.' " And from that hour, peace hath not been " To Bertrand's bosom known: " Sad mem'ry darkens ev'ry scene, " Peace hath for ever flown. " I bade the plum'd helm on my head *' Its sable honours toss, " While on my heaving breast was spread " The Saviour's blood-stain'd cross. " Resolv'd the trackless deep to roam, " To leave my native shore, " Resolv'd to quit the arms of home, " And never know them more. SIR BERTRAND. 151 " Grief in my father's heart did swell, " I felt his warm embrace, ** As with faint voice he cried, ' farewell, ** ' Thou last of Bertrand's race.* " And oh, farewell, lov'd sire, I cried, *' This meeting is our last; ** The fates our parting now decide, " My destiny is cast. " Such, oh Fitzallan, is the cause ' Why Bertrand's tears are shed, " Such is the woe that slowly draws ** Your Bertrand to the dead." He ceas'd, and well Fitzallan knew How deep his care had fix'd ; He spoke not, but the friendly dew Of mutual eyes was mix'd. 15^ SIR BERTRAND. Lock'd in a strict embrace awhile, The mournful warriors bent, In vain their griefs they would beguile, Each hied him to his tent. And there, disgirded of his mail, Low stretch'd upon the ground, Ceasing his sorrows to bewail, Sir Bertrand slumber found. But scarce were slumber*s poppies thrown Around the warrior's head. When o'er the tent a glory shone. And heav'nly beams were shed. Before the sleeping hero's face A form as angel bright, Cloth'd with unutterable grace, Stood in a blaze of light. SIR BERTRAND. 153 ** Sir Bertrand !" thrice it call'd aloud. Three times it rais'd its voice, The startled chief awoke and bow*d, The vision said, ** Rejoice." ** Be glad, let no intrusive care " Thy valour bold allay ; " But O, Sir knight, prepare, prepare, ** To meet thy dying day ! " To-morrow death thy soul shall wing ** To thy Constantia's bow'r, " Where pleasures, which no harp can sing, *' Await each happy hour!'' He gaz'd, he knew the lovely shade, Constantia's ghost was come, Soft stealing from th' elysian glad. To call her Bertrand home. 154 SIR BERTRAND. Oft with his eager arms he tried The airy form to clasp ; But Fate that ecstacy denied, The shadow fled his grasp. " Ah, why, (he cried,) too charming fair, " Dost thou thy Bertrand scorn?" The phantom vanish'd into air, He felt the dews of morn. The cock, shrill harbinger of day, Was heard across the plain. The glooms of night were chas'd away. The sun return'd again. The hum of either army now Arous'd Sir Bertrand's ear, He plac'd his helmet on his brow, And pois'd his deathful spear. SIR BERTRAND. 155 Then clad with mail from top to toe. With martial air he strode, To meet the misbelieving foe, And conquer for his God. Endow'd with more than mortal might, The bravest of the brave, He mingled in the thickest fight. To gain a victor's grave. Now rose the battle's surly clang, And shield encounter'd shield ; The broken helms of heroes rang On the ensanguin'd field. Rout, and dismay, and ruin fell, O'erwhehn'd the Caliph's host; That day's defeat was his death-knell, Then all his hopes were lost. 156 SIR BERTRAND. High streaming glorious was uprear*d The christian banner bright, While in its lustre disappear'd The crescent's faded light. But where is Bertrand, where is he, Who won the day's renown, Under a wide spread olive-tree. He gasping laid him down ! " Unlace my vizor, faithful friend," He to Fitzallan cried, ** 'Tis well heav'n smiles upon mine end :" He clos'd his eyes and died. Then did his soul, on vic'try's plume, Her flight to heav'n pursue ; While angels did her course illume, To cheer her as she flew. SIR BERTRAND. 157 Thus fell the knight, but now he finds Repose from earthly pain, For an eternal union binds In heav'n the bridal chain. It58 TO LUCY. TO LUCY. Oh, Lucy turn thine ear to me, And ease thy true love's sigh ; In all the world none can there be So lovely to mine eye. Thy presence makes my throbbing heart Glad as the young May-morn ; But, Lucy, when thou dost depart. That heart is left forlorn. No joy without thee can I share, No hope but in thy view ; Then leave me not, thou charming fair, Nor wound a heart so true. TO LUCY. 159 Beside thee could I spend each hour, And chide the short'ning day, While ling'riug in that lonely bow'r, Where love would still delay. Oh tell me, tell me, Lucy dear. Canst thou my suit approve ; And wilt thou kindly lend an ear, And listen to my love? Though few my flocks upon the plain, Though humble be my cot, Would'st thou but bless thy faithful swain^ Content should be thy lot. Another swain may haply rise, Above my low degree ; But, Lucy, none could fix his eyes; With such delight on thee. 160 TO LUCY. Ah, little do I prize that wealth Which anxious folks admire ; With thee, and competence, and health. No more could I desire. My cottage stands beside a wood, My flocks are feeding nigh, A stream of water fresh and good, Is always running by. No fields appear so green and gay. No cot so neat as mine ; Then, Lucy, come and let me say These fields and cot are thine. ADELINE. 161 ADELINE ait Clrgu. W HY do the maidens look so pale ? Why in their beauty do they pine ? Ah, know you not the bitter tale? They mourn their sister Adeline. Oh, she is gone, the sweetest fair That e'er in bloom of youth appear'd ; What damsel could with her compare. By gentle graces so endear'd ! And she can never more return, Cold in the tomb the maid must sleep; And therefore does the village mourn, And therefore does the village weep. M 162 ADELINE. To the dark grave with worms to dwell, We saw her borne beneath the pall ; And heard, as toll'd the passing bell. The earth upon her coffin fall. We rais'd her tomb with many a sigh, Under a willow it appears ; And sympathy is often nigh, To consecrate the sod with tears. And still with each returning Spring, To deck her lowly sod be ours ; And often thither will we bring. Sweet wreaths of newly-gather'd flowers. With summer garlands too we'll twine The simple stone that tells her name ; This tribute does poor Adeline From all her village sisters claim. ADELINE. 163 And ever when the Sabbath-bell Invites us to the house of pray 'r, Passing her grave, each breast shall swell With sighs of undissembled care. Nor will we leave the humble urn, Till recollection shall restore Th' endearing virtues which we mourn. That plcas'd so oft, but please no more. Light be the earth upon thy breast, And green the turf, thou lovely maid ; Nor let one ruder breeze molest The flow'rets on thy bosom laid ! Thy name shall dwell in ev'ry heart, That purest worth has learn'd to prize ; And though on earth no more thou art, Thy fond remembrance never dies. 164 LADY ROSABEL LADY ROSABEL. A WAS night, aiKl cold breezes were dismally blowing", And the heav'ns were moonless and starless too; When fair Rosabel, her tears fast flowing, Did mark with light footstep the forest dew. That ladys dim eye did her anguish betoken, That lady's dim eye did her grief bespeak, As she sigh'd from a heart by sorrow broken, And as tear-drops bedew'd her beautiful cheek. " Alas, alas," said the sorrowful maiden, *' There is none to pity poor Rosabel, " ]\or feel for the woes with which she is laden, " The woes which no tongue but her own can tell. LADY ROSABEL. 165 " In the glen, by many a sliarp spear wounded, " These eyes have iinagin'd the fatal spot, ** By the toils of a treach'rons foe sur- rounded, " In the sleep of death lies Sir Launcelot. " I saw my true knight, when the new day was dawning, *' All lovely in youth, like a hunter drest, '' But the sun that beheld him so gay m the morning, " Saw, at eve, the death-wound of his manly breast. *' He left nie thus blithsome, with rapture I listend, *' AVhile fondly lie promis'd a speedy return; ^ Yet at parting the tear-dro[) of agony glisten'd^ t' Sad presage that soon oer his fate I should mourn." 166 LADY ROSABEL. * I go, love," he said, " to the duu-colonr'd forest, " To ehase through the wild woods the fleet- footed roe, " And returning at eve, ev'ry hart I have harass'd, " On thee, as a pledge of my love, I'll bestow. " My hunting shall end at the twilight hour, " Expect my return at the close of day; " Await me, lov'd fair, in the myrtle bow r, " Where the mountain-stream scatters its hoary spray." *' But the hour of returning shall ne'er come to him, " On the brands of assassins my true love has bled; " The day-star of hope at its zenith grows dim, ** The grave of the knight is my bridal bed." LADY ROSABEX. 167 So Rosabel spoke, while the north wind was blowing, And the planets in sorrow their lustre withdrew, And still from her bright eye salt tear-drops were flowing, The wound of her Launcelot's breast to bedew. But when the first light of the new day was dawning, She was found in the glen by Sir Launcelot's side; Unable to view the blest beams of the morning, She sunk in her woes a disconsolate bride. 168 THE APPROACH OF WINTER. raE APPROACH OF AVINTER. Jb AREWELL,yesmilirigSummermonths,farewell, The Winter comes with his delightless train ; No notes of music in the hreezes swell, In discord harsh the feather'd tribes complain. Bare are the woods, the groves, the forests too, JVo rest affording- for the plumed throng ; Mute is the lark, the doves no longer coo, The linnet ceases his harmonious song. The annual visitant, the cuckoo, flies Beyond the rigours of the cheerless hour, And timely seeks, inmore congenial skies, To shun the rage of rude Boreas' pow'r. THE APPROACH OF WINTER. 1(J9 The swallow tribes assembled too prepare To journey far from these our sea-girt isles, And migrate gladly thro' the trackless air, To lands where bounteous Summer ever smiles. Ah, might I gain the pinions of the dove, To waft my gladden'd spirit on her flight, Soon would I flee away, and soar above A w orld still darken'd by aftliction's night. Hark, in the copses that to wildness run, I hear the fowler ply his cruel trade; His prey, the woodland choristers, anon Must fall unpity'd in their native glade. In ev'ry wind that blows, the wither'd leaves Fall frequent from the dry and sapless boughs; The humid earth the faded green receives, And all the prospect nature's ruin shows. 170 THE APPROACH OF WINTER. The pastures have their verdant cov'ring lost, The scanty herb, the flocks complaining crop, Pomona's pleasurable reign is past, And from the vine the last ripe clusters drop. The paradise of Flora is laid waste, And not one solitary flow'r is seen, Of all that lately emulative grac'd The auburn tresses of their beauteous queen. The yellow crocus and the crimson rose, Blue-bell, and violet of purple hue. No longer to the breeze their sweets disclose. Nor to the eye their vary'd colours shew. The lily, that majestic flow'r is dead. And wither'd are the honey-suckle twines, Each grace, each charm of the parterre is fled. The garden its last honours now resigns. THE APPROACH OF WINTER. Hi E'en the bright verdure of creation's dress, Sear'd by the north, a jaimdic'd hue doth wear, And looks like youthful beauty in distress. Or friendship weeping upon friendship's bier. Save that the hardy pines, the rage defy Of brumal tempests in their own domain, And tow'ring in full vigour to the sky, Their verdant mantle thro' the year maintain. Save that amidst the Alpine hills are seen, Unnumber'd plants that mock th' inverted year. And gaily dizen'd in their vivid green, Make April in November bleak appear. Save that secur'd from ev'ry wintry wind, The shrubbery its beauty still displays, And, as if fann'd by Summer breezes kind, Still boasts each bloom and flow'r of Summer days. 172 THE APPROACH OF WINTER. No more the bee industrious at his toil, Pursues his flight upon transparent wing, Each bud of its rich nectar to despoil, And to his hive tlie sweets of Summer bring. The insect tribes have frolick'd out their hour, No more they gambol in the fervid ray. Nor while unclouded skies their radiance pour, Unto the solar beam their wings display. The fopling butterfly no longer shines A gaudy rambler through the meadows fair; His variegated raiment he resigns, And shrinks beneath the cold and piercing air. Ah, thoughtless race! no more ye sip the dew Aurora sprinkles on the op'ning rose; No more the blushes of the morn ye view, Or in the cowslip's fragrant bell repose. THE APPROACH OF WINTER. J 73 No more ye revel 'mid the orchard blooms, Nor track the flow Vets in the glitt'ring vale, Your frolics cease amidst the Winter glooms, Your hum no longer fills the ev'ning gale. Instructive emblem this of human life, That still would grasp the roses of delight, When misVy comes, and care, and pain, and strife. And disappointment, all our hopes to blight. Short are the days; the pleasing light in vain With genial beam illumines nature's face; Soon fades the morn, and dreary night again Blots from the prospect ev'ry ling'ring grace. Thro' vaj>ours dense the sun is seen to shine. Faint and inoperative are his rays; He hastes from his meridian to decline, Pleas'd in another hemisphere to blaze. 174 THE APPROACH OF WINTER. No purpling glories mark the close of day. But sullen shadows veil the landscape round, Nor does the west with gorgeous light display The sun immergiug in the vast profound. Slovt^ comes Aurora, as she would refuse To view that world her presence cannot cheer ; Her tresses are no longer gemm'd with dews That bright on ev'ry sparkling shrub appear. The morning comes not in its wonted pride. No woodland carols hail the gladsome hour ; Abrupt it breaks thro' one black vapour wide, While at the sight each object seems to lower. The bosom of the vale, with hoar frost bright, Reflects the lustre of the solar beam ; And with innumerous icy dew-drops dight, Glitters a moment with a silver gleam. THE APPROACH OF WINTER. 175 Keen blows the wind amidst the forest bare, The ancient woods remurmur to the blast ; Dismantled now, the scene is dull and drear. The season gay of vegetation past. Fast from the frowning sky the show'rs descend, And in a deluge wild the beating rain ; The mountain-streams from field to field extend, And nameless rivers saturate the plain. Autumn has smil'd its last, and Winter stern, From polar regions does in anger hie, While earth's maternal breast becomes the urn, Where all her short-liv'd offspring buried lie. From hills and dales responsive echoes swell. As their rough lurid torrents foam along; But now the glade or deep sequester'd dell, Returns no more the dulcet warbler's song. 17G THE APPROACH OF WINTER. There comes a voice in ev'ry breeze that blows, A warning voice which says, or seems to say, " Mortal, as withers Summer's fragrant rose, " So youth, and strength, and beauty, must decay !"' For thus as Autumn with her bounteous train, To Winter's rigors leaves the mournful year, Will manhood yield to its progressive wane. And death arrest e'en ere we think it near. Yet shall the winter of old age pass o'er. And spring return beyond this gloomy scene ; Where only for the virtuous 'twill restore Fields that ne'er fade, and vales for ever green. THE FLOWER GIRL. 177 THE FLOWER GIRL. i'M poor, and my friends are all dead, Nor mother nor father have I, Cold charity finds me in bread, And thus as I wander I cry, Sweet lavender ! I'm sad, and no comfort is mine, I'm tir'd, and no home have to rest, In sorrow neglected I pine, No orphan was e'er so distressed. Sweet lavender ! 178 THE FLOWER GIRL. Ill vain through the day do I grieve, While taking my rounds as you see; The folks that are rich ne'er relieve Or pity a poor girl like nie. Sweet lavender! Cold, cold blows the winterly wind, The heavy rain beats on my head ; Oh, when, in the grave shall I find A home with my friends that are dead ; Sweet lavender! Oh, soon let that time come, I pray, That time which will happiness bring, When no more with sad heart I shall stray, When no more with sad voice I shall sing. Sweet lavender! to LAURA. 179 TO LxiURA. i^AY, Laura, wilt thou never smile, And must thy shepherd sigh in vain, Shall hope his sorrows ne'er beguile, Still must he suffer and complain ? Oh, shall thy Colin, cruel fair ! The bitterness of anguish feel. And heedless of bis tender pray'r. Wilt thou refuse his woes to heal? No longer can his tortur'd breast Such agonizing pangs endure, And death must hush its griefs to rest, Since death alone such griefs can cure. 180 TO LAURA. There's nought on earth can ever ease The torments caus'd by thy disdain ; My heart, consum'd by swift degrees, Shall break, and never throb again. Those pleasures which could charm before, Have now lost all their gay delight ; No pleasures can lost peace restore, Since, Laura, thou couldst Colin slight. If to the shades of solitude, In silence musing, I repair, A lover's thoughts Mall soon intrude, For Laura's image meets me t};ere. If I attempt, my secret woo Amidbt the busy crowd to lose; Alas, more keen my tortures grow, nisdainful l>anra still pnrsufs. TO LAURA. 18! Nor morn, nor eve, nor silent night, Brings aught to sooth the deep-felt flame, For ev'ry hour before my sight Relentless Laura is the same. See, Laura, how thy shepherd pines, His joyous spirit gins to fail, Timeless his May of life declines. His youthful cheek is wan and pale. Colin, who first upon the green Tlie village gambol would inspire, No more to lead the dance is seen, Or mirthful wake the rustic Ivre. But now, adown the willow grove 1 sadly bend my silent way, T'.idulginj:; that renjorscltss love, To which I soon must fall a prey. 182 TO LAURA. Anon disdainful Laura shall Behold her shepherd cold and dead; His coffin cover'd with the pall, The dark grave made his bridal bed. Then, haply, wilt thou seek the urn Where this too faithful heart is laid; Repent thee of thy cruel scorn, And mourn the victim it has made. Lasting as life my love shall be. Thy image I will ne'er resign ; In life, dear maid, I'll live to thee, In death, my blessings shall be thine. HAPPINESS. 183 HAPPINESS. O Happiness, thou stranger guest, Desir'd of ev'ry human breast, Where is it thou dost dwell ; In rooms of elegance and state, Where luxury and splendour wait. Or in the hermit's cell ? Lovst thou the vale with daisies pied, Or art thou better satisfied, In courts to choose thy lot? Dost thou admire high sounding praise, Or wilt thou rather pas# thy days In the sechuled cot ? 184 HAPPINESS. Dost thou thy sonnets love to sing, To ear of emperor or king, Neglectful of the swain? Or dost thou rather strike thy lyre Amidst the simple shepherd choir. Where peaceful virtues reign ? Art thou accustom'd to appear Where vanity in sportful gear Shines 'mid the gamesome hall? Or art thou, maiden, oft ner seen With cheerful rustic on the green. Beside the waterfall? Dost thou delight to mingle where The noble and the great prepare Their revels gay to hold ? Or dost thou tune thy magic reed. On sunny bank, in clover mead, Amid the bleating fold ? HAPPINESS. 18^ Wilt thou caress ambitious fools, Or smile upon the titl'd tools That would in courts be blest? Or wilt thou wave thy wings around The brow with homely biggin bound, And sooth the poor to rest? May we thy rosy cheeks behold, Thy snowy breast, thy locks of gold, O, joy-dispensing queen ! Where humble innocence appears, Passing its calm and tranquil years In some sequester'd scene? Or art thou in the palace Icnown, Attendant on the royal throne, Where monarchs take their place ; Wouldst thou the kingly sceptre bear, And with the star and ribbon fair, Thy fairer bosom grace ? 186 HAPPINESS. O, Happiness, thou rt not confiu'd To any spot, or any mind, But to the good alone; "Where virtue is, thou lov'st the while To shed around thy cheering smile, And make that spot thine own. The bed of straw, the couch of down, Poor beaver, and imperial crown, Alike thy presence know; Thou canst delight the beggar's dream, And with hope's joy-inspiring beam Illume the cloud of woe. Thou art not in the miser's hoard. Nor dost preside at lux'ry's board. Dispensing favours vain; But by some cheerful country hearth. Communicating harmless mirth, Thy sway thou dost maintam. HAPPINESS. 187 Beauty, authority, and fame, Wealth, and the splendours of a name, Fair nymph, repel thee not ; If higher graces clothe the mind, If in the bosom thou dost find, No foul polluting spot. With freshest garlands thou'lt entwine The canopy of virtue's shrine, For there thou dost abide ; The wreaths that crown the good and wise. Attract the smiles of thy bright eyes; Their honours are thy pride. No trophies e'er can please thy ken, When they are won by worthless men. The wages of ill deeds ; From such in scorn thou turn'st away, To view thy vot'ries, poor but gay, Though clad in homely weeds. 188 HAPPINESS. Idly we toil in quest of thee, Our toil can never ended be. While we desire to gain Objects that glitter in the sight, And dazzling with illusive light, Are ever sought in vain. Bootless thy flight we shall pursue, Thy charms will never bless our view. Though sought from pole to pole; But to the mind thou present art, Thy sanctuary is in the heart, Thy palace is the soul. Madly for thee we dangers brave, And plunge amidst the threat'ning wave. Where we must sink at last; Thy home is in the tranquil vale, Where ne'er is heard a stormy gale, Or wild tempestuous blast. HAPPINESS. 189 The farmer thou dost often tepd, When he at eve does homeward wend, A soft repose to share ; Thou spread st his table, plain but neat, And raak'st each country cate seem sweet, Dispelling all his care. Thou sport'st the artless train among) The while to share a kiss they throng Abovit the father's knee; Breathing jiweet music in his ear, And drawing from his eye a tear, A tear of ecstasy. Thou oVr the cradle wav'st thy wings, And while the tender mother sings, To hu.sii her babe asleep, Dost bid her hope in future years, That she for all her anxious fears A full reward shall reap. 190 HAPPIJJESS* Alas, too soon from dreary time, Thou fliest to a better clirae, And man thy light survives ; Guilt quickly dims its sacred spark, And woe and sorrow render dark The colour of our lives. From the first dawn of early life We labour still, with anxious strife, To find thy dwelling-place ; But mortals oft self-blinded stray In error to their dying day. And never see thy face. The wise, the simple, rich and poor, Alike with eagerness explore The way to thy abode ; But by ungovem'd passions led, Remote from all thy haunts they tready And still mistake the road. HAPPINESS. 191 But let the man who hopes to win Tliy evVy blessing, look within, Exploring his own mind ; If virtue there be found to reign, Unspotted, pure, without a stain, With hers thv charms he'll find. And if we seek with thee to rest, O thou belov'd of ev'ry breast, Virtue our guide must be ; Then we shall see thy palace fair, And be delighted dwellers there, Through an eternity! 192 THE GRAVE OF OTWAY. THE GRAVE OF OTWAY, Kjolt> lies the tomb's greensward upon thy head, Cold falls the snow-drop on thy lonely bier; My heart is sad, O Otway, while I shed Upon thy lowly grave an artless tear! Ah, when shall merit meet its due reward, Ah, when shall genius wipe her humid eye; How long will fortune from her train discard The sons of song of heav'n-born poesy? How long shall modest unassuming worth, Neglected pine amidst a world of care ; How long shall hope be blighted at its birth, And leave the wretch unnumber'd woes to share? THE GRAVE OF OTWAY. 193 How long shall pride with scornful glances view The last vain efforts of th' aspiring" mind, Nor heave one sigh, nor with one tear bedew The grave where genius sleeps in death resign d. Bard of the passions ! gentle Otway, say. Was penury, neglect and sharac% thy doom; In life's meridian didst thou pass away, Thy wrongs and suft 'rings ending in the tomb? Ah, hapless bard, too short was thy career, No tender bosom like thine own could feel, Or in the hour of thy distress appear To sooth the woes thy pride would fain conceal. Not all thy tuneful numbers could avail To charm the fatal canker-worm of grief, Not all the poet's magic could prevail To thy desponding soul to bring relief. Q 194 THE GRAVE OF OTWAY. Alas ! the plaintive tones of thy sweet lyre Bespeak too well the wretched minstrel's lot, Sad fancy sees him in his woes expire, His fate unpity'd, and his worth forgot. \ : . . . I hear thy anguish in Monimea's sighs, I see thy grief in Belvidera's tears, And thy soul's indignation in thine eyes, While anger's lightnings flash from dauntless Pierre's, Thus while you call us to the mimic scene, To grace with tears the characters you drew, Your own sad fate awakes our sorrows keen, Your own dis;tress is present to our view. Thy pensive muse her songs of sorrow wove From incidents too deeply felt by thee ; And ah, they most the breast of pity move. Who sadly frequent taste of misery. THE GRAYS OF OTWAY. 159 Ah, few and full of trouble were thine hours, The paths of pleasure thou didst seldom tread ; The syren Hope for thee ne'er cuH'd sweet flow'rs, Her fragrant garlands never crown'd thine head. Thine was the harp of sorrow, and thy woes In feeling's dew thy magic pen did steep ; Hence while the tear of thy sad mourner flows, We feel the poet's agony, and weep. Ah, was there not in that ungrateful day A single heart that could thy feelings own, That could admire thy soul-subduing lay, And fly to cheer thee, cheerless and alone ? And would the rich no timely aid afford. And would the noble no assistance lend, Nor grandeur once unlock its teeming hoard. Genius in its distresses to befriend? 196 THE GRAVE OF OTWAY. No, Otway died unfriended and unraourn'd ! (Blush ! Britain, blush ! and veil thy face for shame,) Though haply now raid deathless wreaths inurn'd, Th' unconscious heir of never-ending fame ! But what avails this vain posthumous praise? Can Otway in the grave our plaudits hear. Or will the injur'd minstrel wear the bays. Which now would idly decorate his bier? Yet shall the feeling mind delight to pay Its tributary sorrows o'er thine urn, And oft the votary of the muse delay His steps, awhile upon thy sod to mourn. While with a sigh he cries, ** A long adieu, ** May peace attend thy venerated shade; " Sweet Bard of fancy, and of feeling true, *' In heav'n alone can thy desert be paid !" SONGS. 197 SONG. A ho' 'tis winter, mirth and joy Scorn not with us to abide, While we thus the hours employ By a cheerful fire-side. Rude December chides without, Storms arise and cold winds bloW; But there's peace within our hut. Such as guileless bosoms know. On the humble roof of thatch Fast the snowy fleeces fall, And rude breezes lift the latch As they sweep the whitened wall. 198 SONGS. Sooth to say, the world abroad Dreary is and comfortless, Laughing pleasure seems outlaw'd, Nature wears a dismal dress. But the innocent delights Which this social circle charm, Gild the gloom of winter nights, And atone for cloud and storm. Yes, the blameless joys we share Without ostentation gay, In oblivion hide each care, And December seems like May. SONGS. 199 SONG. At the dead of thenight, by the cold moon-beam, III eartli often wash'd by the salt sea billow, While in each sad eye the big tear-drops did teem, Our soldier was laid on the soldier's pillow. We hollow'd his grave in the silence of woe, At the loss of our chief we were all heavy-hearted, Yet there raov'd not a lip, nor could a tear flow- On the motionless corse of the hero departed. No priest in his ministVing garment was there. To pronounce the last rites, as our leader we bury'd. Yet in sighs we repeated a fervent prayV, While the warrior we niournVl, to his cold bed was hurrvd. *iOO SONGS. He had neither a shroud nor a winding-sheet. And coffinless under the green sod we laid hira. But his rest on the spray-cover'd shore will be sweet, As tho' in the garb of the tomb we array'd him. We rais'd no memorial over his grave, To marble or brass committing his story ; He needed no record, a hero so brave, His virtues will live in the light of his glory ! SUNDAY. 201 SUNDAY. ^ ow six laborious days are gone, The Sabbath-bells are tolling, With many a spirit-thrilling tone. To pray'rs and praises knoUing. With gladden'd eyes the village see The welcome season dawning, Put on their Sunday-clothes with glee, And hail the sacred morning. 2^ SUNDAY. Each blooming lass is proud to wear Her newest gown and bonnet, While dames of three-score w hisper near, And moralize upon it. Jocund of heart they seem, in sooth. Stout Will now 'squires his INannie, Bald sev'nty takes the arm of youth, The prattler leads his grannie. Oh, 'tis methinks, a pleasant sight, When neighbours thus are meeting. When ev'ry countenance is bright. And smiles with smiles are greeting. Thrice welcome is the day of rest, To them a cheerful season ; Devotion fills each glowing breast, But 'tis the fruit of reason. SUNDAY. 203 And as they leave the house of pray'r, The solemn service ended, They to their humble homes repair, With hearts and morals mended. And when at home each breast dilates With joys that have no measure, And each his ev'ning consecrates To calm domestic pleasure. 204 TO MY DOG. TO MY DOG. yj Tray ! for many a weary mile We've travell'd on together, Content with fortune's frown or smile. Life's fair or squally weather. And often has affliction made The bonds of friendship sever; But thou, poor Tray, it must be said, Wert faithful to me ever. TO MY DOG. 20i> The world has mock'd my tatterVl dress, When spent was my last shilling, But to thy master, in distress, Thou still wert kind and willing. The very brother of my heart With scornful tongue has chided, Porgot to act a brother's part, And all mv woes derided. But thon, poor Tray, with anxious zeaL If e'er I seem'd in trouble, My anguish as thine own didst feel. And each attention double. In poverty I found thee true, As when my hopes were smiling. And as each sad misfortune grew, Wert thou its force beguiling. 206 TO MY DOG. In sorrow join'd, we wander'd long^ And, haply, long shall wander, But in the world's deceitful throng I ne'er shall find one fonder. Through life thou'lt serve me, faithful Tray, And bear each sad disaster, And when I in my grave decay, Die moaning for thy master. SONG. 207 SONG. Assemble, ye village girls, listen to me. To the voice of a rude country minstrel attend ; To listen, fair maids, an advantage may be, The minstrel, believe me, would still be your friend. Love is sweet as the rose in the gay month of June, But alas, like the flowV it has many a thorn; It smiles like a flow'r in the radiance of noon, But quickly for all its gay blooms it shall mourn. Love approaches in smiles; in its way youth and joy The riches of Flora with lavish hand strew; But bliss-blighting troubles its charms oft destroy, \nd impress on its cheeks the wrinkles of woe. 208 SONG. I've seen, in my time, many a beautiful lass Droop and fade like a lily surcharged with rain, When hapless, in love, all their wisiies, alas, Were nipt in the bud, ne'er to blossom again. Then beware! maids, beware! if ye value your peace. Of love, and approach not its soul-thrilling fires. Its hours of enjoyment too shortly Avill cease. Its season of rapture too quickly expires. Then ponder, young lasses, ere yet ye believe The vows of your lovers; be counsell'd, and tarry Till silver-hair'd time the suit shall receive, And prudence give passion a license to marry. THE BATTLE. 209 THE BATTLE. Wake, thou ancient, hallow'd lyre, That o'er Alpine's tomb art hung, Let thy noblest strains aspire. Let thy choicest strings be strung-. Urchin that in midnight dance, Welcomest king Oberon, Take thy vapour-painted lance, Put thy moonshine garment on. Nymphs and Dryads of the wood. Bend on us a fav'ring eye, We have woo'd with vital blood, Your lov'd partner, Liberty. 1' 210 THE BATTLE. Genius of the forest hoar, Who in shades dost take delight, Weep thy country's shame no more, Scotia now asserts her right. Gloomy and cheerless rose the day, ' As though prepar'd to mourn, The carnage which it must display. Ere night at Baunockburn. For in that warlike field did shine Of arms a fearful throng; Of scythed cars a threat'ning line, With footmen brave and strong. There Scotland boldly shew'd her face, Then rough with many a scar, And firmly in her destin'd place. Did wait the call to war. THE BATTLE. 21 1 While England, proud of heart and vain, By her young- Monarch led, Did seek to rivet Scotland's chain, And rule her as her head. Thr^e times upon his full-orb 'd shield, King Robert struck his spear, His trumpets summoned the field, That all the host might hear. Then to address his hardy band, Beneath an ancient oak, He for a moment took his stand, And thus the warrior spoke. " Bold heroes, that in many a fray " I've led to victory, '* What need has Robert Bruce to say, " That we must win or die? 212 THE BATTLE. " Oh, then, by ev'ry precious right, ** Wliich sacred is to all, " Avenge your country in the fight, " Or as her champions fall. " And lo ! the spoilers of the realm, " Who brought its power so low, " Our last remaining hopes would whelm, " Nor truce nor mercy shew. ^' Then if you prize your glories past, *' Be now as ever brave; ' Remember, we the die must cast, " For freedom or the grave." He ceas'd, and instant shouts were heard, And many a broad-sword blush'd ; Each Scot a death-day prayV preferr'd, And lo the battle rush'd. THE BATTLE. 213 Then war did break his massive gates, The deathful strife began, The air grew dark with feather'd fates, And blood in torrents ran. No stop, no stay, no pause was giv'n, Still did the fray proceed, The mail of many a knight was riv'n, And many a knight did bleed. Like to a god, the ranks before Upon a charger fleet, Lord James of Douglas rode, and bore The royal standard sheet. A path for his great sovereign With fateful axe he hew'd, Its wounds with blood of Englishmen The groaning earth l>edew\l. 214 THE BATTLE. Sir Reignald of the South was near, An honourable knight, He marked Lord Douglas' wild career. Indignant at the sight. He stamp'd his foot, and grasp'd his sword, And thus aloud did cry, " Defend thyself, thou gallant Lord, ' For one of us must die." So saying, he a noble blow Aini'd at the foeman's crest ; The weapon err'd, and glancing low, Enter'd his manly breast. Then from his silver corslet pale The vital tide did break. Staining his polish'd coat of mail With many a crimson streak. THE BATTLE. 215 But rising in his stirrups, he His battle-axe did lift, The weapon lighting speedily, Sir Reignald's vizor cleft. The plumed helm in twain was broke, The lofty warrior fell. He groan'd, but never more he spoke, That groan was Reignald's knell. In pain Lord Douglas drew his breath, And fell from off his steed ; His yeomen bold, their leaders death In his dim eye might read. With eager hands the standard sheet Unto his heart he press'd, Then with a smile his end did meet, And calmly sunk to rest. 2 Id THE BATTLE. Meantime the conq'ring strength of Bruce Was matchless in the field, His country from her chains to loose, And make her tyrants yield. And who appear'd to meet his rage, Or on his sword advance? Who with the monarch would engage, And prove his fatal lance? Could England and her stripling king The tide of vict'ry stay ; Unplume the Bruce's eagle-wing, Or once its course delay ? No England's noblest chiefs were dead, And destin'd for the grave; Her stripling king had basely fled, A worthless life to save. THE BATTLE. 217 Xhen vict'ry look'd from clouds of gold, On the ensangnin'd plain, Her laurel crown'd the conq'ror bold, The knight without a stain. And long shall Scotland bless that day, And long shall England mourn The woeful fight, the fatal fray, That chanc'd at Bannockburn. 218 THE TOURNAMENT. THE TOURNAMENT. Jd URL the blood-stain'd standard sheet. Stay the swift-wheel'd iron car, Bind the spear with myrtle sweet, Doff the crested hehn of war. All thy terrors put aside, Caledonia, come away; Quit awhile thy martial pride- Keep a jocund holiday. THE TOURNAMENT. 219 Shepherds of the mountain high, Shepherds of the valley low, Lay each trusty broad-sword by, And unbend each tough yew bow^ Lads and lasses weep no more. Let the sob of sorrow cease. War, the bane of love, is o'er; Sing with me the song of peace. King Robert messengers did send Unto his nobles all, That they to Holyrood should wend, Obedient at his call ; To hold a day of merriment, Welcom'd as knights should be, With masque and solemn tournament, And choice of revelry. 220 THE TOURNAMENT. Proud of their sovereign's command, With willing hearts they came, Each bold thane leading by the hand His well-beloved dame. The raarshall'd lists of strife were set, Where knights their sport might make, The royal company were met, AVhen thus the herald spake : " Brave Scottish chiefs of high renown, * This day your prowess show, *' That all your wondrous strength may own, "And all your valour know. ** The victor this emblazon'd shield " Triumphantly shall wear; " Which oft in many a well-fought field ** King Robert us'd to bear." THE TOURNAMENT. 221 The herald said, and from the crowd, With a disdainful look, There came a knight with challenge loud, AVhile he his gauntlet shook. ** Stand forth," he cried, '* the fearless man *' Who dares my wrath to stay ; " Stand forth, who chooses Earl Arran ** To be his foe this day." Scarce had he spoke, when void of fear, A chief in armour white, With bold demeanour did appear. To claim the threaten'd tight. '* The fearless man you sought, behold! " Nor may'st thou, earl, disdain *' To break a lance in coniiict bold " With youthful Alianbane " 222 THE TOURNAMENT. They parly'd not, for in the rest Their gleaming spears were plac'd, That seem'd athirst from each bold breast, With life-blood to be cas'd. Earl Arran's whizzing through the air, Pass'd o'er the foeman's head, Deep in the earth it fix'd, and there Its idle fury sped. But Allanbane's, true to its mark, The earls rich corslet burst, Distahi'd with blood his armour dark, And laid him in the dust. " Yield thee, brave earl!" the victor cried, " The prize is now my due;" " I yield," the vanquish'd chief repliec , And with a frown withdrew. THE TOURNAMENT. 223 Full many a champion sought the fight, The buckler to obtain ; But ah, unhappy was the knight Tliat strove with Allanbane. Up from his seat the king did rise His favour to award, And give the conqueror his prize, The well-achiev'd reward. " Fair sir," " said he, " thine arm has won " No scanty share of fame ; *' Long may thy sire enjoy a son ' That well deserves his name. " Take, Allanbane, the meed of praise, * Thine may it ever be, " 'Tis grateful such desert to raise, * As I behold in thee." 224 THE TOURNAMENT. So spake the king; the herald swift To Allaiibane convey'd The shield, that eiivy'd royal gift, . With laurel overlaid. But this was not the only joy His triumph did secure, His was the sigh of ladies coy. And smile of dames demure. To him a thousand favours gay. And gayer looks were giv'n; On him that fair one's eyes did play, In which he sought his heav'n. But now the trumpet did invite Unto the festive hall, Where ev'ry bosom found delight, And pleasure smil'd on all. THK TOURNAMENT. 225 The swords aiul battle-axes keen Lie harmless on the floor, Each champion smooth'd his rugged mien, And talk'd of war no more. " Strike! strike! my minstrels," cried the king, " The care-dissolving lyre; " And you, my pages, goblets bring, ** The minstrels to inspire." Then many a lord and lady fair Join'd in the merry dance, And lost were youth and beauty there, In rapture's blissful trance. I ween, the morning from the skies Did look with early light. Ere weary were the sparkling eyes Which shone that festive night. Q 226 THE TOURNAMENT. And when they left gay Holyrood, Their Iiearts were blithe, I trow, No bosom rais'd th' erabroider'd snood That own'd a throb of woe. But ere they did their steps retrace. They blest their royal host, The terror of the southern race, And happy Scotland's boast. FA RE W ELF.. 227 FAREWEI.L Jl he winds distend llie inilk-wliite sails, Tlie seamen bless the welcome g^ales, Which f would Ihin repel, Since I no longer can delay, In accents chok'd by sighs, to say, Farewell, mv love, farewell. Conipell'd by (die severe, I roam Far from the sacred joys of home, Jm foreign climes to dwell ; And I must tear thee from my heart, And we Oh, worse than dtatli ! must part; Fan; well, my love, farewell 228 FAREWELL. A liquid world is round me spread, Dark clouds are gath'ring o'er my head, The waves of ocean swell ; Yet I must leave thee, and pursue My fortune, o'er the waters blue; Farewell, my love, farewell. Oh, hush that sigh, and dry that tear, For happier days may soon appear, And hope a tale can tell. Which w ill console the troubl'd breast, And sooth each anxious fear to rest; Farewell, my love, farewell. AZIDS COMPLAINT. 22!) AZID'S COMPLAINT. \J DEATH, why delay'st tliou my sorrows to end? Poor Azid is weary of life and its woes ; Ah, when to the valley of souls shall J wend, And find in the dark grave unbroken repose? Tis night, and my fellows, with labour op- press'd, In their cabins partake the refreshment of sleep, But anguish forbids wretched Azid to rest, IJe wakes at the sad tale of mem'ry to weep. 230 azid's complaint. Yes, meinVy reminds me of what 1 was once, And of scenes I am never to visit again. Delights which 'twas far worse than death to renounce, Long lamented, alas, long lamented in vain. And while with a glance retrospective I \ iew The earlier happier moments of life, The numberless wounds of my heart bleed anew, And my languishing spirit desponds in the strife. O Africa! Africa! land of my birth, Though the wild ocean roll between thee and thy son, I'll remember thee ever, belov'd native earth. Till the irksome career of existence is run. azid's complaint. 231 And though as the slave of the stranger I toil, From thy beautiful regions an exile forlorn, Condenifi'd with my tears thus to water the soil. And beneath tlie harsh yoke of capti\ity mourn. The shadows that float on tlie eye of the ujiiid, Of the innocent pleasures enjoyed of old, Shall be cherish'd till Azid to dust is resign'd, And his body exhausted, is lifeless and cold. My tyrants, the merchants in African blood, 'J'hough with fetters poor Azid they seem to control, Are vanquish'd the man they have never sub- dued, Their merciless cruelties quell not the soul. 232 azid's complaint. The pow'r of these Christians unfeeling will cease, Their victim shall cast off the chains they impose, And winging his way to perpetual peace. Bid a final adieu to earth and its woes. Then approach, friendly death, let his sorrows be o'er. And give to the captive a home in the grave, Oh, make him a spirit immortal to soar, And release from his bondage poor Azid the slave ! EUSTACE AND ELEANOR. 233 EUSTACE AND ELEANOR. h iTz-EusTACE was a warrior bold As ever glory's page enroll'd ; The standard of the cross he bore, And spread his name from shore to shore; With Norman Robert lie had sped, Where English barons fought and bled, So gaining an immortal fame Under thy walls, Jerusalem ! Yet in the battle's loud alarms. Though vict'ry woo'd him to her arms, His soul was absent, and would stray To wave-girt Albion, far away; 234 EUSTACE AND ELEANOR. Still pensive search his eyes would keep For her white cliffs aniid the deep ; And still would kindling fancy roam, To linger o'er his early home. There in a deep-sequester d wood, Nurs'd in the arms of solitude, Fair Fleauor her dwelling made, With silence in the lonely glade ; The world she shunn'd, nor felt delight In com'ts to mix with ladies bright; Eustace was gone, he was not there, Her only joy, her only care ! Long had she pin'd the time away Through each sad night and pensive day, Yet still was doom'd unheard to mourn Her hero's long-deferr'd return : Oft at the solemn midnight hour She left her solitary bow'r, And to the moon with many a sigh Did tell her tale of misery. Oft when the sun beneath the wave His brow of light began to lave, EUSTACE AND ELEANOR. 235 The damsel in the willow gi*ove Shed tears of constancy and love : V^ain tears, the sullen ocean's tide Holds Eustace from his pliihted bride; And long shall its rude billows part The maiden from her hero's heart ! As by the taper's glimm'ring lii^ht Slie sat, and throu<^h the shades of night Did like some parted spirit seem, Beheld in Cynthia's silver beam : A kiii;ht knock'd at the castle-gate, lie look'd the messenger of fate; Heavily sounds the massive door, It seem'd to say " Thy Lord's no more." The warrior leant upon his sword, A gen'rous sigh his bosom poiu'd, As if he loatli'd the news to speak, Which the fair lady's heart must break. " Lady, he's dead," tiie saelov'd of Heav'n, celestial Peace! Amidst thy verdant olives dost thou mourn? Alas! thy songs of joy and gladness cease, Thy tears descend on Virtue's silent urn. What loss must Britain and her sons deplore? See evVy eye is dim, the nation weeps; Alas! the hope of England is no more, Cold in the grave our Royal Charlotte sleeps. 312 THE GRAVE OF HOPE. Enraptur'd, we beheld her for awhile, Radiant in beauty, innocence, and youth, For heav'n seein'd beaming in her artless smile, And her pure bosom was the shrine of truth. Then, as we gaz'd on her exalted worth, Fancy would oft anticipate the scene. When (but alas, she was too good for earth,) The British Isles should hail her as their Queen! Who that had seen her in domestic life, Withheld the tribute of applause sincere? Who can deny the daughter and the wife, So early lost, the tribute of a tear? Each home-felt virtue, ev'ry charm that binds The willing spirit in love's golden chain, And in aftiection rivets kindred minds. Was hers, whom we shall never see again. THE GRAVE OF HOPE. 313 She was as lovely as the budding rose, O'ersprinkl'd with the pearly dews of mom. When Zephyr wafts its fragrance as it blows ; And oh, she was a rose without a thorn ! But roses fade and wither in an hour, The great, the good, the beautiful, must die! And England's rose, and beauty's fairest flow'r, Has faded while it charm'd the ravish'd eye. It seems but yesterday, that we survey 'd Our Princess, as a friendly spirit giv'n. The poor and the disconsolate to aid. In pure benevolence, with help from heav'n ! For blessings folio w'd her where'er she went, Blessings, the precious fruit of grateful hearts, And pray'rs uiifeign'd, with holy fervour sent I'p to His throne, who evVy good imparts: 314 THE GRAVE OF HOPE. That powV supreme, who, while she dwelt below, O'ershadow'd her with wings of grace and love, Who now has call'd her from a world of woe. To shine an angel in the courts above ! We fondly mark'd, with each revolving year. The growth of the perfections we admir'd, Till fitted for a brighter, purer sphere, She, like a vision, from our hopes retir'd. Oh, momentary hopes, in grief to end ! Oh, disappointed wishes, quickly past! From its proud orbit fated to descend, The Sun of Brunswick has shone out its last ! Of late, Imagination, sportively Soaring upon her many-colour'd wings, Might in thy joyous bowVs, O Claremont! see The future father of a line of kings. THE GRAVE OF HOPE, 316 But now, reverse severe; 'tis her's to range Among the tombs in melancholy guise ; Since songs of joy to woeful dirges change; Since heav'n has snatch'd our angel to the skies. Oh! spectacle to move the dull cold heart, Of sordid feelings ne'er till now beguil'd ! Behold where Death, with his unerring dart, Smote at one blow the mother and the child ! The mother, on her bed of death, appears Like a majestic lily withering, The royal infant (flow ! flow fresh, my tears !) Like the pale flow'r, the earliest born of spring. Sad is the prospect to each feeling mind, And ah, each feeling mind must sorrow taste Witli his, that in one fatal hour resign'd All that illum'd for him life's dreary wastQi 316 THE GRAVE OF HOPE. Yes, hapless Leopold, we mourn with thee, The sorrow of our country is as thine ; The tears of Britons, join'd with thine, shall be Their deathless monument, their spotless shrine i Thou wert the husband of her choice, the man Our Charlotte lov'd, on whom her heart was fix'd, Which, from the hour its passion pure began, Mingled with thine, and with thy spirit mix'd. And it was thine, illustrious Prince, to call Beauty and love, and innocence, thine own ; And thou hast felt what 'tis to lose them all, Resign'd to sorrow hopeless and alone. The grave has clos'd upon those spotless joys; Of all, that gave life value, now bereft, Thy widow'd soul, each sadden'd hour employs. To treasure each remembrance Love has left. THE GRAVE OF HOPE. 317 Sad task ! and yet a duty sweet to him Whose thoughts, iinweary'd, on one object dwell. Whose eye, like thine, with tears of woe is dim, Whose heart, like thine, to pleasure sighs ** fare- well!" At Claremont, virtue's paradise of late, But, since the rose that made an Eden there, Wither'd beneath the wintry winds of fate, The haunt of melancholy, and despair ! Wilt thou, by all the good and wise rever'd, While memory still heaves thy grateful breast, Dwell amidst scenes by raptures past endear'd, Till thou dost with thine honor'd Princess rest? Unhappy mother ! of a child so good. What burning tears of anguish wilt thou shed, When one accosts thee, in distracted mood, Exclaiming," daughter! grandson! all are dead!" 318 - THE GRAVE OF HOPE. Methinks I see thee, as now perhaps thou art, Dooni'd all thine hopes in ruin to behold, Clasping Despair, the spectre, to thine heart, As marble motionless, as marble cold! Thy royal sire ! lamented Charlotte ! too, Shall languish iu the bitterness of woe. While ceaseless tears that sacred urn bedew, Where all the king's, the father's hopes lie low. He hop'd, when passing from time's busy stage, His noon of life fading to ev'ning grey. Her hand should from the palsied hand of age, Receive the sceptre of imperial sway! But hopes and wishes were indulg'd in vain, Our Royal Charlotte in the cold grave sleeps, Lost all the glories of her coming reign, While o'er her tomb our country's genius weeps ! THE GRAVE OF HOPE. 319 Yes ! Liberty shall with her sisters mourn, But blest art thou, great Heiress of renown ! Thy ashes only moulder in the urn, ^hy spirit wears a bright immortal crown! THE END. Hughet and Baynes, Jfrintern, Maiden-Lane, Covent-Garden. $^ UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. RECD tO-URU ^ fAY23l972' RECT) lOURL OL OCT 051987 ^ AUG 2 8 1887 Form L9-Serifs 444 ^MtL 3 1158 01211 0713 ^^ UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 081711 4