I 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 FREDERIC THOMAS BLANCHARD 
 ENDOWMENT FUND
 
 <s*t-> 
 
 
 //fan^S^ 
 
 J:
 
 JUVENILE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Vade, sed incultus. Ovid. 
 Quare habe hoc tibi, quicquid est libelli. Catullus. 
 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, 
 
 LOMBARD STREET, WHITEFRIARS. 
 
 1823.
 
 f K 
 
 ; 
 
 AS 
 
 A SINCERE, THOUGH SLIGHT, TESTIMONY 
 
 OF RESPECT FOR HIS TALENTS, 
 
 AND GRATITUDE FOR HIS KINDNESSES, 
 
 €f)t following ^rito 
 
 ARE INSCRIBED TO THE 
 
 REVEREND HASTINGS ROBINSON, 
 
 BV HIS 
 AFFECTIONATE AND OBLIGED 
 
 FRIEND AND PUPIL, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 785581
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 In au age, like the present, when every day presents 
 a new offering to the Muses, some apology for the 
 appearance of the following Miscellany may not un- 
 reasonably be expected. To gratify then the wishes 
 of a few friends, the writer was tempted to turn 
 author. In many of the minor pieces (he is aware) 
 may be traced considerable inexperience in the art of 
 composition. But the date, being annexed to each, 
 will also determine the corresponding age of the com- 
 poser. Should these pages, therefore, meet the eye 
 of critics, less indulgent to the efforts of the minstrel 
 novice, than those who first suggested their publica- 
 tion, he hopes, that with such the plea of youth will 
 have its due weight, and excuse many errors of style, 
 sentiment, and versification. 
 
 CHARLES COLLINS. 
 
 St. John's Coll. Cambridge, 
 Dec. 26, 1821.
 
 P O L U S, 
 
 WHEN PERSONATING THE CHARACTER OF ELECTRA, 
 , NT RODUCES THE ASHES OF HIS OWN SON.
 
 P O L U S, 
 
 WHEN PERSONATING THE CHARACTER OF ELECTRA, 
 INTRODUCES THE ASHES OF HIS OWN SON. 
 
 What tender thoughts yon silent crowd engage, 
 As sorrowing Polus treads the tragic stage ! 
 They gaze half-frantic, while his accents breathe 
 The expressive wildness, that attends on death. 
 No sound is stirring, as each hollow tone 
 Calls forth a tear for sorrows not their own j 
 As in Electra's woes a father's grief 
 Flies from itself, and finds a short relief. 
 
 " Dear, sad remembrancer * of every tie 
 
 That bound my joyous breast in years gone by, 
 How thou recall'st the days 'twas mine to prove, 
 Which scarce kept measure with a brother's love- 
 Yes ! he was great and good ; yet could not save 
 His opening virtues from a timeless grave. 
 Far other raptures through my bosom stole, 
 Far other visions warmed my thrilling soul ; 
 When late I sent thee forth for foreign aid, 
 The stern avenger of a father's shade. 
 
 * Vid. Soph. Electra, v. 1 132. Ed. Glasg. 
 
 B 2
 
 Then thou wcrt young in health, and gay with joj 
 
 To crush the assassins, and thy foes destroj ; 
 
 All ! then thou wert Orestes; — now alas! thou art 
 
 The poor small relics of his generous heart. 
 
 The mouldered corse that decorates a bier, 
 
 And claims Electra's tributary tear. 
 
 — 'Twas I that sent thee to a stranger's land, 
 
 'Twas I that gave thee to a stranger's hand, 
 
 'Twas I that snatched thee from a mother's hate, 
 
 To yield thee to a surer, bitterer fate. 
 
 Far, far from home, from every tender care 
 
 A sister's fond affection could prepare, 
 
 You breathed your last: Electra was not nigh, 
 
 From thy pale cheek to mark the roses H\\ 
 
 Electra did not 'shrine thy clav-cold form, 
 
 Thy bones with tears Electra did not warm. 
 
 ' By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed, 
 
 By foreign hands thy decent limits composed 
 
 By foreign hands thy monument was reared. 
 
 Thy virtue honoured, and thy name revered. 
 
 How vain, alas! the labour I bestowed, 
 
 When thy blest presence gladdened our abode: 
 
 Sweet rolled the hours, from anxious care removed. 
 
 Nor knew I then how dotingly I loved. 
 
 Your earlier accents from affection came, 
 
 Your earlier accents lisped Electra's name. 
 
 Oh ! fled, for ever fled : and with thee too 
 
 The visionary joys, that mocked my View. 
 
 • Pope.
 
 A sire's endearing love 'twas mine to know : 
 
 Too soon lie hastened to the shades below. 
 
 In thee I lived, my sire, my brother, all : 
 
 With thee I triumph, or with thee I fall. 
 
 ' My mother, yet no mother'*!' — She appears, 
 
 Insults my woes, and glories in my tears. 
 
 Past are those happier thoughts I once had planned 
 
 To blast her malice by thy vengeful hand : 
 
 Those happier thoughts our evil genius staid, 
 
 And yields thee back, the shadow of a shade. 
 
 Wretch that I am ! for me no hopes remain 
 
 To burst the bondage of a tyrant's chain. 
 
 Thou wert my hopes, — I sent thee far away, — 
 
 And only linger to bewail the day. 
 
 Oh ! had I perished by thy dear-loved side, 
 
 Sweet were my lot, with bliss I then had died. 
 
 Yet let me share ('tis all I can) thine urn, 
 
 Receive my spirit, and I cease to mourn. 
 
 Life, and its idle joys are dead to me, 
 
 Deprived of all, that made life lovely — Thee : 
 
 Thee have I loved when living; and in death 
 
 I long with thee to join my parting breath. 
 
 To every joy, to every grief adieu ; 
 
 I only breathe, I only die for you." 
 
 Are these the accents of dissembled woe? 
 Can mere delusion bid such sorrows flow r 
 No, Polus ! — by that pang's severe attest, 
 Which seems to burst the life-strings of thy breast; 
 
 * Savage.
 
 ["hat wild, convulsive glance, wliicli speaks a mind 
 Dead to the vivid charms still left behind ; 
 The hollow murmur* and the fitful start, 
 Tell the sad truth, and vindicate the heart : 
 Toll, that reclining o'er the sculptured urn 
 You weep for him, who never can return. 
 Flow (in awhile, sweet tears ! oh, none will blame 
 The pang, that racks a childless father's frame. 
 
 The soft infection runs through all the crowd] 
 
 Man hides the tear, while Woman wails alnud. 
 All own the magic of thy tender tale, 
 Sad as the murmur of the nightingale : 
 Who, perched amid the houghs, where late her m-t 
 Promised a bome of innocence and rest, 
 Laments her lost young, till the groves around 
 Sigh to her sigh, and with her plaint resound. 
 " Alas! yiiu feel \ou are DO actor here*;" — 
 'Tis Nature's unrepressed and heartfelt tear. 
 
 A dear dead son comes rushing o'er the soul, 
 And bids the flood of unfeigned sorrow roll. 
 
 Bugby, 1818. 
 
 Qarrick.
 
 ALEXANDER, 
 
 AT THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES, SPARES THE HOUSE 
 OF PIXDAR, FROM RESPECT TO HIS MEMORY.
 
 ALEXANDER, 
 
 AT THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES, SPARES THE HOUSE 
 OF PINDAR, FROM RESPECT TO HIS MEMORY. 
 
 Weep, land of sadness, weep ! thy beauteous scenes, 
 Where maidens danced beneath embowering greens, 
 And mirth and music hailed the dawn of day, 
 Wild as the bird, that hops from spray to spray; — 
 Thy scenes are blank ! War, horrid War, destroys 
 The festal pomp, and checks thy dearest joys. 
 Unhappy Thebes ! thy towers are desolate, 
 Thy prostrate ruins are the sport of hate, 
 And vain the glory of thy seven-fold gate. 
 No, not the widow's warm tear can assuage 
 The scorpion venom of the victor's rage. 
 Yet say, young hero, ere thy stoic eye 
 Gazed on a scene, that well might claim a sigh, 
 Ere thy stern mandate, in its stormiest hour, 
 Rolled the dark tide of desolating power ; 
 Did no fond thought thy cruel edict quell, 
 And waken Pity in her secret cell ? 
 No recollections dwell around the dome, 
 Where e'en the Muses found a kindred home ? 
 Oh ! yes, I ween, that heart was framed to sigh 
 To the chaste charms of virgin Poesy; 
 
 b 3
 
 10 
 
 Nor blush to own thy fascinated soul 
 
 Bowed in <>1>< i sauce to her sol! control. 
 
 For tliis had Science watched thy wondrous birth. 
 
 Science, that deifies the sons of earth : 
 
 For this had Genius tried her boldest art, 
 
 To Marin the mind, and purity the heart. 
 
 And oft, within sonic still secluded grot, 
 
 "The world forgetting, by the world forgot*/' 
 
 Thy wont it was to steal from regal pride, 
 
 Thy friend. Reflection, and the Muse, thy guide i 
 
 "Round Troy imaginary troops to lead, 
 
 With Hector conquer, or with Rhesus bleed i." 
 
 How thy flushed check would brighten at the son-. 
 
 Where, more than man, Achilles towers along, 
 
 Clothed in his panoply of might : thy breast 
 
 Felt all his wrongs, his deep revenue expressed ; 
 Till Fancy's vivid ray adorned the theme, 
 And wrapt in truth the hard's immortal dream. 
 
 \\ hat though each fiery passion prompt the hand 
 Of crimson death on Thebes' devoted land; 
 Though in the untamed insolence of pride 
 Her sons had mocked thy arm, thy power defied ; 
 Yet Mercy Stayed thy lance, and hade thee spare 
 The sacred seat of Inspiration's heir: 
 Pindar himself, though hale had claimed her prey, 
 Rose o'er thj breast, and charmed thy rage away. 
 So the struck eagle bows his captive soul, 
 When melting melodies are heard to roll: 
 
 * Pope. t M& I'ocm.
 
 11 
 
 Quenched is the lightning of his eye, and weak 
 The vanquished terrors of his cowering beak. 
 
 And said I Pindar felt the grasp of death, 
 His name departing with departed breath ? 
 How could I deem that he, to whom 'tis given 
 To " glance from heaven to earth, from earth to 
 
 heaven*," 
 Whose soaring spirit opes an ampler sway, 
 Could feel the date of perishable clay? 
 The Muse alone, with magic touch, can give 
 Immortal tints, that freshen as they live. 
 She calls the woods, the mountains, all her own, 
 Mid rocky battlements erects her throne ; 
 Rides in triumphant pomp o'er every wave, 
 And lives in Nature's works beyond the grave. 
 
 Else, mighty warrior, else thy laurels fade f, 
 Poor are thy triumphs, and thy fame unpaid : 
 Vain is the meed thy daring virtue won, 
 Thy glory withered, and thy acts undone. 
 Thou, and thy meanest slave alike must fall, 
 One undistinguished ruin cover all. 
 Though thy wide hand had stretched a giant reign, 
 " From far Euphrates to the western main J," 
 Victory's proud crest would moulder on thy crown, 
 And thou unhonoured to the world go down 
 
 * Shakspeare. 
 
 + Hor. Od. iv. 9. 25. 
 
 i Vid. Oxford Prize Poems.
 
 12 
 
 Oh ! that the* eagle bard could view thine ire 
 Melt and dissolve, whore once he Strung the lyre ; 
 Could view thy spear reversed, lie lain would raise 
 The votive paean of his loftier lays. 
 — 'Tis he, the child of song- ! I know the eye. 
 That Hashes all the soul of minstrelsy. 
 He sweeps the echoing strings, the chords resound, 
 A sacred frenzy seems to breathe around t- 
 Ismenus heard it, " as he flowed along * 
 And hade his willows learn the moving song. 1 
 Beloved of Heaven, he said, or seemed to say, 
 Unfading Glory calls thee, haste away ! 
 Haste, where her potent mandate bids thee steer, 
 Where crested Conquest points her proud career. 
 A hundred nations hail thee guardian king, 
 How the high head, and suppliant tribute briny. 
 Defeated Asia wails her banners flown, 
 Darius trembles on his tottering throne. 
 Haste, till old Ganges smooth his angry bed, 
 And startled India rock beneath thy tread : 
 Then gaze from East to West, in thunder hurled, 
 And, still unsated, ask another world §. 
 
 Hugby, 1818. 
 
 • " That the Theban eagle bear."— Gray. 
 f Hor. Oil. iii. A. 5. 
 t Pope. 
 
 § Unus Pellao juveni Don rafficil orbis: 
 Estual infilix angueto limite mundi, 
 lit Gyara clauses scopulis, parv&que Seripho. 
 
 .It Sal 1 08.
 
 THE DEATH 
 
 SOPHOXISB A.
 
 THE DEATH OE SOPHONISBA. 
 
 An interview is supposed to take place between AIassinis.su and 
 Sophonisba, in which he presents her with a cup of poison. 
 
 " Will Sophonisba deem my soul untrue, 
 
 Upbraid a falsehood, which it never knew; 
 Detest my tongue, that trembling must relate 
 The bitter tidings of our mutual fate ? 
 Or rather worthy of her sire, and me, 
 Dare, like Numidia's princess, still be free ? 
 Say, would you pinioned to great Scipio's car 
 Swell the proud triumph of ignoble war; 
 Trail in the gory dust that peerless face, 
 And stain the honours of your royal race ? 
 Shall Rome, imperial Rome, with scorn survey 
 The sullied gem of Afric's happier day ? 
 Shall vile Plebeians in tumultuous rows 
 Hail the mock puppet, and insult thy woes? 
 Ah no ! — that fiery glance of quick disdain 
 Hath burst at once the ignominious chain ; 
 There mighty Asdrubal once more is seen, 
 And Sophonisba looks herself a queen.
 
 16 
 
 Pride of my life, my love, could'st thou but sec 
 The agonizing heart that bleeds for thee, 
 Th\ Massinissa then would pity claim, 
 Himself the victim of his country's fame. 
 So he the <leht of ancient honour paid, 
 Nor Love unmindful of the vow lie made*; 
 When from a conqueror's arms he fondly swore 
 To save thee, dearer than the crown lie wore. 
 Take then the last, best gift his hand bestows. 
 Spurn the weak policy of Roman foe-: 
 Rouse life's whole energy, and dare to die, 
 
 While yet you draw the breath of liberty." 
 
 Here paused the love-lorn prince: his words inspire 
 A Kindred transport, and her bosom lire. 
 No tear had power to flow, a sad relief, 
 Repressing all the tenderness of grief. 
 The settled wildness of his chill, wan look 
 She marked, and wilder inspiration took : 
 Curbed every groan, and scorning to betray 
 One coward sign, she triumphed o'er dismay. 
 Well-pleased he saw in form so soft and fair 
 The nobler resolution of despair. 
 ^ et oh! to her Death came a welcome guest ; 
 E'en love itself was banished from her breast. 
 She -rasped the funeral cup; — he could not trace 
 One line of weakness in her kindling fare. 
 So the devoted Indian I, with a smile, 
 Secure to die, ascends the burning pile: 
 
 • Vide I.iv. lib. xxv. c. 12. ad calcem. 
 f Felix ISoia lex funeris una mantis, 
 
 Quoa Aurora suis rubra colorat equia :
 
 17 
 
 Beams one farewell, ere yet her soul expire, 
 Clasps her lord's arm, and plunges in the fire. 
 
 "And canst thou think," she cries, " I'll bear to live, 
 When life itself has now no joys to give ? 
 To lengthen out in servitude and shame 
 The poor remains of title, wealth, and fame ? 
 Shall Sophonisba taste the captive's doom, 
 Dogged by the scornful shouts of censuring Rome ? 
 Oh ! rather whelm me 'neath the /Egyptian wave, 
 And call on pyramids to be my grave. 
 I hail the pledge of love, the generous bowl, 
 That saves the charter of my free-born soul * : 
 And oh ! a little sooner had it come, 
 I then had sunk illustrious to the tomb ; 
 Far from a victor's bed I then had died, 
 Xor felt the bitterness of Roman pride. 
 That I have been too slow, perchance, you grieve : — 
 Assure your Scipio, I disdain to live. 
 'Tis true I linger; linger to reclaim 
 From false aspersions my ill-fated name. 
 This chides my spirit on the wing to part, 
 And feeds the weakness of my rebel heart : 
 
 Namque, ubi mortifero jacta est fax ultima lecto, 
 
 Uxorum fusis stat pia turba comis ; 
 Et certamen habent leti, qua? viva sequatur 
 Conjugium : pudor est, non licuisse rnori. 
 
 Prop. lib. iii. Eleg. 13 lo. 
 
 ■ The reader will perceive, that these, and the following lines. 
 
 as far as " answered tear for tear," are written in imitation of 
 
 Gray's beautiful Latin epistle — Egregium accipio promissi munus 
 
 Amoris. &c.
 
 18 
 
 Lest haply I, the heir of Afric'a crown, 
 Dim the bright glory of her old renown: 
 
 Of second passion mourn the luckless hour. 
 
 Or own my terror of tlie Roman power. 
 
 Y^et let me think awhile on pleasures fled, 
 
 And weep the ills that gather round my head. 
 
 Canst thou recall that glad, that solemn day, 
 
 When Cirta smiled beneath yum- proud array? 
 
 Perchance 'twill raise a blush, and Memory bring 
 
 A sweet disgrace upon her loaded wing. 
 
 1 well remember, as your train drew nigh 
 
 In the full flush of purple pageantry, 
 
 Whole hands of females, startled at the view. 
 
 Admired your form, ' and looked, and looked you 
 
 through *.' 
 Majestic ringlets waved in clustering grace, 
 And modest beauty brightened in your face : 
 Scarce o'er your cheek the tender down began, 
 And the strong arm alone declared you man. 
 As o'er each scene you glanced a wistful eye 
 (The will of Venus, or of Destiny), 
 Lo\'e whispered, 'twas on me your ardour dwelt, 
 And burning blushes told how deep I felt. 
 I searched around for some more lovely maid, 
 On whom those melting looks so lonjj delayed : 
 No lovelier maid I found, no ri\ al there, 
 Whose charms with conscious beauty might compare. 
 Then soft compassion woke a softer flame. 
 And love approached you under pity's name. 
 
 • Campbell.
 
 1.9 
 
 You lulled to rest my sorrow-boding fear, 
 Soothed my sad soul, and answered tear for tear. 
 As on one stem two opening flowerets bloonij 
 Our hearts united looked for joys to come. 
 
 But hence a woman's weakness, that employs 
 
 Fond fancy, clinging to departed joys. 
 
 Constant, as marble, I forego the light ; 
 
 No changeling, like yon empress of the night*. 
 
 My task is o'er, my race of glory run, 
 
 And Afric saddens at my setting sun. 
 
 Yet shall no Scipio, or his ruffian crew, 
 
 Lord o'er the soul they panted to subdue : 
 
 Nor Rome, degenerate Rome, with taunts behold 
 
 The fallen wreck of Nature's nobler mould. 
 
 — Was it the breeze ? or some triumphant call ? 
 
 Hark ! 'tis the thrilling voice of Asdrubal. 
 
 I come, I come ! your golden seats prepare, 
 
 And Avaft my spirit from this world of care. 
 
 Thou, too, with whom my tenderest wishes dwell, 
 
 Oh ! ere we part, receive a last farewell. 
 
 Death loses every pang (for you approve), 
 
 Charmed by the presence of the man I love. 
 
 Catch, Massinissa, catch my trembling sigh : 
 
 'Tis bliss to fall the spouse of Liberty." 
 
 Rugby, 1818. 
 
 • It is related that the lovers met on the night immediately 
 succeeding Scipio's victory.
 
 C O M A L A, 
 
 M Bramatic $o*m, 
 
 VERSIFIED FROM OSSIAN. 
 
 Ex alieno ingenio poeta, ex suo tuutiun versificator. 
 
 SCALIO. POKT.
 
 TO 
 
 THE VENERABLE SURVIVOR 
 
 OF A LAMENTED GRANDSIRE, 
 
 THESE LINES ARE DEDICATED 
 
 BY ONE, WHO HOPES 
 
 THAT EVERY TEAR, SHED TO HIS MEMORY, 
 
 WILL BE REPAID HER 
 
 BY HER CHILDREN'S SMILES.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The following imitation is too short to require a long 
 preface ; yet it seems necessary to mention, that it is 
 the production of one, who had completed his seven- 
 teenth year. This is its sole amulet to charm away 
 the demon of criticism. During the autumn of 1817> 
 it served to amuse some few intervals of leisure, 
 stolen from severer studies ; and never made any 
 pretensions to polished elegance, or elaborate pre- 
 cision. The only apology, offered for its public ap- 
 pearance, is the beautiful simplicity of its eloquent 
 original, which induced a stripling bard to make trial 
 uf his skill, who 
 
 ' ; Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes." 
 
 c. c. 
 
 St. John's College, 
 Cambridge, 1819-
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 f omala, the daughter of Sarno, King of lnistore, or Orkney Island^ fill 
 in love with Fingal, the son of Comhal, at a feast, to which her father 
 had invited him (Fingal, b. 3.) upon his return from Lochlin, after 
 the death of Agandccea. Her passion was so violent, that the followed 
 him disguised like a youth, who wanted to be employed in his wars. 
 She was soon discovered by Ilidallan, the son of Lamor, one of Fin- 
 gal's heroes, whose love she had slighted some time before. Her 
 romantic passion and beauty recommended her so much to the king, 
 that he had resolved to make her his wife ; when news was brought 
 him of Caracul's expedition. He marched to stop the progress of the 
 enemy, and f'omala attended him. He left her on a hill, within sight 
 of Caracul's army, when he himself went to the battle, having pre- 
 viously promised, if he survived, to return that night. The sequel of 
 the story may be gathered from the poem itself. 
 
 THE PERSi \ S 
 
 FINGAL. MELILCOMA, 
 
 HIDALLAN. DERSAGKE 
 
 COMALA. Bards. 
 
 I Daughters of Morni,
 
 C O M A L A. 
 
 Der. In Ardven's shadowy grove the chase is o'er, 
 And all is silent, save the torrent's roar. 
 Rise, child of Morni, rise ! by Crona's flood 
 Spare the wild tenants of the wavy wood. 
 Bid Evening- welcome with the warbling- wire, 
 Till Ardven echo to a virgin lyre. 
 
 Mel. And see ! pale Night, in dusky garb arrayed, 
 Flings o'er the darkling plain her azure shade. 
 Deep in the copse, where late I chanced to stray, 
 The startling wild deer bounded o'er my way, 
 Arched his proud neck, and skimmed along the plain : 
 At every step red fire flashed back again. 
 From the dark clouds of Crona's watery maze, 
 Methought I saw the face of other days. 
 
 Der. Methought I saw it in prophetic state, 
 The mournful harbinger of Fingal's fate. 
 The King of Shields is gone ! the foes deride 
 Our prostrate monarch with insulting pride. 
 Weep, child of Sarno, weep ! — thy love is fled : 
 His spectre haunts our hills — thy love is dead. 
 
 Mel. On yon rude cliff Comala sits forlorn, 
 So fair to sorrow, and so young to mourn. 
 
 c 2
 
 28 
 
 To her each grey dog points a wistful eye, 
 And snuffs the breezes, as they murmur by. 
 Her cheek is on her arm : her ringlets fair 
 Float in luxuriance to the baffled air. 
 Along- the heath her blue eye lingers still, 
 To mark the gathering night ascend the hill. 
 And still she looks, and still with wayward fear 
 Sighs the sad sound, "where art thou, Fingal, where r" 
 
 Com. Why, Carun, do I view thy parent flood 
 Roll his dark waters in a tide of blood ? 
 Hath battle roared along thy winding shore? 
 Sleeps Morven's monarch to awake no more ? 
 — Fair orb, who floatest in the deep blue sky. 
 Look from thy throne of clouds with pitying eye; 
 Rise, star-invested Moon, arise, reveal 
 The gleamy lightning of my warrior's steel. 
 No! — let the blazing orb, whose fiery light 
 Guided our fathers through the path of night, 
 Bare its terrific beam, and darkly wave 
 Its beacon flashes o'er my warrior's grave. 
 There guide, oh! guide my widowed form : — will he 
 Pluck from this breast the thorn of misery ? 
 In death's unfathomed shades, will he aspire. 
 And save me from Hidallan's fierce desire ; 
 — Oh ! many a sorrowing day will rise and wane. 
 Ere Fingal hasten with liis crested train, 
 Ere I shall woo him to my virgin bower, 
 Bright as the sun amid the morning shower. 
 
 Hid. Ye mists of Crona, o'er the chieftain's head 
 Your blackening gloom, vour baleful horrors shed !
 
 29 
 
 Far from my sight immersed, that I no more 
 May greet his footsteps to his native shore. 
 Wide scattered now the foe ! no victims feel 
 The death-fraught vengeance of his thirsty steel. 
 Flow, Carun, flow, in blood-stained torrents flow : 
 Dead is the monarch, and the chief laid low ! 
 
 Com. Who fell on Carun's bank, thou son of Night ? 
 As snow-clad Ardven, was he dazzling white ? 
 Fair, as the showery bow r his hair, the dew 
 That gems the earth, and curls beneath the view ? 
 Burst he like thunder on his trembling foe, 
 And swept the ghampaign as a desert roe ? 
 
 Hid. Oh ! that these eyes might gaze upon his love, 
 Reclining pensive in her rock-alcove. 
 Her red eye dim in tears, her blushing face 
 Half-hid beneath her locks in virgin grace. 
 Blow, gentle breeze, her wavy tresses blow, 
 And bare her white arm as the mountain snow. 
 Give me to view those beauteous drops, that shed 
 A lovelier lustre o'er her lovely head. 
 
 Com. And is he fallen? the son of Comhal goner 
 Vain all the promise of a quick return ? 
 Hark ! peals of thunder roll along the air, 
 And the dark lightning flings a fitful glare, 
 
 On fiery pinions borne ! but fear hath fled 
 
 Comala : Fingal, Fingal — he is dead! 
 
 Say, chief of sorrow, is the warrior slain, 
 
 Who heaped with broken shields the loaded plain ? 
 
 Hid. Defeated nations will no longer hear 
 His battle song, or tremble at his spear.
 
 30 
 
 Com. Death and Confusion seize thee, ruthless king, 
 And Ruin o'er thy head extend her wing! 
 Haste to the grave; one virgin drop a tear 
 Unheeded o'er thy solitary Itier ! 
 Like lorn Comala, all whose joys are set. 
 May she o'er-cloud her life-spring with regret. 
 Yet whyunfold his death ? — though doomed to mourn, 
 I might awhile have cherished his return. 
 I might have imaged Fingal on the hill ; 
 A tree would feign him, and my hosnm thrill. 
 The wind might swell, and echoing in my ear 
 Would sound his horn, and tell my Fingal near. 
 Lay me on Carun's marge ; for tears will start 
 To bathe his cheek, and warm his clay-cold heart. 
 
 Hid. Not on wild Carun's marge — he is not there ■ 
 In woody Ardven, pious warriors rear 
 A warrior's tomb: — and oh ! resplendent queen, 
 Look from thy clouds to harmonize the scene ; 
 Bright on his bosom shed thy silvery beam, 
 That poor Comala view his armour gleam. 
 
 Com. Yet stay awhile; — awhile I yet may crave 
 To gaze in silence on a lover's grave. 
 Alone he left me, 'mid the chase afar. 
 Nor even whispered, that he went to war. 
 " Night would return with him,'' he murmured Iom . 
 And left me all to darkness and to woe. 
 Ah ! what availed it then his death to hide, 
 Thou trembling "* tenant of the mountain side. 
 
 * A druid is here alluded to.
 
 31 
 
 For oh ! thou saw'st him weltering, as he fell 
 In life's young bloom, nor didst Comala tell. 
 
 Mel. What fearful sound through Ardven loads the 
 gale? 
 What brightening form comes dreadful in the vale ? 
 And who is he, that bears the strength of streams, 
 Whose waters glitter to the moon's pale beams ? 
 
 Com. 'Tis he, Cornala's mortal foe ! 'tis he, 
 The ruthless king, who mocks my misery. 
 Swift from thy clouds, my Fingal, guide this bow, 
 And lay the tyrant in his glory low ! 
 Low, as the desert hart ! — 'Tis Fingal's shade, 
 The sacred guardian of his hapless maid. 
 Why art thou come, my love, this breast to tear 
 With mingled pleasure, and delusive fear? 
 
 Fin. Begin, ye bards, begin the victor song, 
 And hymn the wars, where Carun rolls along. 
 The vaunting Caracul our power defied ; 
 He saw our falchion, and forgot his pride. 
 Quenched as a meteor o'er the troubled plain, 
 Where shadowy spirits hold their midnight reign, 
 While raves the blast, and dark woods glimmer near, 
 He set: — But hark ! what sound invades the ear? 
 Was it the mountain breeze ? — 'tis Sarno's child, 
 Who tracks the headlong deer o'er Ardven's wild, 
 Comala, sad as fair ! oh ! deign to pour 
 That voice of music from thy rocky bower. 
 
 Com. In life, in death, still lovely to my breast, 
 Bear me, oh ! bear me, to thy cave of rest.
 
 ss 
 
 Fill. My cave awaits thee, now the storm is o'er, 
 And the bright Bun beams gladness as before. 
 
 My cave awaits thee — there repose awhile, 
 And lose thy sorrows in a lover's smile. 
 
 Com. He conies, he conies! I clasp the giant arm, 
 So fierce in battle, and in love so warm. 
 But here I linger, till severe affright 
 Hath ceased to rage, and darken o'er my si^ht. 
 Daughters of Morni, haste, the grove forsake, 
 Wake the glad voice, the hallowed harp awake. 
 
 Der. Three deer, the victims of thy virgin skill, 
 Await the rlanie, that smokes along the hill. 
 Haste, King of Morven, haste! the maid will greet 
 Thy genial presence to her festive seat. 
 
 Fin. Ye sons of song, begin the victor strain, 
 And hymn the wars, where Carun bathes the plain : 
 That joy may hover o'er my white-armed love, 
 And at the feast a welcome guest I prove. 
 
 Bards. Flow, billowy Carun, bid thy waters tlo\r, 
 In conscious triumph o'er the vanquished foe 
 NO hostile chargers swallow up the strand: 
 Their wings of pride have sought a foreign land. 
 The Min will fringe the clouds with golden fleece, 
 And eve's advancing shade descend, in peace. 
 The chase alone will waken us to arms ; 
 The shield, suspended now, no longer charms. 
 'Tis ours to roam the margin of the Hood, 
 And bathe our red-stained hands in Lochlin's blood. 
 Flow, billowy Carun, bid thy waters How, 
 In conscious triumph o'er the vanquished foe.
 
 S3 
 
 Mel. Descend, ye shadowy mists, descend from 
 high, 
 And lift her soul, ye moon-heams, to the sky. 
 The beauteous virgin lies along the shore, 
 Bowed low, and pale : — Comala is no more. 
 
 Fin. And is she dead ? will Sarno's daughter prove 
 No more the soul of joy, the heaven of love ? 
 Meet me, Comala, 'mid the heath alone : 
 Tis there I listen to the torrent's moan. 
 
 Hid. Mute is that voice, which haunted Ardven's 
 shade ? 
 Wretch that I was to vex the dying maid ! 
 Ah ! when, fair huntress, shall I see thee trace 
 The antlered monarch in the sylvan chase. 
 
 Fin. Accursed warrior of the gloomy soul, 
 Thou never more shalt pledge the sparkling bowl ; 
 No longer track the deer o'er my domains, 
 Or stain with foeman's blood my verdant plains. 
 — Guide me, oh ! guide me, to her bower of rest, 
 To mark the soft luxuriance of her breast. 
 Lovely in death she lies : the winds resort, 
 And wave her tresses with infantine sport. 
 Her bow-string murmurs to the sweeping wind, 
 Her broken shaft will wound no future hind. 
 To Sarno's child let highest praise be given, 
 And waft her name upon the gales of heaven. 
 
 Bards. See! flashing meteors gleam around the 
 maid, 
 And paly moon-beams lift her virgin shade. 
 
 C 3
 
 34 
 
 Her fathers leave their cloudy canopy : 
 The dark-hrowed Sarno flits in wonder In . 
 And old Fidallan rolls his reddening eye. 
 Say, will thy white hand, beauteous maid, arise : 
 Say, will thy voice re-echo to the skies? 
 'Swift o'er the heath, shall every nymph pursue, 
 And vainly mourn thee vanished from the view. 
 Yet wilt thou linger in a dream behind. 
 And calm the visions of their struggling mind: 
 Yet in a dream thy dulcet voice will hear 
 New notes of music to their ravished ear. 
 See! flashing meteors gleam around the maid. 
 And paly moon-beams lift her virgin shade.
 
 DEATH 
 
 ON THE PALE HORSE, 
 AS REPRESENTED BY MR. WEST. 
 
 Xccpis ftlxpQffiy onrfizi
 
 TO A MOTHER, 
 
 WHOSE UNIFORM TENDERNESS 
 
 NO GRATITUDE CAN REPAY, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING LINES ARE INSCRIBED, 
 
 WITH EVERY SENTIMENT 
 
 OF FILIAL AFFECTION AND RESPECT, 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR.
 
 DEATH 
 
 ON THE PALE HORSE. 
 
 Start not, though bursting to the astonished view 
 The King of Terror frowns in sablest hue ; 
 Start not, though every Spirit of Despair 
 Flings o'er his regal brow a livid glare : 
 'Tis but the Painter's art, the Painter's skill, 
 Who moulds the obedient passions at his will ; 
 The mighty master, whose bright touch designed 
 The noblest effort of the human mind, 
 The bleeding sorrows of our suffering Lord, 
 By Man rejected, but by Heaven adored. 
 
 Oh ! how that ghastly form appals the sight, 
 Wild as the tempest in its hour of might. 
 He laughs that bitter laugh, which nought can vie, 
 Save the fell workings of insanity. 
 Glares in his sullen look the wish to slay, 
 The world his victim, and mankind his prey. 
 His eye-ball flashes fire, and darkly throws 
 A murky grandeur o'er his louring brows. 
 Know you that sable robe, so loosely spread? 
 Know you that crown, which bristles o'er the head ? 
 — 'Tis Death's ! — That arm no kingly sceptre holds, 
 That arm is circled with serpentine folds :
 
 40 
 
 There, with malignant smile at misery's plan, 
 The horror-crested snake exults o'er man. 
 Bright (lames the lightning in his clenched hand. 
 And bright that demon waves a fiery brand : 
 While, glaring round, appear a ghastlier train, 
 Than fear could e'er conceive, or fancy Feign. 
 Lo! the pale Horse, beneath the giant form, 
 Beats the light clouds, and mils upon the storm. 
 Sparkle the llaslies from his nostrils wide; 
 He snorts defiance, and enjoys his pri>lr. 
 He comes, he comes! and havoc marks his wa\ . 
 Sad is the scene, for manhood is the prey : 
 While, dark ahove, Death leads his fury on. 
 And gathers strength at every victory won. 
 Relentless tyrant, mark that altered face, 
 'Reft of each lovely smile, each softer grace. 
 Could not her beauty, gay with ever] charm. 
 Thy vengeance soften, and thy rage disarm ? 
 Alas! she blossomed like the damask rose. 
 That tempts some hand fo pluck it, ere it blows. 
 Could not an infant hanging on the breast. 
 An infant's sacred smile thine arm arrest? 
 See the first pledge of chaste, connubial bliss 
 Implore, with many a glance, one parting kiss. 
 Gaze, ruthless tyrant, till remorse and shame 
 Touch thy cold heart to spoil so fair a frame: 
 No, it is thine to revel in thy deed, 
 Pleased to behold a hapless victim bleed. 
 And hark ! the piercing shrieks, that seem to rise 
 Where the pale frantic husband meets the eyes.
 
 41 
 
 Looks up to thee, grim spectre, and demands 
 
 A dying; consort from thy murd'rous hands. 
 
 Poor, injured innocents ! your cries ascend 
 
 To heaven, and heaven's high Father is your friend : 
 
 He numbers every woe, and soon will come 
 
 To hurl thee, Death, to thy appointed doom. 
 
 Else who is He, around whose temple plays 
 A crown of glory in resplendent blaze ? 
 Is this the lowly Christ, whose infant head 
 Blest the rude welcome of a manger-shed? 
 Is this the Man of Sorrows ? He, whose word 
 Was spurned and slighted by a barbarous horde ? 
 Whose sacred brow was crowned with twisted thorn, 
 The atheist's victim, and the bigot's scorn ? 
 Whose cheek, insulted by the ruffian foe, 
 Smarted beneath the proud unhallowed blow? 
 Whose nobler soul in life's last sorrowing hour 
 Forgave the rage of man's avenging power ? 
 — 'Tis He, the King of Kings, the Lord of heaven, 
 To whose high care the sons of earth are given : 
 'Tis He, the God of Gods ! 'tis He repays, 
 Vengence is His, and all her wond'rous ways. 
 Not His the placid look, as when he bore 
 Our sins, peace, love, and pardon to restore : 
 His bow is in his hand ; his glance severe 
 Proclaims the tidings of his dread career, 
 He comes to dart the arrows of his wrath, 
 Life to the ransomed, to the serpent death : 
 Bright as the sun that runs his giant race, 
 And startled night hath fled before his face.
 
 42 
 
 Full OBI those sainted souls, whose martyr pride 
 Their faith defended by the death they died, 
 His dark eve hums: — He claims them as his own, 
 The earth his footstool, and the heaven hi> throne. 
 Oh ! how the white horse glories in his Lord, 
 He needs no rein, obedient to the word: 
 Fair as the trackless snow, he rears his hreast, 
 Blest in magnificence, in beauty blest. 
 
 Yet other he, whose red borse prances far, 
 Frantic and furious, rushing on to war. 
 Caparisoned for arms, he seems to know 
 The distant murmurs of the coming foe. 
 The madd'ning warrior waves his falchion-blade, 
 And proudly bopes full many a victim-shade. 
 E'en so Mohammed on Ins fiery steed 
 Urged the foul terrors of his Koran-creed: 
 He gave the haughty terms, with daring high, 
 Belief or death, the mandate and reply. 
 But mark yon vista, glimmering on the sight, 
 Tells of young Titus in the joy of fight ; 
 Tells of the blood-red banner floating near, 
 And Asia crouching under Europe's spear. 
 — And thou, dark rider, in whose steady mien 
 The stern resolves of tearless law are seen, 
 Whose hand, the fatal balances Mistain, 
 Weigh and land wanting all the race of man, 
 
 Whose sceptic steps Despair ami Famine crown, 
 How thy pride dwindles at Messiah's frown ! 
 
 daze on that lordly terror of the plain, 
 Gaze, till resistless fear numh every vein.
 
 43 
 
 See the poor charger pant upon the ground, 
 
 See the pale master aim a fruitless wound ; 
 
 Then, sorrowing at the deed, in deep distress 
 
 Implore some arm his fury to repress. 
 
 Nor vain : a mightier hand is there to slav, 
 
 A mightier hand will rob him of his prey : 
 As, 'mid his native wilds, the Indian dares 
 
 The untamed monster to successful wars. 
 — A horse-man strikes — 'tis fruitless — no — his blade 
 Defrauds the savage of the spring, it made. 
 One hapless youth, extended on the plain, 
 Clenches his dagger for the fight again : 
 Another dashed, and reckless of defence, 
 Grasps at his steed with lost, bewildered sense. 
 — There, where in beautv's pride, in flower of life 
 A victim dies beneath the unequal strife, 
 The towering victor stalks among the crowd, 
 Proud of his giant strength, of conquest proud : 
 Till spent by anger, and by hosts opprest, 
 To furious dogs he bares his ample chest. 
 If not abashed by Death's terrific mien, 
 The eye dare linger on the canvas scene; 
 If yet be warm one tributary tear, 
 To wail the ravage of his fell career, 
 Turn to that black'ning gloom ! the lightning's flash 
 Through heaven's high-vaulted arch is seen to dash. 
 A yuuth, just blasted by the withering fire, 
 Scarce heaves one farewell sigh, ere life expire. 
 Unhappy man ! in vain around thy form 
 Throng thy firm friends, and execrate the storm.
 
 n 
 
 Yet she, the partner of thj early years, 
 Math rled, a victim to her maiden fears: 
 
 But pauses oft, the dreaded storm forgot, 
 
 By fond affection clinging to the spot. 
 
 Oil ! deatli, fell death, all Nature owns thy BWay : 
 The eagle pounces on his destined prey, 
 The plaining dove resigns himself to fate, 
 And widowed Constancy bewails her mate. 
 
 But thou, immortal West, whose daring hand 
 Hears o'er the storied art a wide command, 
 Whose spirit-speaking power, and nobler rage, 
 Defy the torpor of enfeebling age, 
 Whose magic tints, with hold expression fraught. 
 Breathe the pure incense of exalted thought ; 
 Thou, in thy works, shalt mar Death's potent doom, 
 When thy cold day lies slumbering in the tomb: 
 In golden fame shalt visit every clime, 
 And steal fresh odours from the wing of Time. 
 Trace Inspiration's page, and there explore 
 The living oracles of sacred lore : 
 There scan the noblest scenes that e'er belong 
 To painter's energy, or minstrel's song, 
 Till soft Ausonia wail her honours flown, 
 And Albion boast a Raphael of her own. 
 
 Yoxford, 1818.
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MY SISTER 
 
 ON HER COMPLETING 
 
 HER ONE-AND-TWENTIETH YEAR.
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MY SISTER, &c. 
 
 There is a sacred spell, whose magic ray 
 
 Can soothe the soul, and charm Distress away : 
 
 There is a star, whose mild and mellow beam 
 
 Can light Affliction in her darkest dream : 
 
 'Tis sweet Religion sheds divine repose, 
 
 And robs mortality of half its woes. 
 
 Through the rapt mind her angel glances roll, 
 
 And rouse the Deity within the soul ; 
 
 Awake each slumbering thought, and point the view 
 
 To loftier scenes, than ever Fancy drew. 
 
 Oh ! let the world in bitterness of pride 
 Insult meek Virtue, and her pangs deride ; 
 Defy that Power, whose viewless arm will spread 
 A guardian iEgis o'er the mourner's head, 
 And ask malignant; " W here the suppliant frame 
 That called in sorrow on Jehovah's name ? 
 Will His blest grace thy midnight vigils cheer, 
 And seraph-forms wipe off the streaming tear? 
 Will wild mysterious harpiugs soothe thy breast, 
 And lull the vulture, that devours thy rest?
 
 48 
 
 No, — snatch the rosy wreath the world can give, 
 And woo that world, in which you 're doomed to live ; 
 No, — garland thy young brow with chaplets gay, 
 And haste from dark despair — oh ! haste avvav." 
 
 Peace, flatterer, peace ! tli\ proffered joys are pain. 
 Thy smile is fatal, and thy promise vain. 
 The gale, that murmurs idly by, shall wave 
 Each hlossom from the rosy wreath you gave. 
 Peace, flatterer, peace! the virtuous poor man knows 
 The rest, thou canst not give ; — the calm repose, 
 The sabbath of the soul, the high delight, 
 The gaze of rapture 'bove the starry height. 
 The world's vain vision vanishes : the Lord, 
 The God of mercy heeds his servant's word; 
 Bows down his ear to catch the sufferer's cry, 
 Marks every tear, and treasures every Blgh. 
 And where is He? — the heaven of heavens his seat, 
 Thrones, sceptres, worlds lie prostrate at His feet. 
 He spake our being, and in Him we breathe, 
 In life our guardian, and our friend in death. 
 
 Old Time, my Jane, hath plumed his silvery wing 
 And dipped his feathers in a varied spring; 
 Polled the full tide of onc-and-twentv years 
 Along thy little world of hopes and fears; 
 Matured thy female form, — while many a tress 
 Streams to the morning gale in loveliness; 
 While Health, with lavish hand, and tender tint, 
 Hath left upon thy cheek his rosy print : — 
 And oh ! that eye with brightening lustre glows, 
 Stamp of the soul, from whence its brightness rose:
 
 49 
 
 And many a witching- charm and nameless grace, 
 Plays round thy lip, and breathes along thy face. 
 
 Thrice happy age ! which Youth's prophetic eye 
 Catches afar, when joy and hope beat high ; 
 And deems (though every good the object miss) 
 The friend of freedom, and the god of bliss. 
 Her retrospective glance when Fancy throws 
 To gather every charm the past bestows, 
 When young hearts hoped with Liberty to stray, 
 Too proud to listen, and too weak to sway; — 
 She sees reflected in the life-true glass 
 The varied forms, that dazzle as they pass : 
 The high and haughty scheme, which would disdain 
 The parent's counsel, and the master's chain ; 
 The hope, which lifts the shadowy veil, that screens 
 His kindling eye from rosy-coloured scenes — 
 Such scenes, as paint a summer sky, yet leave 
 No farewell flushes by descending eve :— 
 Oh ! 'tis a golden age, which lures the boy, 
 The spring of happiness, the morn of joy. 
 
 Have we not loitered by the rivulet's side 
 To watch the flowers along its bosom glide ? 
 Have we not rifled every mead and dale 
 To gather more, and see the pageant sail ? 
 And yet, I ween, those slighted flowers would say, 
 Why fling ye us, like noisome weeds, away? 
 Alas for man ! — young April can bestow 
 The blooms that ripen, and the tints that glow ; 
 Can lend to floweret fair a fairer streak, 
 Soft as the damask down on Beauty's cheek ; 
 
 D
 
 50 
 
 But, ere the sun lies pillowed on the wave, 
 
 Where is the tint, the bloom young April gave? 
 
 The bloom hath withered, and the tint hath fled, — 
 
 The floweret fair declines its damask head. 
 
 Alas for man ! — in youth's delusive hour 
 
 He boasts of all his strength, and calls it power. 
 
 Hope suns his prospect with an iris ray, 
 
 And smiles an angel, though her smiles betray: 
 
 Like the green snake among the fruit that played, 
 
 When Cleopatra dared its fatal aid. 
 
 But cold Reality <»h ! draw the veil 
 
 Of dark oblivion o'er the bitter tale 
 
 But cold Reality will curb his hope, 
 
 And bound his prospect to a narrower scope. 
 
 Then, then the mirror breaks; and will he check 
 
 Or save one fragment from the precious wreck ? 
 
 Those beauteous colours, hovering there, are all 
 
 Caught from"" the sun, that shines upon its fall : 
 
 As lovely as the smile, and roseate hue, 
 
 That haunt the corse, when Death hath claimed his due. 
 
 (ease, Fancy, cease ! yet sure my .lane can sav 
 That Joy hath brushed her infant cares away; 
 Can scan the past, and gather treasures thence 
 To charm the future with young innocence. 
 Breathes there the man, who deems with impious pride 
 The woes of others to himself denied ? 
 Like ice-bound stream, he acorns the pensive tear, 
 To Sorrow sacred, and to Memory dear. 
 Have you e'er seen the breathing marble stand 
 Fresh and majestic from the sculptor's hand;
 
 51 
 
 And marked the moonlight glancing on the stone, 
 As if 'twould warm the shape it shone upon ? 
 The stone indignant flings the light aside 
 With high disdain — this is the stoic's pride. 
 Though touched, insensible, he never knows 
 The sigh that deepens, and the tear that flows. 
 But thou, my Jane, art framed in softer mould : 
 To thee the voice of Sorrow never told 
 A fruitless tale — nay, Sorrow smiles, to see 
 So soft, so sweet a visitant as thee. 
 
 And think upon the time, when you were prest 
 With warmth parental to a parent's breast? 
 When cradled sleep came o'er thine azure eyes, 
 Did not a Mother's fondest prayer arise, 
 Like incense, unto heaven ? When Sorrow's blight 
 Mildewed the energies of young delight, 
 Did not a Mother's voice restore the ray, 
 That lightened every thought, while thought was gay? 
 Oh! yes — the grateful heart's responsive string 
 Will vibrate softly to so dear a thing: 
 Will fondly nurse the feeling Nature gave, 
 As pure as moonlight sleeping on the wave, 
 As pure as love that laughs in woman's eye, 
 As pure as childhood's faintly-whispered sigh. 
 So when Aurora's* virgin day-blush stole 
 O'er Memnon's marble form, the latent soul 
 
 » Effigies sacri nitet aurea cercopitheci, 
 
 Dimidio magicae resonant ubi Memnone chords, 
 Atque vetus Thebe centum jacet obruta portis. 
 
 Juv.Sat. xv. 4. 
 
 D 2
 
 52 
 
 Of harmony was touched — and notes were heard, 
 That might have silenced spring's delicious bird. 
 
 Go, tell Caprice and Prejudice, how vain 
 To war with Nature and her glow restrain. 
 Go, tell them to arrest the noonday sun, 
 Suspend creation, ere her course be run ; 
 Enchain the rolling deep; — ere madly try 
 To sear the heart, and burst Affection's tie. 
 — Be hushed, my wild harp! 'tis a mightier hand 
 Should stamp dark guilt with guilt's unholy brand: 
 'Tis Pity should inspire thy tempered strain, 
 And leave the minions to a tortured brain. 
 
 'Twere harsh, my Jane, upon thy natal day 
 To bid thee weep : yet one was snatched away 
 In life's young morn, who well demands a tear; — 
 Eliza sleeps upon a virgin bier. 
 The cup of joy was sparkling to the brim, 
 And false Hope promised it should ne'er be dim : 
 Death smiled malignant, as he marked his prey, 
 Dashed the bright cup, and bore the prize away. 
 Embalm her memory with tears — for she 
 Was more than friendship, more than love, to thee, 
 Thy second self — I see the tear-drop start, 
 But take, oh ! take, the moral to thy heart; 
 And learn how vain is youth, how vain the bloom 
 Of health — Eliza sleeps beneath the tomb. 
 
 But thou, my Jane, whom Fortune soon will seat 
 In the blest bosom of a calm retreat, 
 Where Hymen decks the rosy bower of Love 
 With every flower luxuriant Fancy wove,
 
 53 
 
 A home for two hearts melting- into one, 
 
 Like lutes, that blend in clear harmonious tone ;— 
 
 Go, taste Religion's joys in sacred ease, 
 
 Whose ways are pleasant, and whose paths are peace. 
 
 With pure Religion's joys my song began, 
 
 And hailed the charmer and the friend of man : 
 
 My last note sounds Religion — 'tis a tower 
 
 Of strong defence, when life's dark tempests lour. 
 
 Be thine the benison of Heaven ; be thine 
 
 The rapture of repose in life's decline : 
 
 May Joy unclouded gild each natal day, 
 
 And scatter roses on thy destined way! 
 
 Cambridge, 1820.
 
 EVENING, 
 
 A FRAGMENT.
 
 EVENING, 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 How beautiful, how still ! the sun's faint streak 
 
 But lightly lingers on the mountain-peak. 
 
 Fast fades the landscape from the glimmering view, 
 
 And dell, and wood, assume a soberer hue : 
 
 And on each shadowy bower, and castle-crest, 
 
 The sun, that proudly glanced, scarce deigns to rest. 
 
 The bannered hall, with many a trophy gay, 
 
 Shrinks into distance 'neath his farewell ray; 
 
 Like far-off ship that skirts the darkening stream, 
 
 Or the dim prospect of some future scheme. 
 
 The dew-drop glistens on the spangled ground, 
 
 Calm is the air, and Silence reigns around : 
 
 Save the low murmur of the bleating fold, 
 
 With parent care by fostering shepherd told ; — 
 
 Save the low lengthened peal of vesper bell, 
 
 Which rings in Fancy's ear Day's funeral knell — 
 
 Like the last, fond behest of dying saint, 
 
 Or houri, such as Eastern visions paint. 
 
 Serene and silvery peeps the village spire 
 From clustering wild-wood, and majestic fir : 
 Serene on sculptured dome, and fretted tower, 
 Hangs the rich mellow tint of evening hour — 
 
 d 5
 
 58 
 
 That hour, when sheeted forms are seen to rise, 
 And hurst the tomh with new-horn energies : 
 Then, speaking from the shroud, in judgment scan 
 The dark and guilty deeds of erring Man ; 
 Shake palsied Vice upon her loftiest throne, 
 And, in a voice of thunder, bid her pomps begone. 
 
 Yet fair and welcome darts yon evening star 
 In the blue arch of heaven her lustre far ; 
 For many a tongue shall hless the chastened light, 
 And many a young heart dance beneath the sight. 
 
 And mark the hurried step, that pants to press 
 The lowly cot, the home of happiness ; — 
 That home, hy many a tender pledge endeared, 
 When the heart promised what the judgment (eared. 
 When Mope o'er all lier fairy mantle threw, 
 And looks still lovely, as if life were new ! 
 And say, when wearied with the summer heat, 
 What hids the peasant's throhhing cease to heat? 
 When his limb quivers with convulsive toil. 
 And galling pains his boldest effort foil ; 
 When haply too a master's stern command 
 Bids his reluctant strength exhaust the land, 
 And the big drop bedews his manly brow; — 
 What snasive power can soothe the sufferer's woe? 
 Oh, it is evening-tide can well repay 
 The deep-stung pang <>f many a hitter day ; 
 Can heal the wound by conscious feeling given, 
 " Bid languor smile *," and make this earth a heaven. 
 
 Pope.
 
 59 
 
 Though rude and drear the path, ere gained his 
 home, 
 (From which his footsteps — ne'er his wishes, roam) 
 Still to that beacon-point Affection turns, 
 Still for that spot his anxious bosom burns. 
 'Tis gained, ah no ! gay, busy Fancy sees 
 His clay-built cabin through the sheltering trees, 
 And cheats his ear with many a tender word, 
 By mutual love in happier hours preferred. 
 
 Hence to the blue profound another eye 
 Is raised in mute and tremulous sympathy; 
 Another eye is glancing to the door, 
 To catch, yet chide the truant o'er and o'er. 
 He comes ! her light of love — of hopes and fears — 
 Ah, see her smiling through a shower of tears. 
 He comes! ah, watch her sink in his embrace, 
 See the tear struggle down his manly face. 
 
 And who hath dressed so neat the humble board, 
 And who hath culled the choicest of their hoard ? 
 Hath sought the sweetest herb, the purest rill, 
 With many a wild fruit ripening on the hill ? 
 'Tis she — his bird of beauty — she, whom many a year 
 Of joy and grief hath rendered doubly dear; 
 Whose dark eye, ruby lip, and glowing cheek, 
 For him alone so sweetly, softly speak. 
 
 But others claim a parent's fund caress; 
 His lips salute them, and his accents bless. 
 Then how they climb his knee, and prattling tell 
 Of each event their little schemes befell ; 
 Who best has conned his task, and, earned his play, 
 In all the glee of life's young holiday.
 
 60 
 
 Then say not ye, who press the couch of down, 
 On whom insidious Fate forbears to frown ; 
 Whom Pleasure woos, and Syren charms invite, 
 With all that lures the taste, or glads the sight — 
 Oh ! say not Happiness for you alone 
 Wreathes with her choicest flowers the gorgeous 
 
 throne. 
 Your chains, though gilded, but enthrall you more, 
 You live unenvied by the simple poor. 
 
 Then welcome be the song of nightingale, 
 Who with the eve takes up her tender tale ; 
 And welcome be the note of many a bird, 
 Whose parting strain from bough to bough is heard. 
 Learn hence, proud man, from every toil to cease, 
 Seek thine own home, and hail the hour of peace ; 
 For, blest as dew, that weeps on herb and flower, 
 Glows the soft spirit of this witching hour. 
 
 Evening, mild monitress, how blest to feel 
 Thy soothing sadness through the bosom steal ! 
 How does thy presence to the mind convey 
 Congenial feelings with departed day ! 
 As the wild winds, by fitful starts, inspire 
 The mournful music of the .Eolian lyre ; 
 And, softly breathing, softened strains afford, 
 As if some spirit touched each airy chord; 
 Thy whispers vibrate, and thy measures move 
 Spontaneous powers of Fancy, Genius, Love. 
 
 Yoxfbrd, 1821,
 
 MISCELLANY.
 
 MISCELLANY. 
 
 Orpheus could tame the savage throng, 
 And lull to rest the lingering wave ; 
 
 Could charm the mountains by his song, 
 But shrank defeated from the — grave. 
 
 July, 1816". 
 
 ON A LOCK OF HAIR. 
 
 Hail, lovely lock, that weeping 
 
 Tells me a father's * fate ; 
 Tells me, he 's fast asleeping, 
 
 In a happier state. 
 Once on his brow extending 
 
 You snatched a new-born grace : 
 Grasped, o'er his features bending, 
 
 The honours of his face. 
 
 • Obiit. 27 Apr. 130G. An. Mt. 29. 
 ' Alloquar ? Audierone unquam tua verba loquentem ?'
 
 64 
 
 Blest then thy lot, reclining 
 
 Upon a throne so sweet, 
 Where every charm combining 
 
 In full luxuriance meet. 
 When summer's anger gleaming 
 
 Shot languor through his frame ; 
 Thy fairy mantle beaming 
 
 Its fiercest rage could tame. 
 When wintry winds contending 
 
 Roared with terrific blast; 
 Thy fairy form descending 
 
 Could calm it, as it past. 
 Oft too, as wisdom's power 
 
 Flashed, in its fane enshrined, 
 Didst thou certify the hour, 
 
 And aid his labouring mind? 
 And didst thou feel a sorrow 
 
 Just quiver at thy heart ? 
 And didst thou curse the morrow 
 
 That warned thee thence to part ? 
 E'en I could feel the blessing 
 
 Gone, that a father gave : 
 A tender breast distressing, 
 
 To wet a father's grave. 
 A widowed mother's smiling 
 
 Alone could solace me ; 
 Each infant care beguiling, 
 
 Each pang of misery. 
 Then lodge within my bosom, 
 
 And fan its youthful fire:
 
 65 
 
 If tears will start — oh ! close 'em, 
 And other joys inspire. 
 
 When wrapt in dear devotion 
 I steal a pensive kiss ; 
 
 Oh ! smooth my soul's commotion 
 And sanctify the bliss. 
 
 August, 1816. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Oh ! had the mandate of creative power 
 
 But granted me the bee's wild pinion ; 
 I'd search the bosom of each opening flower, 
 
 That breathes its sweets in thy dominion. 
 Sip silvery dew, or revel in the bloom 
 
 Of every plant that sues the zephyr : 
 Nor, as you hung upon their coy perfume 
 
 Should other charms seduce me ever. 
 As each new thought came rushing o'er thy mind, 
 
 A mind replete with sense and splendour ; 
 
 In a soft nosegay on thy breast reclined, 
 
 I'd watch its birth — a blest offender ! 
 * * * * 
 
 March, 1817.
 
 0*6 
 
 Such the mild form (ere angry Heaven began 
 
 To desolate the race of guilty man) 
 
 Of Seraphs, who at evening-tide were seen 
 
 To bend their steps o'er Eden's hallowed green ; 
 
 With some high message from the realms above, 
 
 A deed of mercy, or a pledge of love. 
 
 May, 1817. 
 
 Flung on the breast of Ocean, as a weed, 
 Now sinks, now rises, while the waves succeed 
 Succeeding waves — so are my hopes and fears, 
 Now brightened into joy, now lost in tears. 
 
 August, 1817. 
 
 IN IMITATION OF COWPER. 
 
 No friend was nigh, no bosom friend, 
 
 As once I chanced to stray : 
 Vet Tij>, my footsteps to attend, 
 
 Would ramble any way. 
 The little rogue my hand unbound, 
 
 And let the prisoner free : 
 He barked, and bounded o'er the ground, 
 
 Then turned, and looked at me. 
 Along the road my course I bent, 
 
 Tip trotting fast before: 
 He — with his liberty content, 
 
 And I — to muse things o'er.
 
 67 
 
 Now 'mid the brakes he mocks my view, 
 
 Now turns again to meet: 
 Once more along the meads he flew, 
 
 No roe-buck half so fleet. 
 I saw him track the feathered game, 
 
 And called him from his play : 
 My voice in rage began to blame, — 
 
 He looked my rage away. 
 1 thought of school and trophies won, 
 
 So fond is boyhood's mind : 
 But truth broke in — the spell is done — 
 
 A void remains behind. 
 I thought of school, and stern defeat, 
 
 My few, green laurels torn : 
 And Fancy poured no musings sweet — 
 
 She only came to scorn. 
 Visions of anguish, spare my heart : 
 
 Away, sad scenes, away ! 
 Come if a friend ; a foe, depart ; 
 
 Nor bid my soul be gay. 
 December, 1817. 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 WITH "SPECIMENS OF THE BRITISH POETS." 
 
 The rose is fragrant, and the lily fair, 
 The modest violet sheds a rich perfume ; 
 
 The stately tulip springs into the air, 
 And the gay pink rejoices in her bloom : 
 
 Yet lovelier far, these lovely flowerets breathe, 
 
 When all their beauty freshens in a wreath.
 
 68 
 
 So the bright flowers of Wit and Genius shine, 
 
 And, blended into one, endear the lav ; 
 So Taste and Judgment consecrate the line, 
 
 Exalt the soul, and steal the heart away : 
 And coldly dull that heart, which can deny 
 Due homage to the charms of Poesy. 
 
 Be thine the fragrance of the blushing rose, 
 Be thine the modest violet's odorous sweet; 
 
 Be thou the tulip, stately as it grows, 
 Gay as the pink, yet sedulously neat : 
 
 Oh ! more than all, enshrine a virtuous breast, 
 
 Alike in beauty, and in temper blest. 
 
 All "list, 1818. 
 
 FROM HORACE, ODE II. 16. 
 
 The luckless mariner repose implores. 
 When wild iEga-um to the tempest roars ; 
 When not a moon, or star, appears to guide 
 His faithless vessel o'er the dashing tide. 
 Revengeful Thrace, that maddens o'er her foes, 
 The (juivcr-bearing Mede implores repose: 
 Repose, my friend, which never can be sold 
 For Tynan purple, or for glistening gold. 
 'Tis not the pomp of power, the stately show 
 Can snatch the bosom from its weight of woe;
 
 69 
 
 'Tis not the Consul's voice can bid to roam 
 The cares, that nutter in a royal dome. 
 Thrice happy he, in calm contentment blest! 
 His wealth, the little all his sires possest; 
 The day of innocence, the night of ease, 
 And ever pleased with learning- how to please. 
 Shall foolish man, the being of an hour, 
 Ape the bold projects of a mightier Power? 
 For other realms, from home and kindred part? 
 Was e'er such exile exiled from the heart ? 
 Care climbs the proud flotillas of the deep, 
 And 'whelms embodied armies in her sweep : 
 She comes, far fleeter than the winged wind, 
 The dread companion of a wounded mind. 
 The steady soul, 'gainst present ills prepared, 
 Feels in itself an adamantine guard; 
 Steeps a soft smile in life's embittering bowl, 
 Since perfect happiness is past controul. 
 Death snatched Achilles in his flower of prime, 
 Age wore Tithonus with extended time : 
 This hour, perchance, yet hovering on the wing, 
 What Fate to thee denies, to me may bring. 
 Thine are the flocks, that crop Sicilian meads, 
 Thine the proud neighing of a thousand steeds : 
 For thee the dye assumes a brighter hue, 
 And tints thy garment with jethereal blue. 
 Mine is the slender farm my wishes choose, 
 And the chaste spirit of the Grecian Muse ; 
 'Tis mine the envious rabble to discard, 
 Proud in the title of a lyric bard. 
 
 October, 1818.
 
 70 
 
 FROM CATULLUS, ODE XIX. 
 
 Tins spot, — where marshy villas spread around. 
 
 Where the light reed, and osier rush abound, — 
 
 Wrapt in an oak's dry form, and taught to feel 
 
 The shaping beauties of the woodman's steel, 
 
 This sp<it I nourished; and each passing war 
 
 I las seen luxuriance bloom unrivalled here. 
 
 To me the tenants of this rude abode 
 
 Pay votive sacrifice, and hail me god. 
 
 Though poverty be theirs, you will not see 
 
 One lonely thistle flourish near the tree. 
 
 In social toil the sire and sons combine 
 
 To pile meet incense on my rural shrine. 
 
 For me the flowery Spring a wreath supplies. 
 
 The violet dark, and darker poppy rise, 
 
 The apple, cucumber, and corn-clad mead, 
 
 The grape, that blushes in the vinous shade. 
 
 My altar glistens with the steaming blood 
 
 Of bearded goat, and all his baleful brood. 
 
 Oh ! give Priapus then the honour due. 
 
 And spare the vineyard and the garden too: 
 
 Protect with jealous care this sacred land 
 
 From school-hoy triumphs, and the robber hand. 
 
 Let yon rich neighbour's treasures tempt the eye, 
 
 Where scorned Friapus' rites neglected lie. 
 
 Steal thence, and welcome — nay, lliix path shall lead 
 
 The rogue in safety from the adventurous deed. 
 
 December, 1818.
 
 71 
 TO THE MEMORY OF E. M. F. 
 
 Multis ilia bonis flebilis occidit. — Hor. 
 
 Pure, as the silvery dew that gems the flower, 
 
 Soft, as the image of a noon-day dream, 
 Eliza fell in Beauty's virgin bower ! 
 
 Her young eye languished with a dying beam ! 
 The bud of innocence began to blow, 
 
 The prayer of purity was heard to rise : 
 That bud — lies chilled upon the couch of woe, 
 
 That prayer — is whispered in her kindred skies. 
 Her bosom heaved with thoughts, which angels own, 
 
 Her spirit poured sweet Pity's sweetest tear; 
 That bosom silent, — and that spirit flown, — 
 
 She ne'er will weep again for sorrows here. 
 Yet lives her memory in the tender breast, 
 
 A new Elijah's mantle left behind: 
 She heard the warning of her God's behest, 
 
 And flew to hail it on the winged wind. 
 Oh ! yes, on wings of ecstacy she flew, 
 
 An embryo seraph in the heaven of bliss : 
 I marked her voice — she bade a long adieu 
 
 To all the sorrows of a world like this. 
 " Ah ! weep not, parents, weep not for a child, 
 
 That bursts the shackles of the dull, cold clay," 
 She seemed to whisper, and serenely smiled ; — 
 
 " My Maker calls me to eternal day." 
 
 May, 18 19.
 
 72 
 
 UNES, 
 
 SCRIBBLED EXTEMPORE ON Till I Hi RCH-POR( II AT 
 MADDINGLEY, NEAR < VMBRIDGE. 
 
 Yes — I could wish, when life's short path is trod, 
 To lav my head beneath thj greensward sod, 
 Sweet Maddingley! for dear the seme, where * Gray 
 Swept the chaste lyre, and poured his moral lay; 
 Where, in the morn of Genius, f White essayed 
 The myrtle and the laurel wreath to braid. 
 Yet Gray and White are gone ! the willows wave 
 In mournful murmurs o'er their kindred grave. 
 Such be my last, long home! may % Friendship pour 
 The tear of pity, when I breathe no more. 
 
 June, 1819. 
 
 JAGHERNAUT, A FRAGMENT. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 Pell Jaghernaut, along thy guilty land 
 Streams many a crimson tide: o'er every spot 
 Hath lilood-iiurscd Havoc laid his red right hand, 
 \nd bared his victims in the air to rot. 
 
 * This churchyard is the reputed scene of Gray's celebrated 
 Elegy. 
 
 T Henry Kirke White, of St. John's College, who died at the 
 early age of 21, the victim of his studies and talents. 
 
 ; I lor. Od. ii. G'. TJ.
 
 73 
 
 No tearful eye is seen — by all forgot, 
 Save Nature's winged murderers, unbleached bones 
 Lie houseless ; — " dust to dust" was chaunted not, 
 Nor solemn organ rolled angelic tones, 
 But Superstition clanks her chain, and madly moans. 
 
 Yet here balm gushes from each wildwood tree, 
 Sabaean sweets the airs of heaven exhale ; 
 The rich banana waves her foliage free, 
 And flings her incense on the vassal gale. 
 Who would not deem, that soft should be the tale 
 Of such soft scenes ? that blue-eyed Innocence, 
 Like rose-bud scenting Sharon's odorous vale, 
 Should o'er these realms her sweetest charms 
 dispense, 
 And not a dark cloud dim the paradise of sense ? 
 
 Yet dark the purport of that living mass, 
 Which hurries on, like surges of the sea : 
 And not a heart of them, who proudly pass, 
 But triumphs at the thought of death to be. 
 Their bosom, sheathed in iron apathy, 
 With prescient ardour hopes the passive prey: 
 Expectance paints the murderous revelry, 
 While words of cheer deceive the distant way, 
 And every eye for Jaghernaut beams bright and gav. 
 
 Gay is the marching of that locust band, 
 Bright the sun dances on their varied dress : 
 
 E
 
 74 
 
 And, — but that Murder waves her crimson wand, — 
 The eye might revel in such loveliness. 
 Men, women, babes, in mingled columns press, 
 And send a shout of joy, if joy be there 
 Where human victims, in accurst excess 
 Of wild enthusiasm, murmur forth ;i prayer, 
 And dash themselves to earth with many a frantic air. 
 
 Hushed now those Babel sounds, and all is still, 
 Like the low prelude to the louring storm : 
 Then bursts again the deep, tumultuous thrill 
 Of paynim exultation : — rapture warm 
 Swells the loud cry to greet their temple's form. 
 Again, again — " 'Tis there — the hallowed fane, 
 The shrine of all our hopes, — the beacon charm, 
 Which led our pilgrim steps o'er many a plain ; — 
 We bless our temple, and adore our God again." 
 
 Seemed as the burst of music, but ttie sound 
 Hath softened into lowest harmony : 
 Seems as the reeds, which Zephyr waves around, 
 Making them vocal 
 
 ******* 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Why fades the lustre of that eagle eye ? 
 
 Why sinks the grandeur of that high-arched brow r 
 
 — One drop of water, ere the victim die, 
 
 Ere fled the sense of agony below.
 
 75 
 
 Did he not deem, ere nature's mortal throe 
 Convulsed his shivering frame, to bow the knee 
 At Jaghernaut's high shrine ? — but there is woe, 
 Which e'en of Jaghernaut no proud decree 
 Can cancel, or reprieve the wretch from misery. 
 
 Where is his wild-cane cot ? and where the trees 
 His hand had planted in the morn of life ? 
 Where the wild bower, that caught the evening 
 
 breeze, 
 Graced by the presence of a bosom wife ? 
 How blest the sj>ot, where 'erst in rapture rife, 
 He sucked the lusciousness of love, when Heaven 
 Had snatched him from a land of strife, 
 From blood-stained Gallia's land, and she was given, 
 The fairest of the fair, the spotless without leaven. 
 
 Young hearts, I ween, will tremble at the tale, 
 Young hearts, that know the very soul of love : 
 And tears will fall, and loud will be the wail 
 O'er those, who hasten to a world above. 
 Yes — when the bud was blushing, to remove 
 The nectar gem from hands, that feebly held 
 The dear delicious boon — oh ! who could prove 
 Such cutting cruelty with tears repelled, 
 The crystal fount of sympathy and feeling quelled ? 
 ***** 
 
 October, 1819. 
 
 E 2
 
 76 
 
 CHARITY. 
 Oh ! where are the day-dreams I fostered in youth, 
 
 When, vision-like, Pleasure flew o'er me ? 
 When Fancy was robed in the mantle of Truth, 
 
 And Hope spread her rainbow before me ? 
 Alas ! they lie cold in the tomb of the past, 
 
 Their slumbers no voice can awaken : 
 And thither a look of regret when I cast, 
 
 I feel the more lone and forsaken. 
 For Sorrow's keen shaft hath stung 1 me severely, 
 
 My heart — it is blighted, and broken : 
 Of all the dear friends, I cherished so dearly, 
 
 There lives not a sign, nor a token — 
 Yet oh ! to my God I will make my appeal. 
 
 He regardeth the cry of distress ; 
 The hand that relieves, and the heart that can feel, 
 
 His high providence surely will bless. 
 * * * * * 
 
 March, 1820. 
 
 TO NE.ERA, 
 
 WITH "GERTRUDE OF WYOMING." 
 
 I know, Neaera, 'tis a trifle, 
 
 Yet not unworthy thee : 
 And when the poet's sweet- you rifle, 
 
 If chance a thought should be 
 Of our away oh ! do not stifle 
 
 That thought's blest infancy. 
 August, 1820.
 
 77 
 
 AH! 
 
 Alas ! that Cupid's urchin dart 
 Hath power to wound a lettered heart ! 
 September, 1820. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 KhVot' aJ&ff Soph. Antig. 821. 
 Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind." — Gray. 
 
 When friends are flown, and we're alone, 
 
 What pleasure lags behind? 
 To wake and weep in anguish deep- 
 Say, can it soothe the mind ? 
 'Tis poor relief to cherish grief 
 
 O'er objects prized sincerely : 
 Yet he, who feels, from memory steals 
 
 A charm, he doats on dearly. 
 Let storms arise from angry skies, 
 
 Quick iris tints appear : 
 So Hope is seen, with angel mien, 
 
 To chase the struggling tear. 
 Youth is the hour for passion's power, 
 
 When life is full of feeling : 
 But ah ! it brings some scorpion stings, 
 
 Beyond the reach of healing.
 
 78 
 
 Not one, I ween, in this wide scene, 
 
 But loves the poison-pleasure: 
 Not one, I ween, or high or mean, 
 
 But clasps the hitter treasure. 
 Warm tears will flow, and young hearts glow, 
 
 The sternest soul relenting: 
 Soft Pity's sigh shall murmur by, 
 
 Like lay of lute lamenting. 
 The mingled tide of streams will glide 
 
 (Like twins) in sister-state : 
 Then haste to borrow of joy and sorrow 
 
 The varied gifts of fate. 
 Oh ! do not stay the bosom's sway 
 
 Though man may scorn severely : 
 Oh ! do not stop the precious drop, — 
 
 That drop will glad thee cheerly. 
 'Twill give to thee, what's sweet to sec, 
 
 The sweets of recollection : 
 As springs the flower in summer shower, 
 
 A pledge of fond affection. 
 And should a thought intrude unsought 
 
 Of otic, though young, yet blighted; 
 Chase not the scene of what has been, 
 
 In which that one delighted. 
 The winds, that rave around the grave 
 
 Of buried hopes, are wailing: 
 And OM shall hear, unhlanchcd b\ Fear, 
 
 The note of woe prevailing. 
 
 September, 1820.
 
 79 
 
 ■ L The magic of a name." — Campbell. 
 
 Why does the minstrel wake the soul of song ? 
 
 The statesman ply each bolder aim ? 
 The warrior plunge amid the thickest throng ?- 
 
 To earn the guerdon of a name. 
 Yet, lady, you request me to indite it, 
 
 Rude and untutored to the task : 
 But, oh ! believe me, I am proud to write it : 
 
 Can I refuse, what you can ask ? 
 
 September, 1820. 
 
 A lady begs me to inscribe her name, 
 
 Though gentlemen would beg to change it : 
 
 Hard task ! yet if she deem it all the same, 
 I cannot, will not, dare derange it. 
 
 September, 1820.
 
 80 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 But still her lips refused to send — " Farewell !" 
 
 For in that word — that fetal word — howe'er 
 
 We promise — hope — believe — there breathes despair. 
 
 Coksair. Canto I. 490. 
 
 Farewell to the land, where in transport I've 
 wandered, 
 
 And have dreamed the dear dream of content and 
 of love ! 
 Farewell to the scenes, where in thought I have 
 pondered, 
 
 And pictured fair prospects, time can never remove ! 
 I cannot forget the wild walks I have taken 
 
 With the pearl of my heart, and the soul of my joy: 
 The tones of her voice shall hereafter awaken, 
 
 And the glance of her looks shall the future employ. 
 I '11 turn to thee, Tenby, with tender affection, 
 
 So devoutly no pilgrim can turn to his shrine : 
 Thy scenes I will stamp in the page of reflection, 
 
 Till the past shall revive, and again become mine. 
 Ah ! yes, I will cherish those momenta of rapture, 
 
 When the flash of the Boulwaa beamingthe brightest; 
 I will clasp the dear chains, and bless the dear capture, 
 
 For then, though all fettered, my bosom was lightest.
 
 81 
 
 The blithe eye of Beauty was sparkling before me, 
 
 The voice of Neaera in tenderness sounded : 
 Can I tell thee, dear girl, how much I adore thee ? 
 
 That with thee all my hopes of pleasure are 
 bounded ? 
 When you see the chaste moon in pride and in glory, 
 
 Will you think on the words, that I dared to reveal? 
 How I said, that love's steady flame was her story, 
 
 'Twas the emblem of truth, and fidelity's seal ? 
 When you wander along the fields of green Erin, 
 
 And the home of your fathers is smiling at hand ; 
 Forget not dear Tenby; forget not repairing 
 
 To her wilds, and her cliffs, and her wave-beaten 
 strand. 
 For new friends may be decked in the semblance of 
 truth, 
 
 And idly may swear, that they love you sincerely: 
 Then remember, dear girl, the devoted fond youth, 
 
 Who swore not at all, though he prizes you dearly. 
 The lures of ambition, of wealth, and of pleasure, 
 
 Are seldom (believe me) the companions of bliss : 
 The heart that is true, is a gem beyond measure ; 
 
 It is bright in enjoyment, more bright in distress. 
 
 September, 1820. 
 
 e5
 
 S2 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 O Memory ! thou fond deceiver 
 
 Still importunate and vain. 
 To former joys recurring ever, 
 
 And turning all the past to pain. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 Ay — many a sun hath set, since my young hand 
 Smote the wild lyre; and many a fitful breeze 
 Hath passed along the chords, since Fancy's wand 
 Called forth her shapes to dazzle., aud to please; 
 And every throb and passion is at peace. 
 Awake, my harp! is there no untried theme 
 To rouse thy tremulous strains - can Memory cease 
 To woo the musings of her once-loved dream, 
 As dear, as ever warmed a bard by wizard stream • 
 
 The thoughts of other days, in shadow y throng, 
 Tumultuous pass before me: dost thou sec 
 Superior 'mid the forms, that float along, 
 One lovelier than the loveliest nymph may be? 
 Ay — by the blossom of that cheek 'tis she : 
 She, for whose love my every pulse is beating; 
 And, as the past awakes a hollow sigh, 
 I feel the blood advancing and retreating — 
 Yet oh ! deceptive bliss, the pangs of absence cheating.
 
 83 
 
 A world of time enshrouds the slow-paced hours 
 That part young bosoms, melting in deep love : 
 When last thy full eye sank in tender showers, 
 Methought it spoke of pangs, we had to prove. 
 Yet lovely as the moon in her alcove 
 Of silver splendour, when a robe of dew 
 Inwreathes her, and the stars, her handmaids, move 
 In mystic maze — it glistened to the view, 
 As fain it would have looked my bosom through and 
 through. 
 
 Planet of memory ! I bless thy beam 
 With dear devotion, for to thee I owe 
 The phantom of my joy. As waters gleam 
 Reflectively, and bright, and beauteous flow 
 In triumph to the dancing rays, that throw 
 Athwart the blue expanse a blaze of light : — 
 So, Memory, dost thou teach my heart to know 
 The sweetness of the past, till I delight 
 To catch the fairy forms, that flit before my sight. 
 
 A few, brief, little moons — and oh ! how sweet 
 To rove with thee, fair sovereign of my breast, 
 Fair idol of my faith, while feelings beat 
 In fondest unison to lot so blest. 
 The waters rolled around us ; and the crest 
 Of distant cliff was streaked with paly red, 
 Caught from the sun, just sinking into rest ; 
 All Nature slumbered in her summer bed, 
 The wild winds Mere enchained, and nought was 
 heard to dread :
 
 84 
 
 Nought, save the dash of billows — like the noise 
 Of busy city, murmuring round the head 
 Of calm Philosophy, whose "still small voice" 
 Rose faintly, fitfully: metbought, it said, 
 How lovely in the storms of life is shed 
 The ray of peace o'er some romantic cot, 
 By two hearts tenanted, whose thoughts are led 
 To one magnetic point ; whose wish is not 
 For pomp and grandeur, but a still sequestered spot. 
 
 In such a moment we were wont to pause, 
 And gaze upon the star of Destiny : 
 Did we not deem it, like transparent gauze, 
 With spangles studded to enchant the eye? 
 Oh ! we did whisper (and a little sigh 
 Betrayed too legibly of future scenes) 
 That star would guard us from the ills, that ply 
 Poor man : — alas; delusive Fancy gleans 
 Against the woes of life fond, flattering, faithless 
 means. 
 
 And now that waves divide us (did we deem 
 The pang of parting half so keen ?) I gaze 
 On that same twinkling Btar, till tear-drops stream 
 In showers of feeling, and departed days, 
 Like phantoms, sw eep around me ; — dost thou trace 
 With lingering look yon brilliant of the sky, 
 Communing with me through ;i world of space? 
 Love whispers "yes;" and curbs the anxious sigh, 
 Tliat struggles forth, whene'er I muse on joys gone by.
 
 85 
 
 Must then these passion-thoughts he banished ? 
 And must I chase the memory of the past, 
 Sweet, as rich spice embalms the royal dead, 
 And stays Expression, ere it vanish fast ? 
 Alas ! in darkness is my fortune cast. 
 Farewell, a long farewell, ye scenes, that erst 
 Were Paradise to me ! — the biting blast 
 Hath seared and scattered every bud I nurst — 
 The stem, that yet remains, is blighted, battered, 
 curst. 
 
 Curst by rude Fate ! and yet the breath of Love 
 Fanned its young leaves, and tears of tenderness 
 Fed it with springs of water. But remove 
 The fostered plant, its infant shoots repress — 
 I tell thee, seeds will linger there, to bless 
 The spot, wherejirst it flourished ; — and the heart, 
 That revelled in those scenes of happiness, 
 Which Fate for others bids to being start, 
 Will break in twain, ere wholly with its idol part. 
 
 January, 1S21.
 
 8fi 
 
 CANZONET. 
 
 A> X', u> fthr, ~ip<r\»i' To7f «uto7o7 tci 
 Oilx dura; alii Saiuovuiv TrapoLSTXiv. 
 
 Soph. Elect, d'2'2. 
 A GLEAM of light is quivering- on the wave, 
 NcreVds are dancing - in their coral cave : 
 No blast awakes his voice, to drive at chance 
 A pilgrim shallop o'er the blue expanse. 
 My life, it is the bark of " young Desire*," 
 And light and lovely shall the gales respire. 
 Those Nereids are the charms of cherub Love 
 In all the purity of bliss above. 
 Luscious o'er all Hope's golden gleam is glowing, 
 Dear as the raptured vow, from passion Rowing, 
 A flash from heaven, a heavenly prosped showing. 
 Catch, catch the strain, till mutual hearts confess 
 Responsive throbs can Kindle, cherish, liless. 
 Ennobling let it chase dark Fancy's brood, 
 And thoughts, that chill the hour of Solitude : 
 Gladsome, as woodland carol, let it thrill, 
 Harmonious index of my fondest will : 
 Embalm it with a smile. — My harp, lie still. 
 
 May, 1821. 
 
 ON A PEBBLE, 
 
 WHICH WAS GIVEN ME BY NK.KItA. \M> SET l\ \ BROOCH. 
 
 How delicious t<> me, like a vision of sleep. 
 Is the pebble so vivid, you gave me to Keep: 
 
 * Moore.
 
 87 
 
 In my eyes it is worth all the gems, that adorn 
 The deep caves of the sea in the prime of the morn. 
 
 Have you marked the clecir waters, from fountains 
 
 that gush ? 
 Or a maiden's young cheek, that is tinged with a 
 
 blush, 
 When a thought of the past wakes a scene that is gone, 
 Just as faint as the smile of a summer eve's sun ? 
 
 You would say, that the waters were lovely and bright, 
 That the maiden's young cheek was a rose of delight : 
 Thus to fancy appears the dear gem, which you gave — 
 Like the blush of that maiden, the sheen of that wave. 
 
 'Tis dear and 'tis welcome, as a soul to her rest, 
 When hymns of rich music waft her on to the blest : 
 As the paean is sweet to the warrior's ear. 
 When he springs to the field, and the battle is near. 
 
 In my heart I will place it with many a sigh, 
 And will think on my love with a tear in mine eye : 
 Oh ! I would not exchange for the crown of a king, 
 For it brings me a joy no tiara can bring. 
 
 My delight to enhance, to preserve me from ill, 
 In my breast I will treasure this amulet still ; 
 Far lovelier it is than the spells of the East, 
 Which Arabia's soft girls bear away to the feast.
 
 88 
 
 In that breast it will lie, like a god in liis shrine, 
 And with virtue its own make the feelings divine ! 
 And, if ever my thoughts haply wander astray, 
 I will turn to my Mentor, and seek the lost way. 
 
 Thus in honour, affection, and truth 'twill be decked, 
 And be pregnant with charms, never known in 
 
 neglect : 
 When unheeding, unheeded, it shone by the sea*, 
 Like a bud of the waste, blooming lonely and free. 
 
 When the garden of life by our feet has been trod, 
 And the flowers, once so beautiful, droop in the sod : 
 Still a thought shall survive and embalm our decline, 
 That the roses we culled, when the season was fine. 
 
 As a mirror reflects all the lines of the face, 
 So of life, that is fleeting, the chart we may trace; 
 But the map it will brighten, to ponder the time, 
 When each token beamed lovely and fresh in its prime. 
 
 June, 1821. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH. 
 
 Yes ! my heart is my treasure, the all I possess ; 
 As to those, that are richer, of love they have less 
 
 • The pebble was found on the coast of Wicklow.
 
 89 
 
 But (believe me) this heart, it is tender and true, 
 And each thought, that it breathes, may be bared to 
 
 the view. 
 The pure flame that I foster, thy presence augments, 
 It enraptures my heart, it consumes, it torments. 
 No — it is not a feeling to wander and range, 
 Which a moment creates, and a moment can change ; 
 In my heart deeply graved, that beams bright with 
 
 the flame, 
 (Ah ! forgive a short sigh) 'tis the soul of my frame. 
 In the tumult so soft as my senses are tost, 
 All the incense I vowed is forgotten and lost. 
 When an exile you roam by a fate too unkind, 
 Pleasure tracks thy dear steps, but Regret lags behind; 
 Then the Morning forbears her cool freshness to shed, 
 Fades the grass, and the rose is all scentless and dead; 
 Then Nature in pity seems to sigh to my moan, 
 And poor Philomel's plaint but re-echoes my own. 
 
 July, 1821. 
 
 TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM 
 
 UNDER A BOUQUET OF PAINTED FLOWERS. 
 
 When thine eye is reposing upon the gay wreath, 
 Whose sweet flowers distil all the sweetness they 
 
 breathe, 
 How delightful to think it is Friendship, that weaves 
 The rich nosegay so fair with her fairest of leaves !
 
 90 
 
 The wild buds of Talent, the wild blossoms of Wit, 
 Here invite thee to feast on so precious a treat. 
 Thus of Pleasure the cup will be bright to the brim. 
 And the poison of Sorrow grow feeble and dim. 
 
 Inhale then the fragrance, ere its freshness be fled, 
 Like a cloud of the morn, or a voice from the dead. 
 As on Time's stormy ocean in triumph we sail, 
 Ob ! remember 'tis Friendship, whose charms never 
 fail. 
 
 August, 1821. 
 
 OX LEAVING CLOXMAXXEX, 
 
 THE SEAT OF THE REVEREND DR. TRUELL. 
 
 When I gazed on Clonmannen's bright beautiful halls, 
 
 With the mountains and ocean in view, 
 I remembered the lot, which so many befalls, 
 
 Though 'tis prized and acknowledged by few. 
 For the mountains, though cultured, are chilly and 
 bleak, 
 
 And the voice of the ocean is stern ; 
 Yet Clonmanneo appeared in the midst to bespeak 
 
 The content, which a prince cannot earn. 
 And oh ! does not rich Mercy descend from above 
 
 To enfranchise the world from its woes? 
 But how few in that world can the blessing improve, 
 
 While they heed not the source whence it flows.
 
 91 
 
 Did ye pardon the sigh, that escaped my adieu, 
 
 For it went to my heart and my head : 
 ' May sweet Peace everwave her white wings over you/ 
 
 Was the prayer that I then would have said. 
 When ye tread your gay grounds, that are hallowed 
 by Taste, 
 
 When ye list to the ocean's rude roar, 
 Will ye fling the brief glance of a thought on the waste 
 
 For the stranger on Albion's shore ? 
 Yes, the day-spring of hope shall beam bright on his 
 mind 
 
 To revisit the spot where ye dwell; 
 May he then find you friendly, and feeling, and kind, 
 
 As the hour, when he breathed a farewell. 
 
 September, 1821. 
 
 THE MEETING. 
 
 Tam te basia multa basiare, 
 Vesano satis et super Catullo est. 
 
 Cat. vii. 9. 
 
 The kiss I left upon thy cheek, 
 
 Came warmly from my heart: 
 And it would tell thee, could it speak, 
 
 The all to me thou art. 
 For I have dreamed the wildest things, 
 
 That ever mortal knew: 
 I turn to thee, — conviction springs, — 
 
 My dreams are more than true.
 
 92 
 
 I find thee fairer tlian before, 
 
 Though then I thought thee fairest 
 
 I think upon thee o'er and o'er, 
 I find thee still the dearest. 
 
 Ten thousand recollections sweet 
 
 Throng in upon my view: 
 Atones it not, so well to meet, 
 
 For that wild word, adieu? 
 Vet seems it like a vision fair, 
 
 Which dazzles to deceive: 
 But when I see thy dear self there, 
 
 I dare not disbelieve. 
 
 September, 1821. 
 
 TO XH.KKA, SINKING. 
 
 Oh ! say not, that the " brightest joys will fade," 
 
 Or that the " sweetest flowers" will soon decay ; 
 Although to hear each plaintive wild note made 
 
 Thrills to my soul, and steals my heart away. 
 'Tis (I confess) the felon west-wind's sigh, 
 
 That robs the violet of her rich perfume : 
 One moment, and another gale waves by, — 
 
 The theft is paid for by the robber's doom. 
 Ah ! why then do I doubt the tones, that flow 
 
 From lips, where truth and meekness are enshrined:' 
 Is it because the heurl trill answer " No" 
 
 To strains, that battle with a lover's mind?
 
 93 
 
 For oh ! to see thee, hear thee, is the joy 
 
 That blends my waking and my sleeping hours 
 
 But then to think, that Time can ali destroy, — 
 Go, kill the wild bird in his native bowers. 
 
 September, 1821. 
 
 THE WISH. 
 
 When my fond arm encircles thee, 
 
 And love enchains my soul ; 
 I fain could wish, that bliss to be 
 
 Exempt from Time's controul. 
 When my fond eye is turned to thine 
 
 In rapture's mute amaze ; 
 I fain could wish the power were mine 
 
 T' immortalize that gaze. 
 But jealous Time will steal along, 
 
 In spite of all I say : 
 Yet Time himself can do no wrong, 
 
 While Memory holds her sway. 
 For I will treasure every look 
 
 That steals into my heart, 
 Till the pure page in life's bright book 
 
 Become my only chart. 
 
 September, 1821 .
 
 !»1 
 TO XI-.KRA, 
 
 WITH •' THOMSON'S SEASONS. 1 
 
 Yes ! poetic (I ween) are the gales and the grow. 
 When they sigh to the voice of omnipotent Love: 
 And, endeared to the Muse, as a child to her sire, 
 Is the flower, that is fanned by the breath of Desire. 
 
 On the mountain, that bares its broad breast to the 
 
 sky, 
 By the stream, like a bride, running joyfully by, 
 You will ponder and pause with enthusiast care, 
 When you know, that the steps of young Love have 
 
 been there. 
 
 Can ye match me the shades of romantic Vaucluse ? 
 Can ye match me Lausanne for the softest of hues ? 
 To the soul of Remembrance, say, are they not dear ? 
 Can ye greet the lorn spot, and refrain from a tear? 
 
 It is Love lendeth lustre and life to the scene, 
 While the Seasons inarch on with the state of a queen : 
 Ah ! if Love be away, all the spirit is fled, 
 And the form, that nas lovely, is lifeless and dead. 
 
 You can feel the sweet tones of a Thomson's sweet 
 
 voice, 
 O'er Amelia weep, with Musidora rejoice : 
 As a ripple is seen on the breast of the lake. 
 As the harp is inspired, when the wind is awake.
 
 95 
 
 Let life's winter steal on, like a thief in the night, 
 And an echo reply to the voice of delight; 
 Yea, let Music and Mirth no more redolence bring ; — 
 Still shall Hope be your guide to a far brighter spring. 
 
 So, on wings of ambrosia, the Morning will bear 
 All the charms, that can smooth the dark brow of 
 
 Despair : 
 So the worm, that was dead, will awake in its cell. 
 And, elastic with life, bid adieu to its shell. 
 
 September, 1821. 
 
 THE PARTIXC. 
 
 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 " Forsan et hrec olim meminisse juvabit." — /En. i. 203. 
 
 There's a voice from the tomb, that is sweeter than 
 song, 
 Though it wakes the hot tear, still it softens the 
 heart : 
 
 So to joys, that are fled, such bright treasures belong- 
 That, oh ! from them no magic can tempt us to part. 
 
 It is cold, it is hollow, yet solemn and dear, 
 And the beauty of death is beaming all o'er it ; 
 
 It may kill us to think on the pleasures that were, 
 But, like moths in the light, we still flutter before it. 
 
 October, 1821.
 
 96 
 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 " There are few things, not purely evil, of which we can say, 
 without sonic emotion of uneasiness, this U the lust." 
 
 Johnson's Idler, No. 103. 
 
 When I am gone from Erin's shore, 
 
 Where Pleasure wooed me; 
 Where dwells the girl, whom I adore, 
 
 Whose charms subdued me; 
 Say, will she with a streaming eye 
 
 Turn to the sister-coast ? 
 For him, the stranger, will she sigh, 
 
 Who loves her more than most ? 
 Alas ! his heart will linger here, 
 
 Though hence his steps must stray ; 
 Past are the hours he found most dear — 
 
 Their memory lights his way. 
 
 October, 1821. 
 
 TO A VIOLET, 
 
 which was PICKED UP IN THE ROAD. 
 
 Sure, I could weep for thee, neglected flower! 
 
 For thou Mast gathered by some churlish hand 
 In the " full pride of thy meridian hour *," 
 
 And now thou best unheeded on the strand. 
 
 * Joseph Warton.
 
 97 
 
 Tis ever thus: ungrateful man will pray 
 
 For every gift, that dew-like drops from heaven ; 
 Then, as the owl, that turns from light away, 
 
 Reject with cynic scorn the blessing given. 
 And woman too — the flower of Paradise — 
 
 Oh ! if she dare in faithless man to trust 
 The evening incense of her maiden sighs ;-— 
 
 Like thee, poor flower, she withers in the dust. 
 
 March, 1822. 
 
 LINES TO MY YOUNGEST BROTHER, 
 
 WITH A PLATE OF HIS CARD. 
 
 Where'er you go, 
 
 Be sure to show 
 The token where to find ye : 
 
 'Tis good for fame 
 
 To keep a name, 
 And yet leave one behind ye. 
 
 That yours will be 
 
 From blemish free, 
 I dare to hope ; — and cannot fear, 
 
 When you are fled, 
 
 But 'twill be said, 
 "■ Oh ! how we wish for Richard here !" 
 
 April, 1822.
 
 98 
 
 X*X«7rov 8« xot/ Ii?.r,a-yr 
 XaXeartwTircv Se rav-ruiy 
 
 ANACREON. 
 
 Do not call the poet Rover, 
 
 Ken though the charge he true : 
 Bid tlie poet be a lover, 
 
 He lives and loves for you. 
 Many a bright cloud passes o'er 
 
 The azure veil of July's sky; 
 Till evening weeps her balmy store, 
 
 And spreads her purple dye. 
 Then one pure tint alone appears 
 
 In triumph o'er tlie rest: 
 And many a thought of other years 
 
 Will yield to one the breast. 
 
 August, 1822. 
 
 STANZAS, 
 
 WRITTEN in \\ ALBUM. 
 Oil ! do not scorn the wayward line, 
 
 Nor deem it insincere. 
 Though many a loftier lay than mine 
 
 Be brought to flourish here.
 
 99 
 
 The treasures of the gardener's toil 
 
 Are beautiful and bright ; 
 Yet humbler flowers, that deck the soil, 
 
 Have power to charm the sight. 
 May Health, and Peace, and Pleasure live 
 
 Around thy dwelling free : 
 For e'en Nesera will forgive 
 
 The prayer I breathe for thee. 
 
 September, 1822. 
 
 f 2
 
 SONNETS.
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 WITH " PLEASURES OF MEMORY/' 
 
 When sullen Chance, or Fortune bids me part 
 Far from romantic scenes my soul holds dear, 
 And every little joy I 've cherished here, 
 
 Oh ! then let Memory's tablet be the heart. 
 
 And if a thought, a transient thought, should start 
 Of him, who breathes one fervent wish for thee, 
 That thy young breast from sorrow may be free, 
 
 Spurn it not thence — but in the hour of grace 
 
 Give the intrusive rogue a resting place. 
 
 Perchauce, 'twill please, a fleeting thought to cast 
 On scenes departed, and events long past, 
 
 And smooth the shafts of absence in their race. 
 
 Oh ! let the giver and the gift agree, 
 
 And Memory consecrates her muse to thee. 
 
 Jan. 16, 1818.
 
 101 
 
 TO THE REVEREND JOHN" WOOL, D.D. 
 
 BEAD MASTER OF RUGir, SI 1IOOL. 
 
 • Ah ! happy years ! once more who would not be a boy '■' 
 
 Chixde Harold, Canto ii. stanza 23. 
 
 To thee, who oped my boyish mind to views 
 Of loftier energy, and hade me trace 
 A Homer's grandeur, and a Virgil's grace, 
 
 A tender, short " farewell," can I refuse i J 
 
 Rlest he the hand, that shed a verdant leaf 
 
 Around my brow: and oh ! one prayer I breathe, 
 That time may twine it to a laurel wreath, 
 
 Unseared hy envy, unalloyed by grief. 
 
 Me as Affection's voice shall love to hend 
 
 Where many a youth (when life each pleasure gave) 
 With me has sported in pure Avon's wave, 
 
 Still may I find the patron and the friend ! 
 
 'Twill wake each little friendship, now no more : 
 
 'Twill wake a sigh to feel my childhood o'er. 
 
 June 20, 1818.
 
 105 
 
 TO A BLUE BRACELET. 
 
 Go, happy bracelet, go, and tell the fair, 
 
 Whose arm of virgin snow 'tis thine to bind, 
 To cultivate the graces of the mind, 
 
 Nor heed the trifles, she may chance to wear. 
 
 Yet canst thou hope to emulate the hue, 
 
 Which smiles and sparkles in one tender vein ? 
 No ! — of a brighter lustre to complain, 
 
 And softer tint, alone remains for you. 
 
 That tint — 'tis beautiful, as heaven the while, 
 When cloudless azure floats along the sky : 
 More beautiful her heart of purity, 
 
 Where Virtues ripen, and where Graces smile. 
 
 Then live, blest bracelet, in a lot divine, 
 
 The wish of him, who traced this hasty line. 
 
 Sept. 17, 1818. 
 
 F O
 
 KM, 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 WITH OIU \Y > " ORP1I \\ 
 
 Lady, mcthinks, when o'er the plaintive page 
 Thy blue eye lingers, a spontaneous tear 
 In dewy loveliness will quick appear, 
 
 And speak of sympathies thy heart engage. 
 
 Weep — for 'tis Virtue's tear ! a tear so sweet, 
 That wondering Seraphs record it in heaven, 
 And deem Benevolence, to mortals given. 
 
 Pure as the joy, with which their bosoms beat 
 
 A tear is beautiful in woman's eye ; 
 
 Yet doubly beautiful, when " Orphans' " woes 
 That living pledge of tenderness disclose, 
 
 And claim the homage of a heart-felt sigh. 
 
 Weep, lady, weep — 'tis more than airy Miss — 
 
 I scarce could stop the current with a kl88. 
 
 Oct. 3, 1818.
 
 107 
 
 TO A FLOWER. 
 
 Sweet flower, when I beheld thy lovely head 
 
 Lone lingering on the stem, methought 'twas May: 
 Thy tint so beautiful, thy leaf so gay, 
 
 I scarce could deem the balmy summer tied. 
 
 Did the bleak North his cruel rage forbear, 
 Enamoured of thy beauty, as he past? 
 For, oh ! thy form would wither in the blast, 
 
 Fanned by the fragrance of a milder air. 
 
 Strange, that no tender hand hath culled thee, flower, 
 To twiue into a wreath, or bind the brow ; 
 But thou art left, a monument of woe, 
 
 The sport of every breeze, and every shower ; 
 
 Like some lone exile in this world of care, 
 
 Who, reft of all, lies shrouded in despair. 
 
 Oct. 29, 1818.
 
 [08 
 
 TO A MYRTLE, 
 
 GIVEN ME DV A LADY, AND REARED BY HERSELF. 
 
 Yes, — thou Avert fostered by as fair a hand, 
 As ever beauty graced, as ever wore 
 ■ A badge of triumph, which the champion bore, 
 
 What time young Chivalry wooed Albion's land. 
 
 Thy leaves exhale her breath, whose genial care 
 Nursed thee, ambiguous plant! — at morn and eve 
 She would with thee a loitering hour deceive, 
 
 And smile at every charm unfolding there. 
 
 The lovely prize she gave: — though cherished much, 
 (As much it should be) yet 1 joy to know, 
 That still beneath her eye new beauties glow, 
 
 New graces still repay her tender touch. 
 
 And wilt thou, canst thou, dare to fade away? — 
 
 Thy fragrance freshens, as thy haves decay- 
 
 April 12, 1819.
 
 109 
 
 TO MR. BIRD, 
 
 ON HIS " VALE OF SLAUGHDEN." 
 
 When Night hath rolled her mantle o'er the sky, 
 And Stillness broods above the glassy stream :— 
 Then have I roved, in fancy's wildest dream, 
 
 And caught with listening ear the thrilling cry 
 
 Of the lorn nightingale — till ecstacy 
 In soft delirium stole across my breast, 
 And every ruder passion sank to rest, 
 
 While danced the heart, and rapturous joy beat high. 
 
 So mild the magic of her melody, 
 
 I 've shed a tear to mark the dim stars fade : — 
 I could have lingered in that music shade 
 
 For ever, as the rich tones floated by ! 
 
 So you, sweet Bird, young Fancy's darling child, 
 
 Touch the soft lyre, and tune your " wood-notes wild." 
 
 April 17, 1819.
 
 no 
 
 TO A GOLDFINCH, 
 
 WHICH BEGUILED A SOLITARY WALK. 
 
 Bold bird, thy confidence bath won my heart ; 
 Nor would I, could I, for a world destroy 
 Thy little blandishments of summer joy, 
 
 Or with unfeeling- tumult hid thee part. 
 
 — And yet so sweet thy note, thy plume so bright, 
 I fain could clasp thee to my throbbing breast, 
 And make thee there as soft and warm a nest, 
 
 As ever parent built on woody height. 
 
 Fond, foolish thought! 'twould lure me to detain 
 Thee, a lime prisoner of my lonely room : — 
 Ah ! then farewell the brilliance of thy plume, 
 
 Farewell the sweetness of thy thrilling strain. 
 
 I love thy carol, as it vibrates by, 
 
 Too well to rob thee of thy liberty. 
 
 J ul, j 10, IS 11).
 
 HI 
 
 MELANCHOLY MUSING. 
 
 The village bell comes softened by the breeze, 
 And melts most musical — yet every tone 
 Seems like the hollow voice of Friendship gone, 
 
 When Fancy sorrows at the form, she sees. 
 
 Now 'tis the sound of seraphs, whispering - peace 
 To the departing soul : — if, stranger, thou 
 Hast watched the last glance of the closing brow, 
 
 'Twill bid the worthless world's poor pageant cease. 
 
 For what is life ? A scene of hopes and fears, 
 
 Which lure the boy, and cheat the full-grown man : 
 Shun, shun the insidious Syren while you can, 
 
 Nor tempt the anguish of repentant tears. 
 
 That bell shall toll, when thy cold corse is laid 
 
 In the rude bosom of some hamlet shade. 
 
 July 11, 1819.
 
 112 
 
 REGRET. 
 
 He, who hath known a wild, delicious thrill, 
 When woody heights arrest the gazing eye, 
 And darksome dells along the distance lie. 
 
 And shepherd's whistle warbles down the hill, 
 
 Will sorrow, as he turns him to depart : 
 
 Yea ! he will muse on every joy, that's been 
 The dear companion of the sylvan scene, 
 
 And feel a dampy dullness at the heart. 
 
 The woody height — was contemplation's friend, 
 Those dells — they whispered of secluded ease, 
 The shepherd's whistle — Mas the voice of peace ,- 
 
 And all was bliss, for each in each did blend. 
 
 Oh! he will mingle with his last adieu, 
 
 "When shall I gaze, ye Scenes, again on you?" 
 
 Juli, 12, 18 19-
 
 13 
 
 THE RETROSPECT. 
 
 Ullesthorpe, as on thy happy seats I muse. 
 
 And think how bridal Nature decked each sod 
 
 With mantle azure-green, when late I trod 
 Thy tufted dells, why does my heart refuse 
 A kindred thrill? — Is it, that Memory views 
 
 The fluttering- phantom of departed joys? 
 
 For Music woke her wild and wizard voice, 
 And Poesy bathed deep in honey dews, 
 Amid thy lovely bowers, the enraptured soul : 
 
 And there was circling - on the merry green, 
 While Friendship waved her plumes, and Pleasure 
 stole 
 
 With silvery sandals o'er the living scene. 
 Where are ye now? — Alas ! like dead man's knoll, 
 
 Ye strangely whisper what the past hath been. 
 
 April 22, 1820.
 
 114 
 
 TO PEMBROKE CASTLE, 
 
 liV MOON LIGHT. 
 
 How delicate upon tit is ruined pile 
 
 The paly moonbeam rests! it loves the spot, 
 By all, save tenants of the air, forgot; 
 
 And flings o'er ivied masses many a smile. 
 
 Did he, who boldly planned it, fondly deem 
 Its grandeur fadeless? did he deem, that Joy 
 Would ring through bannered hall her revelry 
 
 For ever, in the flash of Beauty's beam ? 
 
 Then bid his Spirit mark the idle weed, 
 
 That wantons in the wind 'mid mouldering li<;i]i> ; 
 And pause a moment, where Destruction keeps 
 
 Her savage seat, and glories in the deed. 
 
 And yet, methinks, it triumphs o'er decay — 
 
 A splendid wreck of splendour past away. 
 
 July 23, 1820.
 
 115 
 
 TO CAREW CASTLE. 
 
 Sterx Spirit, whose gigantic throne is raised 
 On gaping battlement, and ruined tower, 
 Whilst every moment magnifies thy power, 
 
 I ask not thee to weep this darkling waste. 
 
 Yet oh! so mellow and so soft the tint, 
 Thy fairy hand hath left — the very place 
 Beams charms unearthly, that I love to trace 
 
 Thy dower of ages, thy pervading print. 
 
 But where are Beauty's tears ? — for they will fall 
 O'er every spot, that rang to Beauty's feet, 
 When melting music rose in accents sweet, 
 
 With sportive mirth amid this empty hall. 
 
 Majestic pile! thou mind'st me of the hour, 
 
 When I ?vas blest in Joy's voluptuous bower. 
 
 July 29, 1820.
 
 11(3 
 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 A xi) why not weep? the soft and sacred tear, 
 That waters Friendship's tomb; the swelling sitrli, 
 That echoes to the voice of years gone bj . 
 
 Though waked by foreign notes, to me are dear. 
 
 For I have lingered by the virgin bier 
 
 Of one, who, like a moonbeam on the wave, 
 Glanced lovelily, and melted in the grave — 
 
 Then felt, as if my heart were blank and sear. 
 
 I thank thee, lady ! and thy cherished name 
 With all thy virtue shall embalm the cell 
 Of wizard Memory ; and should a spell 
 
 Of wild regret steal o'er my thrilling frame, 
 
 I'll woo the few short hours I've passed witli thee, 
 
 Ami bless the star, whose brilliance lighted me. 
 
 liiisust 28, 1820.
 
 n; 
 
 TO NE-ERA. 
 
 Can Syren song, can eloquence impart 
 
 The soul's delirium ? — like the tuneful string 
 Of hallowed harp, or water murmuring 
 
 Melodious, came your accents to my heart. 
 
 'Tis past — the iciness of hope decayed 
 
 Dissolves with new-horn joy : the withered flower 
 Will spring again to scent the summer bower, 
 
 And the glad sun succeed night's solemn shade. 
 
 Fain would I bask for ever in the beam 
 Of that full eye, whose glance unspeakable 
 Bids each fine feeling in this bosom swell, 
 
 Like some wild vision of a noon-day dream. 
 
 Oh ! blessed be the hand, that twines a Mreath, 
 
 Whose perfumed sweets my soul would joy to breathe. 
 
 August 29, 1820.
 
 118 
 
 RTMIXATIOX. 
 
 • Shame to the coward thought, that e'er betrayed 
 The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade !" 
 
 ( AMl'HKLI.. 
 
 Fool, that I was, to hang on woman's eyes, 
 To trust my happiness to woman's smile! 
 All! little knew I woman's worthless wile, 
 
 Her Syren glances, or fallacious sighs. 
 
 Those smiles mere worlds to me: to me were dear 
 Those eyes of gladness; for they told of bliss 
 As pure and placid; as when waters kiss 
 
 Their pebbled bed, which I believed sincere. 
 
 'Twas but a dream: so full of joy and pain 
 The wild impression left upon the sense, 
 Now fraught with frenzy, now with innocence, 
 
 We fain would wish, yet dread, to dream again. 
 
 Hut I have done with dreams — the morning raj 
 
 I lath baffled Night, and chased her glooms away. 
 
 September 1, 1820.
 
 119 
 
 REFLECTION. 
 
 No, not a farewell tint upon the tower 
 
 I saw in cloudless light — save where the Moon 
 Silvers, with chaste cold hand, the rugged stone, 
 
 Like Spirit, shrouding Beauty's faded flower 
 
 In pallid robe. It is the secret hour, 
 
 When young hearts — blighted, bleeding — call to 
 
 view 
 Each fairy scene Hope's magic pencil drew 
 
 With all the sorcery of Fancy's power. 
 
 Alas ! that o'er such scenes dark tempests lour, 
 The colours vanish, and the sketch appears, 
 As 'twere a Niobe, all bathed in tears. 
 
 Or bird, whose wings are wet with morning shower. 
 
 The heart, Neaera, and the eye that weep — 
 
 Would they were buried in eternal sleep ! 
 
 September 3, 1 820.
 
 120 
 
 REGRET. 
 
 The sun lies pillowed on liis ocean bed; 
 
 The wind is whispering, like the tremulous note, 
 Or " still small voice" of Sorrow, heard to float, 
 
 When young hearts hold communion with the dead. 
 
 How speaks it ? . . . that the grave of imaged bUfie 
 Is gaping — that the font of joy hath gushed — 
 And e'en the echo of delight is hushed — 
 
 Did ever mortal feel a blow like this? 
 
 Forgive, Neaera, the desolate strain 
 
 Of troubled frenzy: yet if Hope should guide 
 These truant feet to Erin's region wide, 
 
 (And when will Hope desert the enthusiast's brain ?) 
 
 Hid the poor wanderer from his sufferings cease, 
 
 And hear his blessing hail the dove of peace. 
 
 September 4, 1820.
 
 121 
 
 TO NEiERA. 
 
 Efus dvWe* Soph. Antig. 792. 
 
 When thine eye glances on Love's token-ring, 
 Who speeds his little pledge o'er sea and land 
 To borrow beauty from thy snowy hand, 
 
 Oh ! think upon the spot, where murmuring 
 
 He warbles wildly. For he joys to bring 
 
 Scenes, written in the heart's best blood, to light, 
 Like stars resplendent in a louring night, 
 
 While Memory plumes her many-coloured wing. 
 
 And, though Affection scorn the idle aid 
 Of idle gems to fan her quivering flame — 
 Take this remembrancer, that still the same 
 
 His heart is constant to the choice it made. 
 
 Ah ! when, Neaera, shall the season be, 
 
 That young heart may be blest in blessing thee ? 
 
 March 31, 1821.
 
 
 TO SOME VIOLETS, 
 
 WHICH WERE GATHERED UV NE 
 
 " Too happy days ! when, if he touched a flower 
 Or gem of thine, 'twas Baaed from that hour.* 
 
 MOORS. 
 
 Sweet innocents, fair iirst-born of the year 
 Why tlo your leaves as rich an incense Hing, 
 As when ye bloomed beneath the hand of Spring, 
 
 And Zephyrus became your worshipper? 
 
 How vain the shelter of the lowliest guise ! 
 Your perfume was the harbinger of death : 
 Tis false — ye live, and shed your balmy breath, 
 
 As 'twere some wild and odorous Paradise. 
 
 No — it is Love, whose chaste and ruby lip 
 
 Hath hallowed your existence; and will cherish 
 Each precious relic, till the feeling perish, 
 
 The fountain shrink, at which our bosoms sip. 
 
 Breathe on, sweet innocents! your home shall bi 
 
 \- 'mid vnur wild-flower mates, in peace with me 
 
 il 6, 1821.
 
 123 
 
 TO NE^RA, 
 
 WITH " PLEASURES OF HOPE." 
 
 Go, happy book, and ope thy magic page 
 
 To one, whose heart is pure as infant's thought, 
 Pure as the thrilling lay thy bard hath wrought, 
 
 And the chill pang of loneliness assuage. 
 
 For rough and varied is life's pilgrimage, 
 
 Where storm and sunshine flash across the scene : 
 And Beauty, like a flower of matchless mien, 
 
 Tempts the rude hand from infancy to age. 
 
 Go, tell her, that a mutual heart is sighing 
 For the dear dreams of youthful madness ; 
 
 And that thy voice, no fabled balm applying, 
 Will cheat his bosom into gladness : 
 
 Albeit that bosom, now from sorrow flying, 
 Hath communed with the soul of sadness. 
 
 April 20, 1821. 
 
 G 2
 
 124 
 
 TO NE.«R.\. 
 
 ON HER BIRTHDAY. 
 
 To Thee, whose cherished charms my breast enthrall, 
 
 Fain would I weave, upon thy natal day. 
 
 The fresh-blown chaplet and the votive lay — 
 The prayer for Heaven's pure peace on thee to fall. 
 Though past thy life's young day-blush, yet recall 
 
 The thousand thoughts that busy memory crowd 
 
 (Like gorgeous summer, piling cloud on cloud), 
 And ask thy heart, if one outvies them all? 
 Sweet be thy lot on earth, as thou art sweet. 
 
 Bright be the future, as the past is bright : 
 Thy form each year may fond Affection greet, 
 
 Each year adore the spirit of hie light: 
 See on thy cheek the loves and graces meet, 
 
 Pure, as when first they danced before the sight ! 
 
 December 16, 1821.
 
 125 
 
 TO A GROTTO, 
 
 AT FROSTENDEN GROVE, SUFFOLK. 
 
 If, stranger, the cold world's ungenerous hate 
 
 E'er scathed thy breast; or thou hast sighed to 
 think 
 
 That fairy hopes will wither on the brink 
 Of happiness, and leave thee desolate, 
 Pause here : and brighter wilt thou deem thy fate, 
 
 That thou canst muse in peaceful solitude 
 
 O'er joys departed. Haply, thou hast wooed 
 The virgin, Nature, in her bower of state — 
 Behold her here (with treasures from the deep 
 
 And earth's dark caverns) in her simplest guise. 
 No wild Calypso lures thee to the steep 
 
 Of madness ; but at eve soft sounds arise, 
 And lap thee in Elysian dreams : then weep 
 
 The witchery of mortal melodies. 
 
 August 8, 1822.
 
 126 
 
 TO A LADY. 
 
 ON THE RECEIPT OF A PURSE, MADE BV HEIISELF. 
 
 Lady, 'tis vain to thank thee as I would ; 
 Yet when shall Charity bedew my heart, 
 And I not learn from thee the generous part, 
 
 The virtuous * " luxury of doing good }" 
 
 Oft too, as other joys in sportive mood 
 Woo the light tribute of a vacant hour, 
 I will not rashly dare smooth Fortune's power, 
 
 Hut act, as if thy spirit o'er me stood. 
 
 Dear, doubly dear, will this true treasure be 
 To bid me muse upon the summer-tide, 
 That saw me wander gaily by thy side, 
 
 And droj) a tear, when I am far from thee. 
 
 And, though Nesera claim my affianced vow, 
 
 She too can weave a wreath for Friendship's brcro 
 
 October 24, 1822. 
 
 * Goldsmith.
 
 FARRAGO ACADEMICA.
 
 MARATHON : 
 CARMEN LATINUM 
 
 IK 
 
 SCHOLA RUGBIENSI RECITATUM, 
 
 MDCCCXVIII. 
 
 Ut belli signum impavidis edixit Atlienis 
 Externos venisse duces, inimicaque tela 
 IngTuere; horrcndo conjurat tota tumultu 
 Iude manus, ssevitque animis effusa juventus. 
 Parva erat ilia cohors, parvae tamen igneus ardor. 
 Persarum banc contra, ceu spissa examina, cernas 
 Fervere deusatas acies, stragemque niinari. 
 Flos aderat virtusque virum, quos cura Deoruui 
 Educit Memphis; quos magni nominis olim 
 Heu ! frustra in belli dederant tentamina Sardis. 
 Hie ruit intrepidus septemplicis accola Nili, 
 Hie tendit Babylon ; quos Bactria mittit in anna, 
 Lydorumque imbelle solum : nee deficit acer 
 Medus, et insignes Partlii meliore sagitta. 
 Idem omnes simul ardor agit, Martemque lacessunt 
 Xequicquam, vanisque vocant clamoribus li ostein. 
 
 g 5
 
 130 
 
 Scilicet lios primum colics, lure regna sacravit 
 Libertas cu-lu dcmissa, liic sceptra tyranni 
 Fregit, et Hippiacos jussit contemnere nutus. 
 Ergo te, Marathon, te insignem coede futura 
 Unaniines quaerunt turmse, quas omnis euntes 
 Urbs votia adeo insequitur: nee Graecia jactat 
 Ullo se tantuin cultu, recolenscpie triumphos 
 Te seiitit, Marathon, tantae cunabula famae. 
 Primus ibi ante alios, decus et tutanien in arnn- 
 Saevit Miltiades, altoque serenior ore 
 Virtutem accendit dictis; tl Nunc conjugis esto 
 Quisque memor, socii ! Terra vos matre creati, 
 Vos patriam senate, sacros serrate Penates, 
 Et vcstruii) delubra Deum. Nunc viribus ite, 
 Ite aniinis contra! teluni quod missile librat 
 Projiciat miles dextra ; rumpenda per liostes 
 Est via cominus andendo." Nee plura: Bed olli 
 Clamore incendunt cerium, Persasquc requirunt. 
 
 Dii, (juibus imperium bcroum, queis gloria eordi, 
 Jupiter omnipotens, et tu, Tritonia Pallas. 
 Ne tales prohibete viros succurrere terra; 
 Natali, et cara pro libertate perire! 
 Tempore quio illo (ut perhibent) tua maxima, Tbescu, 
 Umbra adiit campus, ruptoque emissa sepulchre 
 Ante acies strtit. Ingcntcm sine COrpore forniam 
 Cernere erat, qua tota coliors (remit anna, diuque 
 [ndignata minas laetas fovet omina pugnae. 
 Audentes Fortuna jurat. Diro impete Graii 
 In belluin, furiasque ruunt: sua tecta, suseque 
 Uxores, nati, Divumque altaria, in ipsi-
 
 131 
 
 Omnia sunt oculis : neque te, gens inclyta, credo 
 Jussa aliena pati, dominosve agnoscere Persas. 
 Spiritus Harmodii densata per agmina serpit. 
 Nee mora, nee requies ; raucum poeana secuti 
 Concurrunt, dant tela locum, Persaeque recedunt. 
 Extemplo ardentes Graios de collibus altis 
 Irruere aspicias, simul immiscerier agris 
 Persarum, (natura loci queis cedere suasit 
 Aspera) turbatos equites, propriisque catervis 
 Disjectos certae sua tradere corpora morti. 
 Nee peditum non fusa manus circum undique telis 
 Obruitur Graiis, descendit ut sequore campi 
 Pars ingens belli. Conversa lieu ! mente recursat 
 Gloria, quae patres stimulans accenderat olini 
 Victoris Cyri felicia sigua secutos, 
 Auspiciisque suis domitum tremefecerat orbem. 
 Nequicquam pulsos hostes ultricibus armis 
 Hortatur pudor ire iterum, nee pristina fama 
 Corda oblita movet : dum clades dira fatetur 
 Quid possit virtus, quid spes abjecta salutis. 
 Inde oritur gemitus duro sub Marte cadentum ; 
 Pars autem dare terga fuga ; et, quae forte parata>, 
 Scandere fcemiuea. torpens forrnidine naves. 
 
 Quid memorem, ut dextra fugientem littora proram 
 Deprendit, jamjamque tenet tuus, iEschyle, frater, 
 Dum ferro succisa cadit ? mox ille sinistra 
 Insequitur, nisuque iter m delusus inani est, 
 Semianimesque micant digiti, navemque retractant. 
 Tu, Sol, testis eras quae, quantaque funera genti 
 Persarum instabant ; neque enim tibi gratior ulla est,
 
 132 
 
 Quain quae perpetuo gens te vencratur lionorc. 
 Hcu ! Susis, veniente die, quot maesta videbifl 
 Pectora. Quippc pater vacua projectus in aula 
 Absentem luget natuin ; Bpe captus inani 
 Plurima vota facit, sed nil ea rota ralebunt. 
 Usque aded periere acies: ubi Persia, et ilia 
 Effera vis animi ? instructae longo online pomprT r 
 Haec sperata fides, exoptatique triamphi? 
 Quin oh ! quin fuerat melius, queis otia cordi, 
 Desidiacque placent, cum semiviro comitatn 
 Permansisse domi, nee tela infausta tulisse. 
 
 Illustres annua;, patriis occumbere campis 
 Queis dederant fata, et letun pro laude pacisct, 
 Salvete aeternum ! vestras testantia lauros 
 Vivida perpetuis spirabunt marmora signis. 
 /Eseliylus, ante alios Phcebo dilectus, ad altani 
 Intendet majora lyram, rccolensque lahun-., 
 Vel quorum pars magna fuit, pleno "re Bonabit 
 Nomina, et invictam g-entem, dum Fama Buperstea 
 Sacratam servabit liunium custodibus alia. 
 I lie etiam, tragicce tractans veneranila ( ainona 
 Munera, feliei voluit jactare sepulchro, 
 Te vidisse sua', Marathon, virtutis honores. 
 
 At fusa Persaruin aeie, stratisque catervis 
 Graecia se solvit luetu: jurat usque tueri 
 Templa Deee, meritosque adytis indicere honores* 
 Hac tanta- clades, liar f'unera dira manchant 
 Audenteiu populum term \ inlare in sfando 
 Palladias arees : e\ illo lleltile pendet 
 Sujtj)licium, et versis maieliit Persia fatis.
 
 133 
 
 Atquij graude Decus patriae, quae praemia sumes 
 Digna satis r nempe ardescens sub corde juventus 
 Praeteritas repetet laudes, atque inclyta dextree 
 Facta tuae, mentem pictura expleta, fovebit. 
 Libertas ergo, * " sublimior inconcussa 
 Majestate vigens," sedes, soliumque verendum 
 Rupibus imponet propriis ; testemque triumph! 
 Ultricem Maratbona sacrans dominabitur orbi. 
 
 * " Calpe obsessa," a W. L. Bowles.
 
 DFXLAMATIO 
 
 IN .EDE SANCTI JOHANNIS CANTABRIGLE, 
 NOV. 20, 1819, HABITA. 
 
 Hannibal Capuam,post cladem Cannenstm, in hiberna 
 jure concessit. 
 
 Ut primum belli tumultus sedatus est, et tacuit 
 triumphalis victoria? clamor, Hannibal exercitum 
 Capuarn dednxit. Capua turn temporis omni otio, 
 omui illecebrarum genere instructa fuit; et, in lux- 
 uriem prona, obsequio principum, et licentia plebis 
 luxuriebat. Victorem ergo victoria abuti, in vo- 
 luptates immodicas incidisse milites, felicemque occa- 
 sionem Romse expugnandae penitus araitti, ex ad- 
 verso arguitur. Cedo equidem milites in ista vitio- 
 rum officina virtutem deponere, cedo enervari : Han- 
 nibalem vero alitor facere potuisse nego. In primis 
 autem, ut res fusius aliquanto et accuratius expen- 
 datur, quae copiae victori post pugnam restabant, in- 
 telligenduin est. Neque adeo mirandum, quod viri 
 jam bello expleti Martem paulisper vellent intermit- 
 tere. Romanos cives, si urbem repentino motu in- 
 gressus fuerit, multum excipere timorem, et ex isto
 
 136 
 
 timore magna sibi commoda proficisd pro ccrto balm it 
 Hannibal. Ac modo eadem vis, modd eadem insa- 
 tiabilis vindicta, quae ducera ab ineunte aetate nun- 
 quam Don tcncbat, cuni \ iris scsc communii-asset, 
 Roma forsan quassata rueret. Diis alitor visum est. 
 Hand ciiiin imperavit lis, qui Ticini, qui Trebiae 
 fluctus sanguine Romano decoloraverant, qui RomaMl 
 aquilas ad Thrasymenum penitus fugarant : relliquiae 
 tantum corum, quibus belli sors peperoerat, apud 
 vivos erant. Nceessitas enim victorious perinde ac 
 \ictis it comes. Multos per annos in ipsis aliense 
 terra- visceribus felicissimd militarat Hannibal : sin 
 has relliquiae fortuna parum Becunda* uterentur (et 
 Fortuna quidem * " transmutat incertos honores") 
 unde nova auxilia speranda essent? Num Carthago, 
 num I Iispania, nuiii Gallia novum ezercitum emit- 
 terct ? novie opibus juvaret ? At Cartbagine propter 
 odium infensus civibus; at Hispaniam in initio belli 
 jamdudum exhauserat; at Gallia- Borem, partim 
 pollicitationibus, partim Bpe praedae ante oculoa pro* 
 posita, in Italiain secuni eduxorat. Pauci iMiani ex 
 bis vol victorias superfuerunt. Qualis autem ipso 
 Hannibal? quantum mutatus ab ill<> Hannibale, qui 
 opposita Naturae claustra rupit, <jui Bubegit Alpium 
 M-nicitatein, nives caelique inclementiam haud invitus 
 pertulit, jussit milites uberrima [taliae regna, max sua, 
 spectare, qui denique Romanas acies iterum atque 
 iterum debellavit. Luscus erat [mperator, incerto 
 
 • Hot. Od. iii. 29. v. ;.l.
 
 137 
 
 eventu valetudinis, et naturae communis fragilitate 
 debilitatus; dolebatque, quod Cartliaginienses, con- 
 silio Hannonis perducti, bellicis laboribus inservire 
 noluerunt. 
 
 Praecipuam sane victoria? Cannensis causam in 
 equitatu positam esse nemo nescit : sed in urbe op- 
 pugnanda quid valet equitatus ? Huic accedat, Ro- 
 manos pedites^ Paenis nequaquam secundos, cum eo 
 ventum esset, ut maenia Urbis tuerentur, invictos 
 fore. Ex historia enim clarissime patet, * " post 
 pugnam ad Tbrasymenum, Quinto Fabio Maximo et 
 Marco Minucio Rufo negotium ab senatu datum, ut 
 muros turresque firmarent, et praesidia disponerent, 
 quibus locis videretur, pontesque rescinderent flumi- 
 num." Nonne etiam Marcus Claudius Marcellus 
 f " ab Ostia mille et quingentos milites, quos in 
 classem scriptos habebat, Romam, ut urbi praesidio 
 essent, misit ?" Nonne quatuor legiones et mille 
 equites ex auctoritate Patrum intra muros conscribi ? 
 Nonne milites de sociis accipi, parari arma ? templis 
 porticibusque detrabi vetera hostium spolia ? octo 
 millia juvenum validorum ex servitiis empta publice 
 armari? His igitur animadversis, quis est tam in- 
 justus rerum existimator, tam rudis, ut non intel- 
 ligat Romanij vel gravissimis belli vulneribus labo- 
 rantem, ad obsidionem sustinendam admodfim pa- 
 ratam esse? vel potius, ad res bellicas agendas 
 
 * Vid, Liv. lib. xxii. c. 8. f lb. c. 57.
 
 138 
 
 Koniam esse unquain i mp aratam, quis dicere aude- 
 l)it ? Tantum abfuit, nt belli Busapiendi impotent 
 
 esset, ut Philippum, Maeedonum regem, qui cum 
 Pccnis in fcedus iuicrat, lioc ipso tempore ad anna 
 convocare statuisset. Ha; copine, hae opes : in his 
 elaborandum. Sit, Hannibalem ad portas esse; sit, 
 Pamos propo capitolium signa conferre: quid tuni ? 
 Pro libertate, pro conjugibus liberisque, pro domi- 
 ciliis Dcorutn, denique pro patria debellandum esset. 
 Cara eniin libero libertas, cara? conjuges, cara templa ; 
 sed omnes omnium caritates patria una complectere- 
 tur. Audaciam oppressis spes abject a suHiceret. Pro- 
 tect n, tali in rerum discrimine, si Romuli imago terras 
 iterilm invisere, et earn patriam, quam sua virtute, suis 
 arinis ornaverat, videre posset, incensa sic loqueretur 
 — " Expergiscimini, Quirites ! valeat apud vos pre- 
 terits memoria gloria' cum bostium impctum, me 
 duce, contudistis ! V(ts, ad anna, ad agendum nati, 
 rempublicam labefactari passuri estis ? Quam Dii 
 immortales pulclierriinam, tlorentissiniam, pntentissi- 
 maiiKjue esse voluerunt, illam Urbeni nolite obli- 
 visci. Ite in bostes victricibus annis. Romulus 
 vos ducani." — Hi essent ad gloriam stimuli, ha- ad 
 salutem faces. Nccnon ab boste pacem petere ma- 
 jestati Pop. Rom. nunquam conveniebat: pacem, 
 annis semper petendam, victoria confirmaret. Quid, 
 si perculsa respublica, quicunquo belli eveatus fuis- 
 sct, multa perdcrct et ornaincnta dignitatis ct prae- 
 sidia Btabilitatis Base? at acerbissimis e miseriis pul-
 
 139 
 
 chrior eniteret, et in hostem, tanquam ista fabulis 
 mandata Hydra, * " secto corpore firmior" cresceret. 
 Testis est indomitae Romanorum indolis bellum 
 paucis ante annis confectum, nt classes, vi hostium 
 coelique ruina ter misere quassatas, ter iterum in- 
 struxerunt. Contra talem audaciam, contra talia 
 arma, quid posset Hannibal ? quid posset exercitus, 
 vel victoria insolens? Quod si ex Cannensi acie 
 protinus ad urbeni Romanam incederat, num alii 
 Italias populi ad castra confluxissent ? Haud sa- 
 pientis esset (et sapientiam Hannibalis quis dubitat ?) 
 Romam ante obsidione premere quam ulla gens in 
 ejus societatem sese obtulerat, atque ita alias civi- 
 tates, Romanis parum fideles, intentatas praeterire ; 
 praecipue cum successus spes magis ex noniinis ter- 
 rore quani ex armorum vi penderet necesse esset. 
 Quantum autem apud gentes Italicas vel nomen, vel 
 arma, Hannibalis revera valuerunt, dicat Nola, dicat 
 Neapolis. Nam cum f " Neapolitanorum animos 
 partim spe, partim metu, nequicquam tentasset, in 
 agrum Nolanum exercitum traduxit : ex quo, sub 
 adventum Praetoris Romani, Paenus excessit." Si 
 igitur in his civitatibus lacessendis vis tota contra 
 varios conatus hostium male evasit, credendum-ne 
 esset Romam, custodibus ubique dispositis, oppug- 
 nando cessuram ? Nequaquam, mehercule. Imo etiam 
 
 * Hor. Od. iv. 4. v. 6l. 
 f Vid. Liv. lib. xxiii. c. 14, 15.
 
 140 
 
 a sociis, qui nondum defccerant, Urbi trepida? sub- 
 voniretur. 
 
 Cum res se ita habet, Romano aggredi amentia 
 ease satis a me, Judices, comprobatum arbitror. 
 Non inseitc Hannibal in uniua bora' discrimen tro- 
 poea jamdudum parta adducere noluit. Magna erit 
 illi laus sub imperio tenuisse mistos ex colluvione 
 omnium gentium militeSj immanitate barbaroe, oiul- 
 titudine innumerabiles : maxima veru, qudd talibua 
 fretus copiis in aliens terra per annus quimlecim de 
 Romania triumpbavit. Itaque te, Uux clarissime, 
 et tua inclyta facta posteritas fovebit : itaque memo- 
 riam pradiorum, quae cum varietate, turn etiam cele- 
 ritate conficiemli admiranda sunt, ipsa attend tas 
 tuebitur.
 
 CARMEN LATINUM 
 
 IN 
 
 COMITIIS PRIORIBUS, 
 
 FEB. 17, 1820, 
 
 CANTABRIGIiE CONDITUM. 
 
 To* 7rspi MoJj hfiXriG-i, 8/Soi/ 8' aya9c'v Tt xaxo'y ts" 
 
 Odyss. 5. v. 63. 
 
 Forte sub antiqua consederat ilice, gliscens 
 Nescio qua praeter solitum dulcedine Musae 
 Miltonus, Lycidamque lyra cantabat : ibi omnes 
 Lugebant Lycidam Fauni, Dryadesque puella?, 
 Ah ! miserum Lycidam referebat montibus Echo. 
 
 Interea solanti animum, fusoque per herbam 
 Emicuit cceleste jubar : mox impete leni 
 Lenis odorato fluitavit in aere nubes, 
 Lumiue transcurrens ramos. Forma indt- superbo 
 Accessit passu, puraque in luce refulgens 
 Obtulit hand mortale decus : dant laeta fragorem
 
 I 1,2 
 
 Arbusta, innocuoque riret sub lumine syha. 
 
 Scilicet in centos Dubea liquefacta recesait, 
 
 Et stetit ante oculos rosea \ -elata corona, 
 
 Virginia os habitumque gerena Dea: vestis ad imos 
 
 Defluxit variata pedes, cui purpura risil 
 
 Mista auro. " LycidaV' clamat, " crudelia fata 
 
 Imbelli ne tange lyra; sublimior ordo 
 
 Te manet." Ulc autem viau, tantoque nitore 
 
 Victua in aternani compressit biniina noctem, 
 
 Dum Diva in tenues fugiens evanuit auras. 
 
 At non idcircd cessit miranda poets 
 Lux animi : tacitae sed enini penetralia mentis 
 Explorare jurat, vivasque ciere figuras 
 Phantasia auguata de sede, hominique negata 
 Leetantem penna ccdi spatiarier arvis. 
 Quippe sacros fontes animal dia potestas 
 Elyaiumque fovet: vit;e melioria imago 
 Nuda patet, superique patent mystcria mundi. 
 Ergo paulatun audacea Be expandere nervoa 
 LTbere luxurians vena pereentk, ct actus 
 Afflatu propiore Dei sublime tuetui 
 De codo ad terrain, de terra ad m;enia cceli. 
 LJtque magus, cui mille rolant aim ul ac r a, poeta 
 Libat opea Nature?, atque Orcum voce canora 
 I allit, et Oceani thalamus (sua regna) pererrat. 
 Nocte alto delapsa Comes sub pectore dignae 
 Accendit flammas, atque imperal ore aoluto 
 Sphaerarum captare meloe, dum littua Edeni 
 Deliciasque docet mo reyirescere cantu.
 
 143 
 
 Usque adeo mira. juvenescit imagine rerum, 
 Ambrosiis inhians formis ; memorique camcena 
 Immortale movet (proprio ceu jure Magister 
 Harmonise) decus, et superum jam affectat Olympum. 
 Te verd, regina Sion viduata, tuosque 
 Fatales celebrat campos, quo carmine captus 
 Restitit ipse Dies : leetans testudine suavi 
 Hesperus intendit vultus, atque immemor orbis 
 Nox stupefacta silet, dum currum Luna ruentem 
 Tardat, et aethereis indulgent plausibus Astra. 
 Namque canit Miltonus, uti per inane coacta 
 Semina se tulerint, ut densa e nocte vocavit 
 Naturam Deus omnipotens : qua voce figuram 
 Induit elicitam caligine daedala tellus, 
 Et flores mirata novos, et non sua dona. 
 At penna insidit diffusa more columbae 
 Spiritus Oceano, natura>que incubat omni 
 Majestas tenebrarum ; " Audaces tollere fluctus 
 Parce, vel impositos ultra tibi tendere fines/' 
 Audiit attonitum Pelagus, fremitumque repressit. 
 Turn Sol effulgere novus, quern laeta salutant 
 Agmina ccelestum ; et sollenni laude lacessunt 
 Rite Creatorem, qui " sit lux," dixit; et ultro 
 Lux erat : — humentem Tu das pallescere lunam, 
 Et cceli rutilare polos custodibus astris. 
 
 Turn canit errantem Satanum ad confinia mundi 
 Remigio alarum, ex humeris cui grande pependit 
 Villosis scutum, Phoebeae lampadis instar. 
 Eheu ! qualis erat, quantum mutatus ab illo,
 
 144 
 
 Quem Deufi ante alios miro dilexit amore, 
 Ad Boliumque suum yeneranda in sede locavit. 
 
 Turris uti, astabat: faeiem penetrabile fu linen 
 Sulcarat, rabieaque indignans Bpareerat atri* 
 Scintillis rultum, mixtoque Buperbia luctu. 
 Multa movcns animn Ditis per inane profundum 
 Barbarico ineedit passu, quo lurida motu 
 Regna tremunt : fugere Animae : pavor occupat Lin- 
 bras. 
 Spectat Edemacas valles, ubi purior aether 
 Usque nitet, Solisque jubar (Sol namque tenebat 
 Per ccelos medium cursum) muscosa vireta 
 Lumine purpureo vestit, ceu dulce micantis 
 Mundi oculus, vel mane Gigas membra alta cubili 
 ( 'urripiens: turn fama aninio, atque elapsa recUTSat 
 Gloria, turn Satanus sopitoe ezcitat ignea 
 Infelix, rerbisque Diem exaecratur iniquis. 
 TEstuat extemplo bella, horrida bella, Jehovae 
 Conferee, et vanos praesuraens mente triumphos 
 Omnipotenteni audet nun dig&a reposcere signa. 
 Demens! oempe Dei Boboles radiantibua armie 
 (incta, Dei vires, et magna pntentia, dirum 
 Emicat in currum: curru gemit altima coeli 
 Ora, polique geinunt, (fracti quasi macbina mundi 
 E versa erueret) — ni qua nianet ineimnissd 
 Majestate Dei solium. Quo* pristina fugit 
 Vis aninii Satano r — ultriees exjierta pbalaugaa 
 Cedit, et inferno se condere gestit asylo, 
 
 Pallor? an et reeinit campos, ubi murmurat uuda
 
 145 
 
 Purior electro, gelidisque illabitur umbris 
 Ambrosium nectar? nullo violatur aratro 
 Gleba, nee audacis Borese vim sentit Edenns. 
 Oh ! fortunatas valles, quas ipsa tuetur 
 Natura. Oh ! qui me sistat prope dulcia regna, 
 Et nemora, arborei sudant queis balsama rami 
 Guttatim, spinaque carens rosa mittit odores. 
 Audin, nt aereae volucres circiimque supraque 
 Undantes resonare docent sua carmina lucos, 
 Et ver perpetuum fremiti! exultante salutant ? 
 Vere etenim Adamus ducit bene sedulus Evam 
 Per virides hortos, ubi mollis amaracus umbra 
 Invitat, purosque adeo sibi poscit amores. 
 Gaudia quid libata juvant? quid laeta venustas, 
 Aut sincera salus? delusa cupidine inani 
 Decerpit mortem male lectis fructibus Eva. 
 Continud insolita tremuit formidine Tellus, 
 Et gemitum Natura dedit. Marcescere serta 
 Elorea, quae suavi modo captus amore legebat 
 Adamus, cerno; demissoque ore dolentem 
 Stare, velut silicem. Cerno exardere cometam, 
 Quippe Dei gladium : respectaus luget uterque 
 Elysivim, longeque ignotis exulat oris. 
 Quin et tempus erit Satano, cCim optaverit Evam 
 Intactam insidiis, cum coelo Christus ab alto 
 Descended victorque caput victum atteret anguis ; 
 Humani et generis referens pro funere fuuus 
 Vana catenati perrumpet claustra sepulchri. 
 Talia carminibus celebrat Miltonus, et haustus 
 
 H
 
 IK) 
 
 JEthereoB, ceu lucem a<piila\ bibit ore; Bacraeque 
 Harmonise felix pleno se proluit H'stu. 
 Tantum divinec pullet facundia mentis. 
 
 II MS. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 rillNTED BY IIIOMAS DAVISON, \\ H tTFKRI ARS.
 
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