\J 
 
 1 */... 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE 
 
 METRICAL MISCELLANY: 
 
 CONSISTING CHIEFLY OF 
 
 POEMS 
 
 HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED. 
 
 Scegliea tra vaghi fiori e verdi erbette 
 Ogni foglietta lieta, 
 Tessendo a Febo nove ghirlandette, 
 Mentre di Pindo per Pombrose valli 
 Passava il flume pin leggiadro in vista. 
 
 LONDON, 
 
 PRINTED, AT THE ORIENTAL PRESS, BY WILSON AND CO. 
 Wild Court, Lincoln's Inn Fields, 
 
 FOR T. CADELL JUN. AND W. DAVIES, IN THE STRAND. 
 
 1802.

 
 PR 
 
 JVo Poem, hitherto confined to Manuscript, has 
 been inserted in this Miscellany, without the Concurrence 
 of the respective Writers, whose Names, where the Editor 
 has obtained Permission to make them public, are affix- 
 ed to their Poems in the following Table of Contents. 
 
 A *t 
 
 812755
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Imitation of the Idyllium of Moschus on 
 
 the Death of Bion , Hon. Hen. Erskine, 1 
 
 Horace, Ode 16, Lib. 2, imitated Idem 10 
 
 Horace, Ode 2, Lib. 5, imitated Idem 13 
 
 The Emigrant, an Eclogue Idem 17 
 
 " Wide over the tremulous sea," &c Roscoe 23 
 
 " From the vine-cover'd hills and gay valleys of 
 
 France," &c R 25 
 
 " Unfold, Father Time, thy long records un- 
 fold," &c R 27 
 
 The Dirge of Belgium T. ! 2g 
 
 Ode to the Poppy Mrs. O'Neil 32 
 
 Rousseau's Tomb at Ermenonville 34 
 
 ** I check'd my sighs, Antonio cried," &c W. Smyth 38 
 
 The Dream i Dr. Darwin 40 
 
 Ode to the River Darwent Idem , 42 
 
 ** When the soft tear steals silently down from 
 
 the eye," &c : 44 
 
 Lines to a Friend who had recommended the 
 Precepts of the Stoic School to the Author's 
 
 adoption Maria Riddell .... 45 
 
 Lesbia's Harp Idem 46 
 
 Epistle to Henry Fuseli, R. A Roscoe 48 
 
 Address spoken at the Liverpool Theatre after 
 
 the sudden Death of Palmer the Comedian Idem 52 
 
 Epilogue to the Stranger , . Maria Riddell ... 55
 
 Vlll 
 
 JV 
 
 Elegy to the Memory of a beautiful young 
 
 Lady Hon. H. Erskine. . 58 
 
 The Passage of the Mountain of St Gothard, Georgiana Duchess 
 
 of Devonshire .. . 6* 
 Inscription written on an Hermitage in one of 
 
 the Islands of the West Indies Maria Riddell 69 
 
 Answer to Mrs. N 's Question, " What is 
 
 Grace ?" 72 
 
 To Miss , on her Marriage 73 
 
 " What rugged rock its lucid store retains," &c 76 
 
 Stanzas on a Bower facing the South W. Smyth 77 
 
 Lines written on a Garden Seat Idem 80 
 
 The Reverie Maria Riddell 81 
 
 Liberty, an Elegy 83 
 
 " From the light down that mocks the gale," &c 86 
 
 " To love, my Laura, let us give," &c H. F. Soame 87 
 
 To a very young Lady 89 
 
 " Thou, to whose pow*r reluctantly we bend," &c 9 
 
 The Vow 91 
 
 On a handsome Mother and Son, each bereft 
 
 of one eye R. B. Sheridan . . 92 
 
 *' Ye swains whom radiant beauty move," &c 93 
 
 * Tis when the rapid trembling strings," &c. . N ibid. 
 
 To-morrow A. L. Barbauld ... 94 
 
 The Farewell Maria Riddell . . . , 95 
 
 " Sweet aery dream, that fly'st my fond em- 
 brace," &c E 96 
 
 " Ye, before whose balmy breath," &c 98 
 
 " The night her empire had resign'd," &c W. Smylh 99 
 
 " Dried be that tear, my gentlest Love," ice. .. R. B. Sheridan. .. 100 
 
 " Mark'd you her cheek of roseate hue," &c. . . Idem 101 
 
 Humid seal of soft affections," &c 102 
 
 Ode to Spring V. Hid 
 
 Ode to Wisdom V 104 
 
 The Relapse E 105 
 
 The Maid with Bosom cold W.Smyth 107
 
 IX 
 
 Pagt 
 
 TheBlush W.Spencer 109 
 
 The Nursing of Love Idem Ill 
 
 To a Lily, flowering by Moonlight W. Roscoe jun r - .. 113 
 
 To Laura W. Smyth 114 
 
 To Laura at parting Idem 117 
 
 Stanzas on a Wither'd Leaf 118 
 
 " The tears I shed must ever fall," &c Miss C*** 120 
 
 " Talk not of love, it gives me pain," &c M 122 
 
 " If to gaze on thee waking, with love never 
 
 ceasing," &c 123 
 
 Ode to Fancy Dr. Laurence ibid. 
 
 Ode to Folly L 126 
 
 Directions to the Porter 129 
 
 Ode to a Fountain . . . v L 130 
 
 The Visionary W. Spencer 133 
 
 ** When brightly glows the western wave, &c. W. Smyth 134 
 
 '* Say, who art thou, and whence thy cure, &c. Idem 136 
 
 " As now the shades of eve embrown," &c. .. T. J. Mathias .... 137 
 
 May-Day Maria Riddell 138 
 
 Corin's Adieu Idem 140 
 
 The Ruin, from the Italian of Petrochi 141 
 
 " The twilight shades are thick'ning fast," &c. Maria Riddell . . . . 143 
 Written on the blank leaf of a Lady's Book 
 
 of Manuscript Poems , Roscoe 145 
 
 Sonnet to Dr. C Idem 146 
 
 Stanzas from the Latinof Angelus Politianus, Idem 147 
 
 On the Tomb of Themistocles, from the 
 
 Greek R. Cumberland . . . 148 
 
 On old Age, from the Greek Idem ibid. 
 
 To a Painter, Epigram, from the Greek .... Idem I4g 
 
 On the Death of Captain Charles Bunbury. . H. F. Soame ibid. 
 
 Ode on the Genius of Chatterton T. 150 
 
 Capell's Ghost, a Parody T. 154 
 
 On Reading the Sorrows of Werter by a Lady 158 
 
 On a Butterfly bursting from its Chrysalis 
 
 in a Lady's hand Dr. Shaw. ...... 15Q
 
 Pag, 
 
 Nature and the Muses, Epigram Mrs. R**** }fio 
 
 To Mrs. A. on the Writer's Birth-day Right Hon. C. J. Fox, l6l 
 
 Inscribed on the Temple of Friendship at 
 
 St. Ann's Hill : Rt.Hon.R.Fitzpatrick, l62 
 
 Written in the Album at Crewe Hall .... Lord Palmerston. . . . l63 
 
 Prologue to ** The Grave," W. Spencer l64 
 
 Prologue to " The Fashionable Friends," Idem 166 
 
 Danae 168 
 
 The Complaint Maria Riddell 171 
 
 Elegy on the Death of Captain J. Woodley Idem 173 
 
 The Banks of Nith Idem 176 
 
 The Remembrance Idem 1 78 
 
 On a Red-breast Idem 180 
 
 Farewell to Nithsdale Idem 182 
 
 Lines written on the Tomb of Two Lovers, 
 
 &c Hon. H. Erskine 184 
 
 Maia's Bier E 187 
 
 Carlos and Adeline Maria Riddell igO 
 
 Egbert and Ina Hon. Charles F** . . 194 
 
 Yarico to Inkle Idem 206 
 
 Alwyn and Rena Idem 210 
 
 Beth-Gelert W. Spencer 213 
 
 The Mourner and Love T. Smyth^ 218
 
 The rich and cultur'd flo-v'r to find, 
 
 Pleas'd must we range the garden's maze, 
 
 Where Splendor reigns, with laste combin'd, 
 And Art her fairy wand displays. 
 
 Yet oft near tangled brake, or stream, 
 By Nature's careless bounty thrown, 
 
 A flow'r we mark, that sure we deem 
 Is all too fair to blush unknown. 
 
 Wild and unshelter'd as it stands, 
 Low drooping thus in modest guise, 
 
 We raise its stem with ready hands, 
 Its beauties catch with willing eyes. 
 
 Such artless sweets, where'er descried, 
 The Muse has sought with patient care 
 
 'Mid secret wilds, and meads untried, 
 A various chaplet to prepare. 
 
 And doubly blest, if These can charm 
 A heart to gentle Friendship prone, 
 
 Who feels with Int'rest prompt and warm 
 The praise of others as its own. 
 
 THE EDITOR.
 
 IMITATION 
 
 IDYLLIUM OF MOSCHUS, 
 
 DEATH OF BION. 
 
 FROM THE GREEK. 
 
 Ye Doric Streams, that with poetic wave, 
 Sicilia's verdant hills and forests lave ; 
 Ye Groves, whose sacred haunts the Muses tread, 
 Come mourn with me the gentle Bion dead. 
 Ye Flow'rs no more perfume the vernal gale, 
 Ye Vi'lets wither, Roses turn to pale, 
 And thou sweet Hyacinth, whose letter'd leaf, 
 So long has worn the bloody marks of grief, 
 
 B
 
 With more than wonted sadness learn to tell 
 How, wept by all, the tuneful Shepherd fell. 
 Sicilian Muse, begin the song of woe, 
 And make the strains in mournful measures flow. 
 
 Ye Nightingales, whose melancholy song 
 So sweetly breathes her blooming banks along, 
 To Arethusa's wandering wave relate, 
 In saddest notes, the youthful Poet's fate ; 
 Tell her the Doric strains shall sound no more, 
 Tell her the weeping Muse has left her shore. 
 Sicilian Muse, begin the song of woe, 
 And make the strain in mournful measure flow. 
 
 Ye sweet Strymonian Swans, where'er ye glide 
 On the smooth bosom of the silver tide, 
 O ! pour the doleful tale in ev'ry ear, 
 Tell it in sounds that he himself might hear, 
 To each iEgrian, each Bystonian maid, 
 That low in earth their Orpheus now is laid. 
 Sicilian Muse, begin the song of woe, 
 And let the strain in mournful measure flow. 
 
 Dear to his flock, no more the matchless swain 
 Directs their wanderings o'er the sunny plain ; 
 No more, far floating on the balmy gale, 
 His voice is heard along the flow'ry vale ;
 
 For now, alas ! by Styx's current drear, 
 He pours his song in Pluto's ruthless ear. 
 For ever silent are his native rocks, 
 Where foodless wander his forsaken flocks ; 
 Robb'd of his cheering voice, his tender care, 
 They fill with doleful bleatings all the air. 
 Sicilian Muse, begin the song of woe, 
 And make the strains in mournful measure flow. 
 
 Deep mourn'd the Muses round their fav'rite's bier, 
 Nor spared Apollo's self the sigh sincere ; 
 Pan and Sylvanus, with the Satyrs sad, 
 Wail'd o'er thy tomb in sable vesture clad ; 
 The flow'ry-kirtled Naiads, as they led 
 Their murm'ring currents through the verdant mead 
 Where wrap'd in Fancy's dream thou lov'dst to lie, 
 Wept thy sad fate till all their urns werjs dry ; 
 While Echo, wont thy tuneful notes to swell, 
 Pin'd for thy loss within her silent cell. ' 
 Ev'n Spring in sorrow check'd her genial breath, 
 And all her verdure wither'd at thy death. 
 The luscious streams the flocks no more brought home, 
 No longer flow'd the honey from the comb, 
 But in her waxen cell expired the Bee 
 In pining grief, for where, deprived of thee, 
 Where could she find, the flow'riest banks among, 
 Honey, to match the sweetness of thy song ? 
 
 B2
 
 Sicilian Muse, begin the song of woe, 
 
 And make the strains in mournful measure flow. 
 
 Ne'er did the Dolphin sound so sad before 
 His doleful mournings round the sea-beat shore ; 
 Beneath the shade, with half so sad a note, 
 Ne'er tun'd sweet Philomel her warbling throat ; 
 Nor, skimming low the lonely hills along, 
 Did e'er the Swallow twitter forth her song; 
 Never in such a melancholy strain 
 Did the stream-haunting Halcyon complain, 
 Never along the Ocean's glassy breast 
 Sung gentle Cerylus so sore distrest ; 
 Or, round his sad sepulchre in the vale, 
 Did Memnon's bird his master's fate bewail ; 
 As did ye all, on this unhappy shore, 
 Young Bion's hapless, timeless death deplore. 
 Sicilian Muse, begin the song of woe, 
 And bid the strains in mournful measure flow. 
 
 The feather'd songsters on the bloomy spray, 
 To which he fondly taught his melting lay, 
 Were heard to mourn in sad alternate strain, 
 And all day long of Bion's loss complain, 
 Sicilian Muse, begin the song of woe, 
 And bid the strain in mournful measure flow.
 
 While fond remembrance draws the tender tear, 
 While sound thy heav'nly strains in Fancy's ear, 
 What daring shepherd on thy pipe shall try 
 To imitate thy matchless melody ? 
 Ev'n Pan, the task unequal would decline, 
 Ev'n Pan himself, by shepherds held divine. 
 Sicilian Muse, begin the song of woe, 
 And bid the strain in mournful measure flow. 
 
 Forlorn and wand'ring on her sea-girt shores 
 Fair Galatea still thy death deplores, 
 For well she lov'd thee, and with ravish'd ear 
 Would sit the live-long day thy voice to hear, 
 Thy voice unlike to Polypheme's rude strain, 
 From whom she trembling hid beneath the main. 
 Now sadly leaving the Cerulean flood, 
 She seeks thee weeping thro' the silent wood ; 
 In ev'ry dream thy much-lov'd form she sees, 
 Her fancy hears thy song in every breeze ; 
 By night she dwells with thy deserted flock, 
 Or lies despairing on the flinty rock. 
 Sicilian Muse, begin the song of woe, 
 And make the strains in mournful measure flow. 
 
 With thee are lodg'd within the silent grave, 
 Each brighter boon the Muses ever gave ; 
 No more the virgin's melting bosom move 
 The sigh of rapture and the wish of love ;
 
 Deep heaves young Cupid's breast with many a sigh, 
 And many a tear bedims his melting eye, 
 While more his mother mourns than that sad day 
 When torn with wounds her lov'd Adonis lay, 
 And when with more than mortal grief opprest, 
 She clasp'd him, dying, to her throbbing breast. 
 Sicilian Muse, begin the song of woe, 
 And make the strains in mournful measure flow. 
 
 O Mele, most poetic stream that flows, 
 Awaits thee now a worse than all thy woes ; 
 Homer, the Epic Muse's joy and pride, 
 Was long since ravish'd from thy tuneful side ; 
 Then mourn 'd, 'tis said, thy waves with doleful roar, 
 Till Ocean answer'd from his farthest shore ; 
 Now must you weep with passion as sincere, 
 A bard as tuneful, and a son as dear. 
 " To each his different inspiration gave 
 " Sweet Helicon, and Arethusa's wave." 
 Great Homer sung of Helen's matchless grace, 
 Of stern Achilles, and Atrides' race, 
 With every Chief that drove the rattling car, 
 Or launch'd the spear in that immortal war ; 
 But he, by Arethusa's fairy stream, 
 Who sung so sweet, employ'd a softer theme ; 
 Far from the bloody scenes of war and strife, 
 He sought the pleasures of a rural life ;
 
 Beneath the woodland shade or craggy rock 
 Sweetly he warbled to his wand'ring flock ; 
 Form'd the sweet pipe that charm'd "the list'ning vale, 
 And fill'd with luscious stream the foaming pai: ; 
 While to the nymphs and shepherds of the grove 
 He taught the matchless joys of mutual love. 
 Sicilian Muse, begin the song of woe, 
 And let the strains in mournful measure flow. 
 
 Nor art thou mourn'd in rural scenes alone, 
 For proudest cities join the general moan, 
 More sadly Ascra grieves, than when her pride 
 And only joy, the tuneful Hesiod, died ; 
 Baeotia shed not o'er her Pindar's bier, 
 In such unceasing floods, the bitter tear ; 
 Nor yet did Lesbos, when Alceus fell 
 On the dire stroke with equal sorrow dwell ; 
 The Ceian town did not her bard deplore, 
 Or Paros weep her gentle poet more ; 
 Nor were so many hearts for Sappho wrung, 
 Sappho, whose fate thyself so sweetly sung. 
 Not wholly skill- less of the past'ral strains 
 By thee so sweetly taught thy native plains, 
 For thee I strive to raise the song of woe, 
 For thee to make th' Ausonian verse to flow. 
 Let others share the wealth that once was thine j 
 But let, O let thy matchless art be mine !
 
 8 
 
 Sicilian Muse, begin the song of woe, 
 
 And make the strains in mournful measure flow. 
 
 The fruits that in the cluster'd garden grow, 
 The fragrant vi'lets that unbidden blow, 
 The flow'ry tribes, that graspt by winter's hand, 
 Scatter their with'ring beauties on the land, 
 Die not for ever, tho' a while they lie 
 Expos'd to every blast that sweeps the sky ; 
 When Spring, returning, breathes along the plain, 
 They rise, in all their glory rise again : 
 But Man, the great, the good, the brave, the wise. 
 By Fate o'erthrown, fails, never more to rise ! 
 From doom eternal not a pow'r can save, 
 Or rouse the long, long slumber of the grave. 
 Sicilian Muse, begin the strain of woe, 
 And make the song in mournful measure flow. 
 
 Sweet Shepherd, poison caus'd thy timeless death, 
 And stopt, for ever stopt, thy tuneful breath ; 
 Nor did thy lip, with magic sweetness fraught, 
 To heav'nly nectar turn the venom'd draught : 
 Yet sure the Furies must have steel'd his heart 
 That could the deadly beverage impart, 
 Nor dropt the bowl, by thee and music charm'd, 
 His savage soul of all its rage disarm'd.
 
 Sicilian Muse, begin the strain of woe, 
 
 And make the sons: in mournful measure flow. 
 
 o 
 
 O ! may swift vengeance seize the traitor's soul ; 
 More dreadful vengeance than the deadly bowl : 
 My hand is feeble to avenge thy wrong ; 
 Accept, 'tis all I have, the pitying song. 
 Could I, like Orpheus or Alcides, go, 
 Or wise Ulysses, to the shades below, 
 To hear thy song, even thither I'd attend 
 Thy fleeting steps, thou dear, departed friend. 
 O ! pour to Proserpine thy magic strain ! 
 For once she sported on Sicilia's plain ; 
 The Doric song she lov'd, and sung by thee, 
 Sweet as the sounds that freed Euridice, 
 A like effect thy music shall obtain, / 
 
 And give thee back to life and love again. 
 O! that thy pipe my breath could learn to fill, 
 Or could I sing with half thy heav'nly skill, 
 To those dire regions fearless I'd descend, 
 Remain for ever there, or free my friend.
 
 10 
 
 HORACE, 
 
 Ode l6th, Book 2d, 
 IMITATED. 
 
 " Otium Divos rogat in patenti 
 " Prensus jEgeo" &c. 
 
 When clouds obscure the Queen of Night, 
 And veil from light her silver ray, 
 
 Nor lends one friendly star his light 
 To guide the vessel's wand'ring way, 
 
 Long tost upon the raging seas, 
 
 The wearied sailor prays for ease. 
 
 In war, the furious Thracian tried, 
 Inur'd to danger, toil, and pain, 
 
 The Median gay, in quiver'd pride, 
 Both, wish for ease and peace in vain ; 
 
 Ease, which for purple, gems, or gold, 
 
 Ne'er was, or ever can be sold.
 
 11 
 
 Not all the wealth of India's mine, 
 Not all the pomp or pride of pow'r, 
 
 Tho' every pageant should combine 
 To deck its bright but transient hour, 
 
 Can, from the gilded bed of state, 
 
 Banish the cares that haunt the great. 
 
 Better, and happier far, he fares, 
 
 Whose plain, yet neat and wholesome board, 
 Spread with the produce of his cares, 
 
 Can health, content, and mirth afford ; 
 No' wish to gain, no fear to lose, 
 Disturb his peaceful soft repose. 
 
 Why then does enterprizing Man, 
 So many schemes for fortune try? 
 
 Why risk life's short uncertain span 
 Beneath a foreign baleful sky ? 
 
 Tho' through a thousand climes he roam, 
 
 Ne'er can he leave his cares at home. 
 
 The stoutest ship that braves the main, 
 With eager strides black Care ascends, 
 
 The swiftest troops that scour the plain 
 As swift, his ghastly form attends ; 
 
 Fleet as the lightly-bounding Roe, 
 
 Or clouds when fiercest tempests blow.
 
 12 
 
 Contented now, why should we care 
 What changes fleeting time may bring ? 
 
 Let social pleasure heal despair, 
 
 And mirth each future moment wing, 
 
 Of each event still make the best, 
 
 For who was e'er completely blest ? 
 
 Achilles, warlike Greece's pride, 
 Died glorious on the bloody plain, 
 
 While Tython's age, a grave denied, 
 
 Long call'd on Death, but call'd in vain ; 
 
 And Heaven perhaps may give to me 
 
 The days and years denied to thee. 
 
 A thousand flocks thy mountains feed, 
 A thousand herds thy verdant plains, 
 
 For thee loud neighs the foaming steed, 
 Obedient to the silken reins, 
 
 While purple, radiant as the morn, 
 
 With gold and gems thy robes adorn. 
 
 In humble cot, obscure to dwell, 
 To me my fate has Heav'n assign'd, 
 
 But bids the Muse my bosom swell } 
 And freedom elevate my mind ; 
 
 Inspiring both my heart and song 
 
 To scorn the base and vulgar throng.
 
 13 
 
 HORACE, 
 
 Ode 2d, Book 5th, 
 
 IMITATED. 
 
 Beatus Me qui procul negotiis" (Sfc. 
 
 Happy the Man, who free from care and strife, 
 Possest of every joy contentment yields, 
 
 Like Man's primaeval race, who leads his life 
 Amidst the labours of his native fields : 
 
 Who hears unmov'd the trumpet sound to war, 
 Or loudest tempests vex the angry main ; 
 
 Who shuns the venal court and wrangling bar, 
 And those gay scenes where Vice and Folly reign. 
 
 Careful he tends his marriageable vines, 
 
 And weds their weakness to the Poplar's strength, 
 
 With healthier stocks the weakly shoot combines, 
 Its foliage crops, and prunes its useless length.
 
 14 
 
 In the, deep-winding vale he joyful sees 
 
 His lowing herds in health and safety roam, 
 
 Shears the soft sheep, and from the busy bees, 
 With tender hand removes the luscious comb. 
 
 When fruitful Autumn sheds his plenteous stores, 
 He culls the fairest fruits his garden yields ; 
 
 The purple grape's nectarean juice he pours, 
 And calls the sylvan gods to guard his fields. 
 
 Beneath the ancient Oak's embowering shade, 
 From noonday's beam secure, he careless lies ; 
 
 Or on the verdant bank, at evening laid, 
 
 Tastes the soft western breeze that cools the skies. 
 
 There, heard afar, hoarse murm'ring on the gale, 
 The torrent tumbling down the distant steep, 
 
 The stream that chiding wanders down the vale, 
 With sweetest songsters, soothes his soul to sleep. 
 
 When Summer's flow'rs and Autumn's fruits are fled, 
 And hoary Winter turns his threat'ning face, 
 
 When Nature, robb'd of every grace, is dead, 
 He seeks the manly pleasures of the chace. 
 
 Soon as the earliest gleam of dawn appears, 
 Before her hour he wakes the sluinb 'ring morn ;
 
 15 
 
 With well-known voice the tuneful pack he cheers, 
 While Echo answers to his mellow horn. 
 
 He scours the plain, he climbs the mountain's height 
 For every game that Winter's storms afford, 
 
 While health, and sport, and exercise unite, 
 To give the relish, while they crown the hoard. 
 
 Who, 'midst such joys as these, would e'er repine 
 That the gay busy world he left behind ? 
 
 Unnerv'd by love's fantastic passion whine, 
 Or to its weakness yield his manly mind? 
 
 But if a wife, dear partner of his heart, 
 With sympathising soul his fortune share, 
 
 If cheerful she perform her tender part 
 Among the infant objects of their care : 
 
 If she, against her weary lord's return, 
 
 Shall raise the well-dried wood in airy piles, 
 
 If she shall make the smiling hearth to burn, 
 And deck her matron face in sweeter smiles : 
 
 If she shall pen at ev'n her loaded ewes, 
 
 And drain the luscious stream with rosy hand ; 
 
 If she shall press the grape's enliv'ning juice, 
 And on his board an unbought feast shall stand :
 
 10 
 
 Not all the costly dainties that are sought 
 
 In farthest climes, to deck the pamper'd board, 
 
 Not all luxurious fancy ever thought, 
 Could to my taste an equal joy afford : 
 
 Not ortolans, nor India's turtle rare, 
 
 Have in my humble mind so great a charm, 
 
 As the plain meal domestic hands prepare 
 
 From fruits that deck, and flocks that graze my farm. 
 
 And, ah ! what joy, 'midst such repast, to see 
 The well-fed flocks to the full fold repair, 
 
 The jolly plowman homeward tread the lea, 
 And wearied oxen trail th' inverted share : 
 
 Around the hearth, sure proof of wealth and peace, 
 A cheerful troop of healthy servants stand, 
 
 To see each day their health and peace increase, 
 And know it all the produce of his hand. 
 
 Thus spoke the miser Alpheus, fully bent 
 On rural joys, no more by business vext ; 
 
 Call'd in this term, his utmost farthing lent, 
 And lent it out with 'vantage to the next.
 
 17 
 
 . THE EMIGRANT,* 
 
 AN ECLOGUE. 
 
 OCCASIONED BY THE LATE NUMEROUS EMIGRATIONS FROM THE 
 HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 WRITTEN IN 1773. 
 
 *' Nos patriae Jines et dulcia linquimus arva, 
 
 " Nos Patriamfugimus" Virg. 
 
 Fast by the margin of a mossy rill, 
 That wander'd gurgling down a heath-clad hill, 
 An ancient Shepherd stood, opprest with woe, 
 And ey'd the Ocean's flood that foam'd below, 
 Where, gently rocking on the rising tide, 
 A ship's unwonted form was seen to ride ; 
 
 * " The Emigrant " is the only poem of Mr. 's that has ever 
 before been published. This Eclogue, as the subject is well known 
 to have been by no means fictitious, reflects as much honour on the 
 feelings of the Author as on his poetical powers : It was written (as 
 were all his other productions selected for this Miscellany) at a very 
 early period of life. Editor. 
 
 C
 
 18 
 
 Unwonted, well I ween, for ne'er before, 
 Had touch'd one keel the solitary shore ; 
 Nor had the swain's rude footsteps ever stray'd 
 Beyond the shelter of his native shade. 
 
 His few remaining hairs were silver grey, 
 And his rough face had seen a better day. 
 Around hiin bleating, stray'd a scanty flock, 
 And a few goats o'erhung the neighb'ring rock ; 
 One faithful dog his sorrows seem'd to share, 
 And strove with many a trick to ease his care ; 
 While o'er his furrowed cheek the salt drops ran, 
 He tun'd his rustic reed, and thus began : 
 
 " Farewell, Farewell ! dear Caledonia's strand, 
 Rough tho' thou be, yet still my native land ; 
 Exiled from thee I seek a foreign shore, 
 Friends, kindred, country, to behold no more. 
 By hard oppression driv'n, my helpless age, 
 That should e'er now have left life's bustling stage,. 
 Is forced to brave the Ocean's boist'rous wave, 
 In a far foreign land to seek a grave. 
 
 " And must I leave thee then, my little cot*. 
 Mine and my father's poor but happy lot, 
 Where I have pass'd in innocence away, 
 Year after year, till age has turn'd me grey 3
 
 19 
 
 S( Thou dear companion of my happier life, 
 Now to the grave gone down, my virtuous wife! 
 'Twas here you rear'd, with fond maternal pride, 
 Five comely sons, three for their country died ! 
 Two still remain, sad remnant of the wars, 
 Without one mark of honour but their scars ; 
 Yet live to see their Sire denied a grave 
 In lands his much lov'd children died to save. 
 Yet still in peace and safety did we live, 
 In peace and safety, more than wealth can give. 
 My two remaining boys, with sturdy hands, 
 Rear'd the scant produce of our niggar'd lands ; 
 Scant as it was, no more our hearts desir'd : 
 No more from us our gen'rous lord requir'd. 
 
 " But, ah ! sad change ! those blessed days are o'er, 
 And peace, content, and safety charm no more ; 
 Another lord now rules those wide domains, 
 The avaricious tyrant of the plains ; 
 Far, far from hence, he revels life away 
 In guilty pleasures our poor means must pay. 
 The mossy plains, the mountain's barren brow, 
 Must now be riven by the tort'ring plough ; 
 And, 'spite of Nature, crops be taught to rise, 
 Which to these northern climes wise Heaven denies ; 
 In vain, with sweating brow and weary hands, 
 We strive to earn the gold our lord demands ; 
 
 C 2
 
 20 
 
 While cold and hunger, and the dungeon's gloom, 
 Await our failure as its certain doom. 
 
 " To shun these ills, that threat my hoary head, 
 I seek in foreign lands precarious bread : 
 Forc'd, tho' my helpless age from guilt be pure, 
 The pangs of banish'd felons to endure ; 
 And all because these hands have vainly tried 
 To force from Art what Nature has denied, 
 Because my little all will not suffice 
 To pay the insatiate claims of avarice. 
 
 ** In vain of richer climates I am told, 
 Whose hills are rich in gems, whose streams are gold, 
 I am contented here ; I ne'er have seen 
 A vale more fertile, or a hill more green ; 
 Nor would I leave this sweet, tho' humble cot, 
 To share the richest monarch's splendid lot. 
 Oh ! would to Heav'n th' alternative were mine, 
 Abroad to thrive, or here in want to pine, 
 Soon would I choose ; but e're to-morrow's sun 
 Has o'er my head his radiant journey run, 
 I shall be robb'd, by what they justice call, 
 By legal ruffians, of my little all. 
 Driv'n out to hunger, nakedness, and grief, 
 Without one pitying hand to bring relief.
 
 21 
 
 Then come, oh sad alternative to choose ! 
 
 Come banishment, I will no more refuse ! 
 
 Go where I may, nor billows, rocks, nor wind, 
 
 Can add of horror to my suffering mind. 
 
 On whatsoever coast I may be thrown, 
 
 No lord can be severer than my own. 
 
 Ev'n they who tear the limbs, and drink the gore 
 
 Of helpless strangers, what can they do more i 
 
 ** For thee, insatiate chief, whose ruthless hand 
 For ever drives me from my native land, 
 For thee I leave no greater curse behind, 
 Than the fell bodings of a guilty mind ; 
 Or, what were harder to a soul like thine, 
 To find from avarice thy wealth decline. 
 
 " For you, my friends and neighbours of the vale, 
 Who now with kindly tears my fate bewail, 
 Soon may our king, whose breast paternal glows 
 With tend'rest feelings for his people's woes,' 
 Soon may the rulers of this mighty land, 
 To ease your sorrow stretch the helping hand ; 
 Else soon, too soon your hapless fate shall be, 
 Like me to suffer, and to fly like me. 
 
 <e On you dear native land, from whence I part, 
 Rest the best blessings of a broken heart.
 
 22 
 
 If, in some future hour, the foe should land 
 His hostile legions on Britannia's strand, 
 May she not then th' alarum sound in vain, 
 Nor miss her hanish'd thousands on the plain. 
 
 u Feed on my Sheep ! for, tho' deprived of me, 
 My cruel foes shall your protectors be ; 
 For their own sakes shall pen your straggling flocks, 
 And guard your lamkins from the rav'ning fox. 
 
 u Feed on my Goats ! another now shall drain 
 Your streams that heal disease and soften pain ; 
 No stream, alas ! cqn ever, ever flow, 
 To heal thy master's heart or soothe his woe. 
 
 " Feed on my flocks, ye harmless people feed, 
 The worst that ye can suffer is to bleed ; 
 Oh ! that the murd'ring steel were all my fear ! 
 How fondly would I stay to perish here. 
 But hark ! my sons loud call me from the vale, 
 And, lo ! the vessel spreads her swelling sail ; 
 Farewell ! farewell ! " Awhile his hands he wrung, 
 And o'er his crook in silent sorrow hung ; 
 Then, casting many a ling'ring look behind, 
 Down the steep mountain's brow began to wind.
 
 23 
 
 1. 
 
 Wide over the tremulous sea 
 
 The moon spread her mantle of light, 
 And the gale, dying gently away, 
 
 Breath'd soft on the bosom of night. 
 On the fore-castle Marraton stood, 
 
 And pour'd forth his sorrowful tale ; 
 His tears fell unseen in the flood, 
 
 His sighs pass'd unheard on the gale. 
 
 2. 
 " Ah wretch ! in wild anguish he cried, 
 
 ** From country and liberty torn, 
 " Ah Marraton ! would thou hadst died, 
 
 " E're o'er the salt wave thou wast borne. 
 " Thro' the groves of Angola I stray'd, 
 
 " Love and Hope made my bosom their own, 
 " For I talk'd with my favourite maid, 
 
 " Nor dreamt of the sorrows to come. 
 
 3. 
 <( From the thicket the manhunter sprung, 
 
 ** My cries echoed loud thro' the air, 
 u There was fury and wrath on his tongue, 
 
 " He was deaf to the shrieks of despair.
 
 24 
 
 ** Accurst be the merciless band 
 
 " That his love could from Marraton tear, 
 " And blasted this impotent hand, 
 
 " That was sever'd from all I held dear. 
 
 4. 
 
 " Flow ye tears, down my cheeks ever flow, 
 
 " Still let sleep from my eyelids depart; 
 " And still may the arrows of woe 
 
 " Drink deep of the streams of my heart. 
 " But hark ! on the silence of night, 
 
 " My Addela's accents I hear, 
 " And mournful beneath the wan light, 
 
 " I see her loved image appear. 
 
 5. 
 " Slow o'er the smooth ocean she glides, 
 
 " Like the gleam that hangs light on the wave; 
 " And fondly her lover she chides 
 
 " That lingers so long from his grave. 
 " Ah Marraton ! haste ye ! she cries, 
 
 " Here the reign of Oppression is o'er, 
 ** Here the tyrant is robb'd of his prize, 
 
 f{ And Addela sorrows no more. 
 
 6. 
 u Now sinking amid the dim ray, 
 " Her form seem'd to fade on my view j
 
 25 
 
 " O stay thee ! my Addela, stay ! 
 
 " She beckons,, and I must pursue. 
 M To-morrow the white-man in vain 
 
 " Shall proudly account me his slave ; 
 " My shackles I plunge in the main, 
 
 " And rush to the realms of the brave." 
 
 written in 1788, 
 
 1. 
 
 From the vine cover'd hills and gay valleys of France> 
 
 See the day-star of Liberty rise, 
 Through clouds of detraction unwearied advance, 
 
 And hold its new course in the skies. 
 An effulgence so mild, with a lustre so bright, 
 
 All Europe with wonder surveys, 
 And from desarts of darkness, and dungeons of night, 
 
 Contends for a share in the blaze. 
 
 . 
 
 Let Burke, like a bat, from his splendor retire, 
 A splendor too strong for his eyes ;
 
 2G 
 
 Let pedants and fools his effusions admire, 
 
 Entrapt in his cobwebs like flies. 
 Shall frenzy and sophistry hope to prevail 
 
 When reason opposes her weight, 
 When the welfare of millions is hung in the scale, 
 
 And the balance yet trembles with fate ? 
 
 3. 
 
 Ah ! who 'mid the darkness of night would abide 
 
 That can taste the svyeet breezes of morn ? 
 And who that has drank of the chrystalline tide, 
 
 To the feculent flood would return ? 
 When the bosom of beauty the throbbing heart meets, 
 
 Ah ! vvho would the transport decline ? 
 And who that has tasted of Liberty's sweets 
 
 The prize but with life would resign ? 
 
 4. 
 
 But 'tis over, high Heav'n the decision approves, 
 
 Oppression has struggled in vain ; 
 To the Hell she had formed, Superstition removes, 
 
 And Tyranny gnaws her own chain. 
 In the records of Time a new aera unfolds, 
 
 All nature exults in the birth, 
 His creation, benign, the Creator beholds, 
 
 And gives a new charter to earth.
 
 C7 
 
 5. 
 
 O, catch its high import ye winds as ye blow ! 
 
 O, bear it ye waves as ye roll ! 
 From the Nations that feel the Sun's vertical glow, 
 
 To the farthest extremes of the Pole. 
 Equal rights, equal laws to the Nations around, 
 
 Peace and friendship its precepts impart ; 
 And wherever the footsteps of man can be found, 
 
 May He bind the decree on his heart ! 
 
 written in 1789. 
 
 1. 
 
 Unfold, father Time, thy long records unfold, 
 Of noble atchievements accomplished of old ; 
 When men, by the standard of Liberty led, 
 Undauntedly conquer'd, or cheerfully bled. 
 But know, 'mid the triumphs these moments reveal, 
 Their glories shall fade, and their lustre turn pale ; 
 Whilst France rises up, and confirms the decree, 
 That bids millions rejoice, and a Nation be free.
 
 49 
 
 As Spring to the fields, or as dew to the flow'r, 
 
 To the Earth parch'd with heat as the soft dropping 
 
 show'r, 
 As health to the wretch who lies languid and wan, 
 )r as rest to the weary is Freedom to man. 
 Where Freedom the light of her countenance gives, 
 There only he revels, there only he lives. 
 Seize then the glad moment, and hail the decree 
 That bids millions rejoice, and a Nation be free. 
 
 3. 
 
 France ! we share in the rapture thy bosom that fills, 
 Whilst the spirit of Liberty bounds o'er thine hills ; 
 Redundant henceforth may thy purple juice flow, 
 Prouder wave thy green woods, and thine olive trees 
 
 grow. 
 For thy brows may the hand of Philosophy twine, 
 Blest emblems, the Myrtle, the Olive and Vine ; 
 And H^av'n, thro' all ages, confirm the decree, 
 That tears off thy chains, and bids millions be free !
 
 29 
 
 THE DIRGE OF BELGIUM, 
 
 OCTOBER 1799. 
 AN ODE. 
 
 1. 
 
 Heard you the strain from yonder sky 
 On Albion burst in choral majesty ? 
 See his throne great Ocean leave ; 
 The deities, who round him wait, 
 Attendant on his state ; 
 The firm earth shakes, the billows heave ; 
 And from the deep Tritonian shell 
 Slow, solemn-breathing notes o'er Belgium pause and 
 swell ! 
 
 From thy awful rock serene, 
 
 Holy Freedom, hear and. bend ; 
 
 Thine the heroes, thine the scene, 
 
 Thine the cause ; great Pow'r, descend :
 
 so 
 
 On raven plumes, involving all, 
 Brooding Death unfolds the pall ! 
 
 3. 
 Tis not Superstition's groan, 
 Frantic yell, or sullen moan ; 
 Philip's gloom and Alva's frown, 
 Call thy righteous vengeance down ; 
 Godless monsters stalk around : 
 Hear, and guard this fated ground. 
 
 4. 
 
 Lo ! beyond the eastern gate, 
 Britain bold confirms thy state ; 
 By Aurora's earliest beam, 
 By the proud and mystic stream, 
 O'er the prostrate tyrant's # sway. 
 India hails thy opening day. 
 
 5. 
 
 See, arous'd in Virtue's cause, 
 Sacred rights and equal laws, 
 Armed nations pour the pray'r : 
 Bid the avenging Eagle bear 
 Thy thunders from the realms of Paul 
 Rise, and crush the monster Gaul ! 
 
 * Tippoo Saib.
 
 SI 
 
 6. 
 
 By Andraste's radiant throne, 
 By the sphere and wizard stone, 
 By old Mador's Druid lyre, 
 Struck with more than Grecian fire, 
 Thy words of potency infuse, 
 Breathing o'er the patriot Muse. 
 
 7. 
 Ling'ring on the Belgian shore, 
 Hallow'd tears see Albion pour 
 O'er the grave where warriors sleep, 
 Victors of the subject deep ; 
 There Honour, Virtue, Justice mourn, 
 Clasping sad their rostral urn. 
 
 8. 
 
 Holy goddess, hear and spare ; 
 
 Give thy chosen heroes rest ; 
 Though steep'd in crimson streams of war, 
 
 Soon be the sword in Olive drest. 
 Valour triumphs ; yet they die ! 
 Lift the recording tablet high, \ 
 
 And hail the champion sons of Truth and Liberty.
 
 32 
 
 ODE 
 
 THE POPPY. 
 
 Not for the promise of the labour'd field, 
 Not for the good the yellow harvests yield, 
 
 I bend at Ceres' shrine ; 
 For dull to humid eyes appear 
 The golden glories of the year ; 
 Alas ! a melancholy worship's mine ! 
 I hail the goddess for her scarlet flow'r. 
 
 Thou brilliant weed 
 
 That dost so far exceed 
 The richest gift gay Flora can bestow ; 
 Heedless I pass'd thee in Life's morning hour 
 
 (Thou comforter of woe) 
 'Till Sorrow taught me to confess thy pow'r. 
 In early days, when Fancy cheats, 
 
 A various wreath I wove 
 Of laughing Spring's luxuriant sweets, 
 
 To deck ungrateful Love ;
 
 33 
 
 The Rose or Thorn my numbers crown'd, 
 
 As Venus smil'd, or Venus frown'd, 
 
 But Love, and Joy, and all their train are fiow'n, 
 
 And I will sing of thee alone ; > 
 
 Unless perchance the attributes of grief, 
 
 The Cypress bud and Willow leaf, 
 
 Their pale funereal foliage blend with thine. 
 
 Hail, lovely blossom ! thou cans't ease 
 The wretched victims of disease ; 
 Can'st close those weary, eyes in gentle sleep 
 Which never open but to weep ; 
 For, Oh ! thy potent charm 
 Can agonizing pain disarm ; 
 Expel imperious Memory from her seat, 
 And bid the throbbing heart forget to beat. 
 
 Soul-soothing plant! that can'st such blessings give, 
 By thee the mourner bears to live, 
 By thee the wretched die ! 
 Oh ! ever friendly to despair, 
 Might Sorrow's pallid votary dare, 
 Without a crime that remedy implore 
 Which bids the spirit from its bondage fly, 
 I'd court thy palliative aid no more ! 
 No more I'd sue that thou should'st spread 
 Thy spell around my aching head, 
 
 D
 
 34 
 
 But would conjure thee to impart 
 Thy balsam for a broken heart ; 
 And by thy soft Lethean pow'r 
 
 (Inestimable flowV) 
 Burst these terrestrial bonds, and other regions try. 
 
 ROUSSEAU'S TOMB 
 
 ERMENONVILLE- 
 
 In yon isle, where the wings of silence seem 
 To hover o'er the circling stream, 
 The relics of departed genius sleep ! 
 Assembled there, the maids 
 Who love the favourite shades, 
 Pale as the Poplar, shall in anguish weep. 
 
 Fled are the visions of romance ! 
 No more to wake the dance, 
 
 Float airy warblings from the lute of Love, 
 While viewless pow'rs around, 
 Charm'd by the sylvan sound, 
 Scatter with many a simple sweet the grove.
 
 So 
 
 Ye Poplars that delight to wave 
 Your boughs o'er yonder grave, 
 Such as of ancient days your amber shedj 
 Let sweets from all the vale 
 Come wafted on the gale, 
 So, fragrant sorrows shall embalm the dead. 
 
 But, lo ! with blushing field-flowers strung 
 Her golden locks among, 
 On Rousseau's tomb reclin'd, a female form, 
 Behold the lucid tear 
 Thro' her green veil appear, 
 That shook by sighs betrays the wild alarm. 
 
 Tis Fancy thus near Avon's tide 
 Her rude wreaths scatter'd wide, 
 
 Such artless charms arrest the pensive eye ; 
 There oft her strains of woe 
 For her own poet flow, 
 And sweetly on the trembling zephyr die. 
 
 Amid' these fairy scenes awhile, 
 Elysium's lovely isle, 
 
 O Fancy ! shall thy wand'ring steps delay. 
 And Wit, whose various gems, 
 That share each other's beams, 
 In cold collision glance a fainter ray. 
 D 2
 
 36 
 
 But ah ! the Muse beholds with sighs 
 Fantastic forms arise, 
 
 With air grotesque, in motley garments drest, 
 The wizard passion's wild, 
 And Frenzy's favourite child 
 Caprice oft wavering her Camelion vest. 
 
 Yet here while float these antic forms 
 To mar Elysium's charms, 
 
 Each image Candour's sober eye surveys ; 
 She knows how Genius fires 
 The soul with wild desires, 
 And flings o'er Virtue's self th' eccentric blaze. 
 
 Inspir'd with fairer, lovelier views, 
 The solitary muse 
 
 Marks Ermenonville's melancholy shade, 
 Where oft her loved Rousseau 
 With pensive step and slow 
 Join'd sweet Simplicity, his favourite maid ; 
 
 And on that hour her thoughts shall dwell, 
 When, Oh ! with long farewell, 
 
 Sudden his gentle spirit sought the sky. 
 Ah ! then was heard a wail 
 O'er Ermenonville's dale, 
 Then glow'd the pearly drops in Nature's eye.
 
 37 
 
 Near yonder spot their off 'rings join, 
 At Nature's holy shrine, 
 
 The smiling babes of Innocence and Love ! 
 The hand of Friendship gave 
 To deck the sylvan gn.ve, 
 All that can Fancy fire, or Pity move. 
 
 Each morn shall breathe her softest breeze 
 Amid' th' embowering trees, 
 
 Where Rousseau's dim stone glimmers thro' the 
 scene ; 
 The sod that wraps his clay, 
 Shall blush each orient day, 
 Shed fairer sweets, and catch a brighter green. 
 
 And Venus' solitary star 
 Shall love to hover near, 
 
 While in mysterious silence sleep the streams ; 
 And there with transient glow 
 The western Sun shall throw 
 The last faint blushes of his evening beams.
 
 ns 
 
 I check'd my sighs," Antonio cried, 
 At noon reclin'd the stream beside; 
 " A lighter heart my bosom knew, 
 " When last I bade my love adieu ! 
 
 " For she with soften'd smile declar'd, 
 " A gift for me that she prepar'd, 
 a And, ere the closing week should end, 
 " She vow'd the promis'd gift to send. 
 
 " I mark'd the evening leave the skies, 
 " The night retire, the Sun arise, 
 <e And pleas'd I cried a joyless day, 
 u A tedious night, are worn away ! 
 
 u Less dull, tho' saddened, was the morn, 
 " Cheerless the day, tho' less forlorn ; 
 " At night, with heart consol'd, I thought 
 <( That Lucy's gift to-morrow brought. 
 
 " Morn, noon, and evening circled round, 
 u But I no gift from Lucy found ;
 
 " Another day my hopes deceiv'd, 
 " No gift from Lucy was receiv'd. 
 
 fC Rise ! loitering Sun, and let me see 
 ei The gift that Lucy sends to me ; 
 " lie rose, and ting'd the western main, 
 " For Lucy's gift I look'd in vain. 
 
 " Cease tuneful Lark, at morn I cried, 
 " Thy matin song will Lucy chide ; 
 " Another day ah ! thoughtless maid ! 
 " Why Lucy is thy gift delay 'd ? 
 
 " Soothe Nightingale, with plaintive strain, 
 " At eve I cried a lover's pain, 
 " How long must thus my hopes attend i 
 " She means not sure the gift to send ! 
 
 '* Another day, another night, 
 " No gift receiv'd the changeful light 
 " Of Cynthia fair T sigh'd to view, 
 " For love I found was changeful too. 
 
 " But yesterday, these Willows near, 
 *' I mourn'd a fondness too sincere ; 
 " No gift was come to tell my mind 
 " That Lucy's heart was not unkind.
 
 40 
 
 " And now beneath the noontide beam, 
 " Again I watch the passing stream ; 
 " So passes love, I well may cry 
 " In vain for Lucy's gift I sigh." 
 
 Cease hapless youth ! nor let thy tongue 
 On Lucy's faith this charge prolong : 
 Nor thoughtless, nor unkind, the maid 
 That has so long her gift delay 'd. 
 
 Who ever shall the truth impart? 
 Or tell thy fond, thy breaking heart, 
 That cold and lifeless is the maid 
 That has so long her gift delay'd. 
 
 THE DREAM. 
 
 To Mrs. in a dangerous illness. 
 
 Dread Dream ! that hovering in the midnight air, 
 
 Clasp'd with thy dusky wings my aching head ; 
 
 While to imagination's startled ear, 
 
 i 
 Toll'd the slow bell for bright Eliza dead.
 
 41 
 
 Stretch'd on her sable bier, the grave beside, 
 
 A snow-white shroud her breathless bosom bound, 
 
 O'er her wan brow its gather'd folds were tied, 
 And loves and graces hung their garlands round. 
 
 From those closed lips did softest accents flow ? 
 
 Round that pale mouth the sweetest dimples play ? 
 On this dull cheek the rose of beauty blow ? 
 
 And these dim eyes diffuse celestial day ? 
 
 Did this closed hand unasking want relieve, 
 Or wake the lyre to every rapturous sound ? 
 
 How sad for other's woe this breast would heave, 
 How light that heart for other's transport bound ! 
 
 Beats not the bell again ! heavens do I wake ! 
 
 Why heave my sighs, and gush my tears anew ? 
 Unreal forms my frantic doubts mistake, 
 
 And trembling Fancy fears the vision true. 
 
 
 Dream ! to Eliza bend thy airy flight, 
 Go tell my charmer all my tender fears ; 
 
 How love's fond woes alarm the silent night, 
 And steep my pillow with unpitied tears.
 
 41 
 
 ODE 
 
 RIVER DARWENT* 
 
 Darwent ! what scenes thy wandering waves behold, 
 As bursting from their hundred springs they stray, 
 
 And down the vales in sounding torrents roll'd 
 Seek to the shining east their mazy way. 
 
 Here, dusky Alders leaning from the cliff 
 Dip their long arms, and wave their branches wide ; 
 
 There, as the loose rocks thwart my bounding skiff, 
 White Moon-beams tremble on thy foaming tide. 
 
 Flow on ye waves ! where drest in gorgeous pride 
 Fair Chatsworth beams amid' her roseate bow'rs, 
 
 Written near the source of the river Darwent, in the wilds of 
 the Peak in Derbyshire.
 
 43 
 
 Spreads her smooth lawns along your willowy side, 
 And crests your woodlands with her gilded tow'rs. 
 
 4. 
 
 Flow on ye waves ! where Nature's wildest child 
 Frowning incumbent o'er the darken'd floods, 
 
 Rock rear'd on rock, on mountain mountain pil'd, 
 Old Matlock sits, and shakes his crown of woods. 
 
 But when proud Derby's glittering spires ye view, 
 
 Where his gay meads your sparkling currents drink, 
 Oh ! should Eliza press the morning dew, 
 ( And bend her graceful footsteps to your brink. 
 
 6. 
 
 Uncurl your eddies, all your gales confine, 
 And as your scaly myriads gaze around, 
 
 Bid your gay nymphs pourtray, with pencil fine, 
 Her angel form upon your silver ground. 
 
 7. 
 
 With playful malice from her kindling cheek 
 
 Steal the warm blush, and tinge your passing stream, 
 
 Mock the sweet transient dimple as she speaks, 
 And, as she turns her eye, reflect the beam.
 
 44 
 
 8. 
 
 And tell her, Darwent, as you murmur by, 
 How in these wilds with hopeless love I burn, 
 
 Teach your lone vales and echoing caves to sigh, 
 And mix my briny sorrows in your urn. 
 
 When the soft tear steals silently down from the eye, 
 Take no note of its course, nor detect the slow sigh ; 
 From some spring of soft sorrow its origin flows, 
 Some tender remembrance that weeps as it goes. 
 
 2. 
 
 Ah ! it is not to say what will bring to the mind, 
 The joys that are fled, and the friends left behind ; 
 A tune, or a song, or the time of the year, 
 Strikes the key of reflection, and moans on the ear. 
 
 3. 
 
 Thro' the gay scenes of youth the remembrancer strays, 
 Till mem'ry steps back on past pleasures to gaze ; 
 Fleeting shades they now seem, that glide silent away, 
 The remains of past hours, and the ghosts of each day.
 
 45 
 
 4. 
 
 Let the tear then drop silent, nor mark the full eye, 
 The soul's secret off'ring no mortal should spy ; 
 Few souls are prepar'd for a rite so divine, 
 When the feelings alone sacrifice to the shrine. 
 
 LINES TO A FRIEND, 
 
 WHO HAD RECOMMENDED THE PRECEPTS OF THE STOIC SCHOOL 
 TO THE AUTHOR'S ADOPTION. 
 
 Hence with the Stoic lore ! whose frigid art 
 Would chill the gen 'rous feelings of the soul, 
 
 Forbid kind Sympathy's responsive smart, 
 Or check the tear of rapture ere it roll. 
 
 Still with its joys and woes, a changeful train J 
 
 Fair Sensibility be ever mine, 
 Th' alternate throb of pleasure and of pain, 
 
 And all that love and friendship can combine.
 
 * 
 
 46 
 
 LESBIA'S HARP. 
 
 (The Idea taken from the Italian of Metastasio*.) 
 
 Come, object of my favorite care, 
 
 My tuneful harp, with thy sweet air 
 
 Come to relieve my aching breast, 
 
 And soothe my love-sick mind to rest. 
 
 Agent of soul-subduing sound ! 
 
 In thy fair frame what spell is found, 
 
 Ah ! say by what delightful art 
 
 Thou mov'st those chords that touch the heart r 
 
 Check'd are the sighs of wasting care, 
 
 And quell'd the murmurs of despair, 
 
 * " Quella Cetra,ah ! pur tu sei 
 " Che addolci gli affahni miei ; 
 
 . *' Che d'ogni alma a suo talento, 
 " D'ogni cor la via s'apri. 
 " Ah! sei lu, tu sei pur quella 
 " Che nel sen della mia bella 
 ** Tante volte, io lo rammento, 
 w La fierezza iuteaeri. 
 
 Metast. Cant. III.
 
 47 
 
 Wild Passion's jarring tribe obey, 
 And coldest bosoms own thy sway. 
 
 Ev'n Lucio lends a kinder ear, 
 And deigns my artless lays to hear, 
 Whene'er my timid hopes I sing, 
 And tune to Love the trembling string. 
 Flow then my numbers, smoothly flow, 
 Bid him with mutual ardor glow ; 
 Wake every pulse that throbb'd for me 
 To all the wonted sympathy. 
 Reclaim his fickle, thoughtless mind, 
 To vain pursuits and joys inclin'd ; 
 Restore each wish to my controul, 
 Touch with soft skill his yielding soul ; 
 To him my inmost thoughts impart, 
 Breathe the soft dictates of my heart ; 
 For him I live, and him alone, 
 Ah ! make him once again my own. 
 
 The slender frame by angels plann'd, 
 It rings responsive to my hand ! 
 In tend'rest notes it wafts my pain, 
 Nor shall the song be pour'd in vain 
 If Lucio's smiles approve the air, 
 And grateful love reward my care.
 
 48 
 
 TO HENRY FUSELI, R. A. 
 
 ON HIS SERIES OF PICTURES FROM THE POETICAL WORKS OF 
 MILTON, 
 
 Spirit of him who wing'd his daring flight 
 
 Tow 'rds the pure confines of primaeval light, 
 
 Say, whilst this nether world thy powers confin'd, 
 
 Weak child of dust, frail offspring of mankind, 
 
 Thy station'd barrier this terrestrial mound, 
 
 Th' incumbent vault of heav'n thine upward bound, 
 
 Thy means the common energies of man, 
 
 Thy life a shadow, and thy years a span, 
 
 How could'st thou, struggling with opposing fate, 
 
 Burst thro' the limits of this mortal state ? 
 
 Thence soaring high, pursue, with stedfast gaze, 
 
 The opening wonders of th' empyreal blaze, 
 
 Where countless Seraphs pour, in burning zone, 
 
 Concent'ring glories round th' eternal throne ? 
 
 Or hear, and hearing live, the dread alarms 
 
 Of Heavenly war, and Cherubim in arms ; 
 
 See in th' abyss the proud apostate hurl'd 
 
 And rising into light the infant world '
 
 49 
 
 Fav'rite of Heav'n ! 'twas thine on mortal eves 
 To pour these visions, rich with rainbow dyes, 
 Peopling the void of space with forms unseen, 
 Rising from being, to what might have been ! 
 And breathes not He a portion of thy fire, 
 Who " bids the pencil answer to the lyre ;" 
 Marks the bright phantoms at the proudest height, 
 And with determin'd hand arrests their flight ; 
 Bids shadowy forms substantial shape assume, 
 And heav'n's own hues in mortal labours bloom ? 
 For toils like these, whate'er the meed divine, 
 That glorious meed, my Fuseli, is thine, 
 Who first to truth's embodied fulness wrought 
 The glowing outline of the Poet's thought. 
 
 Artist sublime ! whose pencil knows to trace 
 The early wonders of thy kindred race ! 
 Not thine to search th' historian's scanty page, 
 The brief memorial of a fleeting age ; 
 Not thine to call, from time's surrounding gloom, 
 High deeds of cultur'd Greece or conquering Rome ; 
 Not thine, with temporary themes to move, 
 Of hope, aversion, pity, rage, or love. 
 Beyond whate'er the drama's powers can tell, 
 Beyond the epic's high impetuous swell, 
 Alike by clime and ages unconfin'd, 
 Thou strik'st the chords that vibrate on mankind ; 
 
 E
 
 50 
 
 Op'st the dread scenes that Heav'n suspensive ey'd, 
 A world created, or a world destroy'd ; 
 RecalPst the joys of Eden's happier prime, 
 Whilst life was yet unconscious of a crime, 
 Whilst Virtue's self could Passion's glow approve, 
 And Beauty slumber'd in the arms of Love ; 
 Till, dread reverse ! on Man's devoted race 
 Th' insidious Serpent work'd the dire disgrace. 
 Then first, whilst Nature shudder'd with affright, 
 Of Sin and Death was held th' incestuous rite, 
 Then first o'er vanquished man began their reign, 
 The fiends of Woe, the family of Pain : 
 Disease the poison'd cup of anguish fills, 
 And opes the lazar-house of human ills. 
 See Frenzy rushes from his burning bed, 
 See pining Atrophy declines his head, 
 See mute Despair, that broods on woes unknown, 
 And Melancholy gaze herself to stone ! 
 
 Then, pouring forth from Hell's detested bound, 
 Revenge, and Fraud, and Murder, stalk around ; 
 Till op'ning skies declare th' avenging God, 
 And Mercy sleeps, whilst Justice waves the rod. 
 Yet, whilst the bursting deluge from the earth 
 Sweeps the rebellious brood of giant birth, 
 One proud survivor rolls his vengeful eyes, 
 And with last look the Living God defies.
 
 51 
 
 But now the Waves their silent station keep, 
 And Vengeance slumbers o'er the mighty deep ; 
 Again rejoicing o'er the firm-fix'd land 
 The favour'd Patriarch leads his household band ; 
 With sacred incense bids his altars blaze, 
 And pours to God the living song of praise. 
 
 Thus as th' immortal bard his flight explores, 
 On kindred wing the daring artist soars, 
 Undazzled shares with him heav'n's brightest glow, 
 Or penetrates the boundless depths below ; 
 Or on the sloping sun-beam joys to ride, 
 Or sails amidst the uncreated void ; 
 Imbibes a portion of his sacred flame, 
 Reflects his genius, and partakes his fame. 
 
 E2
 
 52 
 
 ADDRESS, 
 
 DELIVERED AT THE 
 
 LIVERPOOL THEATRE, 
 By Mr. HOLMAN, 
 
 AVHEN A FREE BENEFIT WAS GIVEN TO THE CHILDREN OF THE 
 LATE MR. J. PALMER, COMEDIAN; WHO DIED SUDDENLY A 
 FEW DAYS BEFORE, ON THAT STAGE, WHILE PERFORMING THE 
 FART OF " THE STRANGER." 
 
 Te airy Sprites, who oft as Fancy calls, 
 Sport 'midst the precincts of these haunted walls ! 
 Light forms, that float in Mirth's tumultuous throng, 
 And frolic dance, and revelry, and song ; 
 Fold your gay wings, repress your wonted fire, 
 And from your fav'rite seats awhile retire ! 
 And thou, whose pow'rs sublimer thoughts impart, 
 Queen of the springs that move the human heart 
 With change alternate ; at whose magic call 
 The swelling tides of passion rise or fall 
 Thou, too, withdraw ; for 'midst thy lov'd abode, 
 With step more stern, a mightier pow'r has trode :
 
 53 
 
 Here, on this spot, to every eye confest, 
 Enrob'd with terrors stood the kingly guest ; 
 Here, on this spot, Death wav'd th' unerring dart, 
 And struck his noblest prize an honest heart ! 
 
 What wond'rous links the human feelings bind ! 
 How strong the secret sympathies of mind ! 
 As Fancy's pictur'd forms around us move, 
 We hope, or fear, rejoice, detest, or love ; 
 Nor heaves the sigh for selfish woes alone, 
 Congenial sorrows mingle with our own ; 
 Hence as the Poet's raptur'd eye-balls roll, 
 The fond delirium seizes all his soul ; 
 And, whilst his pulse concordant measure keeps, 
 He smiles in transport, or in anguish weeps. 
 But, ah lamented shade ! not thine to know 
 The anguish only of imagin'd woe ! 
 Destin'd o'er life's substantial ills to mourn, 
 And fond parental ties untimely torn ! 
 Then, whilst thy bosom, lab'ring with its grief, 
 From fabled sorrows sought a short relief, 
 The fancied woes, too true to Nature's tone, 
 Burst the slight barrier, and became thy own ; 
 In mingled tides the swelling passions ran, 
 Absorb'd the Actor, and o'erwhelm'd the Man ! 
 Martyr of Sympathy, more sadly true, 
 Than ever Fancy feign'd, or Poet drew !
 
 * 
 
 54 
 
 Say, why by Heav'n's acknowledg'd hand imprest, 
 Sueh keen sensations actuate all the breast? 
 Why throbs the heart for joys that long have fled ? 
 Why lingers Hope around the silent dead ? 
 Why spurns the spirit its encumb'ring clay, 
 And longs to soar to happier realms away ? 
 Does Heav'n, unjust, the fond desire instill 
 To add to mortal woes another ill ? 
 Is there thro' all the intellectual frame^ 
 No kindred mind that prompts the nightly dream, 
 Or, in lone musings of remembrance sweet, 
 Inspires the secret wish once more to meet ? 
 There is ; for not by more determin'd laws 
 The sympathetic steel the magnet draws, 
 Than the free'd spirit acts, with strong controul, 
 On its responsive sympathies of soul ; 
 And tells in characters of truth unfurl'd, 
 " There is another, and a better world /"* 
 
 Yet, whilst we sorrowing tread this earthly ball, 
 For human woes a human tear will fall, 
 
 * In repeating these remarkable words, Mr. Palmer fell ; they 
 were the last he was able to pronounce. His domestic sorrows, 
 under the pressure of which he had for some lime languished, were 
 believed to have shortened his days. Edito ,
 
 55 
 
 Blest be that tear, who gives it doubly blest, 
 That heals with balm the orphan's wounded breast. 
 Not all that breathes in morning's genial dew, 
 Revives the parent plant where once it grew ; 
 Yet may those dews with timely nurture aid 
 The infant'flow'rets drooping in the shade. 
 Whilst long experienc'd worth and manners mild 
 A father's merits still protect his child. 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 THE STRANGER, 
 
 SPOKEN AT THE EDINBURGH THEATRE, BY MRS. KEMBLE, IN THE 
 CHARACTER OF ADELAID. 
 
 Escap'd the arms of my forgiving spouse, 
 To you I offer now my grateful vows ; 
 I bring no flippant Epilogue to dry 
 The kind emotions that still cloud your eye, 
 Nor unreluctant would so soon displace , 
 That lovely sadness for the dimple's grace.
 
 56 
 
 Closed is the scene, Adelaid's trials o'er, 
 
 Unreal griefs your pity court no more ; 
 
 But ere to night the Moral Muse retires, 
 
 She prompts th' address which zealous truth inspires. 
 
 ! ye whose sympathising looks disclose 
 Your generous feelings for a sister's woes ; 
 Ere yet the tear is check'd, the sigh represt, 
 Let her sad tale instruct your artless breast; 
 While on your cheek the rose of beauty blows, 
 While youth's warm tide in madd'ning currents flows, 
 While adoration's incense fills your ear, 
 And suppliant lovers swear it all sincere, 
 Let prudence teach your cautious hearts to scan 
 The false allurements of betraying man. 
 Ah ! steel your souls 'gainst Love's insidious guise, 
 Guard well each sense ere Passion's voice surprize, 
 Rest sharp remorse your gentle bosoms tear, 
 And yield the Shrine of Love to sad despair ! 
 For, should fair Innocence, in luckless hour, 
 By folly urged, forego her spotless pow'r, 
 Tho' long repentance expiate the crime, 
 And keen regrets consume the mourner's prime, 
 Ev'n should offended honor, faith betray'd, 
 Forbear the wounded suff'rer to upbraid, 
 No tears can wash the guilty stains away, 
 Or sullied fame resume its pure array j
 
 57 
 
 Conscience still bleeds, while sympathy relieves, 
 And even kindness stabs as it forgives. 
 
 You, to whom Heav'n consign'd the sacred pow'r, 
 And bade you cherish beauty's tender flow'r, 
 Be your's the task to mould our softer soul, 
 And guide our weakness with ybur mild control ; 
 To sensibility our sway's confin'd, 
 Yours is the nobler empire of the mind. 
 O still afford us, when the danger's nigh, 
 Your tender counsels, your protecting eye ! 
 For, trust me, to repel a rival's art, 
 Your best security 's a grateful heart, 
 And while temptation beckons, vice alarms, 
 Our safest citadel 's a husband's arms. 
 
 Thus would our Muse dispense her counsels sage, 
 Ere she resign, to gayer scenes, the stage ; 
 And now her monitory mission 's o'er 
 Sav, will her stranger be receiv'd once more?
 
 58 
 
 ELEGY 
 
 MEMORY OF A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY. 
 
 ** Nimium ne crede colori 
 Alia ligustra cadunt, Vaccinia nigra legunlur." 
 
 Virg. 
 
 No more of Love's enchanting joys I sing, 
 No more my mind on Fancy's pinion flies, 
 
 But to that dreary dwelling stoops her wing 
 Wher,e in Death's icy arms Cleora lies. 
 
 Attend the lay, ye gay and beauteous train 
 Who careless flaunt where late Cleora shone, 
 
 Read in her early fate such charms how vain, 
 Nor joy to call the fading gifts your own. 
 
 Fond was the care with which her youth was rear'd, 
 Joyful her parents saw their blossom blow, 
 
 Each day some virtue, or some grace appear'd, 
 Ah ! little thought they of the coming woe.
 
 o9 
 
 With pride they show'd th' admiring world their child, 
 Whose faultless mind might awe detraction's breath, 
 
 In whose bright eye resistless sweetness smil'd, 
 But, ah ! what smile can soothe the tyrant Death ? 
 
 Cleora's cheek the rosy tincture leaves, 
 Her swimming eye the lively lustre flies ; 
 
 With keenest pangs her gentle bosom heaves, 
 Heav'n claims its own, the beauteous suff'rer dies. 
 
 Ah ! what avails it, sister beauties, say, 
 
 To shine the fairest of the youthful throng, 
 
 To win the brave, the witty, and the gay, 
 
 Touch the soft string, or pour the melting song ? 
 
 Will charms like these avert the stroke of Death, 
 Assuage his pangs, or chase his loathsome gloom ? 
 
 Will they one hour survive your parting breath, 
 Or cheer the dreary mansions of the tomb ? 
 
 Ah, No ! 'tis virtue, innocence, and truth, 
 That draw the tear sincere from pity's eye, 
 
 Strike the cold heart of age, warn thoughtless youth, 
 And call from friendship's breast the bursting sigh. 
 
 For such, Cleora's sorrowing sister weeps, 
 A mother's bleeding bosom knows no rest,
 
 60 
 
 A lover by her grave sad vigils keeps 
 
 And clasps the marble to his aching bteast. 
 
 Attend, Amanda, to my mournful Muse, 
 (Oft have her gayer hours thy praises sung,) 
 
 Nor to Cleora's bier a sigh refuse, 
 
 Tears from the coldest hearts her fate has wrung. 
 
 And while we mark where that once envied form 
 In the cold earth is lodg'd, to worms a prey, 
 
 Hark ! a faint voice along the midnight storm 
 Comes from her narrow house, and seems to say : 
 
 " In beauty's earliest bloom, by Death o'erthrown, 
 " Life's fairy, flatt'ring prospect full in view, 
 
 " Youth's blossom wither'd ere the flow'r was blown, 
 " Sudden I bade the world's vain joys adieu ! 
 
 * Ah ! trust to one whom Heav'n itself has taught, 
 " Vain, vain is beauty, and its fading joy ; 
 
 " And vainer they who by its witchcraft caught 
 " Fix their fond fancy on the worthless toy. 
 
 " Behold yon' nymph in conscious charms so vain, 
 " Who smiles alike on all the flatt'ring throng, 
 
 " The praise of fools is all she strives to gain, 
 
 " For this she leads the dance, and strains the song.
 
 61 
 
 f 'Tis not the smile serene of wit and sense 
 
 fC That in her studied glance and dimple dwells, 
 
 a But the loud laugh at decency's expence, 
 " Without a cause her giddy bosom swells. 
 
 " The sigh sincere of faithful love she slights, 
 
 " No spark of gen'rous friendship fires her breast, 
 
 " There levity each finer feeling blights, 
 
 " And bids her live unblessing, and unblest. 
 
 " But Folly's gaudy Summer soon shall end, 
 
 " Time's wint'ry blast her fruitless flow'rs shall shed; 
 
 <f Nor shall she find a lover or a friend 
 " To court her living, or to weep her dead. 
 
 " While the soft maid within whose bosom livts 
 " The soul of friendship, and of love sincere, 
 
 '* Shall prove those joys which only virtue gives, 
 "And taste that bliss for which Heav'n form'd her 
 here. 
 
 " The tender friend whose woes she kindly mourn'd, 
 * Shall weep her loss, when life's gay scenes are 
 flown, 
 
 " The manly breast, whose love she fond return'd, 
 " Shall heave those sighs to passion due alone.
 
 02 
 
 And when with me a dwelling she shall have, 
 
 " On each sad heart she leaves, with grief opprest, 
 
 Fond mem'ry shall her epitaph engrave, 
 
 " And fix her name in every virtuous breast." 
 
 THE PASSAGE 
 
 MOUNTAIN OF ST. GOTHJRD. 
 
 TO MY CHILDREN. 
 
 Ye Plains where three-fold harvests press the ground, 
 Ye Climes where genial gales incessant swell, 
 
 Where Art and Nature shed profusely round 
 Their rival wonders Italy farewell ! 
 
 Still may thy year in fullest splendor shine ! 
 
 Its icy darts in vain may Winter throw ! 
 To thee, a Parent, Sister, I consign, 
 
 And wing'd with health, [ woo thy gales to blow.
 
 63 
 
 Yet pleas'd Helvetia's rugged brows I see, 
 
 And thro' their craggy steeps delighted roam ; 
 
 Pleas'd with a people, honest, brave, and free, 
 Whilst every step conducts me nearer home. 
 
 I wander where Tesino * madly flows, 
 
 From cliff to cliff, in foaming eddies tost; 
 
 On the rude mountain's barren breast he rose, 
 In Po's broad wave now hurries to be lost. 
 
 His shores, neat huts and verdant pastures fill, 
 And hills, where woods of Pine the storm defy ; 
 
 While, scorning vegetation, higher still 
 Rise the bare rocks co-eval with the sky. 
 
 Upon his banks a favour'd spot I found, 
 
 Where shade and beauty tempted to repose ; 
 
 Within a grove, by mountains circled round, 
 By rocks o'er-hung, my rustic seat I chose. 
 
 Advancing thence by gentle pace and slow, 
 Unconscious of the way my footsteps prest, 
 
 Sudden, supported by the hills below, 
 St. Gothard's summit rose above the rest. 
 
 * The Tesino takes its rise not far from the summit of St. Go- 
 thard, and joins the Po near Pavia.
 
 64 
 
 'Midst tow'ring cliffs, and tracts of endless cold, 
 Th' industrious path pervades the rugged stone, 
 
 And seems Helvetia let thy toils be told 
 A granite girdle o'er the mountain thrown. 
 
 No haunt of Men the weary trav'ller greets, 
 
 No vegetation smiles upon the moor, 
 Save where the flow'ret breathes uncultur'd sweets, 
 
 Save where the patient Monk receives the poor *. 
 
 Yet let not these rude paths be coldly trac'd, 
 Let not these wilds with listless step be trod, 
 
 Here Fragrance scorns not to perfume the waste, 
 Here Charity uplifts the mind to God. 
 
 His humble board the holy man prepares, 
 
 And simple food, and wholesome lore bestows, 
 
 Extols the treasures that his mountain bears, 
 And paints the perils of impending snows. 
 
 For whilst bleak Winter numbs with chilling hand, 
 Where frequent crosses f mark the traveler's fate, 
 
 * There is a small convent at the top of the mountain, where two 
 monks reside, who are obliged to receive and entertain the poor tra- 
 veller that passes that way. 
 
 f Where any live* have been lost from the falls of snow, a small 
 cross is erected.
 
 65 
 
 In slow procession moves the merchant band, 
 And silent bends, where tott'ring ruins wait. 
 
 Yet 'midst those ridges, 'midst that drifted snow, 
 Can Nature deign her wonders to display : 
 
 Here Adularia shines with vivid glow, 
 And gems of chrystal sparkle to the day. 
 
 Here too, the hoary mountain's brow to grace, 
 Five silver lakes *, in tranquil state are seen ; 
 
 While from their waters, many a stream we trace, 
 That, scap'd from bondage, roll the rocks between- 
 
 Here flows the Reuss to seek her wedded love, 
 And with the Rhine, Germanic climes explore ; 
 
 Her stream I mark'd, and saw her wildly move 
 Down the bleak mountain, thro' the craggy shore. 
 
 My weary footsteps hop'd for rest in vain, 
 For steep on steep, in rude confusion rose f; 
 
 * The Rhine, the Rhone, the Aar, the Tesino, and the Reuss, 
 all rise in the mountain of St. Golhard : 
 
 The Reuss unites with the Aar, beyond the Lake of Constance, 
 and with them falls into the Rhine. 
 
 t The Valley of Ursera, celebrated for its fertility and verdure, 
 and the placid manner in which the Reuss traverses it. 
 
 F
 
 66 
 
 At length I paus'd above a fertile plain, 
 That promis'd shelter, and foretold repose. 
 
 Fair runs the streamlet o'er the pasture green, 
 Its margin gay, with flocks and cattle spread ; 
 
 Embowering trees the peaceful village screen, 
 
 And guard from snow each dwelling's jutting shed. 
 
 Sweet vale ! whose bosom wastes and cliffs surround, 
 Let me awhile thy friendly shelter share ! 
 
 Emblem of life ! where some bright hours are found, 
 Amidst the darkest, dreariest years of care. 
 
 Delv'd thro' the rock, the secret passage bends, 
 Majestic horrors strike the dazzled sight ; 
 
 Beneath the pendant bridge the stream descends 
 Calm 'till it tumbles o'er the frowning height. 
 
 We view the fearful pass we wind along 
 The path that marks the terrors of our way 
 
 'Midst beetling rocks, and hanging woods among, 
 The torrent pours, and throws its glittering spray. 
 
 Weary at length, serener scenes we hail, 
 
 More cultur'd groves o'ershade the grassy meads, 
 
 The neat tho' wooden hamlets deck the vale, 
 And Altorf 's spires recal heroic deeds.
 
 67 
 
 But tho' no more amidst those scenes I roam, 
 My fancy long each image shall retain ; 
 
 The flock's returning to its welcome home, 
 
 And the wild carrol of the cow-herd's strain*.- 
 
 Lucernia's lake its glassy surface shews, 
 
 Whilst Nature's varied beauties deck its side ; 
 
 Here rocks and woods its narrow waves inclose, 
 And there its spreading bosom opens wide. 
 
 And hail the chapel ! hail the platform wild ! 
 
 Where Tell directed the avenging dart, 
 With well strung arm, that first preserv'd his child, 
 
 Then wing'd the arrow to the tyrant's heart. 
 
 Across the lake, and deep embower'd in wood, 
 Behold another hallow'd chapel stands, 
 
 Where three Swiss heroes lawless force withstood, 
 And stamp'd the freedom of their native land. 
 
 Their liberty requir'd no rites uncouth, 
 
 No blood demanded, and no slaves enchain'd ; 
 
 * The ** Rans des Vaches," sung by the Swiss cow-herds, is n 
 simple melody, intermixed with the cry which they use to call the 
 cows together. 
 
 F 2
 
 68 
 
 Her rule was gentle, and her voice was truth, 
 By social order form'd, hy laws restruin'd. 
 
 We quit the lake and cultivation's toil 
 
 With Nature's charms combin'd, adorns the way * 
 
 And well earn'd wealth improves the ready soil, 
 And simple manners still maintain their sway. 
 
 Farewell Helvetia ! from whose lofty breast 
 Proud Alps arise, and copious rivers flow ; 
 
 Where, source of streams, eternal glaciers rest, 
 And peaceful science gilds the plains below. 
 
 Oft on thy rocks the wond'ring eye shall gaze, 
 Thy valleys oft the raptur'd bosom seek ; 
 
 There, Nature's hand her boldest work displays, 
 Here, bliss domestic beams on every cheek. 
 
 Hope of my Life ! dear children of my heart ! 
 
 That anxious heart, to each fond feeling true, 
 To you still pants each pleasure to impart, 
 
 And more, oh transport ! reach its home and you.
 
 69 
 
 INSCRIPTION 
 
 WRITTEN ON 
 
 AN HERMITAGE 
 
 IN ONE OF THE 
 
 ISLANDS OF THE WEST-INDIES.* 
 
 AVithin this rural cot I rest, 
 
 With Solitude to calm my breast ; 
 
 And while beneath th' umbrageous bow'r 
 
 Content beguiles each roseate hour, 
 
 And while with Anna oft I rove 
 
 Soft friendship's mutual sweets to prove, 
 
 I scorn the pageants of the great, 
 
 Nor envy pow'r and empty state. 
 
 No thoughtless mortals e'er invade 
 The sacred limits of this glade ; 
 No busy footsteps here are seen 
 To print the flow'r-enamell'd green ; 
 
 * The Author was then but sixteen.
 
 But far remote from pomp and noise 
 No care my happiness destroys ; 
 Save when the lov'd idea reigns 
 Of distant Albion's blissful plains, 
 Far, far remov'd, perhaps no more 
 Destin'd to hail my natal shore : 
 (Perhaps Horatio, thy dear form 
 No more these languid eyes may charm, 
 No more this faithful bosom warm !) 
 
 Here, safe in this sequester'd vale, 
 The stock-doves pour their tender tale ; 
 Here too the peaceful Halcyons rest, 
 And weave secure their downy nest ; 
 Or sportive now, on azure wing, 
 Flutter in many an aery ring ; 
 Expanding, gorgeous, as they fly, 
 Their sapphire plumage to the sky. 
 
 Soon as Aurora wakes the dawn, 
 I press with nimble feet the lawn, 
 Eager to deck the favourite bow'r 
 With every opening bud and flow'r, 
 Explore each shrub and balmy sweet 
 To scatter o'er my mossy seat, 
 And teach around in wreaths to stray 
 The rich Pomegranate's pliant spray,
 
 71 
 
 At noon, reclin'd in yonder glade, 
 Panting beneath the Tamarind's shade, 
 Or where the Palm-tree's nodding head 
 Guards from the Sun my verdant bed, 
 I quaff, to slake my thirsty soul, 
 The Coco's full nectareous bowl. 
 
 At eve, beneath some spreading tree 
 I read th' inspired Poesie 
 Of Milton, Pope, or Spencer mild, 
 And Shakespear, Fancy's brightest child 
 To tender Sterne I lend an ear, 
 Or drop o'er Heloise the tear ; 
 Sometimes with Anna tune the lay 
 And close in song the chearful day. 
 
 Tis thus the circling year is spent 
 In harmony and sweet content, 
 And when {should Fortune so ordain) 
 I view my native realms again, 
 I'll ne'er forget the tranquil hours 
 I spent in India's spicy bow'rs, 
 Nor e'en prefer the World's great Stage 
 To this sequester'd Hermitage.
 
 ANSWER 
 
 TO MRS. N 's QUESTION, 
 
 " WHAT IS GRACE?" 
 
 While round her lips the Loves and Graces play'd 
 
 Why am I graceful I sweet Aspasia said ; 
 
 And " What is Grace," whose secret spell can bind 
 
 Harmonious magic o'er the raptur'd mind ? 
 
 Where does the denizen of air reside, 
 
 And to what beauties is her pow'r applied ? 
 
 What, what attraction to a woman brings 
 
 This sylph, this fairy with enamell'd wings ? 
 
 Thus Strephon answer'd "Grace, O beauteous dame I 
 
 That child of heaven, illumes your lovely frame ; 
 
 'Tis in your cheeks, whose blended tints unite 
 
 The two contending roses, red and white ; 
 
 'Tis in your lips, with vermeil perfume prest, 
 
 It ranges lovely in your snowy breast ; 
 
 'Tis Grace, that breathing sweetly in each sigh, 
 
 Speaks in your voice, and lightens in your eye.
 
 7S 
 
 Tis all in all, it circles you around, 
 In every look, in every word 'tis found. 
 
 O thou ! by Nature exquisitely plann'd, 
 Who came perfection from her lab'ring hand, 
 Deem nought amiss of him whose artless muse 
 These her best gifts not undelighted views ; 
 But on his tuneless reed and simple toil 
 Propitious look, and trust him with a smile ; 
 So shall his lawns, tho' parched by Summer's heat, 
 Revive when trodden by Aspasia's feet ; 
 So shall his flow'rets with fresh fragrance blow, 
 His lilies whiten, and his roses glow; 
 And once again his rustic song shall tell 
 What grace, what beauties in Aspasia dwell ! 
 
 To MISS 
 
 ON HER MARRIAGE. 
 
 W^hile to Hymen's gay seasons belong 
 Light airs and the raptures of youth, 
 
 O listen to one sober song ! 
 O listen, fair. Stella, to truth !
 
 74 
 
 Farewell to the triumphs of beauty, 
 To the soft serenade of your bow'r, 
 
 To the lover's idolatrous duty, 
 
 To his vigils in midnight's still hour 1 
 
 To your frowns darting amorous anguish, 
 To your smiles chacing every care, 
 
 To the pow'r of your eye's lively languish, 
 To each glance, waking hope or despair. 
 
 Farewell to soft bards, that in heaven 
 Dipt the pencil to picture your praise ; 
 
 And blended the colours of even, 
 With morning's gay opening rays. 
 
 They no longer on Thames shall proclaim you 
 A Naiad new sprung from the flood ; 
 
 Or to Bushy 's soft echoes shall name you 
 Bright Dian the Queen of the Wood. 
 
 Farewell to Love's various season, 
 
 Smiling days hung with tempest and light ; 
 But welcome the reign of fair Reason, 
 
 Oh ! welcome securer delight. 
 
 O ! welcome in Nature's own dress 
 Purest Pleasure of gentler kind ;
 
 15 
 
 O ! welcome the power to bless, 
 
 And redeem Fortune's wrongs on Mankind. 
 
 Be a goddess indeed while you borrow 
 
 From Plenty's unlimited store, 
 To gild the wan aspect of Sorrow, 
 
 To cheer the meek eye of the poor. 
 
 While your virtues shall mix with the skies, 
 When your beauty, bright Phoenix, decays 
 
 From your image new graces shall rise, 
 And enlighten Posterity's days. 
 
 Future ages shall trace every air, 
 
 Every virtue deriv'd from your blood, 
 
 Shall remember that Stella was fair, 
 Shall remember that Stella was good.
 
 7G 
 
 LINES BY Mr. 
 
 OF WHOM IT HAD BEEV REMARKED THAT HE HAD VIEWED THE 
 REMAINS OF A MOCH-LOVED AND DEEPLY LAMENTED WIFE 
 WITHOUT SHEDDING A TEAR. 
 
 What rugged rock its lucid store retains ? 
 
 Deep run the rivers that are smooth and slow; 
 Long in each softer mould the rill remains, 
 
 And late the tear that springs from real woe. 
 
 Oh ! while intensely agonized I stood, 
 
 And Memory gave her beauteous form a sigh, 
 
 The pang, deep throbbing in the breast's warm flood, 
 Grief drank the offering ere it reach'd the eye.
 
 77 
 
 LINES 
 
 FOUND IN A BOWER FACING THE SOUTH, 
 
 Soft cherub of the Southern breeze, 
 Oh ! thou whose voice I love to hear, 
 
 When lingering thro' the rustling trees, 
 With lengthen'd sighs it sooths mine ear. 
 
 Oh ! thou, whose fond embrace to meet, 
 The young Spring all enamour'd flies, 
 
 And robs thee of thy kisses sweet, 
 And on thee pours her laughing eyes. 
 
 Thou at whose call the light Fays start, 
 That, silent in their hidden bow'r, 
 
 Lie penciling with tenderest art 
 The blossom thin and infant flow'r. 
 
 Soft cherub of the Southern breeze, 
 
 Oh ! if aright I tune the reed 
 Which thus thine ear would hope to please, 
 
 By simple lay and humble meed ;
 
 78 
 
 And if aright, with anxious zeal, 
 
 My willing hands this bower have made, 
 
 Still let this bower thine influence feel, 
 And be its gloom thy favourite shade ! 
 
 For thee, of all the cherub train, 
 Alone my votive muse would woo, 
 
 Of all that skim along the main, 
 
 Or walk at dawn yon mountains blue ; 
 
 Of all that slumber in the grove, 
 
 Or playful urge the goss'mer's flight, 
 
 Or down the vale or streamlet move, 
 With whisper soft and pinion light. 
 
 I court thee, thro' the glimmering air, 
 
 When morning springs from slumbers still, 
 
 And waving bright his golden hair, 
 Stands tiptoe on yon eastern hill. 
 
 I court thee when at noon reclin'd, 
 I watch the murm'ring insect throng 
 
 In many an airy spiral wind, 
 Or silent climb the leaf along. 
 
 I court thee when the flow'rets close, 
 And drink no more receding light,
 
 79 
 
 And when calm eve to soft repose 
 Sinks on the bosom of the night. 
 
 And when beneath the moon's pale beam, 
 Alone 'mid shadowy rocks I roam, 
 
 And waking visions round me gleam, 
 Of beings, and of worlds to come. 
 
 Smooth glides with thee my pensive hour, 
 Thou warm'st to life my languid mind ; 
 
 Thou cheer'st a frame with genial pow'r, 
 That droops in every ruder wind. 
 
 Breathe Cherub ! breathe ; once soft and warm, 
 Like thine, the gale of Fortune blew, 
 
 How has the desolating storm 
 Swept all I gaz'd on from my view ! 
 
 Unseen, unknown, I wait my doom, 
 The haunts of men indignant flee, 
 
 Hold to my heart a listless gloom, 
 And joy but in the Muse and thee.
 
 no 
 
 LINES * 
 
 WRITTEN' IN A GARDEN SEAT. 
 
 If Mirth alone to thee be dear, 
 If Sorrow ne'er thy heart refin'd, 
 
 If Frolie Youth thy bosom cheer, 
 And Spirits light, and Fortune kind : 
 
 No longer let thine eye peruse 
 
 What here inscrib'd thy glance may see ; 
 For I this artless verse would choose, 
 
 Unmark'd by mortals blest like thee. 
 
 But, stranger, at the touch of pain 
 If e'er thy heart was doom'd to thrill, 
 
 If Melancholy ever deign 
 
 To steep thy soul in slumbers still ; 
 
 * The two foregoing poems were published four or five years ago 
 in an elegant little collection entitled English Lyrics. Editor.
 
 If harsh unkindness e'er for thee 
 Prepar'd that keen envenom'd dart, 
 
 Which tenderness can seldom flee, 
 And left it rankling in thy heart ; 
 
 Thee would I greet with kindliest lay, 
 Would say like thee that others mourn, 
 
 And chide thee soft, if chide I may, 
 And bid thee bear what I have borne. 
 
 And tell thee, stranger, if to me 
 
 Thy sacred griefs had but been known, 
 
 One heart at least, had felt for thee, 
 And made thy sorrows all its own. 
 
 1. 
 
 Come, dusky shadows of the night, 
 
 Companions of the midnight hour ; 
 Sleep binds his fillet o'er my brow, 
 
 And silence guards the lonely bow'r : 
 Ah, come ! this restless mind engage, 
 
 Soothe it with retrospective bliss, 
 Recall the joys of early life, 
 
 And all the present gloom dismiss. 
 G
 
 82 
 
 2. 
 
 Give me one golden minute back 
 
 Of those when prosp'rous fortune smil'd, 
 When friendship smooth 'd each passing care, 
 
 And pleasure's 'witching voice beguil'd : 
 Call back those dreams of fond romance, 
 
 That lull'd me with their specious name, 
 With faith's firm pledge, with honor's vow, 
 
 Love's soft deceit and transient flame. 
 
 3. 
 
 Dreary and toilsome is the path 
 
 When life's aerial schemes are flown, 
 When kind illusions cheat no more, 
 
 And sober Reason claims her own : 
 Burns then the ardent patriot's fire ? 
 
 Avails the stoic's boasted aid ? 
 Alas ! hear godlike Brutus mourn 
 
 How ** Virtue's self was but a shade." 
 
 5. 
 
 The world's wide desart * I survey 
 
 With fainting step, and cheerless breast ; 
 
 " J'envisage avec effroi ce taste desert du monde," &c. 
 
 J. J. Rousseau.
 
 63 
 
 No soul congenial blends with mine, 
 I taste no bliss, I feel no rest ; 
 
 Fled the bright forms which Fancy drew, 
 Nor Hope's gay visions chear my eye, 
 
 Oh drown the sense of present woe ! 
 Oh save me from reality ! 
 
 LIBERTY, 
 
 AN ELEGY. 
 
 (The Idea taken from Johnson's Description of " The Happy 
 Valley of Amlara" in his Rasselas Prince of Abyssinia.) 
 
 y 
 
 To thee, Eudocia, be these lays consign'd, 
 Who, blest in Freedom's fair dominions live ; 
 
 Whilst I, alas ! am pompously confin'd, 
 Bereft of every joy the world can give. 
 
 In vain for me the blushing flow'rets bloom, 
 And Spring eternal decks the fragrant shade t 
 
 In vain the dewy myrtle breathes perfume, 
 And sounds angelic echo thro' the glade. 
 G a
 
 84 
 
 The marble palaces, and glittering spires, 
 
 What are they ? pageant glare and empty shew i 
 
 Ah ! how unequal to my fond desires 
 
 Which tell me Freedom makes a Heaven below. 
 
 Pensive I range these ever-verdant groves, 
 
 And sigh responsive to the murm'ring stream ; 
 While woodland warblers chant their happy loves, 
 
 Dear Liberty ! is wretched Myra's theme. 
 
 i 
 
 The velvet lawns diversified with flow'rs, 
 In sweet succession every morn the same ; 
 
 Fresh gales that breathe thro' Amaranthine bow'rs. 
 And every charm inventive art can frame, 
 
 Here fondly vie to crown this favour'd place ; 
 
 And here, to smooth captivity a prey, 
 Each royal child of Abyssinian race 
 
 Consumes the vacant inauspicious day. 
 
 Tho' festive mirth awake the laughing morn, 
 And guiltless revels lead the dancing hours ; 
 
 Tho' purling rills the fertile meads adorn, 
 And the wild rock its spicy produce pours : 
 
 Yet what are these, to fill a boundless mind ? 
 Tho' gay each scene appears, 'tis still the same ;
 
 5 
 
 Variety in vain I hope to find, 
 
 Variety, thou dear but distant name! 
 
 With pleasure cloy'd, and sick of tasteless ease, 
 No sweet alternatives my spirits cheer ; 
 
 Joys oft repeated lose their power to please, 
 And harmony grows discord to my ear. 
 
 Blest Freedom ! how I long with thee to rove, 
 Where various Nature all her charms displays ; 
 
 To range the sun-burnt hill, the rifted grove, - 
 And trace the silver current's winding maze ! 
 
 Free as the wing'd inhabitants of air 
 
 Who distant climes and various seasons see, 
 
 Regions tho' not like soft Ambara fair, 
 
 Yet blest with change, and crowh'd with Liberty ! 
 
 Vain wish, these rocks whose summits pierce the skies 
 With frowning aspect tell me hope is vain ; 
 
 Till free'd by death, the purer spirit flies, 
 Here wretched Myra's destin'd to remain.
 
 86 
 
 SONG. 
 
 From the light down that mocks the gale 
 
 The Linnet culls her stores ! 
 From each wild flow'r that scents the vale, 
 
 The Bee a balm explores. 
 
 With Nature's truest sense endued, ' 
 
 Unconscious of alloy ; 
 In every gift they find a good, 
 
 And every good enjoy. 
 
 Feeling's vain child alone assign'd 
 
 To doubtful wav'ring pow'r, 
 With sighs can chill the summer wind, 
 
 With tears can blight the flow'r. 
 
 Its only dangerous gift, ah ! why 
 
 Did Heaven to Man impart ? 
 And bid each treach'rous sense supply 
 
 A venom for his heart ?
 
 87 
 
 To love, my Laura, let us give 
 The little span we have to live : 
 Our moments swift as arrows fly, 
 And wing'd like them with destiny. 
 
 Tis not, 'tis not everlasting, 
 But to swift destruction hasting, 
 The pride of youth's elusive hour, 
 The peerless beauty's blooming flow'r. 
 
 Yon orb that now descends to lave 
 His axle in the western wave, 
 The same, or more refulgent still, 
 Shall rise at morn o'er yonder hill. 
 
 Tho' Winter from the woodlands tear 
 Their verdant spoils and leave them bare, 
 Yet these another Spring shall view 
 With fresher foliage clothed anew. 
 
 Our " May of Life " alone no more 
 Revolving seasons shall restore ;
 
 88 
 
 But death o'er man's expiring light, 
 Lets fall irrevocable night ! 
 
 Once in the narrow house of clay, 
 " To dumb forgetfulness a prey," 
 Ne'er does the voice of Love pervade 
 The deep interminable shade ! 
 
 Then come, and e'er the stern behest 
 Of Fate forbids us to be blest, 
 While Beauty warms, and Passion glows, 
 Haste, let us snatch the short-liv'd Rose. 
 
 Let doating greybeards ring in vain 
 Dull changes on the moral strain, 
 Their prudent maxims nought avail, 
 Our hearts repeat a warmer tale. 
 
 To love then, Laura, let us give 
 The little span we have to live ; 
 Our moments swift as arrows fly, 
 And wing'd like them with destiny.
 
 89 
 
 TO 
 
 A VERY YOUNG LADY. 
 
 Why thus decline my troubled eyes, 
 If hither their mild lustre bending 
 
 Those azure orbs to meet me rise ? 
 
 Why thus with thee conversing, dies 
 My voice, in broken murmurs ending ? 
 
 Yet, dawning from my looks distrest, 
 Yet, wooing in the coy expression 
 
 Of falt'ring sounds that half supprest 
 
 In sighs ill stifled breathe the rest, 
 
 Read ah too dear ! the fond confession. 
 
 In vain ! what these soft tumults show, 
 From thee, yet new to love, is hidden ; 
 
 Untaught thy wishes yet to know ; 
 
 If sighs ascend, if blushes glow, 
 
 What means the sigh, the blush unbidden ?
 
 90 
 
 But hope not ever thus secure 
 
 To dart thy wildly-wandering glances ; 
 Now destin'd soon, in bloom mature 
 What others feel for thee t' indure ; 
 
 On hasty wing thy youth advances. 
 
 O, skilPd in every graceful art 
 
 That adds a polish'd charm to beauty ; 
 Be mine the pleasing cares t' impart, 
 That best refine the gentle heart, 
 
 Be mine to teach the tender duty ! 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN BY A LA BY. 
 
 ON OBSERVING SOME WHITE HAIRS ON HER LOVER'S HEAD. 
 
 Thou, to whose power reluctantly we bend, 
 Foe to life's fairy dreams, relentless Time, 
 
 Alike the dread of lover and of friend, 
 
 Why stamp thy seal on manhood's rosy prime, 
 
 Already twining 'midst my Thyrsis' hair, 
 
 The snowy wreaths of age, the monuments of care ? 
 
 Thro' all her forms, tho' Nature own thy sway, 
 That boasted sway, thou'lt here exert in vain ;
 
 91 
 
 To the last beam of life's declining day 
 
 Thyrsis shall view unmoved thy potent reign ; 
 Secure to please whilst worth has pow'r to charm, 
 Fancy or taste delight, and sense and truth inform. 
 
 Tyrant, when from that lip of crimson glow, 
 Swept by thy chilling wing the rose shall fly, 
 
 When thy rude scythe indents his polish'd brow, 
 And quench'd is all the lustre of his eye ; 
 
 When ruthless age disperses every grace, 
 
 Each smile that beams from that ingenuous face; 
 
 Then thro' her stores shall active mem'ry rove, 
 Teaching each various charm to bloom anew, 
 
 And still the raptur'd eye of faithful love 
 Shall bend on Thyrsis its delighted view ; 
 
 Still shall he triumph with resistless pow'r, 
 
 Still rule the conquer'd heart to life's remotest hour. 
 
 THE VOW. 
 
 O clear that cruel doubting brow ! 
 
 I call on mighty Jove 
 To witness this eternal vow 
 
 Tis you alone I love.
 
 92 
 
 c< O leave the god to soft repose, 
 (The smiling maid replies,) 
 
 " For Jove but laughs at lovers' vows, 
 " And lovers' perjuries." 
 
 By honour'd beauty's gentle pow'r, 
 By friendship's holy flame ! 
 
 " Ah ! what is beauty but a flow'r, 
 " And friendship but a name ?" 
 
 By those dear tempting lips I cry'd, 
 With arch ambiguous look, 
 
 Convinc'd my Chloe glanced aside, 
 And bade me " kiss the book." 
 
 ON A HANDSOME MOTHER AND SON, 
 
 EACH BEREFT OF ONE EYE. 
 
 FROM THE LATIN. 
 
 Of his right eye young Alcon was bereft, 
 His mother, Lionella, of her left ; 
 Give her thine eye, sweet boy, so shall ye prove 
 The Goddess she, and you the God of Love.
 
 93 
 
 1. 
 
 Ye swains whom radiant beauty move, 
 Or music's art with sounds divine, 
 
 Think how these rapt'rous^charms improve, 
 When two such gifts together join. 
 
 2. 
 
 Where Cupid's bow, and Phoebus' lyre, 
 In the same powerful hand are found : 
 
 Where lovely eyes inflame desire, 
 
 And trembling notes are taught to wound, 
 
 3. 
 
 Enquire not out the matchless fair 
 Who can this double death bestow, 
 
 If her enchanting voice you hear, 
 
 Or view her eyes, too soon you'll know ! 
 
 'Tis when the rapid trembling strings 
 
 Maria's hand obey, 
 Or when the sweet soft notes she sings 
 
 The pangs of love convey,
 
 94 
 
 We learn how music's magic charms 
 The passions may controul ; 
 
 Feel how the lyre with rapture warms, 
 Or melts the yielding soul. 
 
 TO-MORROW. 
 
 See, where the falling day 
 In silence steals away, 
 
 Behind the western hills withdrawn ; 
 Her fires are queneh'd, her beauty fled, 
 With blushes all her face o'erspread, 
 
 As conscious she had ill fulfilTd 
 
 The promise of the dawn ! 
 
 Another morning soon shall rise, 
 Another day salute our eyes 
 
 As smiling, and as fair as she, 
 And make as many promises; 
 
 But do not thou 
 
 The tale believe, 
 
 They 're sisters all, 
 
 And all deceive.
 
 95 
 
 THE FAREWEL .* 
 
 Xes, Fate forbids us to be blest, 
 It points the parting hour, 
 And bids illusive wishes yield 
 To duty's rigid pow'r. 
 
 I would our lot had been more kind, 
 And I might have been thine ; 
 Yet think dear youth that boon denied, 
 How fruitless to repine ! 
 
 Thine be fair Honor's generous glow, 
 By kindlier stars ensur'd, 
 While conscious Virtue cheers each scene, 
 By hopeless love obscur'd. 
 
 Subdued by Reason's mild control 
 A calmer bliss we'll claim, 
 Fixt by the Friend's endearing tye, 
 " The Brother's" tender name. 
 
 Believe that this unchanging breast 
 Which throbb'd for thee alone, 
 
 * Imitated chiefly from an old English Lyric, entitled " The Sur- 
 render," published in 1657, in a Collection of Poems by Henry 
 King, &c.
 
 96 
 
 Shall long its Harry's manly worth 
 With secret transport own. 
 
 Farewel ! alas ! these falling tears. 
 These struggling sighs betray, 
 How this weak heart thy long-urged flight 
 Could gladly yet delay. 
 
 Ah ! why kiss off the sorrowing dew 
 That bathes my languid cheek, 
 And bid those fondly-beaming eyes 
 Such thrilling meanings speak ? 
 
 If we must part, in pity soothe, 
 Not irritate my grief ; 
 For soon the heart too true to thee, 
 Must break or find relief! 
 
 " Que tie puis-je dans un songe, 
 
 " Tenir son caeur cnchante f 
 
 " Que ne puis-je du mensonge 
 
 " Passer d la Feritf?" J. J. ROUSSEAO.' 
 
 1. 
 
 Sweet aery Dream, that fly'st my fond embrace, 
 Ah ! let me still thy dear illusions prove ; 
 
 Stay lovely shade, and once again retrace 
 The bright similitude of him I love.
 
 97 
 
 2. 
 
 Again assume the tincture of that cheek 
 
 Where love and youth dispense the rosy dye, 
 
 Let the quick glance the rapid thought bespeak, 
 And sparkling azure animate the eye. 
 
 8. 
 
 Round the ripe lip, let smiles and graces play, 
 Let magic accents blend their soft controul ; 
 
 With each warm sigh the tend'rest wishes stray, 
 And pour ensnaring witchcraft thro' the soul. 
 
 4. 
 
 Give him again to Lesbia's faithful arms, 
 
 All that her wish could paint, her heart approve ; 
 
 With flattering visions chase her fond alarms, 
 Dispel her cares, and tune each thought to love. 
 
 5. 
 
 Sleep should the bliss thy shadowy forms reveal, 
 Elude my hopes, and shun my waking sight, 
 
 In pity once again my eyelids seal, 
 And lock my senses in eternal night. 
 
 H
 
 98 
 
 I e ! before whose balmy breath, 
 Hovering Death, 
 
 Girt with troops of wan diseases, 
 Quits the usurp'd domain of air, 
 Where, Oh ! where 
 
 Wander ye ? propitious breezes ! 
 
 Hither, where my languid maid 
 Wooes your aid, 
 
 Come, with balmy spirit flowing ; 
 Gentle harbingers of spring, 
 Hither bring 
 
 Health with rosy beauty glowing. 
 
 So your praise my song shall tell ; 
 So my shell 
 
 Pour to you its liquid treasures ; 
 Soft as when your downy wings 
 Fan the strings, 
 
 Murin'ring sweetly-pensive measures. 
 
 Ah ! no such reward ye seek ; 
 O'er that cheek
 
 99 
 
 Blushing at my distant gazes, 
 O'er those heaving orbs of love, 
 Free to rove, 
 
 Little reck ye of my praises. 
 
 5. 
 
 Yet, in fondly frolic play 
 As ye stray, 
 
 Tell the sorrows of a lover ; 
 And in broken sighs reveal 
 What I feel, 
 
 What to you alone discover. 
 
 The Night her empire had resign'd, 
 And bright the Sun his orb display'd, 
 
 No more to sleep my eyes inclin'd, 
 Yet near my love I still delay 'd. 
 
 Still blest delay'd ; a casual beam 
 Had glanc'd the curtain's veil beside, 
 
 And pour'd its unexpected gleam 
 
 Where lay repos'd my bosom's pride. 
 
 O'er her I hung, and watched the ray 
 Thro' her loose tresses shadowy wind, 
 H 2
 
 100 
 
 And round that neck soft fade away 
 Which on my happy ami reclin'd. 
 
 
 More full the beam reveal'd to view 
 
 The cheek which warm in slumber glow'd, 
 
 The lip which ere I bade adieu 
 
 Look'd as if still it kisses owed. 
 
 But sure that cheek too warmly glows, 
 Disturb'd, distress'd, my love appears : 
 
 Quick throbs her heart I'll bid unclose 
 
 Those beauteous eyes they stream with tears. 
 
 Olivia ! deep her bosom sigh'd, 
 Her eyes diffused a sadden'd gleam, 
 
 Till starting " Art thou there ?" she cried 
 f Ah me ! how blest 'twas but a dream !'' 
 
 1. 
 
 Dried be that tear, my gentlest love, 
 Be hush'd that struggling sigh, 
 
 Not Season's day, nor Fate shall prove 
 More fixt, more true than I ! 
 
 Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear, 
 
 Cease boding doubt, cease anxious fear.
 
 101 
 
 2. 
 
 Dost ask.how long my vows shall stay 
 When all that 's new is past r 
 
 How long my Delia, can 1 say 
 How long my life will last ? 
 
 Dried be that tear, be hush'd that sigh. 
 
 At least I'll love thee till I die. 
 
 3. 
 
 And does that thought affect thee too, 
 The thought of Sylvio's death, 
 
 That he who only breathes for you 
 Must yield that faithful breath ? 
 
 Hush'd be that sigh, be dried that tear, 
 
 Nor let us lose our heaven here ! 
 
 Mark'd you her cheek of roseate hue ? 
 Mark'd you her eye of radiant blue ? 
 That eye in liquid circles moving, 
 That cheek abash'd at Man's approving 
 The one Love's arrows darting round, 
 The other blushing at the wound.
 
 102 
 
 Humid seal of soft affections, 
 Tenderest pledge of future bliss ; 
 
 Dearest tye of young connexions, 
 Love's first snow-drop Virgin kiss ! 
 
 Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action 
 
 When ling'ring lips no more must join, 
 
 What words can ever speak affection 
 So thrilling, so sincere as thine ! 
 
 VANESSA'S 
 ODE TO SPRING.* 
 
 Hail ! blushing Goddess, beauteous Spring, 
 Who in thy jocund train dost bring 
 
 * This Ode, and the subsequent one, are cited by Mr. Sheridan 
 in his very agreeable and entertaining Memoirs of Dean Swift. 
 
 Editor.
 
 103 
 
 Loves and Graces, smiling hours, 
 Balmy breezes, fragrant flowers ; 
 Come, with tints of roseate hue 
 Nature's faded charms renew. 
 
 Yet why should I thy presence hail ? 
 To me no more the breathing gale 
 Comes fraught with sweets, no more the rose 
 With such transcend ant beauty blows, 
 As when Cadenus blest the scene, 
 And shar'd with me those joys serene ; 
 When unperceiv'd the lambent fire 
 Of friendship, kindled new desire : 
 Still list'ning to his tuneful tongue, 
 The truths which angels might have sung 
 Divine imprest their gentle sway, 
 And sweetly stole my soul away. 
 
 My Guide, instructor, lover, friend, 
 Dear names ! in one idea blend ; 
 Oh ! still conjoin'd your incense rise, 
 And waft sweet odours to the skies.
 
 104 
 
 ODE TO WISDOM. 
 
 BY THE SAME. 
 
 On Pallas! I invoke, thy aid, 
 Vouchsafe to heat a jvretehed maid 
 
 By tender love deprest ; 
 Tis just that thou should'st heal the smart 
 Inflicted by thy subtle art, 
 
 And calm my troubled breast. 
 
 No random shot from Cupid's bow, 
 But by thy guidance, soft and slow, 
 
 It sunk within my heart. 
 Thus Love being arm'd with Wisdom's force, 
 In vain I try to stop its course, 
 
 In vain repel the dart. 
 
 O goddess ! break the fatal league, 
 Let Love with Folly and Intrigue, 
 
 More fit associates find ! 
 And thou alone within my breast, 
 O deign to soothe my griefs to rest, 
 
 And heal my tortur'd mind.
 
 105 
 
 THE RELAPSE. 
 VANESSA TO CADENUS 
 
 o' m^feart 
 
 In vain I strive to heal the sml 
 
 Which spreads its venom thro' 
 
 * 
 
 In vain I fly the subtile snare 
 
 Which prudence bade me oft beware ; 
 
 In vain [ struggle to controul 
 
 His lov'd idea in my soul, 
 
 It still returns to break my rest, 
 
 And raise fresh tumults in my breast. 
 
 Tho' Wisdom warns me still to shun 
 A path where thousands are undone, 
 Each soft emotion to repel, 
 And banish him I love too well ; 
 Tho' sterner duty bids us part, 
 And tears him from my throbbing heart, 
 Yet Love, unconquer'd, holds his sway, 
 And makes that trembling heart obey. 
 
 With wild conflicting passions torn 
 By turns thro' each extreme I'm borne ;
 
 106 
 
 Hope vainly cherishes the fire 
 And bids the tender wish aspire ; 
 Obscur'd by Reason's sullen shade 
 Too soon the smiling visions fade, 
 The soft illusions melt in air, 
 And leave me nothing but despair ! 
 
 My guide, my friend, whose gentle sway 
 
 Ev'n Passion's lawless tribe obey, 
 
 Ah ! yet exert that soft controul 
 
 Which stills the tumults of my soul ; 
 
 That weakness which thou ne'er hast known 
 
 Teach me to conquer and disown ; 
 
 Relinquishing each fonder claim 
 
 For Friendship's free, yet sacred name. 
 
 In vain I hope, in vain implore, 
 Love, rebel Love, maintains his pow'r; 
 O'er-rules each virtue once my own, 
 Honor subdued, and Reason flown. 
 Ah ! then the fruitless task resign, 
 Thine must 1 live, in Death be thine ; 
 And vain thy coldly-cruel art 
 To raze thy image from my heart.
 
 107 
 
 THE MAID 
 
 WITH BOSOM COLD. 
 
 Of me they cry, I'm often told 
 
 " See there the Maid with bosom cold ! 
 
 " Indifference o'er her heart presides, 
 
 " And love and lovers she derides ; 
 
 " Their idle darts, unmeaning chains, 
 
 " Fantastic whims and silly pains ; 
 
 " In pride secure, in reason bold, 
 
 " See there the Maid with bosom cold." 
 
 Ah ! ever be they thus deceived ! 
 Still be my bosom cold believed, 
 And never may enquiring eyes 
 Pierce thro' unhappy Love's disguise : 
 Yet could they all my bosom share, 
 And see each painful tumult there, 
 Ah ! never should I then be told 
 That I'm the Maid with bosom cold. 
 
 A fate severe my suffering mind 
 To endless struggles has consign'd.
 
 108 
 
 I feel a flame I must not own, 
 
 I love, yet every hope is flown ; 
 
 Too strong to let my passion sway, 
 
 Too weak to teach it to obey, 
 
 I agonize, and then am told 
 
 That I'm the Maid with bosom cold. 
 
 The joy o'er all my looks exprest 
 Conceals a bosom ill at rest ; 
 To balls and routes I haste away, 
 But only imitate the gay : 
 I jest at Love and mock his pow'r, 
 Yet feel his triumph every hour ; 
 And lost to ev'ry bliss am told 
 That I'm the Maid with bosom cold. 
 
 Unable from myself to fly, 
 
 I catch each word, I read each eye ; 
 
 Antonio comes I die with fear 
 
 Lest others mark my falt'ring air ; 
 
 My eye perhaps too fondly gazed, 
 
 My tongue too much too little praised ; 
 
 Suspicion's trembling slave I'm told 
 
 That I'm the Maid with bosom cold, 
 
 With anxious toil, with ceaseless care, 
 Content and careless I appear ;
 
 109 
 
 All mirth beneath another's eye, 
 Alone I heave the helpless sigh, 
 Hang musing o'er his image dear, 
 Feel on my cheek th' unbidden tear, 
 And think, ah ! why should I be told 
 
 That I'm the Maid with bosom cold ? 
 
 v 
 
 The flower may wave its foliage gay, 
 And flaunt it to the garish day, 
 Unseen the while a canker's pow'r 
 May haste its honours to devour ; 
 And thus, while vainly round me play 
 Youth's zephyr breath, and Pleasure's ray, 
 My fate unknown, my tale untold, 
 Thus sinks the Maid with bosom cold. 
 
 THE BLUSH. 
 AN ENIGMA. 
 
 1. 
 
 When first o'er Psyche's angel breast 
 Love's infant wings undreaded play'd, 
 
 Of either parent's grace possessed, 
 My birth their secret flame betray* d.
 
 110 
 
 No limbs my aery charms obscure, 
 No bone my elfin frame sustains, 
 
 Yet blood I boast, as warm, as pure 
 As that which throbs in Hebe's veins. 
 
 3. 
 
 I sleep with Beauty, watch with Fear, 
 I rise in timid Youth's defence ; 
 
 My gentle warmth alone can rear 
 The snow-drop buds of Innocence. 
 
 4. 
 
 Without a tongue, a voice, or sound, 
 My eloquence o'er all prevails ; 
 
 I still in every clime am found 
 To tell my parent's tend'rest tales. 
 
 Love's sunshine beam'd from brightest eyes 
 Less cheers his votary's painful duty, 
 
 Than my auspicious light, which flies 
 Like meteors o'er the heaven of beauty.
 
 Ill 
 
 THE NURSING OF LOVE. 
 
 I/Ap'd on Cythera's golden sands 
 
 When first True Love was born on Earth, 
 
 Long was the doubt what fost'ring hands 
 Should tend and rear the glorious birth. 
 
 First Hebe claimed the sweet employ, 
 Her cup, her thornless flowers, she said, 
 
 Would feed him best with health and joy, 
 And cradle best his cherub head. 
 
 But anxious Venus justly fear'd 
 
 The tricks and changeful mind of Youth ; 
 Too mild the seraph Peace appear'd, 
 
 Too stern, too cold, the matron Truth ; 
 
 Next Fancy claim'd him for her own, 
 But Prudence disallow'd her right, 
 
 She deem'd her Iris pinions shone 
 Too dazzling for his infant sight.
 
 112 
 
 To Hope awhile the charge was given, 
 And well with Hope the cherub throve. 
 
 Till Innocence came Tlown from Heaven 
 Sole guardian, friend, and nurse of Love ! 
 
 Pleasure grew mad with envious spite 
 When all prefer'd to her she found, 
 
 She vow'd full vengeance for the slight, 
 And soon success her purpose crown'd. 
 
 The traitor watch'd a sultry hour, 
 
 When pillow'd on her blush-rose bed 
 
 Tired Innocence to slumber's pow'r 
 One moment bow'd her virgin head ; 
 
 Then Pleasure on the thoughtless child 
 Her toys and sugar'd poisons prest, 
 
 Drunk with new joy, he heav'd, he smil'd, 
 Reel'd sunk and died upon her breast !
 
 113 
 
 TO A LILY 
 
 FLOWERING BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 Oh ! why, thou Lily pale, 
 
 Lov'st thou to blossom in the wan moonlight, 
 And shed thy rich perfume upon the night ? 
 When all thy sisterhood, 
 In silken cowl and hood, 
 Screen their soft faces from the sickly gale ? 
 Fair horned Cynthia wooes thy modest flower, 
 And with her beaming lips 
 Thy kisses cold she sips, 
 For thou art aye her only paramour ; 
 
 What time she nightly quits her starry bow'r, 
 Trick'd in celestial light 
 And silver crescent bright, 
 Oh ! ask thy vestal queen 
 If she will thee advise, 
 Where in the blessed skies 
 That maiden may be seen, 
 
 Who hung like thee her pale head thro' the day, 
 Love-sick and pining for the evening ray ; 
 I
 
 114 
 
 i 
 
 And liv'd a virgin chaste, amid' the folly 
 Of this bad world, and died of melancholy ? 
 Oh tell me where she dwells ! 
 So on thy mournful bells, 
 
 Shall Dian nightly fling 
 Her tender sighs to give thee fresh perfume, 
 Her pale night-lustre to enhance thy bloom, 
 
 And find thee tears to feed thy sorrowing*. 
 
 TO LAURA. 
 
 I. 
 
 I ou bid me sing the song you love, 
 I hear, and wake the favour'd lay ; 
 
 For Laura's lips no wish can move, 
 But I am blest when I obey. 
 
 * This little Poem was the early production of a son of Mr. Ros- 
 coe of Liverpool. ' Similifrondcscitvirgameiallo." Virg. 
 
 Editor.
 
 xu 
 
 Yet while you bend the strain to hear, 
 My fancy flies on wayward wing, 
 
 And turns to him, the poet dear, 
 
 Who form'd the song you bid me sing. 
 
 2. 
 
 Dear to my heart for ever be 
 
 The bard who thus shall melt and charm, 
 [n every age, each maid like thee 
 
 To Nature just, to Genius warm ! 
 But ah ! the Bard, where is he fled ? 
 
 Like common forms of vulgar clay ; 
 The shades of night are round him spread, 
 
 The bard has lived, and pass'd away. 
 
 3. 
 
 And him, who thus with matchless art 
 
 To Music gave the poet's rhyme, 
 Touch'd with new eloquence the heart, 
 
 And wak'd to melody sublime, 
 How vainly would my eyes require, 
 
 And seek within the realms of day, 
 For like the Master of the Lyre 
 
 He too has lived, and pass'd away. 
 
 4. 
 
 'Mid Scotia's shadowy glens reclin'd, 
 These notes some unknown minstrel fir'd, 
 
 I 2
 
 116 
 
 Yet where to silent Death resign'd, 
 Rests now the form the Muse inspir'd ? 
 
 No vestige points to rapture warm, 
 To grateful awe, the sacred clay ; 
 
 Alas ! while lives the song to charm 
 All but the song has pass'd away ! 
 
 5. 
 
 Well, Laura, does that look reveal, 
 
 That pensive look, that soften 'd eve, 
 How quickly thro' thine heart can steal 
 
 The thought refin'd that bids thee sigh. 
 Not at thy will from want, from pain, 
 
 Exemption kind can genius claim ; 
 And now thou mark'st with sorrow vain. 
 
 How frail its triumphs and its fame. 
 
 6. 
 
 Muse on, and mourn, thou generous maid., 
 
 Ah ! mourn for man thus doom'd to view 
 His little labours bloom and fade, 
 
 An hour destroy an hour renew. 
 Vain humbled man ! must every pride, 
 
 All thy fond glories feel decay ? 
 Must every boast, if once allied 
 
 To thee, but live to pass away?
 
 117 
 
 7. 
 
 Vain humbled man ! as transient flies 
 
 All that thy reasoning mind rever'd ; 
 In some lov'd maid thus sinks and dies 
 
 All to thy inmost soul endear'd. 
 Oh Laura ! haste thee to my breast ! 
 
 Come, all thy life, thy love convey ; 
 Oh ! closer to my heart be prest 
 
 Dost thou too live to pass away ! 
 
 1. 
 
 Laura ! thy sighs must now no more 
 
 My faltering step detain ; 
 Nor dare I hang thy sorrows o'er, 
 
 Nor clasp thee thus in vain. 
 Yet, while thy bosom heaves that sigh, 
 
 While tears thy cheek bedew, 
 Ah think ! tho' doom'd from thee to fly, 
 
 My heart speaks no adieu. 
 
 Thee would I bid to check those sighs, 
 If thine were heard alone ;
 
 118 
 
 Thee would I bid to dry those eyes, 
 
 But tears are in my own. 
 One last long kiss, and then we part 
 
 Another -and adieu ! 
 I cannot aid thy breaking heart, 
 
 For mine is breaking too. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 ON A 
 
 WITHERED LEAF. 
 
 WHICH WAS BLOWN INTO THE BOSOM OP THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Pale wither'd wand 'rer, seek not here 
 A refuge from the boist'rous sky : 
 
 This breast affords no happier cheer 
 Than the rude blighting breeze you fly. 
 
 Cold is the atmosphere of grief, 
 When storms assail the barren breast ; 
 
 Go then, poor exile, seek relief 
 In bosoms where the heart has rest.
 
 119 
 
 Or fall upon th' oblivious ground 
 Where silent sorrows buried lie ; 
 
 There rest is surely to be found, 
 Or what, alas ! to hope have I? 
 
 Where, sepulchred in peace, repose 
 In yonder field the village dead ; 
 
 Go ! seek a shelter among those 
 Who all their mortal tears have shed. 
 
 But if thou com'st a sybil's leaf, 
 Such as did erst high truths declare, 
 
 To tell me soon shall end my grief, 
 I bless the omen that you bear : 
 
 For, sure thou tell'st me that my woe 
 An end like thine at length shall have ; 
 
 That, worn like thee, and wasted so, 
 I sink into the peaceful grave ! 
 
 Then come, thou messenger of peace ! 
 
 Come lodge within this troubled breast, 
 And lie there 'till we both shall cease 
 
 To seek in vain for Nature's rest.
 
 120 
 
 The tears I shed must ever fall, 
 
 I mourn not for an absent swain, 
 For thought may past delights recall, 
 
 And parted lovers meet again. 
 I weep not for the silent dead, 
 
 Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er ; 
 And those they lov'd their steps shall tread, 
 
 And death shall join to part no more. 
 
 2. 
 Tho' boundless Oceans roll'd between, 
 
 If certain that his heart is near, 
 A conscious transport glads each scene, 
 
 ' Soft is the sigh, and sweet the tear. 
 Even when by Death's cold hand removed 
 
 We mourn the tenant of the tomb, 
 To think that e'en in death he loved 
 Can gild the horrors of the gloom. 
 
 3. 
 
 But bitter, bitter are the tears 
 Of her who slighted love bewails, 
 
 No hope her dreary prospect chears, 
 No pleasing melancholy hails.
 
 121 
 
 Her's are the pangs of wounded Pride, 
 Of blasted Hope, of wither' d Joy, 
 
 The flattering veil is rent aside, 
 
 The flame of Love burns to destroy. 
 
 4. 
 
 In vain does Memory renew 
 
 The hours once ting'd in Transport's dye ; 
 The sad reverse soon starts to view, 
 
 And turns the past to agony. 
 Ev'n Time itself despairs to cure 
 
 Those pangs to every feeling due ; 
 Ungenerous youth ! thy boast how poor, 
 
 To win a heart and break it too ! 
 
 5. 
 
 No cold approach, no alter'd mien, 
 
 Just what would make Suspicion start, 
 No pause the dire extremes between ; 
 
 He made me blest, and broke my heart. 
 From Hope, the wretched's anchor, torn, 
 
 Neglected, and neglecting all ; 
 Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn, 
 
 The tears I shed must ever fall !
 
 122 
 
 X 
 
 1. 
 
 Talk not of Love, it gives me pain, 
 
 For Love has been my foe ; 
 He bound me with an iron chain, 
 
 And plung'd me deep in woe : 
 But Friendship's pure and lasting joys 
 
 My heart was form'd to prove ; 
 There, welcome, win and wear the prize, 
 
 But never talk of Love. 
 
 2. 
 
 Your friendship much can make me blest, 
 
 Oh ! why that bliss destroy ? 
 Why urge the only one request 
 
 You know I must deny ? 
 Your thought, if Love must harbour there, 
 
 Conceal it in that thought ; 
 Nor cause me from my bosom tear 
 
 The very friend I sought !
 
 123 
 
 If to gaze on thee waking, with love never ceasing, 
 And fondly hang o'er thee in slumber when laid, 
 
 Each tender dear moment my passion increasing, 
 If that was betraying thou hast been betray'd. 
 
 If thy comforts by every fond art to enhance, - 
 Thy sorrows to lighten, thy pleasures to aid, 
 
 To guess every wish, and obey every glance, 
 If that was betraying thou hast been betray 'd. 
 
 ODE TO FANCY. 
 
 Oh Thou ! whose empire unconfin'd 
 Rules all the busy realms of Mind ; 
 
 The slow-eyed cares thy mild dominion 
 Confess ; If thou thy rod extend, 
 No more the sharp-fang'd sorrows rend, 
 
 While hovering round on frolic pinion, 
 The laughing train of Loves descend.
 
 124 
 
 To soothe the woes of absent Love, 
 Come Fancy ! Now, what time above, 
 
 The full orb'd Moon that rose all glowing, 
 Begins her lifted lamp to pale ; 
 What time to charm the list'ning vale, 
 
 In liquid numbers fondly glowing 
 Laments th* enamour'd Nightingale. 
 
 In softly-pleasing light the Queen 
 Of Heaven arrays the blue serene, 
 
 Yet lovelier far the gentle glory 
 In Anna's azure eyes display'd : 
 Sweet is the songster of the shade ; 
 
 Yet sweeter than his warbled story, 
 Each sound by Anna's lips' convey'd. 
 
 Nor haply shall I ever find 
 That tongue to me alone unkind, 
 
 On every grief but mine so ready 
 To bid the balm of comfort flow ; 
 Nor shall that heart, which every woe 
 
 But mine can melt, thus ever steady 
 To me alone no pity shew. 
 
 Perhaps her bosom now may feel 
 The tender melancholy steal, 
 Tho' maiden modesty dissemble ;
 
 125 
 
 And now, when Memory brings again 
 The Muse which first revealed my pain ; 
 
 Th' involuntary tear may tremble, 
 And own the triumph of the strain : 
 
 So whispers Hope by Fancy led 
 
 She conies ! With flowery wreaths her head, 
 
 With flowery wreaths her sacred anchor 
 Love intertwines In vain employ ; 
 For lo ! behind th' officious boy, 
 
 With subtle smiles of stifled rancour 
 Creeps Mockery, watchful to destroy. 
 
 Ah ! still, tho' whisper'd to deceive, 
 Thy flatteries, Hope, let me believe ! 
 
 Content from Grief one hour to borrow, 
 As thro' the Vale of Life I stray ; 
 Ah ! still, if o'er my distant way 
 
 Hang gathering clouds of future sorrow, 
 O Fancy ! gild them with thy ray.
 
 126 
 
 ODE TO FOLLY. 
 
 Hail, Goddess of the vacant eye ! 
 
 To whom my earliest vows were paid, 
 Whose prattle hush'd my infant cry, 
 
 As on thy lap supinely laid 
 I saw thee shake in sportive mood 
 Thy tinkling bells and antick hood. 
 
 Source of the sweets that never cloy, 
 Folly, indulgent Parent, hail ! 
 
 Thine are the charming draughts of joy 
 That childhood's ruby lips regale : 
 
 Thy hands with flowers the goblet crown, 
 
 And pour th' ingredients all thy own. 
 
 No fiery spirits enter there 
 
 To rouse the tingling nerves to pain, 
 Thy balmy cups, unbought with care, 
 - Swim lightly o'er the tender brain ; 
 Bland as the milky streams they flow, 
 Nor leave the pungent dregs of woe.
 
 12? 
 
 Gay partner of the school-boy band, 
 Who charm'd the starting tear away, 
 
 What tho' beneath the pedant's hand 
 My flaxen head devoted lay, 
 
 Oft were my truant footsteps seen 
 
 In thy brisk gambols on the green. 
 
 Too soon those moments danced away ; 
 
 My years to manhood onward drew, 
 And as my heart began to play, 
 
 My listless limbs more languid grew : 
 For now a thorn disturb'd my rest, 
 The wish of something unpossessed. 
 
 At length with wonted pastimes tired, 
 Aside the boyish gawds I threw, 
 
 But when with expectation fired 
 I to the world's wide circle flew, 
 
 I look'd around with simple stare, 
 
 And found thee in broad features there. 
 
 There saw thee high in regal seat, 
 Thy crowded, clamorous orgies hold, 
 
 With bounding hands thy cymbals beat, 
 And wide thy tawdry flag unfold ; 
 
 Whilst thy gay motley liveries shone, 
 
 On myriads that begirt thy throne.
 
 128 
 
 The devious path sweet pow'r I join'd : 
 Thro' fancied fields of bliss we stray'd, 
 
 A thousand wonders we design'd, 
 A thousand idle pranks we play'd : 
 
 Now grasp'd at glory's quivering ray, 
 
 And now in Chloe's chains we lay. 
 
 But Folly why prolong my verse 
 To sing the laughter-loving age, 
 
 Or what avails it to rehearse 
 Thy triumphs on the youthful stage, 
 
 Where Wisdom, if she claims a place, 
 
 Sits ever with an awkward grace ? 
 
 For now, ev'n now, in riper years, 
 Smit with thy many-coloured vest, 
 
 Oft I renounce my cautious fears, 
 
 And clasp thee to my thoughtless breast ; 
 
 Enough that in Presumption's mien 
 
 Beneath my roof thou ne'er art seen. 
 
 That as my harmless course I run, 
 The world thro' candid lights I view, 
 
 And still with generous Pity shun 
 The moody, moping, serious crew ; 
 
 Since what they fondly, vainly prize, 
 
 Is ever, ever to be Wise.
 
 12& 
 
 DIRECTIONS 
 
 TO THE PORTER. 
 
 Thou faithful guardian of these peaceful walls, 
 Whose zealous care protects thy master's gate ; 
 
 If any stranger at this mansion calls, 
 
 I'll tell thee who shall enter, who shall wait. 
 
 2. 
 
 If Fortune, blindfold goddess, chance to knock, 
 Or proud Ambition lure me to her arms, N 
 
 Shut, shut the door, good John, quick turn the lock, 
 And shield thy master from their syren charms. 
 
 3. 
 
 If sober Wisdom hither deigns to roam, 
 Nor let her in, nor send her quite away : 
 
 Tell her, at present I am not at home, 
 But hope she'll call again another day ! 
 
 4. 
 If at my door a beauteous boy be seen, 
 His little feet have oft my threshold trod, 
 K
 
 130 
 
 You know the offspring of the Cyprian queen, 
 J lis air without his bow, bespeaks the god. 
 
 5. 
 
 His gentle smiles admittance ever win, 
 Tho' oft deceiv'd I prize the fond deluder; 
 
 Morn, noon, and night, be sure you let him in, 
 For Love, dear Love, is never an intruder. 
 
 ODE TO A FOUNTAIN. 
 
 1. 
 
 Sequester'd Fountain, ever pure, 
 
 Whose smooth, meand'ring rill, 
 In gentle murmurs glides obscure 
 
 Beneath thy parent hill ; 
 Tired with Ambition's fruitless strife 
 I quit the stormy scenes of Life 
 
 To shape my course by thine, 
 And pleased, from serious trifles turn, 
 While thus around thy little urn 
 
 A votive wreath I twine.
 
 131 
 
 Fair Fountain ! on thy margin green 
 
 May Spring her flowers display, 
 And pendant shades thy bosom screen 
 
 From noon's obtruding ray. 
 O ! may the morn's ambrosial sky 
 With pearly dew thy stores supply, 
 
 May health infuse her balm ; 
 And some soft virtue in thee flow 
 To mitigate the pangs of Woe, 
 
 And bid the heart be calm. 
 
 3. 
 
 Fair Fountain ! to thy gelid streams 
 
 May Lethe's clouded Spring, 
 Emerging from the Land of Dreams 
 
 Some balm oblivious bring : 
 With that blest opiate in my bowl 
 Far shall I from my wounded soul 
 
 The thorns of Spleen remove ; 
 Forget how there at first they grew, 
 And once again with Man renew 
 
 The tyes of cordial love. 
 
 4. 
 
 For what avails the wretch to bear 
 Imprinted on his mind, 
 K2
 
 192 
 
 The lessons of distrust and fear, 
 
 Injurious to mankind ? 
 Hopeless, in his disastrous hour 
 He sees the gathering tempest low'r, 
 
 The bursting cloud impend, 
 Tow'rds the wild waste he casts his eve, 
 Nor can that happy port descry 
 
 The bosom of a friend. 
 
 How changed since that propitious time 
 
 When wooed by Fortune's gale, 
 Tearless in youth's advent'rous prime 
 
 He crowded every sail : 
 The swelling tide, the sportive breeze, 
 Lightly along the halcyon seas 
 
 His bounding pinnace bore ; 
 In search of Happiness the while 
 He steer'd by every fragrant isle, 
 
 And touch'd at every shore. 
 
 is. 
 
 Ah me ! to youth's ingenuous eye, 
 What .charms the prospect wears : 
 
 Bright as the portals of the sky 
 The opening world appears. 
 
 There every object stands confest 
 
 In all the sweet advantage drest
 
 133 
 
 Of Candour's radiant robe, 
 There no mean cares admission find, 
 Love is the business of Mankind, 
 
 And honour rules the globe. 
 
 But if those lights fallacious prove 
 
 That paint the world so fair, 
 If there be found for generous Love 
 
 No soft asylum there, 
 If Men fair Faith, fair Fame deride, 
 Bent on the crooked paths that guide 
 
 To Interest's sordid shrine, 
 Be yours, ye gloomy sons of woe, 
 
 The melancholy truth to know, 
 The dream of bliss be mine. 
 
 THE VISIONARY. 
 
 >< __ 
 
 When midnight o'er the moonless skies 
 Her pall of transient death has spread, 
 
 When mortals sleep, when spectres rise, 
 And nought is wakeful but the dead :
 
 134 
 
 No shivering ghost my way pursues, 
 No bloodless shape my couch annoys, 
 
 Visions more sad my fancy views, 
 Visions of long departed joys ! 
 
 The shade of youthful Hope is there, 
 That linger'd long, and latest died ; 
 
 Ambition all dissolved to air, 
 
 With phantom honors at her side. 
 
 What empty shadows glimmer nigh ? 
 
 They once were Friendship, Truth, and Love, 
 Oh ! die to thought, to memory die, 
 
 Since lifeless to my heart ye prove. 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 1. 
 
 When brightly glows the western wave beneath the 
 Sun declining, 
 And languid sounds the distant tide, retiring from 
 the shore,
 
 135 
 
 Tis then I sink, to pensive thought my melting soul re- 
 signing, 
 Surrender'd sink, while care disturbs, and reason 
 wakes no more. 
 I muse of all that childhood loved ere Age its joys de- 
 rided, 
 Of all that youth delighted sketch'd while Hope 
 the pencil guided, 
 Of all that once my heart believed while Tenderness 
 presided, 
 And every scene that Mem'ry throws her lonely 
 radiance o'er. 
 
 2. 
 
 But oh ! how kindly-soothing then in gentle cadence 
 stealing, 
 Comes Music with its soften'd airs, and seems to 
 breathe and sigh, 
 Sweet as the^voice which Friendship pours, when not 
 our woes concealing, 
 She owns that we with reason mourn, yet tells of 
 comfort nigh. 
 Then wake the lyre to sounds that float on lengthen'd 
 pensive measures, 
 Oh, wake the lyre ! and give my soul its dear, its 
 richest treasures,
 
 136 
 
 And tell my heart, tho' now forlorn, that still it has its 
 pleasures ; 
 Those sounds again ! like other bliss they seem too 
 soon to die. 
 
 " Say, who art thou, and whence thy cure 
 
 " For sorrows such as I endure ? 
 
 " Will at thy word the grave restore 
 
 " The youth I ever must deplore ? 
 
 " Vain boaster ! can'st thou calm a mind 
 
 '* That Joy, that Hope, has now resign'd ? 
 
 ** Unmov'd, alas ! fatigued I hear 
 
 e< Reason's dull murmurs in mine ear. 
 
 " Religion would my sighs restrain, 
 
 " Her soothing voice I list in vain; 
 
 n And Virtue bids me closer fold 
 
 <e The grief which to my heart I hold 
 
 " Say who art thou, and whence thy cure 
 
 " For sorrows such as I endure ? " 
 
 Fair mourner ! all these taunts severe 
 I reck not for I often hear, 
 Resistless in my powerful sway : 
 Thy heart must break, or must obey.
 
 137 
 
 Disdain me yet whate'er thy sorrow, 
 From me shalt thou thy comfort borrow 
 Mark these firm wings that never fold, 
 This hour-glass, and this scythe behold : 
 Already hast thou learnt from me 
 In Words to paint thy misery ! 
 
 STANZAS, 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 As now the shades of eve embrown 
 The scenes where pensive Poets rove, 
 
 From Care remote, from Envy's frown, 
 The joys of inward calm I prove. 
 
 What holy strains around me swell ! 
 
 No wildly rude tumultuous sound ; 
 They fix the soul with magic spell : 
 
 Soft let me tread this favour'd ground. 
 
 Sweet is the gale that breathes the spring, 
 Sweet through the vale yon winding stream, 
 
 Sweet is the note Love's warblers sing, 
 But sweeter Friendship's soothing theme.
 
 138 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 " Ducite ah urle domnm, mca Carmina, ctucile 
 
 " Dnphnim." Virg. Eel. 
 
 The Nymphs and the Shepherds are met on the green, 
 With chaplets to deck the fair brows of their queen, 
 The rosy Aurora awakes from her bed, 
 To illumine the dew-drops that Vesper had shed. 
 
 What strains of wild music resound thro' the grove, 
 Sweet music, the voice of contentment and love ; 
 While the soft warbling Linnet proclaims from yon 
 
 spray, 
 That this is the morning, bright morning of May. 
 
 Twas here that gay Flora with Zephyr did wed, 
 While Pansics and Vi'lets sprang up for their bed ; 
 And 'twas in yon arbour of Myrtles inwove, 
 That she bore a sweet cherub, the pledge of their love.
 
 I.J9 
 
 He was nurs'd by the Hours, by the Graces attir'd, 
 By Venus belov'd, by the Muses inspir'd, 
 The Spring deck'd him out in her fairest array, 
 Then crown'd him with Roses, and call'd him sweet 
 May. 
 
 Tis for him that the Shepherds assembled are seen 
 To revel and dance round their May-chosen Queen ; 
 Tis for him that the Minstrels attune the soft lyre, 
 While the swains and the virgins unite in the choir. 
 
 Tis he that enamels our meadows with flow'rs, 
 And renders so vocal our green-shady bow'rs ; 
 Tis he that enlivens our songsters, to prove 
 That May is the season of Music and Love. 
 
 But to me can these regions of softness and ease, 
 Can the songs of the Lark or the Nightingale please ? 
 Ah no ! when away from the youth I adore, 
 These scenes of delight can enrapture no more. 
 
 Return then, dear Daphnis, return to my arms^ 
 For without thee blithe Nature's deprived of her charms; 
 While, blest in thy presence, all seasons are ga}-, 
 And each month that elapses to me appears May.
 
 140 
 
 Nithsdak, 1796. 
 CORIN'S ADIEU. 
 
 FOR MUSIC. 
 
 Despairing I rove by this still running stream ; 
 While Corin's sad fate is for ever my theme, 
 For 'twas Here we oft wander'd the long summer days, 
 And each vale, then harmonious, re-echoed his lays : 
 The woods with delight bow'd their tops to his song, 
 While the streamlet responsive ran murm'ring along, 
 The songsters were mute when he tun'd his soft reed, 
 And fays danced around on the green-chequer'd mead. 
 
 But now woe is me ! hapless Corin is dead, 
 
 And the sweet-briar waves its boughs o'er his cold head : 
 
 Alas ! he is gone, and my bosom is rent, 
 
 When I think on the days I with Corin have spent. 
 
 Then adieu, gentle spirit ! and soft be thy rest, 
 
 While I cherish thy name in my sorrowful breast.
 
 141 
 
 THE RUIN. 
 
 SONNET FROM THE ITALIAN.* 
 
 " Say Time, whose once yon' stately pile," I cried, 
 " Which now thou crumbiest, ruthless, in the soil?" 
 He answered not, but op'd his pinions wide, 
 And flew with heedless haste to ampler spoil. 
 
 " Say then, prolific Fame, whose breath supplies 
 " Life to bright works of Avonder what were those ?" 
 Abash'd, with blushes only she replies, 
 Like one whose bosom heaves with secret throes. 
 
 * The original Sonnet is here inserted, that the Reader may have 
 an opportunity of comparing it with the translation. 
 
 SONETTO DI ORAZIO PETROCHI, 
 
 Sull ' incerlezza della Rovina d'un Edifizio. 
 
 Io chiesi al tempo ; ed'a chi surse il grande 
 Ampio edifizio che qui al suol truesti ? 
 Ei non rispondi; e piu veloci e presti 
 Fugitivo per 1'aere i vanni spande.
 
 142 
 
 Lost in amaze, I turn'd my steps aside, 
 
 When o'er the pile I saw Oblivion stride, 
 
 With mien imperious, and with vacant eyne, 
 
 " Perchance thou know'st," I cried, " Ah speak! 
 
 declare !" 
 Abrupt he answer'd, hoarse, and shook the air, 
 u Whose once it was, I reck not ! Now 'tis mine. 
 
 Dissi alia Fama, O ! tu, che all'ammirande 
 Cose dai vita, e qucsti avanzi e questi ? 
 China essa gli occhi, conturbati e mesti, 
 
 Qual chi doglioso, alti sospir tramande. 
 
 Io gia volgea, meravigliando il passo, 
 Ma sti per l'alta mole altero in mostra 
 
 Visto girsen 1'Obblio di sasso in sasso. 
 E' tu gridai forse il sapresti? ah ! mostra 
 
 Ma in tuono m'intcrruppe orrido e basso, 
 Io di chi fa non euro, Adesso e nostra.
 
 143 
 
 The twilight-shades are thickening fast, 
 The chilling night-dews fall, 
 
 A low'ring gloom now settles pound, 
 And silence reigns o'er all. 
 
 The Orb of Day with half-quench'd beam 
 Sinks wan beneath the wave, 
 
 Its fervor spent, and faded now 
 The brilliant tints it gave. 
 
 The Lily droops her languid head, 
 
 And folds her silken gem ; 
 Parch'd by the Sun's inclement raj^ 
 
 She sicken'd on her stem. 
 
 But mark, Lorenzo see the change 
 
 Unerring Nature shares ; 
 Soon from the East how glowing bright 
 
 The blushing dawn appears. 
 
 The hovering shades receding fly 
 At morning's fragrant breath, 
 
 Her opening sweets fresh blossoms yield 
 For Nature's various wreath.
 
 144 
 
 With renovated radiance bright, 
 
 The planet of the Day 
 Retraces his diurnal course, 
 
 Rejoicing on his way. 
 
 The freshen'd Lily now revives 
 And rears her beauteous head, 
 
 Expands her foliage to the beam, 
 And scents her dewy bed. 
 
 Tis thus, Lorenzo, ebbing life 
 Seems mournful, dark, and sad ; 
 
 Tis thus the ling'ring spirit shrinks 
 At Death in terrors clad. 
 
 But thus again, with life renew 'd, 
 It wakes to joy and light ; 
 
 For Virtue shall survive the wreck 
 That whelms a world in nisrht.
 
 145 
 
 VERSES 
 
 WRITTEN - ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK IN WHICH A LADY HAD 
 MADE A SELECTION OF POEMS. 
 
 W hilst health and youth lead on the sprightly hours, 
 How sweet thro' Fancy's flowery fields to stray, 
 
 Catch the wild notes inventive genius pours, 
 And stamp on lasting leaves the genuine lay ! 
 
 Nor think those hours to trivial cares consign'd 
 Thou with the favouring Muses may'st employ ; 
 
 'Tis they who harmonize the youthful mind, 
 And open every avenue to joy : 
 
 Bid the free'd soul the grovelling crew despise, 
 Whom humbler hopes of pow'r or riches move, 
 
 Bid the free'd soul to nobler prospects rise, 
 To Fancy, Friendship, Harmony, and Love.
 
 146 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 As o'er the smooth expanse of Summer's sky 
 Pass the light vapours that return no more ; 
 As on the margin of the breezy shore 
 
 Waves after waves successive rise and die ; 
 
 Thus pass the transient race of human kind, 
 That sweeping onward tow'rds oblivion's gloom 
 Yield unreluctant to their cheerless doom, 
 
 Nor of existence leave a trace behind. 
 
 Yet C ,* some there are of nobler aim, 
 
 Who spurn th' inglorious lot ; and feel within 
 The generous hope of-well-deserved praise. 
 
 Anxious, like thee, by deeds of just acclaim 
 From Glory's shrine her greatest wreaths to win, 
 And bid their memory live to future days. 
 
 * This Sonnet we believe to be addressed to Dr. Currie of Liver- 
 pool. Ed.
 
 147 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 FROM THE LATIN OF ANGKLUS FOLITIANUS. 
 
 Why, Charles, when Youth and Love combine, 
 With Sages old thine hours employ ? 
 
 To weave the polish'd verse be thine, 
 To sing of rapture, sing of joy. 
 
 Tell how thy fav'rite mistress smiles, 
 Proud of the strain a Muse might own, 
 
 For Venus comes with all her wiles, 
 And claims this season as her own. 
 
 Hence then with Learning's wrinkled brow, 
 The serious mien, the frown austere ! 
 
 Soft let the melting numbers flow, 
 'Till Grecia's self with envy hear. 
 
 So Cupid round thy favour'd head 
 
 His mother's Myrtle wreath shall twine ; 
 
 Beyond the stars thy praise shall spread, 
 Nor time nor space thy fame confine. 
 L 2
 
 148 
 
 ON THE TOMB OF THfeMISTOCLES. 
 
 FROM THE GREEK. 
 
 By the Sea's margin, on the watery strand, 
 Thy monument, Themistocles, shall stand : 
 By this directed, to thy native shore 
 The merchant shall convey his freighted store ; 
 And when our fleets are summon'd to the fight, 
 Athens shall conquer with thy tomb in sight. 
 
 ON OLD AGE. 
 
 FROM THE GREEK. 
 
 Age is the heaviest burthen man can bear, 
 Compound of disappointment, pain, and care ; 
 For when the mind's experience comes at length, 
 It comes to mourn the body's loss of strength ; 
 Resign'd to ignorance all our better days, 
 Knowledge just ripens when the man decays ; 
 One ray of light the closing eye receives, 
 And wisdom only takes what folly leaves.
 
 149 
 
 FROM THE GREEK. 
 
 Why, foolish painter, give those wings to Love ? 
 Love is not light, as my sad heart can prove ; 
 Love hath no wings, or none that I can see ; 
 If he can fly Oh! bid him fly from me. 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF CAPTAIN CHARLES BUNBURV. 
 
 BY A FRIEND, 1799- 
 
 Oh, thou ! whose bosom warm with honest Pride, 
 Pants for the conflict of the world, untried ; 
 And full of sanguine Youth's ingenuous creed 
 Think'st worth must rise, and talents must succeed ; 
 Check the fond impulse they inspire ! and know 
 Full oft the star of Genius sets in woe ! 
 Trace the sad record of yon votive stone, 
 And, touch 'd by Bunb'ry's fate, mistrust thine own.
 
 150 
 
 Heav'n had his form with manly beauty grac'd, 
 
 His mind with force, intelligence, and taste ; 
 
 Each happier tone of every chord he hit, 
 
 His gravity was sense, his mirth was wit ; 
 
 His were affections undebas'd by art, 
 
 The mildest manners, and the warmest heart : 
 
 Mem'ry, with unobtrusive knowledge fraught, 
 
 And join'd to playful fancy, depth of thought. 
 
 Such as he was, to sad remembrance dear, 
 
 He closed in distant climes his short career. 
 
 Yet there Connubial Love's assuasive pow'r 
 
 Cahn'd the last struggles of his parting hour. 
 
 Here, let Parental grief enshrine his name, 
 
 And long the Muse and Friendship guard his fame. 
 
 THE GENIUS OF CHATTERTON. 
 AN ODE, 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE SUPPOSITION OF HIS BEING THE AUTHOR OF 
 THE POEMS ATTRIBUTED TO THOMAS ROWLEY IN THE FIF- 
 TEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 Tis done: the mighty stripling gave the word: 
 Instant round Bristol's crowded mart 
 Beams of celestial glory dart, 
 
 And to each kindling breast poetic flames impart. 

 
 151 
 
 Give me the harp, he cried, of thousand strings : 
 
 Echo from her mountain cell, 
 
 O'er desert heath, or shadowy dell, 
 The repercussive notes in varying pauses brings : 
 The obedient power of Inspiration heard. 
 
 Now swell the strain in accent bold ; 
 Now tun'd to artless woe 
 Let the soft numbers musically flow ; 
 Or to the praise of heroes old, 
 Let Freedom's war-song sound in thund'rous terror 
 roll'd. 
 
 Far hence all idle rhymes, 
 The taste of none but giddy-paced times : 
 In manlier modes I strike the deep-ton'd lyre, 
 And other joys inspire. 
 Whence is this ardour ? what new motion bodes 
 My agonizing soul ? 
 It is decreed : 
 Illusion, come : work thy all potent deed, 
 And deal around the land thy subtle dole. 
 
 Be the solemn subject drest 
 In antique numbers, antique vest ; 
 In Time's proud spoils right gorgeously array'd, 
 With many a strange conceit and lore profound ;
 
 1.52 
 
 There be the bookman's sapient art display'd, 
 
 While Folly dreams, and Wonder stares around. 
 See Fancy wafts her radiant forms along, 
 Borne on the plume sublime of everlasting song ! 
 
 Brave Richard* calls ; the crescent falls : 
 He rears the cross ; the nation bow. 
 
 Vengeance, arise ! great Bawdin dies : + 
 Awful be the notes, and slow. 
 
 Juga's woes demand the strain : J 
 
 Shall female sorrow stream in vain ? 
 Ah ! deck with Myrtle wreaths that hapless herse. 
 
 Nor let sainted Charity, 
 
 Godlike maid with upcast eye, 
 Unheeded pass without one votive verse. 
 
 Grief's a plant of every clime, 
 
 Call'd into birth from earliest time ; 
 
 Soon it shoots a branching tree, 
 
 Water'd with tears of misery. 
 
 Change, my lyre, thy numbers change, 
 And give aspiring thought an ampler range. 
 
 * 
 
 Rowley's Second Eclogue. 
 
 t The death of Sir Charles Bawdin. 
 
 \ Elinoure and Jaga. Ballade of Charitye,
 
 ]53 
 
 In buskin'd pomp appear 
 Dread JElla's regal form : * 
 
 Fate stalking in the rear 
 Prepares the iron storm. 
 
 Mark-f- where the Roman canvas swells afar, 
 
 And wafts the destin'd troops to Albion's strand : 
 Hear, Harold, hear! the distant sound is war; 
 War, that shall sweep thee from thy native land. 
 The measure's clos'd ; the work dispos'd ! 
 
 Hang the immortal tablet high ! 
 The colours mix ; the soul they fix ; 
 Confest before th' entranced eye. 
 Confirm, Pierian pow'rs ! my bold design ; 
 And stamp with Rowley's name each consecrated line. 
 
 * JElla, a Tragical Interlude ; and Godwyn, a Fragment, 
 t The Battle of Hastings.
 
 154 
 
 " As near Porto Bello lying/' fyc. Glover. 
 
 PARODY. 
 
 CAPELL'S GHOST*, 
 
 TO 
 
 EDMUND M ALONE. 
 
 As near honour'd Stratford lying, 
 
 Fast by Avon's swelling flood, 
 At midnight with streamers flying, 
 
 Shakespeare's gallant navy rode. 
 There while Edmund sate all glorious 
 
 From false Ireland's late defeat, 
 And the critic crews victorious 
 
 Drank success to every sheet : 
 
 On a sudden strangely sounding, 
 Dubious notes and yells were heard, 
 
 * The transaction alluded to in this Parody relative to Capell's 
 edition of Shakespeare, is too generally known now among the literati 
 to require any explanation. Ed.
 
 155 
 
 Grammar, sense, and points confounding, 
 A sad troop of clerks appear'd, 
 
 All in spotted night-gowns shrouded, 
 Which in life for coats they wore, 
 
 And with looks by reading clouded, 
 Frown'd on the reviewing shore. 
 
 On them gleam'd the Moon's wan lustre, 
 
 When the shade of Capell bold 
 His black bands was seen to muster, 
 
 Rising from their cases old. 
 O'er the glimmering stream he hied him, 
 
 Where tlje Steevens * rear'd her sail, 
 With three hundred clerks beside him, 
 
 And in groans did Edmund hail. 
 
 " Heed, oh heed, my fatal story, 
 
 ** I am Capell's injured ghost! 
 (t You who now have purchas'd glory 
 
 " Near the place where I was lost. 
 <e Though in Ch-lm-rs' leaden ruin 
 
 " You now triumph free from fears, 
 " When you think of my undoing, 
 
 " You must mix your joy with tears. 
 
 * The admiral's ship.
 
 156 
 
 " Mark the forms by Shakespeare painte 
 
 " Ghastly o'er the harrowing scene, 
 " Envy wan with colours tainted, 
 
 " And Detraction's skulking mien. 
 " Mark the passions foul and horrid, 
 
 " Low'ring o'er the blasted Heath; 
 " Hecate hides her son's black forehead 
 
 " At the scoundrel tale beneath. 
 
 " I by Learning's train attended, 
 
 n Treasures hid first brought to light ; 
 ". And from none my stores defended, 
 
 " Who for Shakespeare burn'd to fight. 
 ( Oh ! that from such friends' caresses 
 
 " I had turn'd me with disdain! 
 M Nor had felt the keen distresses, 
 
 " Stung by all that serpent train. 
 
 " Rival scholars I ne'er dreaded, 
 
 " But in twenty years had done, 
 " What thou, Edmund, little heeded, 
 
 " Hast achiev'd in eight alone. 
 " Then the shelves of Cadell never 
 
 " Had my foul dishonour seen, 
 " Nor contempt, the sad receiver 
 
 " Of my Shakespeare's school had been.
 
 157 
 
 ^ f Warburton and Pope dismaying, 
 
 " And their blunders bringing home, 
 " Though condemn'd to satire's flaying, 
 
 " I had met a Tibbald's doom ; 
 " To have fall'n, Sam Johnson crying, 
 
 " He has play'd a scholar's part, 
 " Had been better far than dying, 
 
 " Struck by cowards to the heart. 
 
 " Unrepining at such glory, 
 
 " Thy successful toil I hail : 
 u Men will feel my cruel story, 
 
 " And let Capell's wrongs prevail. 
 " Doom'd in Slander's clime to languish, 
 
 " Days and nights consum'd in vain, 
 " Worn by treachery and anguish, 
 
 " Not in open battle slain. 
 
 ft Hence with all my clerks attending, 
 
 " From their parchment tombs below, 
 " Through their ofhce-dust ascending 
 
 '* Here I feed my constant woe. 
 " Here the commentators viewing, 
 
 f I recall my shameful doom, 
 "* And my primal notes renewing, 
 
 " Wander through the letter'd gloom.
 
 168 
 
 " O'er my school for ever mourning, 
 
 " Shall I roam depriv'd of rest, 
 " If to Avon's banks returning, 
 
 t( You neglect my just request ; 
 " After your dull foe # subduing, 
 
 " When your Stratford friends you see, 
 " Think on Vengeance for my ruin, 
 
 " And for Shakespeare shamed in me !" 
 
 ON READING 
 THE SORROWS OF WERTER." 
 
 Thy soft-wrought sorrows, Werter, while I view, 
 
 Why falls not o'er the page sweet Pity's dew ? 
 
 Is there no tear for thy unhappy lot? 
 
 [s Tenderness no more, and Love forgot ? 
 
 Chill'd is my breast by fifty Winters snow ? 
 
 And dead the touch of sympathetic woe ? 
 
 No ! o'er this bosom fifty Winters old, 
 
 Love, wedded Love, still points his shafts of gold ; 
 
 * Ch-lm-rs.
 
 159 
 
 Still moves his purple wings, and o'er my urn 
 With brightest rays his constant lamp shall burn. 
 Not so thy torch of Love in angry mood 
 By Furies lighted, and put out in blood ; 
 From the black deed affrighted Pity flew, 
 And Horror check'd the tear thy sufferings drew. 
 While from the gloomy page 1 learn'd to know 
 That virtuous tears alone for virtuous sorrows flow. 
 
 ON A BUTTERFLY 
 
 WHICH CAME FORTH FROM ITS CHRYSALIS IN A LADY'S HAND, 
 
 Born in Aspasia's fost'ring hand, 
 My finish'd form I first display'd : 
 
 And felt my plumy wings expand 
 
 While gazingxon the beauteous maid. 
 
 No sunshine glow'd upon the scene, 
 With kindly warmth those wings to dry, 
 
 Yet fair each painted pinion grew 
 Beneath the lustre of her eye.
 
 I GO 
 
 No Zephyr rose with gentle gale 
 To fill my infant frame with air, 
 
 But fann'd by fair Aspasia's breath 
 The Zephyr's gale I well might spare. 
 
 No Rose, no Lily, near me grew, 
 
 On which my downy limbs might rest, 
 
 But these in brighter tints I found 
 On the fair virgin's cheek and breast. 
 
 Thus Nature with indulgent care, 
 Propitious graced my natal hour, 
 
 And with superior sweetness gave 
 
 The gale, the sunshine, and the flow'r. 
 
 1. 
 
 With the Muses and Nature once loit'ring, quoth 
 
 Time, 
 " How vainly your skill you employ ! 
 " Thus endeav'ring with labour such works to sublime, 
 " As one stroke of my scythe can destroy !"
 
 161 
 
 2. 
 
 Peace, boaster ! your laws, cried a Muse, you may find 
 
 One pupil of ours can defy : 
 Your touch has matur'd the rich stores of his mind, 
 
 Without quenching the fires of his eye, 
 
 3. 
 
 See where C * smiles as our contest he hears, 
 
 And displays, as a proof of this truth, 
 With the treasures of science, and knowledge of years, 
 
 The spirit and graces of Youth. 
 
 To Mrs. A- 
 
 ON THE WRITER'S BIRTH-DAY j 
 
 Of years I have now half a century past, 
 
 Yet not one of the fifty so blest as the last : 
 
 How it happens my troubles thus daily should cease, 
 
 And my happiness still with my years should increase, 
 
 This defiance to Nature's more general laws, 
 
 You alone can explain, who alone are the cause. 
 
 * Richard Cuaiberland, Esq. (written in August 1801.) 
 M
 
 Kte 
 
 INSCRIBED 
 
 IN THE 
 
 TEMPLE OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 At St. Anne's Hill. 
 
 The Star, whose radiant beams adorn 
 With vivid light the rising mom, 
 The season changed, with milder ray 
 Cheers the calm hour of parting day. 
 So Friendship, of the generous breast 
 The earliest, and the latest guest, 
 In youthful prime with ardour glows, 
 And sweetens life's serener close. 
 
 Benignant pow'r ! in this retreat 
 O deign to fix thy tranquil seat ! 
 Where rais'd above the dusky vale 
 Thy favourites brighter Suns shall hail ; 
 And, from Life's busy scenes remote, 
 To thee their cheerful hours devote ; 
 Nor waste a transient thought, to know 
 What cares disturb the crowd below.
 
 i6a 
 
 WRITTEN 
 
 IN THE ALBUM AT CREWE HALL. 
 
 Here, in rude state, old chieftains dwelt, 
 
 Who no refinement knew ; 
 Small were the wants their bosoms felt, 
 
 And their enjoyments few. 
 
 But now, by taste and judgment plann'd, 
 Throughout these scenes we find 
 
 The work of Art's improving hand, 
 With ancient splendor join'd. 
 
 And far more great the owner's praise, 
 
 In whom at once are shewn 
 The genuine worth of former days, 
 
 The graces of their own ! 
 
 M 2
 
 \G4> 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 \ 
 
 TO 
 
 THE GRJfE, 
 
 A COMEDY, 
 
 EEPRESENTED AT THE ROYAL KENTISH BOWMEN'S LODGK, 
 
 In elder times, some lively sparks, 'tis said, 
 
 Have paid familiar visits to the dead, 
 
 By Pluto well receiv'd, politely all 
 
 Conjured him never to return their call. 
 
 But he assured them, on some future day, 
 
 He would not, could not, fail to pass their way : 
 
 With various views they went, one * anxious heir 
 
 Went with strong hopes to find his father there ; 
 
 One f sought another's wife, this Ilkt'ry shews ; 
 
 One + sought his own that's Poetry, God knows ! 
 
 But now this friendly intercourse is o'er, 
 
 None uninvited drive to Pluto's door ; 
 
 Though soon or late his giimness visits all, 
 
 None will his kind civility forestall. 
 
 'J-etemachus. t Hercules. J Orpheus.
 
 165 
 
 For ev'n when bidden in the warmest way, 
 
 AH, if they can, put off th' appointed day. 
 
 E'en some, self-ask'd, when near his door, recede, 
 
 And recollected pre-engagements plead. 
 
 Judge then, what wonder seiz'd the spectre state, 
 
 When with a light hand tapping at the gate, 
 
 The Comic Muse, a least expected guest, 
 
 At the dark realms of Death for entrance prest! 
 
 Smiling she prest, that smile had still prevail'd 
 
 If Hero's sword, and Minstrel's lyre had fail'd, 
 
 Hearts more than Death inexorably hard. 
 
 E'en miser's hearts by worse than daemon's barr'd, 
 
 Won by that angel smile, cou'd ne'er refuse 
 
 Entrance and welcome to the Comic Muse ! 
 
 Why all unlicens'd thus th' intruder came 
 To beat in Cypress groves for sprightly game ? 
 Why trip'd her light sock o'er the church-way sod 
 Long by her buskin'd sister only trod ? 
 How to the grisly king she fearless sped, 
 And bound her mask upon his goblin head ? 
 How all those darts which mark his tyrant rule 
 She turns to shafts of harmless ridicule ? 
 This all as yet in mystic silence seaFd 
 Within yon abbey's vaults shall be reveal'd, 
 Attend awhile, we need not patience crave, 
 Few are in haste to learn the secrets of the Grave.
 
 166 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 COMEDY OF FASHIONABLE FKIENDS." 
 
 Hard is the chase poor authors now pursue 
 In this old world to hunt out something new ! 
 Where can the modern poet turn to find 
 One undiscover'd treasure of the mind, 
 One drop untasted jet in Learning's spring, 
 Or one unwearied plume in Fancy's wing ? 
 Our grandsire Bards, with prodigal expense, 
 Squander'd the funds of Genius, Wit, and Sense : 
 Annuitants of Fame, they took no care 
 How ill their beggar'd successors might fare : 
 Each thought exhausted, all invention drain'd, 
 A selfish immortality they gain'd, 
 And left no spot in all Apollo's garden, 
 No farm in all Parnassus worth a farthing ! 
 Some keen observers, on dame Nature's face, 
 The crow-fort marks of time and sickness trace j
 
 1G7 
 
 No wonder, then, if our poetic sires 
 
 Felt for her youthful bloom more genuine fires ; 
 
 Nature to them her virgin smiles display'd, 
 
 They woo'd a spotless, we a ruin'd maid ! 
 
 For she was won, if Chronicles speak truth, 
 
 By many a Grecian, many a Roman youth ; 
 
 But still the lovely libertine retain'd 
 
 Charms yet unview'd, and favors yet ungain'd, 
 
 For one immortal boy ! to him alone, 
 
 Her beauties and her failings all were shewn. 
 
 Heedless of time, or place, or mode, or fashion, 
 
 Disorderly she own'd her glorious passion. 
 
 What time all rules of critic prudery brav'd, 
 
 In Avon's hallow'd stream her angel form she lav'd ! 
 
 Heri*ading graces now less transport move, 
 We feel for Nature artificial love, 
 Though for her age, the dame looks passing well, 
 Six thousand years hard living still must tell ! 
 E'en for the Satyri.st few themes remain, 
 Folly herself has long been on the wane; 
 Folly, though here immortal still she dwells, 
 In Strulbrug palsy shakes her rusted bells ! 
 Is Folly then so old ? Why let me see 
 About what time of life may Folly be ; 
 Oh ! she was born, by nicest calculation, 
 One moment after Woman's first creation !
 
 108 
 
 This night our unknown Author will produce 
 Old subjects moderniz'd for present use ; 
 If you 're displeas'd, be cautious how you show it, 
 Perhaps your nearest neighbour is the poet ; 
 But if you 're pleas'd, and anxious to befriend us, 
 Like fashionable friends in crowds attend us. 
 
 DANAE." 
 
 IMITATED FROM A FRAGMENT OF SIMONIDES. 
 
 Loud raved the storm the foaming tide 
 Dash'd round the shatter'd vessel's side; * 
 No voice was heard, no beacon's light, 
 No planet checr'd the gloom of night ; , 
 The Sea-Gull scream'd, and quicker past 
 High soaring on the wint'ry blast. 
 The beauteous Queen with streaming eyes 
 Vievv'd the wide waste, and frowning skies ; 
 
 * The Reader will doubtless recollect that Danac, beloved of 
 Jupiter, was exposed by her Father in a small bark on the sea, to 
 perish with her infant son, by whom he had been told by an oracle 
 that he should be put to de^th.
 
 169 
 
 Bare was her breast, her cheek was pale, 
 Her loose hair floated on the gale. 
 Lost in amaze awhile she stood 
 Wildly gazing on the flood ; 
 Then with convulsive start she prest 
 Her infant to her throbbing breast. 
 
 " And sleeps my babe," she cried, " while break 
 
 " The surges on thy clay-cold cheek ? 
 
 (< Sleep'st thou, while round thy beauteous form 
 
 (C Roars the wide waste, and howls the storm ? 
 
 u For thee I heave the frequent sigh, 
 
 " On thee I bend my sorrowing eye, 
 
 ** Yet thou, my babe, in soft repose, 
 
 " Nor feel'st, nor know'st thy mother's woes. 
 
 *' Sleep on ! and may a happier fate 
 
 " Than mine, thy future life await J 
 
 * Vain hope ! soon, soon shall o'er thee close 
 
 " The Gulph of Death ; soon shall the Rose 
 
 ** Fade On thy cheek ; that Heavenly grace 
 
 " No longer'animate thy Face ; 
 
 " And cold shall be the hands that press 
 
 f< My breast in silent tenderness. 
 
 f Inhuman father ! could no ties, 
 " No fond endearing sympathies,
 
 170 
 
 " This helpless babe, a daughter's love, 
 
 " Thy cold relentless bosom move ? 
 
 " And oh ! could murder ease alone 
 
 " Thy coward fears, and guard thy throne? 
 
 " Say, could not chains prevent the blow, 
 
 " And prisons guard thy fated foe ? 
 
 " But ne'er to thee, who rul'st on high, 
 " Did Sorrow heave a fruitless sigh, 
 " Thou, thou shalt hear thy Danae's moan. 
 " And spare her infant, and thy own. 
 " But why this throb ? what floods of light 
 " Pour from yon Heav'ns upon my sight ? 
 " What God unveils to mortal eye 
 " The mysteries of futurity ? 
 " Shall my child live? shall Vengeance too, 
 " And from his hands my foes pursue? 
 " Shall they too tremble ? shall they know 
 " The sad reverse of human woe ? 
 " Rave, rave thou storm, and louder sweep 
 " The billowy surges of the deep : 
 " Wide ope, ye gulphs, your dread abyss, 
 " Singly to perish thus is bliss ! 
 ** Fame, kingdoms, Perseus, shall be thine, 
 " And Vengeance, Vengeance, shall be mine."
 
 171 
 
 THE COMPLAINT. 
 
 BALLAD* 
 
 Rest, rest dear babe, in balmy sleep reposing, 
 No care, no sorrow moves thy tranquil breast ; 
 
 Rest, till the dawn thy gentle eyes unclosing 
 Shall wake that smile in which alone I'm blest. 
 
 Hush thee, sweet babe! let nought disturb thy slumbers, 
 Thy Mother fondly o'er thy cradle hung, 
 
 Thus frames for thee the soothing, fav'rite numbers, 
 For thee her vigils thus beguiles with song. 
 
 Alas ! my child, for thee no Father's bosom 
 Throbs to soft sympathy and fond alarm ; 
 
 * " Tu dormis, volitantque qui solebant 
 " Risus, in roseis tuis labellis. 
 ** Dormi, parvule ! nee mali dolores, 
 " Qui matrem cruciant, ture quietis 
 " Rumpant somnia," &c. Markham. 
 
 These pathetic lines first suggested the idea of the foregoing ballad, 
 altho' the author, despairing of success in following the beautiful 
 original closely, has ventured to depart from the incident the suc- 
 ceeding lines adverted to.
 
 172 
 
 No shelt'ring arm protects thy tender blossom, 
 
 And screens its weakness from life's gath'ring storm. 
 
 In vain with tears and suppliant accents blended, 
 His infant seeks its sacred rights to claim ; 
 
 Tho T truth and honor for those claims contended, 
 Honor and truth to him are but a name. 
 
 Vainly to him this faithful heart appealing, 
 
 Which Passion's tend'rest truest flame still warms, 
 
 Urges those oft-pledg'd vows, each generous feeling 
 Tho' now forgot which gave me to his arms. 
 
 How can he thus forego the soft relations 
 That bind with mutual ties his soul to me, 
 
 How can he lose those ever-dear sensations 
 Which swell to rapture as I gaze on thee ? 
 
 Oft o'er thy lovely form while pensive musing, 
 His smile, his features, with delight I 'trace, 
 
 Each painful thought in melting fondness losing, 
 I clasp his Image in my Child's embrace. 
 
 O may that Pow'r who hears my sad lamenting, 
 And guards my Nurseling with a parent's eye, 
 
 Restore his heart, at Nature's voice relenting, 
 To Faith's firm bonds, and Love's forgiving sigh,
 
 173 
 
 Sleep on, dear babe ! no thoughts like these oppress thee, 
 Mild Innocence thy peaceful temples crowns ; 
 
 No anxious doubts, no keen regrets distress thee. 
 No brooding care around thy cradle frowns. 
 
 Those tranquil looks suspend thy Mother's anguish, 
 Those artless smiles her drooping heart sustain ; 
 
 Victim of broken vows tho' doom'd to languish, 
 She lives in thee to peace and hope again. 
 
 ELEGY 
 
 DEATH OF CAPTAIN J. WOODLEY. * 
 
 " E se non piangi, di che pianger suoli !" Dante 
 
 The fatal scene is past! the storm is o'er, 
 The sufferers now no more its blasts assail ; 
 
 They sleep beneath the heaving billow's roar, 
 While pale remembrance shudders at the tale. 
 
 * The Author's brother, \yho was lost in the Leda frigate, off 
 Madeira, on the 11th of December 1795, at 29 years of age. The 
 greater part of the crew of the unfortunate Leda perished with the 
 accomplished and gallant officer who commanded her.
 
 174 
 
 And shalt thou sleep neglected and forgot, 
 Thou to my inmost soul in fondness twin'd ! 
 
 Shall cold Oblivion be Arion's lot, 
 
 Shall he unmourn'd his oozy pillow find ? 
 
 Was it for this, that gallant, brave, and young, 
 He shone conspicuous in his country's cause, 
 
 That o'er his brow the wreaths of Valour hung, 
 And Envy's self could not withhold applause. 
 
 Ah ! what avail'd the Muse's watchful care, 
 To form to Harmony his cultur'd mind, 
 
 With every talent, every gift to rear, 
 
 And brilliant wit, to polish 'd manners join'd. 
 
 Heart-rending thought ! and can I bear to tell- 
 In foreign climes he met an early grave, 
 
 No fun'ral dirge was sung, untoll'd his knell, 
 O'er his lov'd form was closed the briny wave. 
 
 No sympathising Friends with anguish shar'd 
 The last sad duties of the parting hour, 
 
 No Sister's voice his drooping senses cheer 'd, 
 And breath'd soft Comfort's mitigative pow'r : 
 
 The struggling pangs of ebbing life are past, 
 No hallow'd Cypress consecrates his bier ;
 
 175 
 
 While on the surging waves his corse is cast 
 
 The sea-fowl's note wild-shrieks the requiem drear. 
 
 But He 's at rest ! Arion feels no more, 
 
 Tho' Wint'ry tempests shake the troubled main ; 
 
 For Him life's vague perplexing maze is o'er; 
 And changeful seasons roll their cares in vain : 
 
 Yet what can soothe a Parent's wasting grief? 
 
 What opiate lull a Sister's heartfelt woes ? 
 No lenient soft control here brings relief, 
 
 A wound so keen no common balm can close. 
 
 One roof, one bosom, nurs'd our early love, 
 In life's gay morn our joys were still the same ; 
 
 Time taught the ripening union to improve, 
 And join'd the social and fraternal claim. 
 
 Dark is the scene beyond the silent grave, 
 No cheering light directs the wand'rer's way ; 
 
 Yet there, if Faith a lingering spark can save, 
 Ev'n there tee still shall own its tender sway. 
 
 The sacred ties of Nature still shall bind 
 
 Where kindred spirits glow with gen'rous fire, 
 
 Faithful in Death our hearts be still conjoin'd, 
 Nor hallow'd love with life's last throb expire. 
 6
 
 176 
 
 BALLAD. 
 THE BANKS OF NITH. 
 
 To thee, lov'd Nith, whose gladsome plains 
 
 So late I traced with careless breast, 
 I bring again a heart unchanged, 
 
 Tho' torn with grief, with care opprest. 
 Ye scenes of dear departed joys 
 
 With transport felt, with transport sung, 
 To other lays your gales have sigh'd, 
 
 With blyther notes your echoes rung. 
 
 And now your banks and bonnie braes * 
 
 But waken sad Remembrance smart ; 
 The very shades I held most dear 
 
 Now strike fresh anguish to my heart : 
 Deserted bow'r ! where are they now ? 
 
 Ah \ where the garlands that I wove 
 With faithful care each morn to deck 
 
 The altars of ungrateful Love ? 
 
 * Brae, Scottish j it signifies the slope of a hill.
 
 177 
 
 The flow'js of Spring, how gay they bloom'd 
 
 When last with Him I wander'd here, 
 The flow'rs of Spring are past away 
 
 For Wint'ry horrors, dark and drear. 
 Yon osier'd stream, by whose lone banks 
 
 My songs have lull'd him oft to rest, 
 Is now in icy fetters lock'd, 
 
 Cold, as my false Love's frozen breast. 
 
 4. 
 
 Tho' music brings its wonted charm> 
 
 The soothing pow'r no more I prove, 
 For how can peace that reed impart 
 
 Which vibrates yet with fondest love ? 
 Ah ! vainly, vainly do I mourn, 
 
 And vainly, vainly hope relief: 
 Yet come my reed thy tuneful art 
 
 Should waft in plaintive sounds my grief. 
 
 5. 
 
 Ye banks of Nith, prolong the strain, 
 And if my Love still court your shade, 
 
 Say, tho' I deeply mourn the change, 
 The charmer I can ne'er upbraid. 
 
 N
 
 178 
 
 Tell him, inconstant tho' he be, 
 
 My faith can ne'er from him depart ; 
 
 His are the tears that drown my song, 
 And His the sighs that rend my heart. 
 
 THE REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 I et, let me sigh, and think again, 
 Tho' thinking but renews my pain : 
 Let me bestow one grateful tear, 
 And let me breathe one vow sincere. 
 That wheresoever Fate has doom'd 
 My future life shall be consum'd, 
 Until the tenure frail, decays, 
 I'll mourn the friends of arly Days. 
 
 Sweet flows thy silver current, Nith, 
 And pure the air thy shepherds breathe ; 
 Bright spring the flow'rets on thy side, 
 And fai,r the vales thy streams divide ; 
 But dearer Thames, thy gliding wave, 
 And those gay plains thy waters lave ; 
 For them I'll tune my simple lays, 
 Where dwell the friends of Early Days.
 
 179 
 
 In vain thy glitt'ring spires arise, . 
 Augusta, to enchant mine eyes ; 
 Pleasure in vain exerts her pow'rs 
 With noisy mirth and midnight hours ; 
 No vain regret for them prevails, 
 'Tis not such joys my heart bewails; 
 'Tis not the City's splendid blaze, 
 No ! 'tis the friends of Early Days ! 
 
 Yet soon, perhaps, may come a day 
 These years of absence to o'erpay ; 
 Perhaps ere long I may repair 
 Where first I drew the vital air ; 
 Thy stream, O Thames ! may glad my eyes 
 AVhere my dear native plains arise ; 
 Then, oft I'll trace thy winding maze 
 Among the friends of Early Days. 
 
 N2
 
 180 
 
 ON A RED-BREAST 
 
 FLYING INTO THE PARLOUR AT W , AT THE APPROACH OP 
 
 WINTER, IN 1793. 
 
 One alone 
 
 " The red-breast, sacred to the household gods, 
 
 " Wisely regardful of tK embroiling sky, 
 
 " In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves 
 
 " His shivering mates, and pays to trusted Man 
 
 " His annual visit." Thomson's Seasons. 
 
 Welcome sweet bird, that from the leafless grove 
 Now seek'st a refage in my lowly shed ; 
 
 Stay timid guest, my kind protection prove, 
 
 These rustic floors with safety may'st thou tread. 
 
 Here placid Nature holds her tranquil reign, 
 Sacred to thought, to solitude, and me ; 
 
 And tho' proud luxury my roof disdain, 
 
 Its humble stores shall still be shar'd with thee, 
 
 No fowler here, with stern impitying hand 
 
 Directs the tube, or spreads the guileful snare;
 
 181 
 
 Bat here the Nine, a tender friendly band, 
 With Love and Pity in their train, repair : 
 
 Here oft, b}^ Thomson's gentle spirit led, 
 
 Pensive they stray these oak-clad hills around, 
 
 Or press the dewy vale with printless tread, 
 
 And range the meads with Autumn's tints embrown'd. 
 
 Fear not th' asylum that we give, to share, 
 
 Nor deem these sylvan pow'rs to thee unknown, 
 
 Thy social form to every Muse is dear, 
 
 And soft-eyed Pity claims thee for her own : 
 
 Moved by Her dictates, once, thou wing'dst thy way, 
 As ancient minstrels sang in simple verse, 
 
 And sought the drooping infants where they lay, 
 And strew'd with mournful Cypress buds their hearse, 
 
 And when they slept beneath the Hawthorn's shade, 
 And the pale Primrose o'er their green sods hung, 
 
 Daily thou pour'dst thy wild notes thro' the glade, 
 And to their spotless souls a requiem sung. 
 
 Thrice gentle deed ! be its desert fulfil I'd ; 
 
 May freshest rills unlock their crystal spring, 
 Its crimson berries may the Hawthorn yield, 
 
 And vernal hours, for thee, their transports bring!
 
 182 
 
 And when blythe May new decks the vocal groves, 
 Be thine a faithful mate's soft toils to share, 
 
 No truant boy disturb thy hallow'd loves, 
 Or from thy nest the callow offspring bear. 
 
 Till then a free and welcome guest remain, 
 My kind associate thro' the Winter drear; 
 
 Here, shelter'd warm, defy his sullen reign, 
 And with thy songs my rustic cottage chear. 
 
 FAREWEL TO NITHSDALE, 
 
 WRITTEN ON QUITTING W , IN THE SPRING OF 17Q4. 
 
 " Dunque Addio, care Selve, 
 
 " Cure mie selve, addio. 
 
 * Ricevete questi ultimi sospiri." Guarini. 
 
 Thou winding stream that peaceful flow'st 
 
 Thro' Nith's loved vale, and flow'r-deck'd glades. 
 
 Once more receive my sad farewel, , 
 
 Once more I quit your sylvan shades.
 
 1S3 
 
 Yet ere I leave these blissful scenes 
 
 Each favourite haunt no more to view, 
 Let me with rapture hail their sweets, 
 
 And bid a fond, a last adieu ! 
 
 Adieu to W 's tranquil vales, 
 
 My swelling heart ah ! cease to beat : 
 
 Its oak-clad hills, its vocal dales, 
 And all its pensive pleasures sweet. 
 
 Farewel the Burn * whose glassy wave 
 
 Reflects the Lily's fragrant bell, 
 The tangled copse with wild woods hung, 
 
 Where Fays and rural Genii dwell. 
 
 Drop, ling'ring tears f , o'er Ed&ins grave, 
 And bathe the sod that wraps him round ; 
 
 And bid the friend's, the brother's name, 
 My mournful reed once more resound. 
 
 Reluctant, Nith, I quit thy banks, 
 
 For beauty famed, and social joys, 
 - ~ 
 
 * Burn, a brook, or streamlet, so called north of the Tweed, 
 f This Stanza was a tribute to the memory of Rob. Riddel of 
 Glen-Riddel, who died at Friars' Carse, in Nithsdale, a few weeks 
 before the " Farewel" was written.
 
 184 
 
 Where oft my heart to Mirth has danced, 
 Or throbb'd to Friendship's soothing voice. 
 
 But Memory oft shall trace the days 
 I tun ; d my reed on Scotia's plain, 
 
 Till Fortune smile, and I behold 
 The friends and land I love, again. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE 
 
 TOMB OF TWO LOVERS, 
 
 BURIED BY THE FALL OF A HILL IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD 
 OF *. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Say, gentle Herdsman, why so drear 
 Waves o'er this bank the Cypress shade? 
 
 Know'st thou if chance have placed it here, 
 Or if it mourn the silent dead ?" 
 
 " A narrow vale that bordered a turn, or streamlet, near , 
 " was suddenly filled up by the fragments of a hillock which gave 
 '* way, under whose acclivity was a bank, the favourite rendezvous
 
 185 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 
 Yes, Stranger ! every swain can tell 
 Why waves this melancholy grove ; 
 
 And in thy breast if Nature dwell, 
 
 The tale thy tend'rest tear shall move. 
 
 For here a gentle pair are laid, 
 
 Their knell untoll'd, their dirge unsung ; 
 Soft as the Summer's gale the maid, 
 
 The swain as hardy Winter strong. 
 
 To where this bank o'erhangs the stream, 
 (Sweet stream that murm'ring winds below) 
 
 To melt in Love's delirious dream 
 The tender pair would often go. 
 
 " of two young villagers who were betrothed. From the day that 
 " this romantic spot was destroyed in the ruins, the lovers were 
 " heard of no more. Twenty vears had elapsed, when a friend of 
 '* Mr. E 's, who purchased the ground, employed labourers to dig 
 " and clear the rubbish that disfigured the banks of the streamlet ; 
 *' and buried in the ruins were found two skeletons, yet entire, and 
 *' locked in each other's arms. The proprietor erected a rustic 
 '* monument to the memory of the unfortunate pair, and shaded it 
 " with a grove of Cypress ; which, with these elegant Stanzas of 
 " Mr. E 's, has rescued them from oblivion."
 
 186 
 
 The earliest dawn of rising day 
 
 Saw the fond interview begun, 
 Morn, noon, and evening stole away, 
 
 Nor ceased it with the setting sun. 
 
 One morn they sought the conscious scene, 
 Fondly they sought, but ne'er return'd ; 
 
 Their weeping kindred search'd in vain, 
 And the distracted village mourn 'd. 
 
 Tho' now shone forth the twentieth year, 
 Ne'er was their doubtful fate forgot, 
 
 Dark Melancholy hover'd here. 
 And Superstition shunn'd the spot. 
 
 'Till late, beneath the sult'ry ray^ 
 As digging deep the ruin'd mound, 
 
 Where, link'd in love and death they lav, 
 These hands the pair's sad relics found. 
 
 O blessed be the breast that shares 
 
 Another's joy, another's pain ! 
 But for Palemon's pious cares 
 
 Their relics had been found in vain. 
 
 He bade them here protected rest, 
 He rais'd around the mournful gloom,
 
 187 
 
 The turf with sweeter flow'rets deck'd, 
 And fondly rear'd the rustic tomb. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Shepherd, this gentle, generous deed 
 Approving Heav'n will sure repay ? 
 
 Thro' life his love's best wishes speed, 
 And close in peace his lengthen'd day. 
 
 MAIA'S BIER. 
 
 She was in love, 
 
 < And he she loved forsook her." Shaksp. 
 
 Hopeless, bereft of every joy 
 
 That life can give, or love destroy, 
 
 No opiate now can lull to rest, 
 
 But cold despondence chills my breast ; 
 
 On my wan cheek the colour dies, 
 
 And every grace neglected flies ; 
 
 My languid eyes no longer glow, 
 
 Their sparkling lustre dimm'd with woe, 
 
 Slow ling'ring thus, I sink into the tomb, 
 
 Nor would I breathe a wish t'avert th' untimely doom.
 
 188 
 
 For now, alas ! these boasted charms 
 
 That fill'd each swain with soft alarms, 
 
 No longer please th' inconstant }'outh, 
 
 Whose late-pledged vows of endless truth 
 
 Beguil'd a heart unskilPd to feign, 
 
 Or mock the pleading lover's pain ; 
 
 In vain he vow'd ; his fickle mind 
 
 Nor vows controul, nor faith can bind ; 
 
 But fond of conquest, his insidious arts, 
 
 Of soft believing maids, still court th'unpractis'd hearts. 
 
 Yet thus tho' life's gay dreams are fled, 
 And every hope within me dead, 
 Low as I press my early bier 
 O'er me shall drop sweet Friendship's tear, 
 And love-lorn maidens heave the sigh 
 Of balmy-breathing Sympathy ; 
 Pale o'er the spot where I am laid 
 The rustic Primrose rear its head, 
 And mournful Cypress shade the hallow'd space, 
 Where Maia sleeps in peace, lock'd in Death's cold 
 embrace. 
 
 And Thou, if chance should guide thee near, 
 And bend thy steps to Maia's bier, 
 False youth ! wilt thou suppress the sigh, 
 And cold avert thy cruel eye ?
 
 189 , 
 
 Wilt thou not rather curse thy art 
 
 Which sunk too deeply in my heart, 
 
 And mourn the perjur'd oaths you swore 
 
 To win the maid belov'd no more ; 
 
 Weep o'er my wrongs, when 'tis alas ! too late, 
 
 And with repentant soul deplore sad Maia's fate ! 
 
 When shelter'd in the silent urn 
 
 No more with fatal flames I burn ; 
 
 What fruitless pangs will rend thy breast, 
 
 And urge what it so long represt ! 
 
 Thy trembling lips will then upbraid 
 
 The guilty vows they lately made, 
 
 And many a keen regret shall dwell 
 
 On her Thou taught'st to love too well : 
 
 While Passion's tide to purer bliss aspires, 
 
 And pitying Heav'n accepts poor Maia's last desires.
 
 190 
 
 CARLOS AND ADELINE. 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 Young Carlos was handsome, young Carlos was brave, 
 
 And manly, and generous his heart; 
 Tho' train'd to subdue the proud Ocean's wild wave, 
 A more polish'd demeanour no court ever gave, 
 
 More refin'd, yet devoid of all art. 
 
 Nor had Adeline long the young hero survey'd 
 
 Ere her bosom his merit approved ; 
 The dark curling locks o'er his forehead displayed, 
 The smiles, as with fondness his soul they pourtray'd, 
 
 Ah ! who could have gazed on unmoved ? 
 
 Not less the mild beauties she gave to his view 
 
 Conspir'd to enamour the youth ; 
 Twas not for the melting eye's languishing blue, 
 Or the dimpled cheek sparkling with health's rosy hue, 
 
 He priz'd her for kindness and truth. 
 
 With ardour he pleaded, nor Adeline sought 
 The passion she felt to controul ;
 
 191 
 
 In senseless coquetry unpractic'd, untaught, 
 Candour beam'd inner looks, as itreign'din her thought, 
 And reveal'd each fond wish of her soul. 
 
 Five months wing'd with rapture flew swiftly away, 
 
 Five months 'twas a Heav'n they bestow'd ! 
 Each morn rose with joy, with delight closed each day, 
 Love bade his bright torch its full lustre display, 
 And Pleasure's rich cup overflow'd. 
 
 Our short dreams of bliss with just transport we prize, 
 
 But we strive to arrest them in vain ; 
 Carlos kiss'd the bright tears from fair Adeline's eyes, 
 The shrill blasts of war bade him stifle his sighs, 
 
 And once more brave the turbulent main. 
 
 Sad and care-ful the days, cold and joyless the nights 
 
 To be languish'd in absence away ; 
 But the cause of his country to glory invites, 
 Not might Carlos decline the defence of her rights, 
 
 Or Love sue a longer delay. 
 
 By Medway's fair banks pensive Adeline stray'd, 
 
 Her heart torn with ceaseless alarms ; 
 She chid the slow hours his return that delay'd ; 
 Ah ! vainly that hour dost thou look for, sad Maid, 
 
 That should give him once more to thy arms.
 
 192 
 
 With victory oft had his valour been crown'd, 
 
 Till fatal at length rose a day 
 When numbers o'erpow'ring his vessel surround, 
 And wounded, and bleeding, brave Carlos was found 
 
 On the deck, where half lifeless he Jay. 
 
 He raised his pale form, when Antonio he eyed, 
 
 <e And oh ! my lov'd friend, when I'm gone, 
 u To my Adeline send this dear token," he cried, 
 " The braid, her last gift, round my arm which she tied, 
 " And say my last throb was her own !" 
 
 But, Heav'ns ! what was Adeline's anguish to view 
 
 That bracelet, discolour'd with gore ; 
 Full quickly the heart-rending tidings she knew, 
 And rumour proclaim'd it too fatally true, 
 
 Her Carlos existed no more. 
 
 Detesting the light, yet poor Adeline strove 
 
 With calmness her woes to sustain ; 
 For her bosom had nourish'd a pledge of their love, 
 And her half-broken heart vainly panted to prove 
 
 Affection's fond ties onGe again. 
 
 i 
 She linger* d in silent despair, till that hour 
 Which gave her young son to the light,
 
 193 
 
 But the Parent-stem droop'd with the weight of the 
 
 flow'r, 
 And Grief's canker-worm, with its slow-working pow'r, 
 Untimely consign'd her to night* 
 
 Yet unconscious, the Babe seem'd her sorrows to chide, 
 
 As its smile caught her half-closing eye ; 
 Thro' that smile she her Carlos' lov'd features descried 
 With a Mother's fond glance, with a Mother's fond 
 pride, 
 She blest it, and breathed her last sigh. 
 
 Then in peace her mild spirit dissolved its frail bands 
 
 To mix with her Carlos' once more ; 
 And where Medway's full stream bathes the bright 
 
 yellow sands, 
 And the grey mournful Willow its foliage expands, 
 
 Her tomb rises lone on the shore. 
 
 Now thou know'st the sad tale, pious stranger, if e'er 
 
 Round thy heart gentle Pity could twine, 
 Let these true lovers' sorrows thy sympathy share, 
 Give a tear to their fate, to their spirits a pray'r, 
 So may Heav'n look with mercy on thine !
 
 104 
 
 EGBERT AND INA. 
 A TALE. 
 
 " Whose is the rev'rend beard of snow 
 " That drops with many a tear ? 
 
 " And whose the voice of sharpest woe 
 " That wounds my pitying ear ? 
 
 * O whose the form that bending down 
 
 " So deeply seems to mourn ? 
 " And whose the arm that round it thrown 
 
 " Clasps the funereal urn i" 
 
 Most gentle youth ! whoe'er thou art 
 
 To these sad eyes unknown, 
 No comfort nw can reach my heart 
 
 For grief and I are one. 
 
 Beneath this tomb a daughter lies 
 Once to these arms most dear; 
 
 For her these unremitting sighs, 
 For her this constant tear.
 
 195 
 
 And here, hard by my Ina's side, 
 
 Among the silent dead, 
 A noble Youth, his country's pride, 
 
 Untimely rests his head. 
 
 Him late each echoing forest knew, 
 
 And every verdant plain, 
 For in the chace his shaft he threw 
 
 The foremost of the train. 
 
 None could like him pursue the prey 
 
 And aim th' unerring dart, 
 None could like him attune the lay 
 
 And melt the Virgin's heart. 
 
 Him Bertha lov'd, of every charm 
 
 The raptur'd eye to win ; 
 But though the Graces deck'd her form 
 
 The Furies dwelt within. 
 
 The hero's honest heart to gain 
 
 In vain the Damsel pin'd, 
 But Venus' self had sued in vain, 
 
 If curst with Bertha's mind. 
 
 It was not at the radiant eye, 
 Nor breast the snow that sham'd, 
 
 O 2
 
 J96 
 
 Nor cheek with more than morning's dye, 
 'Twas at the heart he aim'd. 
 
 And once it chane'd, when all was fair, 
 
 As Ina careless roved, 
 That blooming Egbert wander'd near, 
 
 She saw him and she loved. 
 
 His stately form, his manly grace, 
 
 His eye so piercing bright, 
 The beaming glories of his face, 
 
 All rush'd upon her sight. 
 
 Nor less did Ina's charms conspire 
 
 His bosom to subdue ; 
 Her milder beauties rais'd a fire 
 
 Which burnt for ever true. 
 
 While Egbert, like the God of Day, 
 
 In dazzling radiance shone, 
 My Ina rival'd Cynthia's ray 
 
 And beam'd a softer Sun. 
 
 The Youth drew near the blushing Maid, 
 
 And kneeling told his flame ; 
 She sigh'd, and hung her modest head, 
 
 And homeward trembling came.
 
 197 
 
 Full oft the much lov'd spot she sought 
 Where first they chanc'd to meet, 
 
 And there full oft beheld in thought 
 Her Egbert at her feet. 
 
 The Youth at length as there he stray'd, 
 And shun'd the noon-tide beam, 
 
 Again approach'd the blooming Maid, 
 And realized the dream. 
 
 His words in softest language drest 
 Found passage to her heart, 
 
 His speaking eyes his love exprest, 
 And proved them void of art. 
 
 And now the willing fair one gain'd, 
 
 By his bewitching voice, 
 A Father's tongue alone remain'd 
 
 To ratify the choice. 
 
 Meantime Earl Oswald, great in power, 
 
 Enamour'd of her charms, 
 OfFer'd to take, without a dower, 
 
 My Ina to his arms. 
 
 Ambition deck'd in gorgeous state 
 Rose splendid to my view,
 
 19S 
 
 And wishing Ina to be great, 
 I made her wretched too. 
 
 Tis true in brightest gems she shone 
 
 Amid the courtly train, 
 But frequent was the heartfelt groan 
 
 That proved her inward pain. 
 
 No longer now serene and gay 
 
 My hapless child appears, 
 But wastes in silent woe the day, 
 
 And all the night in tears. 
 
 Yet ne'er reproached the av'rice vile 
 Which all her bliss o'erthrew, 
 
 But dress'd her wan cheek with a smile 
 Whene'er she met my view. 
 
 But where was fled the native rose 
 
 That inward joys exprest? 
 And where was fled the sweet repose 
 
 Once inmate of her breast ? 
 
 Ill did Earl Oswald's jealous mind 
 
 Her constant sorrows bear, 
 But words ungen'rous and unkind 
 
 Augmented every tear.
 
 199 
 
 Oft when he found her bathed in woe, 
 And with her griefs half dead, 
 
 He'd charge her with a broken vow 
 And violated bed. 
 
 Thus two long years they pass'd, 'till death 
 
 In one thrice happy hour, 
 Robb'd haughty Oswald of his breath, 
 
 And free'd her from his pow'r. 
 
 Again her faithful Egbert sues, 
 
 And Ina grants his pray'r ; 
 Nor could a Father's tongue refuse 
 
 To bless the angel pair. 
 
 At length the happy morn appear'd 
 
 Their mutual flame to crown, 
 When thus my Ina's voice was heard J 
 
 To chide the minutes on. 
 
 " O haste ye minutes ! haste (she said) 
 ** More swift than e'er ye flew, 
 
 " In pity to an anxious maid 
 ** Bring Egbert to my view. 
 
 " For him with brighter roses crown'd 
 " Aurora leads the day,
 
 200 
 
 " For him the jocund groves resound 
 " With a more sprightly lay. 
 
 " For him the church-way path is spread 
 u With many a fragrant flow'r, 
 
 " For him is strewn the bridal bed, 
 " For him is deck'd the bow'r. 
 
 " The sky that late was overcast 
 
 " Assumes a look serene, 
 (e And now the threat'ning storm is past, 
 
 " And not a cloud is seen. 
 
 " From haughty Oswald's power free'd, 
 * My Egbert's flame I meet ; 
 
 " A Father smiles upon the deed, 
 u And makes my bliss compleat. 
 
 m Yes, Egbert, yes, the hour is nigh 
 u Which makes me ever thine, 
 
 <{ Which changes every bursting sigh 
 " To extacy divine." 
 
 The hour arrived, and Ina smiFd 
 As grief she ne'er had known ; 
 
 And Egbert led my blooming child, 
 And Hymen made them one. 
 6
 
 201 
 
 The feast was spread, the minstrel's song 
 
 Re-echoed through the air ; 
 The bowl went round, and ev'ry tongue 
 
 Pray'd blessings on the pair. 
 
 While to his lips with joy sincere 
 
 The cup young Egbert prest, 
 And pour'd in Ina's list'ning ear 
 
 The dictates of his breast. 
 
 " Oh may the bliss which now I feel 
 
 " Prove permanent as sweet ! 
 (t And then when Death at length shall steal 
 
 " With slow and silent feet ; 
 
 " When he shall crop the blushing rose 
 
 ** That o'er thy cheek is spread, 
 " When those bright eyes his hand shall close, 
 
 ** And bow that angel head ; 
 
 " May happy Egbert not remaia 
 
 " To weep his Ina's doom, 
 tf But at the self-same hour obtain 
 
 " A passport to the tomb !" 
 
 The nuptial draught, as thus he spoke, 
 He offer'd to the fair,
 
 2oe 
 
 The cup with smiles sweet Ina took, 
 And seconded his pray'r. 
 
 " Oh may the bliss which now I feel 
 
 " Prove permanent as sweet ! 
 " And then at length when Death shall steal 
 
 * f With slow and silen.t feet ; 
 
 "" When he shall crop the blooming rose- 
 " Which o'er thy cheek is spread, 
 
 u When those bright eyes his hand shall close, 
 * e And bow that angel head ; 
 
 " May happy Ina not remain 
 
 ec To mourn her Egbert's doom, 
 u But at the self-same hour obtain 
 
 " A passport to the tomb 1" 
 
 The pray'r was heard i her glist'ning eye . 
 
 She fixt on Egbert's face ; 
 His cheek grew pale, " Alas I die !" 
 
 He died in her embrace. 
 
 She stood in motionless despair 
 
 As she the body view'd, 
 Nor heav'd a sigh, nor gush'd the tear, 
 
 Nor mournful word ensued.
 
 203 
 
 She could not weep, she could not speak, 
 
 Upon the earth she fell, 
 Grim Death was seated on her cheek ; 
 
 They rung my Ina's knell. 
 
 ** And is it thus, ye pair, (I said) 
 
 u And is it thus ye meet ? 
 <c And is, alas ! the bridal bed 
 
 " Become a winding sheet ? 
 
 ** And must the flow'rs in yonder dome, 
 " Twin'd for your nuptial wreath, 
 
 " Be strew'd, sad office ! on your tomb, 
 " To ornament your death ?" 
 
 How sad the change ! the morning Sun 
 
 Beheld them gay and fair ; 
 When evening came, the rising Moon 
 
 Gleam'd on their funeral bier. 
 
 Curs'd be the hand that mix'd the bowl, 
 
 And blasted be the head 
 Of her whose dark and jealous soul 
 
 Placed Ina with the dead. 
 
 Poor Egbert too ! but they 're at rest ! 
 Me, rest can never know ;
 
 204 
 
 Curse on that wretch's ruthless breast 
 Who steep'd my days in woe ! 
 
 Twas Bertha ; mad with slighted love 
 
 She fann'd a fiercer fire, 
 And call'd on Vengeance to remove 
 
 The objects of her ire. 
 
 I call'd on Vengeance too she heard, 
 
 Propitious to my call ; 
 In Suicide's dread form appear'd, 
 
 And work'd fierce Bertha's fall. 
 
 For doom'd the tort'ring pangs to feel 
 
 The guilty that abide, 
 In her own breast she plung'd the steel, 
 
 And unlamented died. 
 
 Beneath yon' bare and blasted Oak 
 
 She holds her curst abode ; 
 And there the baleful Raven's croak, 
 
 And there the venom'd Toad. 
 
 No modest Primrose e'er was seen 
 
 Upon that spot to bloom; 
 But the dread Hemlock's hated green 
 
 Grows rank around her tomb.
 
 205 
 
 While near the sacred turf, where rest 
 My Children's lov'd remains, 
 
 The Robin builds his little nest, 
 And pours his plaintive strains. 
 
 And there the Vi'lets early blue 
 By Spring's sweet hand is strown, 
 
 And there assumes a brighter hue, 
 And beauties not his own. 
 
 And there a tortur'd Father's eyes 
 
 The floods of sorrow pour, 
 And there will heave a Father's sighs 
 
 'Till life shall be no more. 
 
 For where is now a daughter's love, 
 
 Her gentleness and truth, 
 Which would the cares of Age remove, 
 
 And bring a second Youth. / 
 
 Oh .! where is now the sapling Oak 
 
 On which the Ivy grew ? 
 The tree the tempest's rage has broke, 
 
 Now falls the Ivy too.
 
 20fi 
 
 YARICO TO INKLE. 
 
 I es, perjur'd Man ! my passion must have way ; 
 Too long conceal'd within my breast it lay \ m 
 Why should my rage in secret thus remain ? 
 Wrongs such as mine concealment should disdain ; 
 Away with tears and unavailing moan, 
 Since tears nor pray'rs can melt thy heart of stone. 
 Thy heart, where sordid Interest reigns supreme, 
 Rules through the day, and gilds the nightly dream ; 
 Where every thought is but to swell your hoards, 
 Nor starts at any crime that wealth affords : 
 Obdurate wretch ! and could'st thou then behold 
 These limbs in shackles for the sake of gold ? 
 So sad a sight could'st thou endure to see, 
 Nor drop one tear, nor heave one sigh for me ? 
 Alas ! for thee I've wept, for thee I've shed -* 
 Unceasing torrents o'er my sleepless bed, 
 When for thy safety, anxious as my own, 
 In caves I hid thee, from the world unknown ; 
 Fancy has oft, with idle terror fraught, 
 Shewn murder'd Inkle to my troubled thought;
 
 207 
 
 Heard him with well known accents, true in death, 
 Call on lov'd Yarico with latest breath ; 
 Frantic with fear, from off my couch I start, 
 Seek the known cavern with a throbbing heart, 
 With tottering step the deep recess invade, 
 Wishing to know the truth, yet still afraid : 
 Determin'd now I cast around my eye, 
 " My love is safe, my love is safe !" I cry ; 
 And wild with joy, my raptur'd bosom burns, 
 By turns I kiss thee, and I weep by turns. 
 Nor you my love disdain'd ; your tender breast 
 An equal flame for Yarico confest. 
 Oft in my circling arms entranc'd you lay, 
 And curs'd the coming of th' unwelcome day. 
 For you no beauties had the rising Sun, 
 The day was night when Yarico was gone. 
 Oft, with reluctant steps when forced to go, 
 I left you fixt in attitude of woe ; 
 And, slow retreating, saw your fearful eye 
 Pursue my steps, and heard the bursting sigh ; 
 Sa*w you, 'till now no more my aching sight, 
 With sudden darkness seiz'd, could bear the light. 
 When night return'd, it still beheld my flame, 
 And found our mutual ardor still the same ; 
 Another night appear'd another past, 
 Renewing each our raptures like the last.
 
 208 
 
 ' Blest in thy love, time wingM with pleasure flew> 
 To interrupt my joys no care I knew : 
 And judging of thy passion by my own, 
 Resign'd all thought but confidence alone : 
 Trusting in thee, what could'st not thou persuade ? 
 Gave all I had and am by thee betray'd ; 
 By thee to fierce barbarians vilely sold 
 Oh ! impious Man, to barter love for gold ! 
 Was it for this I strew'd thy leafy bed ? 
 Was it for this with various fruits I fed ? 
 Was it for this I every want supplied, 
 And hung thy cavern with the Tyger's hide ? 
 Fool that I was, in dangers thus to run, 
 And take, alas ! such pains to be undone. 
 Hast thou so soon forgot how oft I led 
 Thy weary footsteps to the fountain's head ? 
 " Sweet stream," said I, " whose waves so purely glide 
 " Thro' the smooth herbage, with unsullied tide, 
 u O may my happy life as purely flow, 
 ** Its waves untainted with the taste of woe !" 
 In vain I said, tho' gently glides the rill, 
 Pure and unsullied its meanders still, 
 With woe, alas ! my life polluted flows, 
 For slighted love is sure the worst of woes. 
 For thee did I ambitious gifts reject, 
 Saw humbled princes kneeling with neglect ;
 
 200 
 
 Ves Inkle, yes, I saw them bend the knee, 
 And I despis'd them all, despis'd for thee ! 
 Oh ! can'st thou think on this, nor inward feel 
 The stings of conscience worse than sharpen'd steel ; 
 Will not remorse force out the lab'ring sigh, 
 Throb in your heart, and tremble in your eye ? 
 It will, it will; methinks I see thee now, 
 By frenzy driv'n to yonder mountain's brow, 
 Calling on me you leave the airy steep, 
 And headlong plunge into the roaring deep. 
 O stay my love ! my dear repentant, live ! 
 My wrongs, however great, I still forgive. 
 All may be well, alas ! I rave, I burn, 
 He boasts his crimes, and views my grief with scorn ; 
 'Unhappy wretch ! what torments do I prove, 
 Condemn'd to hate him, still, oh ! still I love ! 
 From Heaven I call no furious vengeance down, 
 Wounding his breast, I should but wound my own ; 
 Be every blessing show'rd upon his head, 
 Oh may he live, when I, alas ! am dead. 
 And when his ashes sleep within the grave, 
 May Heaven forgive as Yarico forgave !
 
 CIO 
 
 ALWYN AND RENA. 
 
 Ask you, why round yon' hallow'd grove 
 The Myrtle and the Laurel bloom ? 
 
 There sleep the lovely and the brave, 
 O drop a tear upon their tomb ! 
 
 ft Ah ! cease my love these fond alarms !" 
 For war prepar'd, young Alwyn said, 
 
 " For I must quit my Rena's charms, 
 " My bleedihg country asks my aid. 
 
 " Yes, I will check this struggling sigh, 
 " Yes, I will check these flowing tears, 
 
 " A smile shall brighten in my eye, 
 " My bosom shall dispel its fears." 
 
 " You try indeed to force a smile, 
 
 " Yet Sorrow's drops bedew your cheek ; 
 
 " You speak of peace, yet, ah ! the while 
 " Your tears will scarcely let you speak."
 
 211 
 
 u Go Alwyn, Rena bids you go, 
 
 " She bids you seek the field of death ; 
 
 " Go Alwyn, rush amidst the foe, 
 
 u Go, and return with Vict'ry's wreath." 
 
 A thrilling blast the trumpet blew, 
 The milk-white courser paw'd the ground ; 
 
 A mixt delight young Alwyn knew, 
 But Rena shudder'd at the sound : 
 
 Yet strove to hide the rising fears 
 
 Which now in quicker throbbing3 swelF, 
 
 And faintly smiling thro' her tears 
 She falter'd out a long farewell ! 
 
 Three tedious Moons with cheerless ray 
 Had vainly gilt the face of night, 
 
 Nor yet the hero took his way 
 To bless his drooping Rena's sight. 
 
 At length thro' Rena's fav'rite grove, 
 
 When now the fourth her radiance shed, 
 
 He came, and Vict'ry's wreath was wove, 
 But, ah ! around a lifeless head. 
 
 Distracted at the blasting sight, 
 To yon' tall cliff's o'er-arching brow 
 P2
 
 212 
 
 With heaving breast she urg'd her flight, 
 And would have sought the waves below. 
 
 But while with frantic gaze she view'd 
 The foaming billows, void of fear, 
 
 Faith strung each nerve by grief subdued, 
 And whisper'd to her soul Forbear ! 
 
 And now, tho' Passion's storm was o'er, 
 
 Yet Melancholy's weeping eye 
 Distill'd the slow and silent show'r, 
 
 Nor ceas'd till life's warm springs were dry, 
 
 For this, around yon' hallow'd grave 
 The Myrtle and the Laurel bloom ; 
 
 There sleep the lovely and the brave, 
 O drop a tear upon their tomb I
 
 213 
 
 BETH-GELERT, 
 
 THE GRAVE OF THE GREYHOUND.* 
 
 The Spearmen heard the bugle sound, 
 And cheerly smil'd the morn, 
 
 And many a brach, and many a hound, 
 Obey'd Llewelyn's horn. 
 
 And still he blew a louder blast, 
 
 And gave a lustier cheer, 
 w Come, Gelert, come, wer't never last 
 
 " Llewelyn's horn to hear. 
 
 " Oh ! where does faithful Gelert roam, 
 " The flow'r of all his race ? 
 
 * The story of this Ballad is traditionary in a village at the foot 
 of Snowdon, where Llewelyn the Great had a house. The Grey- 
 hound, named Gelert, was given to him by his father-in-law, King 
 John, in the year 1205 ; and the place to this day is called Beth 
 Gelert, or the Grave of GSlert.
 
 214 
 
 " So true, so brave ; a lamb at home, 
 " A lion in the chace !" 
 
 Twas only at Llewelyn's board 
 
 The faithful Gelert fed ; 
 He watch'd, he serv'd, he cheer 'd his lord, 
 
 And sentinel'd his bed. 
 
 In sooth he was a peerless hound, 
 
 The gift of royal John ; 
 But now no Gelert could be found, 
 
 And all the chace rode on. 
 
 And now, as o'er the rocks and dells 
 
 The gallant chidings rise, 
 All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells 
 
 The many mingled cries ! 
 
 That day Llewelyn little lov'd 
 
 The chace of Hart or Hare, 
 And scant and small the booty prov'd, 
 
 For Gelert was not there. 
 
 Unpleas'd, Llewelyn homeward hied : 
 
 When, near the portal seat, 
 His truant Gelert he espied 
 
 Bounding his lord to greet.
 
 215 
 
 But, when he gain'd his castle door, 
 
 Aghast the chieftain stood ; 
 The hound all o'er was smear'd with gore, 
 
 His lips, his fangs, ran blood. 
 
 Llewelyn gaz'd with fierce surprise : 
 
 Unus'd such looks to meet, 
 His fav'rite check'd his joyful guise, 
 
 And crouch'd and lick'd his feet. l 
 
 Onward in haste Llewelyn past, 
 
 And on went Gelert too, 
 And still, where'er his eyes he cast, 
 
 Fresh blood-gouts shock'd his view. 
 
 O'erturn'd his infant's bed he found, 
 
 With blood-stain'd covert rent ; 
 And all around, the walls and ground 
 
 With recent blood besprent. 
 
 He call'd his child, no voice replied ; 
 
 He search 'd with terror wild ; 
 Blood, blood he found on ev'ry side ; 
 
 But no where found his child. 
 
 " Hell-hound ! my child by thee 's devour'd !" 
 The frantic father cried ;
 
 216 
 
 And to the hilt his vengeful sword 
 He plung'd in Gelert's side. 
 
 His suppliant looks, as prone he fell, 
 
 No pity could impart ; 
 But still his Gelert's dying yell 
 
 Pass'd heavy o'er his heart. 
 
 Arous'd by Gelert's dying yell 
 Some slumb'rer waken'd nigh : 
 
 What words the parent's joy could tell 
 To hear his infant's cry ! 
 
 Conceal'd beneath a tumbled heap, 
 His hurried search had miss'd : 
 
 All glowing from his rosy sleep, 
 The cherub boy he kiss'd. 
 
 Nor scath had he, nor harm, nor dread ; 
 
 But the same couch beneath 
 Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead, 
 
 Tremendous still in death. 
 
 Ah, what was then Llewelyn's pain ! 
 
 For now the truth was clear; 
 His gallant hound the Wolf had slain, 
 
 To save Llewelyn's heir.
 
 217 
 
 Vain, vain was all Llewelyn's woe : 
 
 ". Best of thy kind adieu ! 
 " The frantic blow, which laid thee low, 
 
 " This heart shall ever rue." 
 
 And now a gallant tomb they raise, 
 With costly sculpture deckt ; 
 
 And marbles, storied with his praise, 
 Poor Gelert's bones protect. 
 
 There never could the spearman pass, 
 
 Or forester, unmov'd ; 
 There oft the tear-besprinkled grass 
 
 Llewelyn's sorrow prov'd. 
 
 And there he hung his horn and spear, 
 
 And there, as evening fell, 
 In Fancy's ear he oft would hear 
 
 Poor Gelert's dying yell. 
 
 And till great Snowdon's rocks grow old, 
 And cease the storm to brave, 
 
 The consecrated spot shall hold 
 The name of ft Gelert's Grave." 
 
 DOLYMELYNLLYN, 
 August 11, 1800.
 
 C18 
 
 THE MOURNER AND LOVE. 
 
 " Why, Love, with Pleasure's wanton lure 
 Insult the grief that knows no cure? 
 Why with unhallow'd steps intrude 
 On Mis'ry's sacred Solitude ? 
 Those laughing eyes no sorrow shew, 
 That rosy cheek no suffering woe ; 
 That frolic step, that playful air, 
 Mark they the anguish of Despair ? 
 Go then where Mirth and Pleasure stray, 
 Go strew with flowers their bright'ning way ; 
 lull the rich bowl, the nectar sip 
 With sparkling glance and dimpling lip ; 
 Let Music breathe her joys around, 
 And Rapture elevate the sound : 
 But leave this sad retreat of Woe, 
 And fly the grief thou ne'er can'st know. 
 No mirth is here here sounds alone 
 The plaintive sigh, the deep'ning groan ; 
 No eye but sunk in grief appears, 
 No cheek but pale and wet with tears."
 
 219 
 
 <c And wilt thou thus for ever mourn, 
 Thus ever clasp thy Mary's urn ? 
 Henry ! does youth thy bosom warm, 
 And grace adorn thy manly form, 
 Yet Beauty round thee spread in vain 
 Her silken net, and golden chain ? 
 Oh ! hast thou seen th' Autumnal Rose 
 Blushing alone 'mid early snows ; 
 Not then more white appear'd the snow, 
 Nor brighter was that Rose's glow 
 Than Julia's cheeks ; and o'er her face 
 Light moving shines a richer grace, 
 A softer light, a finer hue 
 Than Westall's pencil ever knew. 
 And could'st thou act a lover's part, 
 Wake the fond wish, and touch her heart ; 
 How, when thou saw'st her eyes retreat 
 From those they wish'd yet fear'd to meet ; 
 If thine those e} r es that caus'd alarm, 
 How would her looks thy bosom warm, 
 Thy heart in languors melt away, 
 And own with sighs, and bless my sway ? 
 But view thyself her bosom fair, 
 Her polish' d neck, her auburn hair : 
 Her foot that wooes the truant gaze 
 The nicest symmetry betrays,
 
 220 
 
 And draws the restless wand'ring eye 
 
 Above the sandal's silken tye, 
 
 Where the light folds " " Cease, Love, away- 
 
 I scorn thy wiles 1 mock thy sway 
 
 The finest form, the fairest Maid 
 
 That Poet's pencil e'er pourtray'd, 
 
 The widowed heart would court in vain 
 
 Which ne'er can throb to bliss again ; 
 
 Welcome alone this dark'ning gloom, 
 
 This silent shade, and Mary's tomb." 
 
 " Thy Mary's tomb ! why, Henry, why, 
 Still pour the tear, still heave the sigh ? 
 Thy tears are paid from Sorrow flee, 
 To Nature treason, and to me. 
 See down the dance with footstep gay 
 Fair Ellen win her airy way, 
 While to the varied numbers beat 
 W T ith playful grace her sparkling feet. 
 Wakes she the harp's melodious flow 
 In plaintive numbers, deep and low. 
 A softening calm e'en thou shalt feel 
 O'er thy lull'd senses gently steal. 
 And when her hand she gaily flings 
 Quick glancing o'er the sprightlier strings, 
 Not less thy raptur'd heart shall please 
 Her thrilling sweep, her careless ease.
 
 221 
 
 Her's too the looks that quick express 
 Grief, joy, delight, and tenderness. 
 Her's innocence and artless glee, 
 Sense, archness, wit, and gaiety ; 
 Th' expressive mien, the taste refin'd, 
 The ardent soul, the cultur'd mind ; 
 Wit, merit, genius, all thy own, 
 On thee bestow'd, and thee alone. 
 Say, Henry, cannot these renew 
 What once thy heart for Mary knew ? 
 
 * Oh ! try not, Love, to raise a flame 
 Which honour, virtue, must disclaim. 
 To happier lovers I resign 
 The charms that never must be mine. 
 Yet think not that in Ellen's sight 
 I feel no gleam of faint delight ; 
 But the light transient sunshine o'er, 
 Frowns not the darkening landscape more ? 
 The smiles that on her cheek I see 
 Of mirth and thoughtless gaiety, 
 But bid me think how soon may pine 
 Her heart with grief, resembling mine ? 
 How soon like me may Ellen mourn 
 O'er joys that never must return, 
 And find, ere Youth's gay years retire, 
 Hope disappear, and life expire."
 
 2-2 
 
 " And feel'st thou not a pleasure dear 
 While secret falls th' unbidden tear ? 
 More soft thy heart, more pure thy mind. 
 By tenderness and grief refin'd ? 
 Nor yet less soft, less pure than thine, 
 The gentle heart of Adeline ! 
 Ah ! give that fond, that faithful fair, 
 Thy sorrows and thy soul to share. 
 Soft is the bloom that o'er her cheeks 
 In transient, timid blushes breaks ; 
 And well becomes that roseate hue, 
 Her melting eyes of heavenly blue. 
 Yet languid oft that melting eye 
 And pale that cheek of roseate dye ; 
 But not less sweet that cheek appears, 
 Nor less that languid eye endears. 
 Attendant Virtues round her move ' 
 Each thought, each act inspire, approve- 
 Fair Modesty with downcast eye, 
 And trembling Sensibility ; 
 And Artlessness with blushing air, 
 Unconscious that herself is fair ; 
 Warm Charity with liberal mind, 
 That pours her blessings unconfin'd ; 
 Affection that her soul bestows 
 On him. whom once her bosom chose,,
 
 223 
 
 Feels but the joy bis eyes express, 
 And lives but in his Happiness." 
 
 " Oh cease ! why, Love, why thus renew 
 The scenes which agoniz'd I view. 
 Such was the form, the angel charms 
 The worth that fill'd these widow'd arms. 
 The virtues such that once refin'd 
 My Mary's heart, my Mary's mind. 
 Yet did I see in slow decay. 
 Those charms, those beauties fade away 
 And felt that hand, which as I prest 
 To mine, her parting love ex prest, 
 Cold, deadly cold saw Youth's gay bloom 
 No more her faded face illume, 
 Saw Death's cold damps upon her cheek, 
 And those blue orbs whose glance could speak 
 Their last sad tade of fondness tell 
 And bid the world and me farewell. 
 But think not, Love, thy powerful art 
 Can turn from her this faithful heart ; 
 I burn, but 'tis for her I burn 
 Who never can that flame return ; 
 I sigh, but 'tis for her who hears 
 No sighs, nor sees these falling tears j 
 1 gaze, but 'tis on her whose eye 
 Returns no smile of sympathy ;
 
 224 
 
 I speak, but 'tis to her whose ear 
 No mortal sounds can ever hear. 
 Far, far from earth to distant skies 
 My thoughts aspire, my wishes rise ; 
 Each fond regret, to that last seat 
 Of bliss unchang'd, I bid retreat; 
 And struggling, to that Heaven I turn 
 Where Angels praise, and Seraphs burn." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed ly Wilson & Co. 
 
 ORIENTAL PRESS, 
 
 WVd-Covrt, lintoln'i /wi Field*.
 
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