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POEMS. 
 
/ 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 TMOM^LS MOORE, Esq. 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES O'FLAHERTY, 
 
 " Oh ! woman, in our hours of ease, 
 18 Uncertain, coy, and hard to please ; 
 " And variable as the shade 
 " By the light, quivering aspen made ; 
 " When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
 " A ministering angel, thou i" 
 
 Walter Scott. 
 
 DUBLIN! 
 o 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, 
 BY J. CHARLES, 49, M ARY-STREtH 
 
 1813. 
 
 a 
 
T? sit z 
 c 
 
 t/3 
 
SUBSCRIBERS' NAMES. 
 
 -*-<«»» 
 
 Richard Francis Ang'er, Esq. 
 Richard Andrews, Esq. 
 William Ashley, Esq. 
 Edward Allen, Esq. 
 
 Mr. Henry Burnside ? jun. 
 Mr. Thomas Beedem. 
 Frederic Martin Butler, Esc[. 
 John Bell, Esq. 
 William Barry, Esq. 
 
SUBSCRIBERS* NAMES. 
 
 John George Washington Cole, Esq. 
 
 Mr* John Cdoney. 
 
 Mr. John Cusack. 
 
 Mr. George Campbell. 
 
 John Cooke, Esq, 
 
 William Craven, Esq. 
 
 Mr. J. Charles, 12 Copies. 
 
 William E. Dillon, Esq. 
 
 Valentine Dowling, Esq. 
 
 Mr. Edward Duffy, Enniskillen, 6 Copies. 
 
 Mr. John Dunbar. 
 
 Charles Daly, Esq. 
 
 Henry Davis, Esq. 
 
 Robert Dodd, Esq. 
 
 William* J. English, Esq. 
 William Emmett, Esq. 
 Thomas Edwards, Esq. 
 James Edwards, Esq. 
 Robert Eustace, Esq. 
 
SUBSCRIBERS NAMES. 
 
 James Finlay, Esq. 
 Mr. Robert Fletcher, jun* 
 Robert Frayne, Esq. 
 George Freeman, Esq, 
 Thomas Forde, Esq. 
 
 Thomas Gillet, Esq. 
 Mr. Edward Greene, 12 Copies, 
 Mr. Philip Gaffney, jun. 
 Francis Gaynor, Esq. 
 
 .Robert Hyde, Esq, 
 
 George Hyde, Esq. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Henshalf, 6 Copies. 
 
 Miss Henshall. 
 
 Miss M. Henshall. 
 
 Charles Howard, Esq, 
 
 William Henry, Esq. 
 
 Mr. John Harden. 
 
 Edward Lloyd, Esq. 
 A Lady. 
 Robert Lee, Esq. 
 
subscribers' names, 
 
 William Morgan, Esq. 
 
 Mrs. George Morgan. 
 
 James Meehan, Esq. 
 
 Edward Groves Mason, Esq. 
 
 Thomas Magee, Esq. 
 
 Mr. Richard Milliken, 6 Copies* 
 
 James Murray, Esq. 
 
 Bernard O'Reilly, Esq. 
 John O'Donnell, Esq. 
 Mr. T. O'Nowlan. 
 James O'Connor, Esq. 
 Henry Orr, Esq. 
 Francis O'Kelly, Esq. 
 CI arles O'Dwyer, Esq. 
 Edward 0' Berne, Esq. 
 Thomas O'Neal, Esq: 
 Henry O'Connell, Esq: 
 John O'Bryan, Esq. 
 
 Mrs. Purdon, 
 Miss Proctor, 
 Robert Phillips, Esq. 
 
SUBSCRIBERS* names. 
 
 Richard Poole, Esq. 
 Robert Powell, Esq. 
 Richard Parker, Esq. 
 William Puree], Esq. 
 Thomas Power, Esq. 
 
 John Redmond, Esq. 
 William Ryder, Esq. 
 John Russel, Esq. 
 Patrick Rooney, Esq. 
 Francis Reynolds, Esq. 
 James Roberts, Esq. 
 
 Thomas Dodd Smith, Esq. 
 Major Swan, 
 Edward Sweeny, Esq. 
 Benjamin Smith, Esq. 
 John. Scott, Esq. 
 
 John Troy, Esq. 
 Thomas Tudor, Esq. 
 
 Edward Usher, Esq. 
 
Doctor Wright. 
 Charles Wentworth, Esq. 
 Edward Wallace, Esq, 
 William Walsh, Esq. 
 John Woods, Esq, 
 Thomas Williams, Esq. 
 Edward Weldon, Esq. 
 John Wilson, Esq. 
 Richard Walker, Esq 
 
 RobertYoung, Esq. 
 
CONTENTS* 
 
 -.oe$$<>3GQ«»- 
 
 Dedicatory Sonnet, to Thomas Moore, Esq. 3 
 
 Ode to Liberty, 5 
 
 To Rosa, ... • ,. 15 
 
 To Rosa, on her gift of a flower, 18 
 
 On Woman, 20 
 
 The Quaker Girl, ... „ 22 
 
 To Rosa, ... ... 24 
 
 To Rosa, on being asked to a Ball, to which 
 
 she was invited, 26 
 
 serenade, ... ... ..« ••• ••■ ... ... ... 2$ 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Sonnet. To Despair, ,„ ... 3 1 
 
 ■ To Melancholy, ... 33 
 
 To Hope, ... ... 35 
 
 ___ To Memory, 37 
 
 To a Lady, accompanying her voice on the 
 
 narp, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ,39 
 
 On the love of Country, ... 42 
 
 To the beautiful, but unfortunate, Mrs. 45 
 
 Reasons for loving, addressed to the pious Miss. 49 
 
 Sonnet. To the memory of Miss 52 
 
 ~— — To Midnight, 54 
 
 To Hesper, 56 
 
 To my Heart, 58 
 
 To a Lady, who asked the Author, " Was he 
 
 not pleading for another?" ... ... ... 60 
 
 A Dream, addressed to Clara, ... t 62 
 
 On the Music of Ireland, 65 
 
 The influence of Love, addressed to Clara, 67 
 
 Sonnet. To an iEoiian Harp, 69 
 
 ■ — Daring a Storm, 71 
 
 — — To the pious and beautul Miss — 73 
 
 ■ To Solitude, ••• 75 
 
 To a Lady, who asked the Author, " What 
 
 he thought of Love ?" 77 
 
CONTENTS* 
 
 Page, 
 
 To my Native Country, - ... ... 79 
 
 To Clara, ... 83 
 
 To Mrs. 85 
 
 Sonnet. To a Tear, 87 
 
 To a Smile, • 89 
 
 ■■ To a Sigh, s 91 
 
 i. To a Kiss, 93 
 
 10 rtosa, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... i/%y 
 
 jl o vyiara, ... ... ... ••* ... ... ... ... j / 
 
 To a Young Lady, who declared her intention 
 
 of taking the Veil, 100 
 
 To the same, ... 102 
 
 Sonnet, To Night, 105 
 
 — To Julia, ... 107 
 
 . To a Lock of Hair, 109 
 
 To the late Miss. Ill 
 
 x o tvosa, ••*. »•§• .... «••• .*•. ..*. .... iij 
 To a Lady, who asked the Author to give a 
 
 Simile for Love, 116 
 
 To Rosa, • • ••• IIS 
 
 The First Kiss of Love, 120 
 
 Sonnet. To Happiness, ..t. .... 122 
 
 ■ To Pleasure, 124 
 
 , To the Tolling of a Bell, 123 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 « Page. 
 
 Sonnet. To Pity, 123 
 
 To Rosa, • 130 
 
 Serenade, 132 
 
 To Rosa, 134 
 
 To Zephyr, , .^ ... 136 
 
 To Rosa, ... •• • ... 110 
 
 The Maniac, ... ... ... 142 
 
 The Libertine, ... ... ... 147 
 
 jl o JtLosa, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... iTy 
 
 The Mistaken Gipsey, ... 151 
 
 Chjoe's Dream, ... ... ... ... \5k 
 
 jl o itosa, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... io{ 
 
 William and Fanny. Addressed to Rosa, ... 160 
 To a Lady, who said, she preferred pray- 
 ing at home, to going to places of 
 
 Public Worship, 164 
 
 To Rosa, 165 
 
 Sonnet. To the Lily of the Valley, 167 
 
 To the Willow, 169 
 
 ■ — To Rosa, ... ... • ... 1T1 
 
 — — To a Friend in India, 173 
 
 The Spirit of Freedom. An Address sup- 
 posed to have been spoken by an 
 Athenian, to inspire his Countrymen 
 with revolt against the Turks who had 
 
 subdued Athene, • ... ... ••• 175 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 X O XLOSa, .»• «•• ... ... ... ••• «i» ... iOx 
 
 To Julia's Picture, ... • 283 
 
 xo itosa, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... «•• iby 
 
 Sonnet. To Sun-rise, ... 191 
 
 — To Sun-set, * ... 193 
 
 To the Moon, ... 195 
 
 To the Nightingale, ]97 
 
 On the Immortality of the Muses, 199 
 
 To Rosa, ... 203 
 
 On Woman, ... 205 
 
 To Rosa; 207 
 
 The Elopement, 211 
 
 To Rosa, 214? 
 
 To a Child Sleeping, 217 
 
 xo xiosa, «•*. •••• .... ••• •••• ..«« .... ***• jL *. 3 
 
 Love's Thorns, .« 223 
 
 Epigram. On seeing the figure of Hibernia 
 represented as an emblematic device on 
 the Car by which Mr. Sadleu is to 
 
 ascend with the Balloon, 225 
 
 An high-jlovon Epigram, «.'• •»•• 227 
 
 Epigram. On having my Pocket picked whilst 
 
 looking at the scientific Elephant, 228 
 
 Fp^ram. To a friend after a game of Cards, 229 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 Epigram. On hearing a friend say he had 
 
 seen ten horses yoked under a Waggon 
 
 in London, .... 230 
 
 Epigram, 231 
 
 Another, , 232 
 
 j. o tiosa, ••• ••• •••• •«•• ••«• •••• •••• ••«• Zoo 
 
 On hearing of the sudden death of a poor man, 235 
 
 The Elm and Vine, 237 
 
 Elegiac Stanzas. Addressed to Rosa, 239 
 
 Sonnet. To Absence, 241 
 
 JL v/Upiu, •••• . •* •••• .... .... •*•• ••»• %•«• u^o 
 
ERRATA, 
 
 Page. Line. 
 
 11 2 for brought, read bought. 
 
 47 2 for This vision, read The vision. 
 
 63 8 for Which tells me, read Which tell me. 
 
 71 6 for this suffering breast, read the suffering breast. 
 
 78 6 for the're. felt, read they're felt. 
 
 104 1 for morning light, read morning's light. 
 
 104 10 for Pure as thy vigils, read Pure as thy vespers. 
 
 104 12 for Nor be wholly, read Nor be so wholly. 
 171 5 for Oh ! blisful hour, read Oh ! blissful hours. 
 
 195 5 fot Thy rays sppear, read Thy rays appear. 
 
 The Author has to apologise for the subject of 
 Tke Elm and Vine^ being given (through an error in the 
 printing) as a Sonnet ; the lines alluded to, having no claim 
 whatever to that title. 
 
i 
 
DEDICATORY SONNET. 
 
 TO 
 
 THOMAS MOORE, Esq. 
 
 i 
 
 To thee, whose soul-felt song must ever claim 
 The tributary sigh, the brighten'd smile 
 That oft* the hours of solitude beguile ; 
 
 To thee, who well has earn'd the wreath of fame: 
 
 To thee, whose lasting, whose unrivall'd name, 
 So justly has receiv'd immortal bays; 
 To thee I dedicate these simple lays; 
 
 For, from thy inspiration th* impulse came! 
 
For, oh ! when Erin's harp remain- d unstrung, 
 
 Thy feeling soul, thy suffering country cheering, 
 In secret mourn'd her wild-notes thus unsung, 
 
 And newly strung the long-lost harp of Erin ! 
 Sweet Bard ! do not this tribute then refuse, 
 The humble ofPring of my youthful muse ; 
 Nor, wonder that these lays I should consign 
 To him whose breast has been — the Muses' shrine ! 
 
 C. O'F. 
 
 Dublin, November 2, 1812. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 ODE TO LIBERTY. 
 
 Oh! what can cheer the patriot's heart, 
 Who, (while his bosom swells,) does see 
 
 His native country daily smart, 
 Without the pow'r to set it free? 
 
 When shall his throbbing heart have rest? 
 
 And when shall peace return to his breast ? 
 
 Not until that auspicious day, 
 
 When hope shall lend her cheeiing ray, 
 
6 POEMS, 
 
 And liberty, undaunted stand. 
 
 Who, (as she'll wave her cap in air,) 
 
 Shall, with triumphant voice, declare, 
 She'll die, or free her captive land! 
 
 " To arms, to arms, to arms!" she'll crj', 
 The list'ning throng, shall eager stand ; 
 
 And, as the accents of her voice shall die, 
 
 Each shall, with energy, repeat, 
 
 While his big heart, with hope, shall beat, 
 
 * To arms, to arms !" and free your native land ! 
 
 The patriotic fire 
 
 Shall each inspire, 
 
 And, as in exultation, 
 
 Each shall feel his bosom glow ; 
 They'll swear t' avenge their suff'ring nation, 
 
 Upon their nations foe ! 
 
POEMS. 
 
 As in a common cause, they'll all 
 
 Join heart and hand; 
 With each, they each will rise or fall — 
 
 A glorious, patriotic band! 
 But, hark! the warlike trumpet's blast 
 
 Now sounds to arms ; 
 The husband, now a parting look shall cast, 
 
 And sooth his wife's alarms: 
 The little child, shall likewise cling 
 
 Still closer to his knee, 
 And ask his father, wont he bring 
 
 His son, the sight to see. 
 Pleas'd with the question, he shall view 
 
 His darling, with delight; 
 And answer thus — " In time, e'en you 
 " May for your country fight P? 
 
8 POEMS* 
 
 The father then shall kiss his son, 
 
 And place him on his knee; 
 And hope, that ere the day is done* 
 
 His country shall be free! 
 The infant's prattle shall beguile 
 
 Their sad, their anxious fears, 
 And make its mournful mother smile, 
 
 E'en tho' she's bath'd in tears! 
 But, when the husband takes his last farewell, 
 The anguish of her heart, no tongue can tell, 
 As to the door, with ling'ring steps, he pass'd, 
 Half frantic with her grief, she held him fast, 
 And begg'd him to remain, 
 But begg'd in vain ! 
 But, while her gushing tears still faster Aow 9 
 He turns, with eager haste, to sooth her woe; 
 
I OEMS* 9 
 
 And tho' he scarce could check a rising sigh f 
 To hush her fears, he anxiously did try; 
 And told her, while he sooth'd her wild alarms, 
 It was his sufPring country call'd to arms ! 
 That thought shall e'en the tender wife inspire 
 
 With a heroic fire, 
 And arm her soul with fortitude, to bear 
 Her bosom's fears, 
 And dry her tears, 
 When she shall see the hero nobly dare 
 His country to befriend, 
 And all her rights against her foes defend. 
 Nor less shall be the lover's grief, 
 Whose anguish ne'er can feel relief, 
 When in his country's cause 
 His sword he draws. 
 
10 POEMS. 
 
 His mistress then, by love and fear confused, 
 
 Shall grant the kiss, she e'er till now refus'd; 
 
 And while he feels the patriot flame, 
 
 Th' inspir'd lover shall exclaim — 
 
 " He, who would calmly sit, the while 
 
 His suffering country bled, 
 On him, may never beauty's smile 
 
 Its genial influence shed; 
 But let his solitary soul 
 To gloomy caves retire, 
 And pass his mournful days 
 Where the sun's cheering rays 
 No warmth shall inspire: 
 Then, as in death, his eyes shall roll. 
 Oh ! may he be of ev'ry hope bereft, 
 As he his poor forsaken country left ! 
 
POEMS. 1 1 
 
 But, for that youth, who nobly fought, 
 And with his life her freedom brought, 
 
 His deathless name 
 
 Shall glory claim, 
 And grant the patriot, e'en immortal fame I 
 
 And tho' this friends may weep, 
 
 That he in death shall sleep, 
 With exultation each shall tell 
 The glorious cause in which he fell. 
 And, as o'er his grave each friend 
 With sympathetic grief shall bend ; 
 While with anguish ev'ry heart shall beat, 
 Each shall fervently this pray'r repeat — 
 (This pray'r, that shall to heav'n ascend,) 
 " Oh, earth ! lie light upon his breast, 
 " And grant th' immortal hero, peace and rest P" 
 
1 2 POEMS. 
 
 Angels that hover round, 
 
 Shall catch the sound, 
 And, as on airy wing they upward fly^ 
 
 They'll gladly bear 
 
 To Heav'n, the pray'r, 
 For him, who nobly dared to diet 
 
 And now a tear, 
 
 As crystal clear, 
 Shall fall from beauty's eye ; 
 
 And now she'll weave, 
 
 To deck his grave, 
 The flow'rs that round him lie ! 
 But, hark! the work of death's begun ; 
 
 The war now rages high ; 
 The father now beside his son, 
 In death's cold arms shall lie. 
 
POEMS. 13 
 
 But, where's the pow'r that carf oppose 
 
 This patriotic band, 
 Who draw the sword against their foes, 
 
 And, c< For their native land!" 
 As when black clouds obscure the skies, 
 
 And darken all the air, 
 The gath'ring storm shall then arise, 
 
 And cloud the atmosphere; 
 But, when once the storm is o'er, 
 
 Those clouds shall fade away; 
 And, (where darkness reign'd before,) 
 
 The sun shall lend its ray. 
 So 'tis, when gloom and sorrow reigns 
 
 O'er some unhappy land, 
 'Till freedom's arm shall burst its chains^ 
 At liberty's command: 
 
14 POEMS, 
 
 Hope, (like the sun,) each breast shall warm, 
 
 And lend its cheering ray; 
 And, having once dispell'd the storm, 
 Shall shine, a brighter day !" 
 
POEMS. 15 
 
 . v TO ROSA. 
 
 Whene'er thy lovely, beauteous face, 
 
 In rosy smiles is dress'd, 
 And to thy charms still adds a grace, 
 
 And brightens all the rest : 
 Those smiles, that round thy lips still play, 
 
 Oh! how I long to kiss; 
 But fear to chace those smiles away, 
 
 Tho* sigh to taste the bliss. 
 
16 POEMS, 
 
 But, when thy face is bath'd in tears, 
 
 And when a mournful smile 
 Upon thy moisten'd cheek appears, 
 
 Thy anguish to beguile; 
 E'en tho' thy face is lovely, when 
 
 'Tis tranquil and serene, 
 To me it seems more lovely then, 
 
 Altho' in sorrow seen. 
 
 And, if before, I long'd to kiss 
 
 Thy ripe, thy pouting lip, 
 And long'd, in extacy of bliss, 
 
 Its nectar then to sip ; 
 I long, still more, to dry the tears 
 
 Which down thy cheeks do stray, 
 And hush thy tender bosom's fears, 
 
 And kiss those tears away. 
 
FOEMS. 17 
 
 Then, Rosa, sure you need not fear 
 
 That I will ever range ; 
 A heart, like mine, that loves so dear, 
 
 Can never, never change. 
 Then let our love feel no alloy ; 
 
 I'll ever true remain ; • 
 
 For, e'en in grief, as well as joy, 
 
 I still must wear thy chain. 
 
18 POEMS. 
 
 TO x EOSA. 
 
 ©N HER GIFT OF A FLOWER. 
 
 Rosa, this flow'r, that once was blest 
 
 By blooming on thy lovely breast, 
 
 Is emblematic of my lot ; 
 
 Being happy once, tho' now forgot. 
 
 This fiow'r, that once was fresh and fair, 
 
 And flourished with thy tender care, 
 
 Is witherM now, untimely, dead, 
 
 Its fragrance is for ever fled: 
 
POEMS. 1 9 
 
 Yet, sure my fate is more severe, 
 Being doomM to anguish and despair, 
 Without the thought of once being blest, 
 And, like this flower, by thee caress'd ; 
 Nor ever near thy bosom plac'd, 
 - That bosom which this flower grac'd : 
 Oh ! Rosa, sure this happy flower, 
 Was born in some propitious hour, 
 To live upon thy lovely breast, 
 And to thy ruby lips be press'd ; 
 But, when its happiness was o'er, 
 To wither and to hVe no more ! 
 
10 POEMS* 
 
 ON WOMAN. 
 
 Oh, Woman ! surely great's thy sway 
 
 O'er Man's devoted soul; 
 Thy presence chaces grief away, 
 
 Thy power's without controul: 
 Thy lov'd endearments, tender, kind, 
 
 Man's every care beguiles ; 
 And nought on earth can sooth his mind, 
 
 So much as " Woman's smiles.'* 
 
TOEMS. 21 
 
 If, then, thy smiles, in happy hour, 
 
 Can thus entrance man's soul, 
 Thy tears must, sure, have still more pow'r 
 
 When they, in sorrow, roll : 
 And, while upon thy lovely face 
 
 This mark of grief appears, 
 Sure man must long to kiss the trace 
 
 That's left by " Woman's tears!" 
 
22 POEMS. 
 
 THE QUAKER GIRL. 
 
 Some belles there are, who wish to prove, 
 
 With haughty exultation, 
 That Quaker girls can never love, 
 
 Except by inspiration : 
 And, tho' I grant that this is true, 
 
 Yet I feel no restraint 
 To kiss a Quaker, for there's few 
 
 Can love so like a saint* 
 
POEMS. 23 
 
 *Tis inspiration makes us all 
 
 To genial love incline ; 
 If, when in love, we kiss at allj" 
 
 While our fond hearts intwine. 
 And, when by Cupid's torch we're fir'd, 
 
 We all must own his sway ; 
 So, like the Quakers, we're inspir'd 
 
 Our nature to obey ! 
 
24 POEMS. 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 As when an exile oft shall stand 
 
 Upon some foreign shore, 
 And sigh for his lov'd, native land, 
 
 That he shall tread no more : 
 So I, at dis^nce, still must view 
 
 Thy lovely, blooming charms, 
 And prove a wretched mourner too, 
 
 Being exiled from thy arms. 
 
POEMS* 25 
 
 Then, Rosa dear, some pity shew* 
 
 Nor let me still complain r 
 Nor with derision mock my woe, 
 
 And I will bless thy name. 
 In fancy now, me thinks I see 
 
 Thy heart congenial move; 
 Then, Rosa, do not make me be 
 
 An exile to thy love. 
 
26 POEMS. 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 ON BEING ASKED TO A BALL, TO WHICH SHE WAS INVITED. 
 
 And can'st thou think my love so light ? 
 
 Or, think ray heart so free ? 
 Yet, oh ! whate'er gives you delight, 
 
 Ought sure be sweet to me : 
 
 Yet, Rosa, no ! not e'en for this 
 Would I consent to go ; 
 
 Or snatch the momentary bliss, 
 By years of endless woe. 
 
POEMS. 27 
 
 Yet, well I know, there was a time 
 
 When this fond heart would beat, 
 To echo every sigh of thine, 
 
 Or burst its prison gate : 
 But, oh ! those days, alas ! are o'er, 
 
 Yet love's warm rays still last ; 
 Tho' hope's bright visions are no more, 
 
 But like sweet dreams are past. 
 
 And can'st thou think I could behold 
 
 Another, dance with thee ? 
 And think'st thou I could still be cold, 
 
 As if this heart was free ? 
 Oh, no ! my jealous, watchful eye, 
 
 Would still love's rights maintain % 
 And while I'd strive to check a sigh, 
 
 That strife would still be vain. 
 
28 POEMS. 
 
 Yet, go dear maid ! enjoy the hour ; 
 
 May happiness be thine ! 
 Ne'er may despair o'er Rosa low'r ! 
 
 But still let that be mine* 
 Yet, Rosa, go where'er you will, 
 
 This heart, to thee inclin'd, 
 Shall fondly bear thy image still, 
 
 Within this breast enshrin'd. 
 
POEMS, 29 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 Sweet maid ! if gentle sleep should close 
 
 In slumbers soft, thy lovely eyes, 
 Oh, may'st thou still enjoy repose! 
 Uninterrupted by my sighs. 
 
 And, oh! may visions bright, 
 
 Yield blisses dear to -thee! 
 And dreams of sweet delight, 
 Recal some thoughts of me ! 
 
SO POEMS. 
 
 But, if— oh! if the night should prove 
 
 A watchful, sleepless night to thee, 
 
 If, dearest! thou should'st wake to love, 
 
 And breathe a sigh to love and me, 
 
 Oh, then, my love, arise ! . 
 
 For nought but love's awake, 
 And let's exchange our sighs, 
 Before the morn may break. 
 
POEMS. 31 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 TO DESPAIR. 
 
 Come, black despair! we never more shall part; 
 
 For thou art faithful to the suffering breast ; 
 
 Come, in thy sable suit of mourning drest, 
 And take possession of this care-worn heart : 
 For, oh ! it oft has writh'd beneath the smart 
 
 Of love, whene'er by jealousy 'twas stung, 
 
 Oft has this madden'd heart, by anguish wrung, 
 Implor'd the aid of death's unerring dartl 
 
32 POEMS* 
 
 Come, then, despair! assume despotic reign 
 O'er this devoted, this subservient soul, 
 
 (O'er which the beams of hope have play'din vain,)- 
 Thy lasting reign shall be without control; 
 
 For, in this breast, thou shalt be e'er enshrin'd, 
 
 And hope, false hope — I give unto the wind I 
 
POEMS. S3 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 to melancholy;. 
 
 Sweet maid ! who lov'st in silent shades to dwells 
 And ever from, the busy world to fly, 
 To drop the pensive tear, and heave the sigh, 
 
 In some lone spot; some- calm, sequestered delli 
 
 Who, to some stream alone, thy griefs will tell, 
 And, to its murmurings lend a listening ear; 
 Then, fancy, when those soothing sounds yo» r 
 hear> 
 
 from pity's voice the pleasing murmur fell I 
 
34 POEMS. 
 
 Come, pensive maid ! in smiles of sadness dress'd, 
 For, with thy presence, I may feel relief: 
 
 Come ! with thy balm console this suff'ring breast, 
 And let this bosom feel " The joy of grief.' 5 * 
 
 For, oh I despair this breast has wounded deep, 
 
 And nature, cruel, bade me cease to weep ! 
 
 * " There is a joy in grief, when peace dwells in the 
 kreast Of the sad!*' 
 
 OSSIAN. 
 
POEMS. 3M 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 TO HOPE* 
 
 Hope, heaven-born attribute ! that ever shews 
 A bright, calm prospect to the aching eye! 
 Whose cherishM visions check the rising sigh, 
 And sooth the anguish of the lover's woes : 
 Who, when the tear of penitence e'er flows, 
 ? Tis thine, to calm the christian's suff'ring breast, 
 5 Tis thine, to shew the soul the place of rest, 
 
36 POEMS. 
 
 Where, yet, in blessed realms, it may repose 1 
 Even he, that could these trifling lays compose, 
 
 Even he, would look beyond this vale of tears, 
 And sigh for that eternal calm repose, 
 
 Withheld, alas, from fancy's brightest years ! 
 Oh ! that those youthful years should only prove 
 This life to be the sport of hope and love. 
 
POEMS* 37 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 TO MEMORY. 
 
 Oh, mem'ry, what a pleasing pow'r is thine ! 
 On fancy's bright and ever-roving wing, 
 The recollection of past joys to bring, 
 
 And thus, the raptur'd soul to bliss consign! 
 
 Once more, to revel in each joy divine ; 
 
 Once more, to taste the sweet, the nectar'd kiss i 
 To feel, once more, the lover's dearest bliss ; 
 
38 POEMS* 
 
 Once more, the soul to love's sweet pow'r resign* 
 But, ah! the soothing pow'r is not e'en thine 5 
 
 To cheer a heart, so torn with grief and care ; 
 So lost to ev'ry earthly joy, as mine; 
 
 For mem'ry adds a pang e'en to despair ! 
 Be still then, suffering heart, thy throbbings cease, 
 Some few years o'er, and thou shalt rest in peace ! 
 
POEMS. 39 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 ACCOMPANYING HER VOICE ON THE HART. 
 
 Sweet Lady! touch the harp once more, 
 
 And breathe, oh! breathe that pensive strain 
 The magic sound, tho* echo's o'er, 
 
 Shall vibrate on my soul again. 
 This heart, responsive to thy song, 
 
 Shall echo ev'ry note of thine : 
 But, when thy words flow sweet along, 
 
 Oh! then to love thy harp consign, , 
 
40 POEMS. 
 
 Thy notes, my yielding soul must charm* 
 
 Whene'er you sing to love's soft lay; 
 Thy words, my spell-bound heart must warm$ 
 
 And light love's torch, with hope's bright ray* 
 When, seraph-like, thy pensive song 
 
 Shall breathe so sweet, in notes divine. 
 Remembrance shall each sound prolong, 
 
 And dwell on tones, so truly thine 1 
 
 Whene'er to love you tune the string, 
 
 Oh! ev'ry note shall reach my soul; 
 Whene'er of love you sweetly sing, 
 
 Those sounds shall ev'ry pang console* 
 And, when on distant shores I stray, 
 
 That air, so sweet, shall ever be 
 A solace to my lonely way, 
 
 And turn my thoughts to lpve and thee* 
 
POEMS. 41 
 
 When seas divide us, that lov'd air, 
 
 In memory, oft shall vibrate true ; 
 And sooth the anguish of despair, 
 
 When it recals sweet thoughts of you. 
 Remembrance oft shall, faithful, bring 
 
 Those pensive notes, so sweet, so fine j 
 For, oh ! my soul, whene'er you sing, 
 
 Must catch the tone of love from thine. 
 
 For music's charm is sweet to me, 
 
 When softly stealing o'er the soul ; 
 But when the chords are touch'd by thee, 
 
 Oh ! then its powVs without control. 
 But, oh ! when those blest hours are o'er, * 
 
 Those hours that I have pass'd with thee, 
 Then, lady, take thy harp, once more, 
 
 And breathe, oh ! breathe, one sigh for me I 
 
 E 
 
42 POEMS. 
 
 ON THE LOVE OF COUNTRY. 
 
 Oh, Erin ! when I quit thy strand, 
 
 To return, perchance, no more ; 
 Oh ! then, my dear, my native land, 
 
 Oh ! then thou'rt dearer than before. 
 And, tho' the work of 'slaving thee, 
 
 Oh! Erin, tho* alas! 'tis done, 
 Yet still, oh ! still, it e'er shall be 
 
 My pride to call myself thy son. 
 
POEMS. 43 
 
 And when, in days that's o'er, I've seen 
 
 The rays that once adorn'd thy brow ; 
 And when I know what once thou'st been, 
 
 And when I see what thou art now ; 
 Thy rights perfidiously betray'd, 
 
 Thy greatness lost — thyself degraded ; 
 Yet, oh ! thy wrongs shall never fade ! 
 
 Tho' hope's bright beams, by clouds, are shaded,. 
 
 Oh ! would I liv'd in those blest days, 
 
 When Erin's bards, in ancient story, 
 Would ever mourn, would ever praise, 
 
 The hero's death— the hero's glory I 
 When Erin's chiefs, to guard their isle,. 
 
 From foreign foes, would baldly dare; 
 When Erin's sons might claim the smile** 
 
 Th' approving smile of Erin's fair* 
 
44 POEMS. 
 
 Yet, oh ! to think those days are o'er* 
 
 To think they'll ne'er return again, 
 To know that even hope's no more, 
 
 Yet, still to know, we feel like men ! 
 Oh, Erin ! when thy wrongs I see, 
 
 Those wrongs inflicted o'er and o'er^ 
 Alas ! thy sufferings shall, to me, 
 
 Serve but to endear thee more, 
 
POEMS. 4?5 
 
 TO THE BEAUTIFUL, BUT UNFORTUNATE 
 
 MRS. ******** 
 
 Oh! tell me not thou art deceivM ; 
 
 Or, that thy heart's with anguish torn ; 
 Oh ! tell me not thou hast believ'd 
 
 One who has left thee so forlorn : 
 For, oh ! thy words, with passion fraught, 
 
 Strikes to my very inward soul ; 
 And, memory wakes one tender thought, 
 
 That years of bliss could not console. 
 
46 POEMS. 
 
 Like thee, I fondly thought, that love, 
 
 Pure, glowing, and without control, 
 Would ever, to its votaries, prove, 
 
 The essence of an ardent soul : 
 Like thee, I found I was deceiv'd, 
 
 For Julia's love was nought but art ; 
 And now, of all my joys bereav'd, 
 
 Hope withers in this sicken'd heart 1 
 
 Yet, still my soul would fondly cling 
 
 To woman's sympathetic breast ; 
 Love's homage I'd to Rosa bring, 
 
 And lull, with love, my heart to rest. 
 And tho' I'd scarce the thought allow, 
 
 That this fond heart, before, was free ; 
 I found I'd never lov'd till now, 
 
 And Rosa was the world to me. 
 
FOEMS. 47 
 
 But, oh ! this dream of bliss once o'er. 
 
 This vision — happiness, is fled ; 
 This heart, (for it can love no more,) 
 
 Must worship pleasure in its stead. 
 Then, oh ! take refuge in those arms, 
 
 And let our lips, in kisses, meet; 
 And, as I wander o'er thy charms, 
 
 Sighing, you'll own revenge is sweet ! 
 
 I proffer not my love-^-no ! no ! 
 
 For well I know it would be vain ; 
 Alas ! I've no heart to bestow, 
 
 Nor can I ever love again. 
 And, well I know, my griefs are thine, 
 
 Then let us drown our grief in blisses ; 
 Nor thus, at hopes, now lost, repine, 
 
 But, chace dull thoughts, with warm kisses. 
 
48 POEMS. 
 
 The heart can't throb alone, for, oh i 
 
 I feel, I feel 'tis so with mine ; 
 But to another still will glow, 
 
 Then let that other heart be thine. 
 And, when oppressed with grief or care, 
 
 Thy bosom oft shall be my pillow ; 
 From that soft breast I'll chace despair, 
 
 Nor thou, nor I, shall wear the willow 1 
 
POEMS. 49 
 
 REASONS FOR LOVING. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THE PIOUS. MISS ********. 
 
 Dear maid! since this life scarce affords 
 
 A moment to be blest, 
 Oh ! how can cold, repelling words 
 
 Proceed from that warm breast? 
 For, well I know # thou hast a soul 
 
 So sensitive, so glowing, 
 Its feelings thou can'st scarce control, 
 
 Its impulse is so flowing. 
 
50 POEMS. 
 
 Sure charms like thine were never meant 
 
 T' abstain from love's delights; 
 Then, oh, dear maid! at once consent, 
 
 And worship nature's rights. 
 Tho' on thy lips of crimson dye, 
 
 Religion's accents hung, 
 Yet, ' oh ! love's glance, from either eye, 
 
 Still contradicts thy tongue! 
 
 Then, oh, dear girl! this moment seize 
 
 The bliss love can bestow ; 
 For, what's to us the world's praise, 
 
 If purchas'd with our woe? 
 I know thou'lt say, with anxious fear, 
 
 'Tis wrong to bask in love; 
 But, oh! grant me my heaven here! 
 
 I'll run my chance above. 
 
POEMS* 5 1 
 
 Oh! think a while, not all your care 
 
 Could heaven to you insure ! 
 A life that's spent in constant pray'r, 
 
 Would find its claims too poor. 
 Then, since it is beyond our pow'r 
 
 To merit heaven above, 
 Oh! let's enjoy the present hour, 
 
 And taste the heaven of love! 
 
52 POEMS. 
 
 SONNET- 
 
 to THE MEMORY OF MISS ******. 
 
 And, art thou gone? my bosom's dearest friend! 
 
 And, dost thou, youthful, sleep in death's 
 cold bed ? 
 
 And, are thy warm, thy glowing feelings fled ? 
 And, are our blissful pleasures at an end? 
 For, oh ! to thee, the sigh dost oft ascend ! 
 
 Oft does the silent tear, in sorrow roll : 
 
 But, ah ! nor sighs, nor tears, can e'er console 
 The breast, that anguish and despair does rend! 
 
POEMS. 53 
 
 Sweet spirit! if on earth thou could'st appear, 
 To sooth the woes of him, from whom you've fled ; 
 
 To witness but the tributary tear 
 Which nightly flows, to bathe thy " narrow bed:"* 
 
 Oh! if thy airy form would hover nigh, 
 
 I'd only ask to bless thy name and die ! 
 
 * " The hinds bound over his narrow bed, for death 
 dwells round young Ryno ; but, I will tread softly, my 
 love, and steal to the bed of thy repose." 
 
 OSSIAN, 
 
54 POEMS. 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 TO MIDNIGHT. 
 
 'Tis now the solemn, awful hour of night. 
 When disembodied souls are said to roam 
 Around the ruins of their former home, 
 
 Beneath the moon's pale, melancholy light! 
 
 Oh! at this hour, retracing past delight, 
 I love to list the sighing of the breeze, 
 That's nightly echo'd by the waving trees, 
 
 And, to re-echo e'en the sighs of night ! 
 
POEMS. 55 
 
 My wrapt soul yielding thus to fancy's pow'r, 
 Can dwell on scenes to fancy only shewn ; 
 
 And, by the grave of — — , at this lone hour, 
 Weak, feeble reason, totters on her throne ! 
 
 And, tho* for her the tears have ceas'd to roll, 
 
 E'en tho' their source is dried — still weeps my soul 1 
 
56 POEMS* 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 TO HESPER, 
 
 Bright star ! to lovers dear, I like to rove 
 
 Beneath thy guidance, in some lonely hour, 
 I like to visit thus the midnight bow'r, 
 
 Or wander, lonely, thro' the silent grove. 
 
 For, oh! the silken chain that Rosa wove, 
 
 In love's soft fetters, has this heart entwin'd ; 
 (This heart, where Rosa's image is enshrin'd,) 
 
 And made it feel the pleasing pangs of love! 
 
POEMS. 57 
 
 But, ah ! to thee alone I must complain,— 
 To thee alone my sorrows shall arise ; 
 
 For, Rosa, cruel, having wound the chain 
 
 Around this yielding, spell-bound heart, she flies! 
 
 Then, Hesper ! 'tis to thee I breathe my sighs ; 
 
 Then, list ! oh, list ! Hill even echo dies ! 
 
53 POEMS* 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO MY HEART. 
 
 Cease, flutt'rer vain, thy throbbings once give o'er ! 
 
 For, oh ! thy cruel mistress heeds thee not ; 
 
 Thy love, thy sufferings, all is now forgot; 
 For, Rosa, even thinks of thee no more. 
 And, tho* within thy very inmost core, 
 
 Her lovely image still is there enshrin'd, 
 
 Tho* every anxious sigh to her's consign'd, 
 Still, in her breast, thy memory is o'er. 
 
POEMS. 59 
 
 Then, oh ! fond heart, thy anxious throbs are vain ! 
 
 Since Rosa has for thee no pity shewn ; 
 Thy sighs, no sigh responsive, e'er can gain, 
 
 Altho' thou sigh'st for her and her alone ! 
 But soon thy prison shall be op'd to thee, 
 And soon, thou captive^ soon thou shalt be free 2 
 
60 POEMS. 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 WHO ASKED TEE AUTHOR " WAS HE NOT PLEAD1XG JOX. 
 ANOTHER ?" 
 
 And can'st thou, lady, e'er suppose 
 
 That I am so indifferent grown ? 
 Chi tell me whence the thought arose, 
 
 That all those vows are not my own I 
 For, oh ! my soul is much too warm, 
 
 Kor could I, unconcem'd, behold 
 That 'witchir.g, love-inspiring form ; 
 
 Nor could I then to thee be cold I 
 
poems. 61 
 
 And can'st thou think, my lovely maid ! 
 
 That this devoted heart is free ? 
 And, for another think'st Pd plead, 
 
 Whene'er, sweet maid ! I plead with thee ? 
 Then, dearest! undeceive thyself, 
 
 Those fervent vows are solely mine ; 
 And breathe so purely from myself, 
 
 That still I dare to hope for thine. 
 
 For he that feels a love for thee, 
 
 Y^t bids another tell you this, 
 Sure he, almost, deserves to see 
 
 That other gain the wish'd-for bliss. 
 Then let me, on my bended knee, 
 
 Oh ! let me plead, lore, o'er and o'er; 
 Pll vow, (with truth, I'll vow) to thee> 
 
 To love till I can love no more. 
 
62 TOEMS* 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO CLARA. 
 
 I dreamt I was in love; 
 And dreamt it was with you ; 
 
 And thought your breast did move- 
 As warmly and as true. 
 
 I thought I ravish'd, oh i 
 
 1 ravish'd one sweet kiss I 
 
 And thought thy cheek's warm gkw^ 
 Still added to the bliss* 
 
POEMS. 63 
 
 For, oh! this rapturous dream, 
 
 Had something heavenly in it; 
 And, could I dream the same, 
 
 Td go to sleep this minute. 
 And, oh ! if dreams of bliss, 
 
 Afford such vast delight, 
 -(Delight as sweet as this,) 
 
 I'd dream both day and night. 
 
 Yet, still that this should be 
 
 A dream, and nothing more ; 
 And still unfelt by thee, 
 
 The joys I slumber'd o'er. 
 But, if when we're awake, 
 
 You e'er would grant to me, 
 The power that bliss to take, 
 
 That bliss Pd share with thee. 
 
64 POEMS. 
 
 And, when I dreamt at night, 
 
 I was in love with you, 
 I woke, ere morning's light, 
 
 And found the dream was true. 
 Then, dearest, could I move 
 
 That bosom, pure and bright, 
 To realise in love, 
 
 The visions of the night. 
 
 Oh, think ! oh, think ! dear maid ! 
 
 We cannot help our dreams ; 
 And think that all I've said, 
 
 At least thy pity claims. 
 For, when that bliss was fled, 
 
 That hliss was not my own, 
 I found myself in bed, 
 
 And found myself alone I 
 
POEMS. 65 
 
 ON THE MUSIC OF IRELAND. 
 
 Oh, Erin ! if thy notes I'd hear, 
 
 As o'er some distant realms I roam, 
 It, sure, would waken mem'ry's tear, 
 
 And, faithful, turn my thoughts to home. 
 And, when Pd hear that mournful lay, 
 
 Now, soaring high, now, faintly dying, 
 Entranced, enraptur'd, I should say — 
 
 " Oh! His the voice of Erin, sighing!" 
 I 
 
66 POEMS. 
 
 Thy pensive melodies should break 
 
 In seraph sweetness, on my ear; 
 For, oh! 'twould tender thoughts awake, 
 
 Whene'er those much-lov'd sounds I'd hear: 
 And, while I'd wander far away, 
 
 Those sounds should prove my bosom cheering ; 
 For, oh ! the sweet, pathetic lay, 
 
 Should seem to me, " The dirge of Erin i" 
 
 And, if thy notes, «o wild, so sweet, 
 
 On foreign shores, I'd chance to hear, 
 The soft, the plaintive sound I'd greet, 
 
 And think " Thy spirit" hover'd near. 
 Oh! mem'ry then would fondly dwell, 
 
 And, each soft cadence should prolong ; 
 For, Erin's notes, with magic spell, 
 
 Must ever seem " The soul of song !" 
 
POEMS, 67 
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF LOVE. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO CLARA, 
 
 Whene'er the heart's by grief depress'd, 
 
 When sorrow preys upon the soul, 
 When anguish rends the suffering breast, 
 
 What balm can then that breast console? 
 Oh! what can best assuage the grief? 
 
 What passion can the bosom move ? 
 What sweetest pow'r can give relief? 
 
 Oh! sure that sweetest pow'r— ~ is love. 
 
68 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Then, oh, dear maid! one kiss bestow, 
 
 And, I will think that rapturous kiss 
 Repays me all the past of woe, 
 
 When thus I taste of present bliss ! 
 And, let me mark those beaming eyes, 
 
 That speak a language, understood; 
 And, let me mark thy bosom's sighs, 
 
 Which tells me — if you dare — you would! 
 
 And, tho* thy cheeks, in blushes, shew 
 
 An innate modesty, in thee, 
 Yet, oh ! thy color's heighten'd glow, 
 
 Still shew that you can feel like me* 
 Then, let us banish thought away, 
 
 And, all our cares to love consign ; 
 -For, why should we our bliss delay ? 
 
 When that soft bosom pleads for mine* 
 
POEMS. 69 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 TO AN JEOLIAN HARP. 
 
 Ye mournful sounds! that sigh among the treesf 
 In murmurs soft, that reach my very soul, 
 Your soothing strains can e'en despair console, 
 
 For, oh! those strains the sorrowing soul must please! 
 
 It seems as if some spirit, ill at ease, 
 
 Had breath'd those sounds that mingled with 
 
 the air; 
 For, surely, nothing earthly could compare 
 
 With that last strain, that died upon the breeze ! 
 
 \ 
 
 i 
 
70 POEMS. 
 
 When, in the stillness of some darksome night, 
 Near some old ruin, I might hear that strain, 
 
 Fancy would almost form the shadowy sprite 
 Of some departed soul on earth again: 
 
 And, while those sounds, with awe my breast inspires, 
 
 I'd think to commune once more with my sires ! 
 
POEMS. 71 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 DURING A STORM. 
 
 Rage on, ye winds ! ye lightnings cleave the air ! 
 
 Tho' thunders dire shook the devoted land, 
 
 Amidst the wreck of worlds, unmov'd I'd stand; 
 My hope — in heaven, my earthly shield — despair ! 
 For, oh ! what dreadful storm could e'er compare 
 
 With that which rages in this suff'ring breast; 
 
 When some poor anguish'd wretch would seek 
 to rest 
 In death's cold arms, to fly from wordly care! 
 
72 POEMS. 
 
 Oh! I've felt " That within*," which ever shews, 
 Of nature's angry storms, the feeble pow'r; 
 
 For, when this breast had lost its calm repose, 
 The storms of fate did o'er its victim low'r. 
 
 Then, still ye forked lightnings, cleave the air; 
 
 For scenes, like these, must ever suit despair. 
 
 * " But, I have that within, which passeth shew, 
 These but the trappings and the suits of woe ! ,r 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
POEMS, 73 
 
 SONNET* 
 
 TO THE PIOUS AND BEAUTIFUL MISS ****. 
 
 And can'st thou hope, sweet maid! by constant 
 pray'r, 
 
 To gain that heaven, for which you daily sigh ; 
 
 For which, from nature's impulse still you fly, 
 In hope the bliss of angels thus to share. 
 For, oh ! believe me, much-mistaken fair! 
 
 *Tis not by thus reversing nature's law, 
 
 By counteracting nature, you can draw 
 One distant hope, to merit entrance there. 
 
74 POEMS. 
 
 Unfeeling maid 1 oft have I nightly sigh'd, 
 Oft have I begg'd in vain, — in vain did plead ; 
 
 As oft, unfeeling girl ! you have denied 
 
 To grant the bliss for which I've knelt and pray'd: 
 
 And thou, who hast no pity felt for me, 
 
 How can'st thou hope it will be shewn to thee ? 
 
poems* 75 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO SOLITUDE.. 
 
 Solitude, calm nymph ! that dwells in some lone grot;. 
 Or wanders, peaceful, thro' some calm retreat,, 
 To list the river's murmur, soft and sweet ; 
 How blest, how happy is thy votary's lot ! 
 *Twas in thy shade, enamour d Petrarch sought 
 That peaceful calm, where he might oft complain j 
 Where oft he pour'd the sweet, th* immortal strain? 
 "When alf, save love and Laura, were forgot I; 
 
76 POEMS. 
 
 Blest solitude ! that oft can yield the breast 
 • A melancholy pleasure, sweet tho* sad ; 
 With thee, for everj I could calmlyjest, 
 
 But, ah ! stern Fate, to me that peace forbade ! 
 Yet, still, to me, some favor you have shewn, 
 For, in the world, I feel myself alone ! 
 
poems. 77 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 WHO ASKED THE AUTHOR " WHAT HE THOUGHT OF LOVE?'* 
 
 I think it oft, too oft, does prove 
 
 But torments without measure ; 
 And, yet, there's still a charm in lore, 
 
 That makes the pain a pleasure. 
 For oh ! thy heart's despotic reign, 
 
 Has made mine hope to win it ; 
 If thou'lt repay me all the pain, 
 
 With but one blissful minute. 
 
78 POEMS. 
 
 Oh ! sure, one beam from beauty's eye, 
 
 One look, when thus you smile, 
 Kepays me every anxious sigh, 
 
 And all love's pangs beguile. 
 And, sure, those heartfelt pangs must cease, 
 
 E'en tho' the're felt for years, 
 When thus thy sweet, thy lovely face, 
 
 In smiles of love appears.. 
 
 Then, lady, I will still maintain, 
 
 That love, a bliss must be ; 
 And, sweet must be the very pain^ 
 
 Most sweet,— if felt for thee. 
 Then, lady, let one kiss be mine, 
 
 One kiss, while none are near ; 
 For, dear is woman's kiss, — but thine,. 
 
 Oh ! thine— is still more dear ! 
 
toems. 79 
 
 TO MY NATIVE COUNTRY, 
 
 Oh, Erin ! for thee must the tear ever roll, 
 
 Still, — still, must this breast heave a sigh ; 
 A tribute to thee, from this sorrowing soul, 
 
 A dear tribute I ne'er could deny. 
 And the tear that we shed, and the sigh that we heave, 
 
 When we think on the days that are o'er ; 
 Altao' wrung from sorrow, yet, still, still, they leave 
 
 A sweet balm, perhaps, not felt before. 
 
80 POEMS. 
 
 Where now hangs the harp, whose sweet music, so 
 wild, 
 
 Oft, at midnight, has sigh'd thro* the trees ; 
 That harp, which the sorrowing soul oft beguil'd 
 
 As it murmur'd along the night breeze ? 
 Oh, 'tis gone! — and the heart, in remembrance 
 alone, 
 
 Can again hear those notes, once so dear ; 
 Yet, in memory, still, we will cherish its tone, 
 
 Tho' it never may break on our ear ! 
 
 Where now are the chiefs that would raise the broad 
 shield ? 
 
 And the knights of the red-branch, that stood 
 Beneath their bright banners, that wav'd o'er the 
 field 
 Where they'd conquer, or yield their life's blood. 
 
POEMS. 81 
 
 They — they, too, are gone ! — oh! they sleep in the 
 grave ! 
 May the sighs of the night-wind, that waves 
 The long grass o'er their heads, ne'er whisper the 
 brave, 
 They gave birth to a race that are slaves I 
 
 Where now are the bards, that so oft, o er and o'er, 
 
 Would inspire those brave chiefs 'gainst their foes? 
 Alas ! Erin's bards, like her chiefs, are no more, 
 
 But like them they have sunk to repose ! 
 Where now are the halls, where my ancestors trod ? 
 
 They have moulder'd and sunk to decay ; 
 And, all of fair Erin, (save Erin's green sod,) 
 
 Like bright visions, have vanish'd away! 
 
52 POEMS. 
 
 Tho' thy glories are gone, that once shone so bright, 
 
 On a race of thy patriot men; 
 Yet, stars may appear, in the darkness of night, 
 
 To shine on thy glories again ! 
 Oh ! would that this Idng night of darkness was o'er, 
 
 And Erin's bright suns might arise 
 In splendor and greatness, unequalPd before, 
 
 To illumine her brow, from the skies i 
 
 
POEMS. 83 
 
 TO CLARA, 
 
 'Tis sweet to mark the dawn of day, 
 
 When Sol, to chace the clouds of night, 
 Forth from the bosom of the sea, 
 
 Appears, majestically bright: 
 And, sure, 'tis sweet, at evening hour, 
 
 On his retiring beams to gaze; * 
 When, from the shade of some sweet bow'r, 
 
 We view his bright, refulgent rays. 
 
84* POEMS. 
 
 And, oh ! 'tis sweet, when sable night 
 
 Has spread her mantle o'er the sky, 
 To mark the bright stars' glitt'ring light, 
 
 While worlds in death-like slumbers lie, 
 'Tis sweet, oh, doubly sweet! to me, 
 
 At this lone, silent hour, to rove; 
 And, thus, yield all my soul to thee, 
 
 And breathe one sigh for thee and love! 
 
 Tho' scenes like these most sweet must be, 
 
 Tho' nature's charms are ever dear, 
 Yet, oh! whene'er beheld by thee, 
 
 Those charms more dear, more bright appear ! 
 For, oh ! those brilliant stars — thine eyes, 
 
 Than stars of heaven, are still more bright 1 
 And, that lov'd bosom, tho* in sighs, 
 
 Must prove a heaven of vast delight! 
 
POEMS* 85 
 
 TO MRS. ********. 
 
 Whene'er oppress'd with anxious care, 
 
 I'll ever fly to thee, my soul; 
 The bliss of love shall sooth despair, 
 
 And every worldly pang console. 
 And, oft, while gazing on thy charms, 
 
 Remember nothing but the bliss ; 
 And r oft, reclining in thy arms, 
 
 Forget the world, in thy sweet kiss ! 
 
86 POEMS. 
 
 Yet, some there are, will ever fly, 
 
 To drown their care, in rosy wine ; 
 But, when this bosom heaves a sigh, 
 
 Oh, let the echo come from thine I 
 And, tho* the pang of man's deceit, 
 
 Most painful tho* that pang must be, 
 Yet, rosy wine is not so sweet 
 
 As woman's rosy lips, — to me. 
 
 Then, let us be this moment blest, 
 
 For, what's the world to you or me, 
 If anguish rends that lovely breast, 
 
 Or, tears in those bright eyes I see ? 
 Then, let me press thy lips once more, 
 
 And, let me dry those mournful tears; 
 And, thus indulging, o'er and o'er, 
 
 One hour shall chace the grief of years ! 
 
POEMS, 87 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO A TEAR. 
 
 Oh, precious tear ! that silently does roll, 
 
 Thy balm is sweet, altho' from sorrow wrung, 
 And bright that eye may beam from which 
 you sprung, 
 
 While glittering with the dew drops of the soul ! 
 
 Oh! who can soft emotions e'er control, 
 
 When woman's lovely tears in sorrow flow? 
 Oh! who can check the sympathetic glow 
 
 That prompts them, woman's sorrows to console ? 
 
88 POEMS. 
 
 But, when, oh, precious tear ! when love's thy source, 
 That eye appears more bright, from which you fell ; 
 
 And, when from woman's lids you bend your course, 
 Towards woman's breast, her sorrows then dispel ! 
 
 And, as that eye you sprung from beams more bright, 
 
 So may that breast you fall on throb more light. 
 
PQ2MS. 
 
 89 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO A SMILE. 
 
 Herald of joy ! that beams on souls at ease ; 
 
 Oh ! happy they that can thy radiance claim ; 
 
 And, calmly slumb'ring in love's blissful dream. 
 Can smile away their youthful, joyous days. 
 But I, alas ! bewildered in love's maze, 
 
 Awoke from pleasure's dream to black despair ; 
 
 Thus barter'd smiles of joy, for gloomy care, 
 When disappointment on this heart did seize ! 
 
 M 
 
90 POEMS. 
 
 Yet, still, sweet smile, oh! still, ray features light, 
 
 The transient shadow of a bliss bestow ; 
 As, thro' the darkness of some gloomy night, 
 
 Ihe lightning's flash illumes the plain below! 
 And, tho' the real smiles of joy are o'er, 
 Oh ! yield its 'semblance, e'en tho' joy's no more! 
 
POEMS* 91 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO A SIGH. 
 
 Soft sigh ! that when the bosom is depressed, 
 Can yield the sufferer a sweet relief; 
 Can oft dispel the lowering clouds of grief, 
 
 And sooth the anguish of the lover's breast. 
 
 Thy influence, by all, must be confest ; 
 
 Yet, oh ! when Rosa's bosom oft does heave, 
 'Tisthen, — soft sigh! I wonder you could leave 
 
 So sweet, so dear, so soft, so Jov'd, a nest ! 
 
S2 POEMS. 
 
 Yet, when that dwelling next you quit — sweet sigh l 
 Form in this suffering breast, thy lasting shrine ; 
 
 For, when from Rosa's bosom you should fly, 
 You'll prove a wish'd-for, welcome guest in mine! 
 
 And, when, — soft sigh ! from Rosa next you roam> 
 
 Oh ! make this care-worn breast your lasting home ! 
 
POEMS. 93 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO A KISS. 
 
 Sweet pledge of love ! — sweet interchange of bliss! 
 
 That oft expires on woman's trembling lips ; 
 
 How blest ! how happy — is that youth who sips 
 The ripe, rich nectar of the lover's kiss ! 
 Sure, nothing earthly e'er can equal this, 
 
 "When lips meet lips, when each soft, tender sigh, 
 
 Indulging thus, shall thus in rapture die ; 
 And all the soul springs mutual with— a kiss ! 
 
94 POEMS. 
 
 Ob, Venus ! grant that when the hour draws nigh, 
 When this frail, mortal part may yet expire, 
 
 Oh I grant that e'en my last, my latest sigh, 
 On woman's blushing lips I may respire ! 
 
 And let my soul, still hov'ring o'er the bliss, 
 
 Form e'en its last, last sigh into — a kiss ! 
 
POEMS. „ 95 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 Whene'er thy tender bosom, Rose] 
 
 Does, with anxiety, disclose 
 
 Its fears or throbs for fancied woes, 
 
 That sigh to me consign ; 
 And, should a soft, unbidden tear, 
 Expressive of love's timid fear, 
 Upon thy lovely cheek appear, 
 
 Oh ! let that tear be mine ! 
 
96 POEMS. 
 
 > V 
 
 And, while thy bosom's fears I'd chace, 
 Love's ray should then illume thy face ; 
 And, as thy sorrows thou'dst retrace, 
 
 And contrast with the bliss, 
 Thou'dst own that bliss, without alloy, 
 May seem love's greatest, dearest joy ; 
 But, oh ! love's sorrows ne'er can cloy, 
 
 When sooth 'd with love's sweet kiss ! 
 
POEMS. 97 
 
 TO CLARA. 
 
 And canst thou hear each heart-felt sigh, 
 
 With which this throbbing breast does move? 
 And, canst thou see, from either eye, 
 
 The timid, stolen glance of love ? 
 Then, canst thou doubt the love I feel, 
 
 When this, and more than this, you see ? 
 For, vainly would my tongue conceal 
 
 The love my soul has felt for the?! 
 
 N 
 
98 POEMS. 
 
 Oh ! sure the language of the eyes 
 
 Must ever speak for timid love; 
 And, sure the deep, unconscious sighs 
 
 Can never fail that breast to move : 
 For, oh! thy pensive looks still show 
 
 That you've a heart can feel for mine ! 
 Then, let it mitigate my woe, 
 With all the sympathy of thine ! 
 
 I feel more than I dare express; 
 
 I feel all man could feel for lhee ! 
 Yet, if, oh ! — if I lov'd thee less, 
 
 Oh ! then my tongue might speak more free ! 
 I love thee with so pure a fire, 
 
 To thee I dare that love reveal ; 
 *Tis such as angels might inspire, 
 
 And more than errine mortals feel! 
 
POEMS. 99 
 
 Then, oh, dear maid ! accept those vows— 
 
 Those vows that I to thee consign ; 
 And grant the boon which love allows, 
 
 And let me press those lips with mine, 
 I'll touch as lightly as the bee, 
 
 That sweets from some fair flowret sips ; 
 Grant, but the privilege to me — 
 
 To taste the nectar of thy lips ! 
 
1 00 POEMS. 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 "WHO DECLARED HER INTENTION OF TAKING THE VEIL. 
 
 Sweet maid! oh, think! oh, think a while! 
 
 Ere you forsake those friends so dear ! 
 Yet, sure that lovely winning smile, 
 
 Must contradict the groundless fear. 
 That glow upon thy cheek so warm, 
 
 Sure ne'er was meant for cloister'd cells; 
 And, oh ! that love-inspiring form, 
 
 Sure, ne'er could live w r here love ne'er dwells I 
 
_ POEMS. 101 
 
 r 
 
 Yet, when you kneel, in pray'r divine, 
 
 Oh! then, (if none else have espied thee,) 
 Oh! let my pray'rs ascend with thine, 
 
 And let me, let me — kneel beside thee! 
 Thus, kneeling at some holy shrine, 
 
 Or altar steps, I care not whether ; 
 So your sweet pray'rs shall join with mine, 
 
 And let us, love ! let's kneel together ! 
 
 And, oh ! before you take the veil, 
 
 Bestow one tender thought on love ! 
 Then, should you thus your charms conceal, 
 
 Oh J take some veil I may remove. 
 And think, before you take the vows, 
 
 Oh, think! once more, while yet you're free, 
 5 Tis the last thought that fate allows, 
 
 Then give! oh, give those vows to me J 
 
102 POEMS. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 And canst thou, dearest! canst thou mean 
 
 T* embrace a mournful life like this 1 
 And, wilt thou, for a life of pain, 
 
 Give up thy real substantial bliss? 
 For, oh ! mistaken, lovely maid ! 
 
 This sacrifice, yoti sure must know, 
 Will ne'er be, (here at least,) repaid, 
 
 Except 'tis by a life of woe ! 
 
POEMS. 103 
 
 Oh ! cast one thought towards future years, 
 
 When you're for e'er to heaven consign'd ; 
 And see what prospect there appears, 
 
 Compar'd to joys you've left behind. 
 And, while you think on realms above, 
 
 You still must mourn your lonely lot; 
 For, oh ! this sacrilege on love, 
 
 By love can never be forgot I 
 
 And, tho' to heaven your vows you keep, 
 
 Alternate you may sigh and pray, 
 Yet, oh! thy tears, whene'er you weep, 
 
 Can only reach the milky tvay! 
 And, tho', for heaven they were design'd, 
 
 They'll wander from their course above; 
 And, tho% to heaven they were consign'd, 
 
 Yet, oh ! perhaps, their source is love •' 
 
104 POEMS. 
 
 And, when thou'lt breathe at morning light, 
 
 Thy daily orisons in pray'r, 
 Then, let one sigh, for past delight, 
 
 Commingle with thy words in air. 
 And, when at midnight, in thy cell, 
 
 Thou'lt watch the lamps expiring light, 
 Then, let thy thoughts in mem'ry dwell 
 
 On raptur'd scenes of past delight ! 
 
 Thy nightly vigils pure may be, 
 
 Pure as thy vigils, lost in air; 
 ft 
 
 Yet, still indulge some thoughts of me, 
 
 Nor be wholly given to pray'r. 
 And, oft, when kneeling at some shrine, 
 
 You'll breathe your vows, so pure, so free, 
 Let mem'ry bring thee vows of mine, 
 
 Those vows — alas '• unfelt by thee ! 
 
POEMS, 105 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO NIGHT, 
 
 Oft, when the weary, tedious day is o'er, 
 i 
 
 And night, once more, resumes her reign serene, 
 
 'Tis then, — retracing* joys, alas ! no more, 
 I love to wander thro' the pensive scene 1 
 'Tis then, by every prying eye unseen, 
 
 I oft indulge in dreams of past delight ; 
 
 And, tho' I still may feel each pang more keen, 
 
 Yet, still I feel thy influence, — blessM night ! 
 
 M 
 
106 POEMS* 
 
 And oft, while heavenly visions, pure and bright, 
 My every care can thus with hope console; 
 
 I long for that eternal, promis'd light, 
 
 When day shall break upon the christian's soul ! 
 
 Oh ! when calm night can thus a peace restore, 
 
 I wish to sink in sleep, and wake no more ! 
 
POEMS. 107 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 TO JULIA. 
 
 Then, Julia, let us breathe a last farewell ; 
 
 Since fate has will'cl it, that we now must part; 
 
 Yet, still, oh ! still, this fond, this yielding heart, 
 On thy lov'd charms in memory oft must dwell I 
 Oft shall this heart retrace each 'witching spell, 
 
 By which you won, my fond, my slumb'ring soul ; 
 
 And, when along my cheek the tears would roll^ 
 Then, Julia, need I say, for thee they felit 
 
108 POEMS. 
 
 Yet, oh ! whene'er those well-remember'd charms, 
 
 To some new lover you may yet resign, 
 Think, (even while he's clasp'd within thy arms,) 
 
 Think, if his heart could feel a love like mine. 
 For, oh ! this breast, if thou had'st but prov'd true, 
 This breast could ne'er have sigh'd — a last adieu! 
 
POEMS. 109 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO A LOCK OF HAIR. 
 
 Ah, me ! I little thought when this lov'd tress 
 From Julia's hand, a gift I did receive, 
 Oh ! then I little thought, nor could believe, 
 
 The hand that gave it, would another bless ! 
 
 Yet, Julia, if— oh ! if I lov'd thee less, 
 
 Still, still thy charms I never could forget, 
 But, now, alas ! I grieve that e'er we met, 
 
 Or, that another should thy charms caress J 
 
310 POEMS. 
 
 But, oh ! since all our hours of love are o'er, 
 Since Julia from her lover far does rove, 
 
 Since, in this world, perhaps, we meet no more, 
 Then, Julia, (if thou can'st) forget my love! 
 
 Forget how oft thy lips I dar'd to press, 
 Forget, (if possible) this worshipp'd tress ! 
 
POEMSt 111 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO THE LATE MISS ******. 
 
 And, are those fervent vows, which once were mine* 
 Those vows of faithful love, all, all forgot ? 
 And must I mourn, unfeeling girl ! my lot, 
 
 That bade me love a heart as light as thine ? 
 
 Yet, still, tho* other arms may oft entwine 
 Around that form, so lov'd, so priz'd, by me, 
 Ml think on hours when " Love was liberty ;"* 
 
 And, dwelling on past joys, no more repine ! 
 
 * " Oh, happy state ! where souls each other draw ; 
 
 u Where love is liberty, and nature law !" 
 
 Pope. 
 
112 POEMS. 
 
 Oh ! that those happy hours are now no more, 
 Those blissful hours that were to love consign'd ; 
 
 Yet, still, tho' all our fleetiqg joys are o'er, 
 In memory, still, they leave a bliss behind ! 
 
 And, tho' to *******, your hand you did consign, 
 
 Yet, still, oh ! still, thy heart I'll claim as mine ! 
 
 
POEMS. US 
 
 TO ROSA, 
 
 Oh, Rosa! ere I bid a last adieu 
 
 To home, to friends, to happiness, and you— 
 
 Ere I forsake my lov'd, my native land, 
 
 To wander lonely on a foreign strand! 
 
 (For, oh! the star that link'd me to this shore, 
 
 Alas! can brighten hopes forme no morel) 
 
 Ere this devoted heart with anxious fear 
 
 Shall sigh "farewell," to all my soul holds dear I 
 
I 1 4 POEMS. 
 
 Some precious gift, some relic dear consign, 
 No matter what ■ but let the gift be thine ! 
 Oft have I seen, upon thy cheeks' warm glow, 
 Thy much-lov'd tres?es negligently flow; 
 As if they meant, thy blushes thus to spare, 
 And hide their- glow beneath thy flowing hair; 
 I've seen those tresses, frequent turn their way, 
 In fond luxuriance where thy dimples lay; 
 While zephyrs oft would waft them to the bliss, 
 To taste (beneath their shade,) thy nectar'd kiss ! 
 Then give me but one ringlet of that hair, 
 Next this devoted, constant heart to wear; 
 And, when this precious gift I oft shall view, 
 'Twill turn nry thoughts to home, to friends, and you. 
 Whether on Greenland's snows or India's shore, 
 Thislock, this much-lov'd lock, which once you wore, 
 
POEMS. 115 
 
 Shall turn my gloomy thoughts to happier days, 
 When this fond heart was cheer'd by hope's bright 
 
 rays. 
 Delusive hope !— thy visions all are o'er, 
 This sicken'd heart shall feel thy rays no more ! 
 But, oh ! wherever I shall chance to stray, 
 This gift shall be the solace of my way ; 
 I will preserve it to my latest hour, 
 And, when stern death shall rob me of the pow'r, 
 E'en in that moment, I shall feel a bliss, 
 Tho' dying, to imprint on it — a kiss ! 
 And think, tho' here we could not meet in love, 
 Our better parts — our souls — shall meet above : 
 That blessed thought my every pang consoles, 
 For, all I look for, is the bliss of souls! 
 
116 POEMS. 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 WHO ASKED THE AUTHOR TO GIVE A SIMILE FOR LOVE. 
 
 Pure love is like the blushing rose, 
 
 That oft a maiden's breast adorns; 
 And, oh ! 'tis well for her repose 
 
 If she ne'er felt that love has thorns, 
 'Tis like the rainbow in the skies, 
 
 Where, blending, diffrent shades unite; 
 *Tis, sure, like heaven, for in love lies 
 
 All that man e'er can call delight. 
 
POEMS* 117 
 
 *Tis like an April's changeful day, 
 
 When show'rs and sunshine both are giv'n; 
 'Tis, surely, like the milky way, 
 
 For both, alike, does lead to heav'n. 
 'Tis like the blessed heavenly light 
 
 That beams on earth, from pole to pole— 
 For, oh ! as pure, as clear, as bright, 
 
 The light which love sheds o'er the soul. 
 
 'Tis like the queen of beauty's zone ; 
 
 'Tis like the little urchin's dart; 
 And, lady, I will frankly own 
 
 That love, I think, is like this heart. 
 Pure, fervent love, is like all these; — 
 
 Yet, sure I am a silly elf, 
 To look so long for similes, 
 
 When, lady, 'tis most like thyself! 
 
118 POEMS. 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 As some lone pilgrim, wand'ring faint and slow, 
 With blow serene, yet writhing under woe, 
 His placid looks, so tranquil, so divine, 
 Beguile his step3, as journeying towards the shrine 
 
 Of his lov'd saint! but, oh! his journey o'er, 
 
 The cross he kisses, and repines no more! — 
 
 So I, my pilgrimage of life must roam, 
 
 Exiled from love, from Rosa, and from home* 
 
POEMS, 119 
 
 But, oh ! the only shrine that 1 dare crave, 
 The shrine I look for, is the peaceful grave ! 
 There, in earth's bosom, I shall then consign 
 My every pang, within that holy shrine; 
 There, I shall count my pilgrimage as o'er, 
 And, sigh, and hope, despair, and love no more. 
 The feelings of my soul shall be at rest, 
 And cold, (even cold as thine,) shall be my breast ! 
 Then, Rosa! when I thus neglected lie, 
 Oh ! let my sorrows claim one pitying sigh ; 
 Nor be .my memory so light forgot, 
 But, let thy tears e'en consecrate the spot. 
 Those precious tears, as mournfully they roll, 
 Shall reach, (thro' deaih'scold arms,) my inmost soul; 
 And, tho' from pity's source they may be shed, 
 Oh! let them still embalm my lonely bed: 
 Thy tears may cleanse me for the realms above, 
 Altho' not flowing from the fount of love! 
 
120 POEMS* 
 
 THE FIRST KISS OF LOVE* 
 
 When in the tender folds of love, 
 
 Congenial hearts intwine, 
 In joy or grief, alike they move, 
 
 In unison divine; 
 Sure, there's no rapture on this earth 
 
 That's half so sweet as this is, 
 When each to each shall yield their breath, 
 
 In warm, voluptuous kisses. 
 
 
POEMS. 121 
 
 But, if that heart that really loves, 
 
 And lives for one alone ; 
 That heart that never — never roves, 
 
 That heart that ne'er will roam ; 
 If it should taste that rapt'rous bliss, 
 
 While it in joy should move, 
 Oh ! nought in Heav'n can equal this— 
 
 The first sweet kiss of love ! 
 
 \ 
 
122 POEMS. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO HAPPINESS. 
 
 Vain phantom, hence ! thy visions I resign % 
 On others thy delusive arts employ ; 
 On those who yet may feel alive to joy, 
 
 Nor teaze a heart so torn with love as mine f 
 
 Yet, oft, indulging dreams of bliss divine, 
 
 When led by hope thro' love's uncertain maze, 
 Oft have I thought with thee to pass my days, 
 
 But, found hope's visions prove as false as thine ! 
 
POEMS, 123 
 
 Then, hence, deceitful shadow, hence ! nor blast 
 The victim of despair, thou canst not save ; 
 
 For now, alas ! the dreadful struggle past, 
 I feel, — I feel, thou liv'st beyond the grave ! 
 
 Oh ! that beyond it, too 9 this soul might rest, 
 
 For, not till then, canst thou possess this breast 1 
 
124 POEMS. 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 TO PLEASURE. 
 
 Come, smiling nymph ! whose laughter-loving eyes 
 On all thy votaries beam with love so bright; 
 Come, lead me to thy temple of delight I 
 
 For, sure, delight in pleasure's temple lies! 
 
 Come, goddess bright ! and hush the rising sighs, 
 And grant me, in their place, thy rosy smiles 
 Inspir'd and caus'd by all those winning wiles, 
 
 That e'er from woman we so dearly prize ! 
 
POEMS. 125 
 
 Come, pleasure, come ! for thee I now resign 
 Each pang of love, each tear, each heart-felt sigh; 
 
 This heart and soul for ever now art thine, 
 Do thou but smile, and fortune I defy ! 
 
 The pangs of love I to the winds consign ! 
 
 Tho* happiness is lost, — thou may'st be mine ! 
 
126 POEMS. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO THE TOLLING OF A BELL, 
 
 The dull monotony of that death bell 
 
 Proclaims the sufPrings of some sinner o'er ; 
 
 When, entering on a bliss unfelt before, 
 The soul's serenity it seems to tell ! 
 Oh I that this soul, which e'er could love so well, 
 
 Could but once hear, (while hov'ring o'er the 
 verge 
 
 Of yawning earth,) the melancholy dirge 
 Of spirits, singing to the church-yard bell! 
 
POEMS. 127 
 
 Yet, Rosa, ere my soul I would resign, 
 
 Thy fancied image, e'en in death, I'd see ; 
 
 My sighs, 'twixt heaven and earth, should still be 
 thine, 
 And memory turn my latest thoughts — to thee! 
 
 And, at the dismal tolling of that bell, 
 
 My soul would breathe to thee, — a last farewel ! 
 
128 POEMS. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO PITY. 
 
 Is there that man who ne'er felt pity's glow, 
 
 Whose breast, so lost, so sunk in pleasure's 
 dream, 
 
 Would e'er restrain the sigh that pity'd claim, 
 Whene'er he'd see the tears of anguish flow ? 
 Is there that sufPring soul, would ne'er bestow 
 
 The tribute of a sigh to misery's moan ? 
 
 For, oh ! he'd best alleviate his own, 
 By mourning o'er a fellow creature's woe ! 
 
POEMS. 1 29 
 
 Come, gentle maid! my breast I ne'er will close 
 To thee, for thou shalt be its dearest guest! 
 
 For, oh! I still can feel for others' woes, 
 And thou shalt live an inmate of my breast ! 
 
 For, pity, still, shall cause this breast to heave, 
 
 'Till both alike are centr'd in the grave ! 
 
ISO POEMS. 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 Oh! when I roam, by cruel fate's decree, 
 From all my soul holds dear — from love and thee ; 
 When all those blessed, happy hours are o'er, 
 And I shall gaze on thy loved charms no more ! 
 When, (tho* in distant climes,) I still can see 
 No form but thine, for love still points to thee; 
 When, on some foreign shore, I lonely stray, 
 Say, wilt thou think of him that's far away? 
 
POEMS, 131 
 
 Say, will thy bosom cherish one kind thought 
 Of him that loved ? — for love s my only fault. 
 Say, would one tear e'er glitter in thine eye ? 
 Or, would that bosom heave one pitying sigh ? 
 For, oh ! that tear, that sigh, dear maid! would be 
 Far more than thrones, far more than worlds to me ! 
 Oh, Rosa ! when in other realms I roam, 
 Exiled for ever, both from thee and home, 
 Oh ! let my mem'ry, let my sufPrings claim 
 One sigh, sincere, at mention of my name ! 
 Attendant zephyrs, on his airy wing, 
 To me the echo of that sigh shall bring ; 
 And, when that blessed sigh to me's convey'd^ 
 My love, my sufPrings — all are then repaid : 
 
 Let others boast of empires but from thee, 
 
 The echo of that sigh's enough for me ! 
 
132 POEMS. 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 Hush, gentle zephyr ! hush thy sighs ; 
 
 Sweet bird of night ! thy warblings cease ; 
 Let nought but tender strains arise- 
 Soft, pensive strains of love and peace! 
 For, oh ! my Clara sleeps, 
 
 Hid from her lover's view ; 
 Nor thinks of him who weeps, 
 To love and Clara true. 
 
POEMS. 133 
 
 Cease, prattling stream! thy murmurs cease! 
 
 Nor wave thy branches, tender willow ! 
 Lest slumbers from my love you'd chace, 
 While resting on her envi'd pillow,. 
 
 For, clos'd are those bright eyes— 
 
 Those eyes of heavenly blue; 
 Forgot is he who sighs, 
 To love and Clara true. 
 
 What strain was that which met my ear ? 
 
 What lovely form is that I see? 
 ? Tis. Clara — Clara's self I hear, 
 Who sweetly sings to love and me ! 
 
 • Who, thus, the night beguiles, 
 To love's appointment true ; 
 Who now appears in smiles, 
 To bless Tier lover's view ! 
 
134 POEMS, 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 If e'er thy bosom, Rosa, dear, 
 
 Has felt a throb, like maiden's fear, 
 
 Whene'er their nuptial hour draws near, 
 
 Oh • if in love you can, 
 With modest blushes, rosy, red, 
 In timid bashfulness be led 
 To press the genial, nuptial bed, 
 
 With some too-happy man I 
 
POEMS. 135 
 
 Oh, Rosa ! if you'll e'er bestow 
 (What's purer than the mountain snow,) 
 Thy virgin charms — or let man know 
 
 The bliss that dwells in thee! 
 If tender love thy bosom warms, 
 Or man e'er revels in thy charms, 
 And slumbers in thy snowy arms, 
 
 Oh ! let that man be me ! 
 
 In vain to melt thy heart I try, 
 For, when I heave a bitter sigh, 
 Your anxious lover then you fly, 
 
 And leave me to my grief. 
 My lost, my wretched, care-worn breast, 
 With grief and woe is so depressed, 
 That it can never, never rest, 
 
 9 Till death shall bring relief. 
 
136 POEMS. 
 
 TO ZEPHYR. 
 
 Oh, gentle zephyr! waft my sighs 
 To that lov'd couch, where Rosa lies. 
 Tell her, 'tis past the promisd hour ; — 
 Tell her, I'm waiting in the bow'r ; — 
 Tell her, I've waited very long ; 
 And echo shall the sound prolong ! 
 Tell her, that all are lock'd in sleep;— 
 And nought, save love, its vigils keep, 
 
FOEMS. 137 
 
 
 But let her know that true love wakes, 
 And not a sound the stillness breaks ! 
 *Tis now past midnight, all's serene, 
 She may, with ease, descend unseen. 
 Tell her, that Cynthia's partial ray 
 Shall guide her on her destin'd way. 
 Tell her, that Hesper's glitt'ring light, 
 To love, and all love's joys invite. 
 But, if the beam of Cynthia's rays, 
 Or Hesper's glitt'ring light, that plays 
 Across the path, her fears might cause, 
 And make the timid maiden pause, 
 For fear her blushes 'twould discover, 
 Tho' only to her anxious lover ! 
 Then, zephyr, tell the bashful maid, 
 We'll make love only in the shade. 
 
138 POEMS. 
 
 Tell her, to bless my longing arms, 
 And I will calm her wild alarms ; 
 For, tho' the night is keen and cold, 
 'Twill only make me closer fold 
 Her much-lov'd form against my breast, 
 And hush her bosom's fears to rest! 
 Tell her, too, the torch of Venus 
 Shall diffuse its warmth between us. 
 Tell her, that the Cyprian queen 
 Shall hover near us, tho' unseen ; 
 Together with her beauteous son — 
 The god of love. - Then, zephyr, run, 
 With all thy speed, and haste, oh, haste ! 
 Nor e'en a single moment waste ! 
 Tell her, the coldness of the night, 
 Shall more enhance the dear delight,* 
 
 
POEMS. 139 
 
 And that 'twill more the contrast show, 
 To fires which in our bosom's glow ! 
 Tell her, I'm waiting in the grove. 
 With all the anxious fears of love. 
 Then, zephyr, on thy airy wing, 
 The timid maiden hither bring ; 
 And I'll erect to thee a shrine, 
 And pay thee honor that's divine ! 
 
140 POEMS* 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 The smile that lllummM her face ; 
 
 The glances which shot from her eye ; 
 All her charms which I fondly retrace, 
 
 And which, while I dwell on, I sigh ; 
 The dimple that grac'd either cheek; 
 
 The blushes that heighten'd her charms ; 
 Still haunt me, awake or asleep, 
 
 Altho' I am torn from her arms. 
 
POEMS. 141 
 
 Some may say Julia's eye is more bright, 
 
 That her tresses more negligent roll ; 
 But, what's this — when compar'd to the light 
 
 Which Rosa's glance sheds o'er the soul ? 
 Then, perhaps, to beguile my heart's woe, 
 
 To cheat the dull hours I'd incline, 
 With some maid who's most like thee— but, ohf 
 
 My fond heart should ever be thine. 
 
142 POEMS. 
 
 THE MANIAC. 
 
 As beneath a spreading tree, 
 
 I sheltered from a storm, 
 I thought, at distance, I could see 
 
 A lovely, female form. 
 With eager haste I bent my way, 
 
 And soon the object found, 
 For there the wretched being lay, 
 
 Upon the cold, damp ground. 
 
POEMS. 143 
 
 She press'd an infant to her breast, 
 
 Whose angel soul was fled, 
 She seem'd to hush the babe to rest, 
 
 Nor seem'd to think it dead : 
 Her auburn hair did wildly stray, 
 
 *Across the lifeless child ; 
 Yet, she look'd lovely — as she lay, 
 
 Altho' a maniac wild! 
 
 The tears that trickled down her cheek, 
 
 Had wash'd away its bloom ; 
 The blushing rose, so mild, so meek, 
 
 Made for the lily room ; 
 Her lovely features seem'd to me 
 
 So worn with grief and care, 
 Her breast, I thought, too sure, must be 
 
 The dwelling of despair. 
 
144 POEMS. 
 
 And, while I strove to sooth her grief, 
 
 She heav'd a bitter sigh, 
 And told me nought could bring relief, 
 
 'Till in the grave she'd lie ! 
 11 Oh ! Henry, Henry !" then she cried, 
 
 u Why have you falsely fled ? 
 " Why did you vow Pd be your bride, 
 
 " And deck your nuptial bed ?" 
 
 Then, with a frantic laugh, she'd cry, 
 
 " My love has gone astray 1 
 " Five mournful months have now pass'd by, 
 
 " Since he has gone away ! 
 u Oh ! false, perfidious, treacherous youth ! 
 
 11 Your love you well could feign ; 
 41 You often swore — I thought with truth,- 
 
 11 That constant you'd remain^ 
 
POEMS. 145 
 
 " Yet, if thy heart I cannot make 
 
 " To pity e'er incline, 
 " Return, then, for this infant's sake, 
 
 u If you will not for mine. 
 " Alas ! in vain I call on thee ; 
 
 " My sighs are lost in air ; 
 a And, nothing now is left to me, 
 
 " But madness or despair ! 
 / 
 
 u But, oh! I feel the hour draws nigh, 
 " When, (all my suff'rings o'er,.) 
 
 " With anguish I shall cease to sigh, 
 " And even love no more ! 
 
 " Then, stranger, think not that 1 rave, 
 (Convulsively she cried,) 
 
 11 O'h! bring my Henry to my grave — 
 
 « Tell him, for him I died !" 
 x 
 
146 POEMS. 
 
 She kiss'd the cold — the lifeless child, 
 
 Whose soul had fled before ; 
 Then, (with a look towards heav'n so mild,) 
 
 She sank — to rise no more ! 
 Oh, God ! — could her seducer feel 
 
 What I that moment felt, 
 He'd o'er her corse in anguish kneel** 
 
 Of every hope bereft • 
 
POEMS, 147 
 
 THE LIBERTINE, 
 
 He, who could gain a maiden's heart, 
 
 Yet, that confiding heart betray, 
 Must act a demon's fiend-like part, 
 
 To lure that heart from virtue's way. 
 To triumph o'er the brightest gem 
 
 That Heav'n on woman e'er bestow'd; 
 And, thus, mild innocence condemn 
 
 To quit, for guilt, her lov'd abode. 
 
143 POEMS. 
 
 For, virtue ever loves to dwell 
 
 An inmate in a woman's breast; 
 Yet, man would dare — (oh, shame to tell!) 
 
 Yet, man would dare to rob that nest ! 
 And, when her unsuspicious heart 
 
 Had yielded to his wily spell, 
 He'd basely triumph in the art, 
 
 To which the maid a victim fell! 
 
 She, then, perhaps, would meet his scorn; 
 
 Or, worse than scorn— a cold neglect; 
 And, thus he'd slight her, he was born 
 
 To love, to cherish, and protect ! 
 And, when his arm she'd eager catch, 
 
 Perhaps he'd, even then, upbraid her, 
 Tor being that very fallen wretch, 
 
 Which his own villainy had made her* 
 
POEMS. 149 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 Let others vaunt the pleasing pangs of love i 
 
 Let those who feel love pleasing, sound its praise; 
 Ah! me, that I the sad reverse should prove, 
 
 Having no hope to cheer my future days. 
 So cold, so cruel, is th* unpitying fair, 
 
 Nor sighs, nor tears, can melt her heart of snow; 
 Enough she knows, tho' heeds not my despair, 
 
 Heeds not my anguish, nor my heartfelt woe. 
 
150 POEMS. 
 
 The happiness that once I thought was mine, 
 
 Enliven'd all the past— and banish'd care : 
 Return ! ye dear illusions of the brain ! 
 
 And save me from the torments of despair ! 
 Gone are the visions ! — vanish'd from my sight ! 
 
 Reason's weak pow'r cannot from anguish save 
 A wretch like me, whose days are dark as night — 
 
 My only hope lies in the cold, damp gravel 
 
POEMS. 151 
 
 THE MISTAKEN GIPSEY. 
 
 As o'er sweet Erin's hills I stray'd, 
 
 Those hills to me endear'd, 
 Forth from a wood, a lovely maid 
 
 Before my sight appear'd. 
 To ramble here, sweet maid ! said I, 
 
 What cause can you assign? 
 Oh! Sir, said she, I fortunes try. 
 
 Said I, then tell me mine. 
 
152 POEMS. 
 
 Her features light up with a smile, 
 
 That grac'd her blooming cheek. 
 Said she, your love you'd fain beguile, 
 
 And thus your fortune seek. 
 But, as I am a Gipsey, you 
 
 Must pay me in advance ; 
 So cross my hand, I'll tell you true, 
 
 Your good or evil chance! 
 
 Now, let me see your hand, said she ; 
 
 Then straight drew off my glove; 
 Said she, I here can plainly see, 
 
 That you have been in love. 
 But, hold, I see a crooked line, 
 
 Since it must be confest, 
 I own, it is a certain sign 
 
 In love you'll ne'er be blest. 
 
POEMS. 153 
 
 And, while she spoke, I plain could see 
 
 A smile upon her cheek, 
 So arch, so meaning, that to me 
 
 It did in silence speak. 
 Close to my heart I pressed the maid ; 
 
 She, yielding^ " nothing loath ;" 
 And, while I kiss'd her, softly said, 
 
 That love should bless us both. 
 
 The fire that beam'd from either eye? 
 
 The warm blush on her cheek, 
 Told me, I then might freely try 
 
 My fortune there to seek. 
 And, for your prophecy, said I, 
 
 Of truth there's little in it ; 
 
 For love, in vain, I'll never sigh, 
 
 For I'll be blest this minute! 
 u 
 
354 POEMS. 
 
 CHLOE's DREAM, 
 
 Chloe, a maid that oft had sigh'd, 
 
 To kneel and worship Cupid's shrine; 
 But, still, whose heart the God denied, 
 
 In rosy chains of love t 9 entwine. 
 One night, this love-sick maid retir'd, 
 
 T* indulge in fancy's wild creation, 
 And taste, (while thus her breast was nYd,) 
 
 The pleasures of imagination ! 
 
POEMS. 155 
 
 While slumbers o'er the maid did creep, 
 
 She calmly, gently, sunk to rest ; 
 Still, love, in visionary sleep, 
 
 Disturb'd and warm'd her virgin breast* 
 She thought, she felt love's thrilling dart, 
 
 Cause a sensation sweet, within her ; 
 That, still, she thought, the pleasing smart. 
 
 Would almost make a saint — a sinner, 
 
 But, when she op'd her languid eyes, 
 
 And, when her recollection came, 
 Bewilder'd with her thoughts, she cries, 
 
 Alas! and was it but a dream? 
 Yet, oh ! if idle visions prove 
 
 An extacy as sweet as this ; 
 No wonder, real, waking love, 
 
 Should ever prove a rapt'rous bliss. 
 
156 POEMS. 
 
 And while, upon her downy bed, 
 
 Inanimate the maiden lay, 
 The blissful vision, (tho* 'twas fled,) 
 
 Chac'd every other thought away. 
 And, when the morning's dawning light, 
 
 Reminded her 'twas time to rise, 
 Fatigued, exhausted, thro* the night, 
 
 She strove, once more, to close her eyes. 
 
 I know, thought she, I rest require; 
 
 And, if I'd chance to sleep, why then, 
 -Perhaps, kind Venus might inspire 
 
 My slumbers with a dream again. 
 And, if the shadow of her rites, 
 
 (Tho' not from heavy slumbers freed,) 
 Can yield her vot'ries such delights, 
 
 Then love «iust be a bliss indeed i 
 
POEMS. 157 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 If e'er my troubled breast regain'd 
 
 The calmness which once there had reigned, 
 
 Oh ! then my heart might freely rove, 
 
 And kiss with all, but never love : 
 
 'Twould now roam here, and now roam there, 
 
 As tmconfln'd as mountain air ; 
 
 And, as 'twould trifle time away, 
 
 And flutter round some belle all day, 
 
 It soon would learn to sigh and moan, 
 
 And swear it liv'd for her alone : 
 
158 POEMS. 
 
 Then fly her for some other fair, 
 And tell the same soft love- tale there; 
 Then round some other fair one hover, 
 And vow 'twas her devoted lover ; 
 'Twould toy with all, until some face, 
 That's newer, should the rest displace; 
 And, should it, of the last grow tir'd, 
 The rest might be again admir'd; 
 And, (as my heart would then be free,) 
 The first would seem variety ; 
 Each to the other then should yield, 
 For each to each should still succeed; 
 I still would love, without digression, 
 But love in regular succession; 
 And, tho', I could not feel love's chain, 
 I'd boast the pleasure, — not the pain ! 
 
POEMS. 159 
 
 Pd bask in beauty's rosy smiles, 
 Entranced by 'witching, winning wiles; 
 And, tho*, perhaps, I oft might sigh, 
 To see the lustre of her eye, 
 Beam on all, with radiant glances, 
 And see her make the first advances ; 
 Yet, if with her I e'er was blest, 
 I would not be at this distress'd; 
 But, like th' inconstant, roving bee, 
 Who, lasting charms in none can see ; 
 But, flies about from flow'r to flow'r, 
 And sips fresh sweetness every hour; 
 So I, in bliss, would often sip 
 The sweets of love, from beauty's lip ; 
 And, like the pleasure-seeking bee, 
 I still would love, and still be free! 
 
160 - POEMSt 
 
 WILLIAM and FANNY. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO ROSA. 
 
 In Wicklow's wild scenery, strangers can view 
 The ground where a cottage once stood ; 
 
 The abode of blest William and Fanny so true ; 
 
 Alas ! that such lovers, at present, there's few 
 Like sweet Fanny and William the good ! 
 
POEMS. 161 
 
 Brought up from their childhood, together they play 'd ; 
 
 Their infantine years roll'd away, 
 Like a vision, so fleeting, they scarce had convey'd 
 A sense of their joy, to the youth or the maid, 
 
 But pass'd like a bright summer's day! 
 
 One evening, at length, by the rivulet's side, 
 Where oft they together had stray'd, , 
 The yo-uth did entreat her to be his dear bride, 
 And the blush on her cheek, tho' in silence, replied, 
 And spoke a consent for the maid! 
 
 And, now in contentment their hours pass away, 
 
 With love and tranquillity blest; 
 
 They have nothing to fear from a far future day, 
 
 Or nothing to hope— for e'en hope has no ray 
 
 That could brighten the joys of their breast,' 
 x 
 
1 62 POEMS. 
 
 And, blest with an offspring, so lovely, so dear, 
 
 In each some resemblance they trace; 
 
 For, Fanny's sweet features in some does appear, 
 
 And some bears the stamp of the rough mountaineer, 
 
 Which appears in their father's bold face. 
 
 And when their pure life came at last to a close, 
 
 'Twas as mild as the sun's in the west ; 
 In one common grave they together repose, 
 And some villager oft in the evening still shews 
 The spot, where together they rest. 
 
 Oh! would that like them, in somesweetpeaceful cot, 
 I might spend a life tranquil as their's ; 
 
 Where Rosa's sweet smiles might enliven the spot ; 
 
 Where the world's ingratitude might be forgot; 
 And r love prove a balm for all cares. 
 
POEMS. 163 
 
 Bat, oh I it is still the reverse that I see ; 
 
 For, after a life spent in pain, 
 When death pays his long-wish'd-for visit to me, 
 And when this res ties soul from the world is free, 
 
 Will Rosa the tear then restrain I 
 
 Oh, yes ! I shall die, unlamented, forgot, 
 
 Nor will Rosa's breast heave one kind sigh ; 
 
 The bell's toll, perhaps, may bemoan my sad lot ; 
 
 And, perhaps, a rough stone may mark out the spot 
 Where neglected, deserted, I lie ! 
 
 Yet, Rosa, I hope, that you ne'er would deny, 
 
 My grave with one tear to bedew : 
 And, when, in years hence, that spot you'd pass by P 
 Oh ! then let my memory claim but one sigh, 
 For him that had long sigh'd for you ! 
 
1 64 POEMS. 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 WHO SAID SHE PREFERRED PRAYING AT HOME, TO C03KS 
 TO PLACES OF PUBLIC WORSHIP. 
 
 Tair lady ! since you wish, alone 
 
 To breathe your fervent pray'rs, 
 May that peace, from this bosom flown, 
 
 Dispel your anxious cares. 
 And, as you thus fear no restraint, 
 
 Then go to church no more ; 
 For, oh i thou look'st so like a saint, 
 
 We'd worship and adore • 
 
POEMS. 165 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 No, no ! not e'en thy friendship could repay 
 
 This sufPring heart, for its long-lost repose \ 
 Not less than e'en thy love could chace away 
 
 The recollection of its anguish'd woes. 
 But, oh ! the frowns of fate I would defy, 
 
 If thy beloved heart was mine confest ; 
 Then, Ttosa, thine should be the softest sigh 
 
 That rapture ever breath d on woman's breast. 
 
166 POEMS. 
 
 But, oh! the sad reverse I still must view, 
 
 In fate's perspective, prospects drear I see ; 
 Yet, still this heart, to love'sjirst impulse true, 
 
 With fond, with dear affection throbs for thee. 
 And, when thy fanci'd form does e'er appear, 
 
 In nightly visions, o'er my lonely bed, 
 Ob, thine ! still thine — the tributary tear, 
 
 The brightest tear that mem'ry ever shed I 
 
 Oh ! that my verse would flow so sweet along, 
 
 And breathe, in numbers soft, harmonious lays ; 
 To equal her, who had inspir'd my song, 
 
 Then, Rosa, hourly would I sing thy praise. 
 Some faint idea, I might then convey, 
 
 Of this breast's anguish, when by love 'twas fir'd : 
 And thine, oh ! thine, should be the sweetest lay 
 
 That fancy ever form'd, or love inspir'd ! 
 
POEMS. 167 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 
 
 Sweet, modest flow'r ! that blooms, too oft, unseen ; 
 
 And, in some vale scarce dares to raise thy head; 
 
 Nor peep beyond thy mossy, fragrant bed, 
 Array'd in nature's dearest color — green. 
 Thy native charms adorn the verdant scene ; 
 
 And, as my Rosa shuns the world's gaze, 
 
 So thou'dst avoid bright Sol's refulgent rays, 
 And shade thy modest head the leaves between. 
 
168 POEMS, 
 
 Emblem of innocence — of her I love ! 
 
 Oh ! I shall dearly prize thee from this hour 5 
 And, when thro* some sweet vale I lonely rove, 
 
 I'll contemplate my Rosa in this flow'r ! 
 For, e'en as you avoid the mid-day sun, 
 So she attracts the love she fain would shun 1 ' 
 
FOEMS* 169 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 TO THE WILLOW* 
 
 Come, willow! thou shall be my favorite tree! 
 Beneath thy sombre, melancholy shade, 
 I'll breathe my sighs to that unfeeling maid ; 
 
 And mourn, sweet willow ! nightly mourn with thee I 
 
 And, if in unrequited love there be 
 
 A pensive pleasure thus to cherish grief, 
 
 Thus dwell on woes which ne'er admits relief; 
 
 Yet, still, I grieve this lot should fall on me ! 
 Y 
 
170 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 To thee, then, I shall pour the pensive strain. 
 
 Thou shalt be water 1 d from those streaming eyes ; 
 Thy drooping branches suit my soft complain ; 
 
 To thee, then, willow ! I shall breathe my sighs ; 
 And echo shall repeat them, ere I lose 'em, 
 And zephyrs waft them to my Rosa's bosom ! 
 
POEMS. 171 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 *Tis sweet, to dwell on hours that now are past! 
 
 When infant love was fondly nurs'd by hope ; 
 
 *Tis sweet, to give th' imagination scope! 
 Tho', now, hope's beams by clouds are overcast. 
 Oh, blissful hour ! sure — sure, ye fleet too fast ! 
 
 Like partial sunbeams, in a gloomy day, 
 
 Ye lend your warm, your brightly-beaming ray, 
 Yet, makes the heart repine so short ye last ! 
 
172 POEMS. 
 
 Farewel, dear maid ! farewel to them and thee ! — 
 Oh ! could I hope, that in some lonely hour, 
 
 Remembrance e'er would claim one thought forme, 
 'Twould chace the clouds that o'er life's prospect 
 low'r. — 
 
 Oh, Rosa ! I have lov'd so long, — so well, 
 
 f Tis agony to bid— -—a last farewel ! 
 
POEMS. 173 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO A FRIEND IN INDIA, 
 
 Friend of my early youth ! to thee this lay,— 
 The tribute of affection, warm, sincere 5 
 For, oh ! the memory of thy friendship here, 
 
 Strengthen^ its bonds as far thou rov'st away! 
 
 My valued, much-lov'd, dearest friend! oh! say, 
 Does memory ever bring thee days long past, 
 Ere yet the sunshine of our life o'ercast, 
 
 When oft we lightly tripped thro' each bright day ? 
 
174 
 
 POEMS* 
 
 What, tho', alas ! the sufPring heart must own, 
 That friendship's joys, compar'd to love's, are poor ; 
 
 Yet, stilly my friend ! our different fates have shewn 
 The heart does throb* in friendship more secure : 
 
 Tho' love does thro' the veins impetuous roil, 
 
 Yet, friendship's aid can e'en love's pangs console ! 
 
POEMS. 17 £ 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF FREEDOM, 
 
 AN ADDRESS, 8UPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY AN 
 
 ATHENIAN, TO INSPIRE HIS COUNTRYMEN WITH 
 
 REVOLT AGAINST THE TURKS, WHO HAD 
 
 SUBDUED ATHENS, 
 
 Awake! Athenian youths, awake! 
 Your arms, for Athens, once more take ; 
 Pour to the tide of war again, 
 And form a band of patriot men 5 
 Nor, let these tyrant Turks forget 
 That Athens' sons are heroes yet! 
 
176 POEMS. 
 
 Say, shall we meanly, calmly bear, 
 
 Beneath the tyrant's yoke to lie ? 
 Or shall we bravely, nobly dare, 
 
 Like men, to live, or, like men, die ? 
 Athenians ! say, shall tyrants wield 
 
 Destruction's sword o'er freedom's soil ? 
 And shall Athenians basely yield, 
 
 And calmly slumber in the toil ? 
 No ! — curs'd be him, that could forgive 
 
 Those tyrant Turks his country's fall ; 
 And may that vile wretch cease to live, 
 
 Whose heart lives not to honor's call I 
 To Athen's sons, it, sure, belongs, 
 To seek redress for Athens' wrongs : 
 Thy breasts, with patriotic zeal, 
 Thy country's sufPrings well can feel ; 
 
toems. 1T7 
 
 Thy hearts shall echo all her sighs ; 
 Thy hearts, indignant, shall arise; 
 And, while they oft may throb in pain r 
 Oh ! still thy country's rights maintain! 
 Oh, Athens! once the seat of arts; 
 
 Once a blessed free-born nation ! 
 Oh ! still, even still, some patriot hearts, 
 
 Must mourn, in tears, thy degradation ! 
 Those hearts, indignant, oft may swell, 
 And on thy wrongs and sufPrings dwell ; 
 To see thee bound by slavery's chains: 
 Yet, while one ray of hope remains, 
 That ray, like some bright, guiding star, 
 
 Seen thro' the darkness of the night, 
 May shed its beams, from realms afar,. 
 
 As distant, yet as bright ! 
 
 z 
 
173 POEMS, 
 
 Tho' gloom and sorrow, hand in hand, 
 May darken this unhappy land; 
 Yet, hope shall lend her blessed rays, 
 To brighten Athens' future days. 
 Oh, hope ! thy visions pure and blight, 
 
 Must ever chase despair! 
 Thy rays oft shed a blessed light 
 
 O'er hearts subdu'd by care I 
 Say, shall this band of lawless men, 
 Defy the lions in their den ? 
 Or, shall we, lion -like, once more, 
 Expel those tyrants from our shore ? 
 Say, shall we cringe to Turkish laws, 
 And bow before a Turkish throne ? 
 Or, shall we arm in freedom's cause, 
 And yield to Athens' laws alone ? 
 
POEMS* 179 
 
 Athenians! can you calmly bear, 
 
 (E'en on the soil where freedom trod,) 
 To be debarr'd the rites of prayer, 
 
 And worship of " Almighty God ?" 
 Tho' freedom from this land has fled! 
 Tho' liberty, to us, is dead! 
 Yst, oh ! " her spirit" still may rise, 
 (For freedom's spirit never dies ;) 
 And, thus, a retribution take 
 By Athens* sons, for freedom's sake ; 
 Tho 1 murder'd freedom still may bleed, 
 Yet, Athens ! should your arms succeed, 
 Then, vengeance shall, once more, be yours, 
 On Athens' foes — the Turkish Moors! 
 Athenians! arm in freedom's cause; 
 
 Her bleeding spirit becks us on ; 
 Nor, thus, in idle dalliance, pause, 
 
 When Athens' freedom may be won I 
 
180 poems. 
 
 'Let each brave patriot raise his shield! 
 
 Let each Athenian seize a dart ! 
 And, when in arms, we take the field, 
 
 Let Athens' sons have but one heart ! 
 And, tho* the path to freedom lie 
 
 Thro' fields of blood, yet, still, the brave 
 Must gain in death, (if thus they die,) 
 
 A glorious freedom in the grave ! 
 Their patriot souls, disdaining chains, 
 
 Eternal liberty must see 
 In realms where tyranny ne'er reigns, 
 
 Where heroes are for ever free ! 
 Athenians ! such a death as this, 
 To patriot souls must be a bliss, 
 Compar'd to such a living death— 
 
 A life of slavery : 
 And, on that soil that gave you birth, 
 To sigh for liberty! 
 
POEMS. 131 
 
 But, if we, still, must sigh in vain, 
 Athenians ! what does then remain ? 
 What! — but to avenge our woes, 
 By blood for blood, on Athens' foes ! 
 Athens ! thy soil, where freedom stood, 
 Is crimson'd with thy childrens' blood ! 
 Thy murder'd patriots, heroes brave, 
 Are sent to an untimely grave! 
 Yet, still, they've gain'd immortal fame, 
 Tho' branded with a rebel's name ! 
 Thy countrymen, that made a stand, 
 Are murder'd on their native land! 
 Thy native soil is stain'd with gore, 
 The blood of heroes — now no more ! 
 And, shall their blood, forgotten, flow ? 
 No ! — By my country's sufferings — No ! 
 Shall Athens* sons their blood forget? 
 Or, tyrants feel our vengeance yet? 
 
1S2 POEMS. 
 
 I swear by those brave heroes — dead; 
 
 That blood for blood shall flow ! 
 And many a tyrant's turban'd head 
 
 Shall, by this arm, lie low ! 
 Athenians ! seize the trusty spear ; 
 Tor, all that Athens can hold dear 
 
 Lies now at stake : 
 E'en crush the tyrants with thy chains ;- 
 
 Thus — retribution take ! 
 Thus, make an off'ring to the manes 
 
 Of heroes now no more ; 
 Nor cease, 'till freedom once more reigns 
 
 O'er Athens' shore f 
 Ne'er let thy swords ignobly rust; 
 For, sure, a cause so great, so just, 
 Would make e'en cowards brave: 
 
poe&s, 183 
 
 For, who'd accept the life they give ; 
 Or, who would breathe a wish to live, 
 
 If he must live a slave ? 
 Spirit of freedom—liberty ! 
 
 I feel thy god-like inspiration ; 
 And, may this sigh I breathe to thee, 
 
 Recal thee to this hapless nation ! 
 How tranquil I should yield my breath, 
 
 And every worldly joy resign ; 
 For, bless'd would be that b'issful death, 
 
 Beside thy dear, thy honor'd shrine ! 
 Then, arm 1 Athenians, arm! nor cease— 
 
 'Tis liberty's command ! 
 Then shall the olive branch of peace, 
 Around the tree 
 Of liberty, 
 Grow prosperous in the land ! 
 
184 POEMS. 
 
 TO ROSA, 
 
 Oh, Rosa! tho* I may be seen 
 
 In pleasure's giddy sphere ; 
 E'en, then, I feel a pang so keen 5 
 
 It follows me, e'en there. 
 In vain I strive to dissipate 
 
 My sad, my bitter grief; 
 And sooth the rigor of my fate, 
 
 Which ne'er can feel relief! 
 
POEMS. 185 
 
 And, if a glance from beauty's eye, 
 
 Sould ever light on me ; 
 Oh, Rosa! then Td heave a sigh, 
 And think, e'en then, on thee! 
 This heart was form'd but once to love ; 
 
 And, having lov'd in vain, 
 It never more can freely rove, 
 Nor ever love again! 
 
 2a 
 
1 36 POEMS, 
 
 
 TO JULIA'S PICTURE. 
 
 Here, here are those lips, that I once thought could 
 breathe 
 No vows except those you had breath'd in mine 
 ear ; 
 Alas ! in that moment I ne'er thought you'd wreathe 
 
 The garland of love for another more dear! 
 Here, here are those tresses, with which I oft play'd 
 
 In dalliance, for many a rapturous hour ; 
 And, here is that smile, which so oft has bet ray 'd 
 That Julia's bright bosom had own'd Cupid's 
 povv'r ! 
 
POEMS. 187 
 
 Here, here is that eye, that so oft beam'd with love ; 
 
 Alas ! its fond glances I ne'er shall forget ; 
 And, here is that mouth, that in kisses would move, 
 Whene'er we should part, or whene'er we had 
 met! 
 Here, here is that bosom, so pure and so bright! 
 But, where is the heart, which that bosom en« 
 shrin'd ? 
 Alas ! His as changeful, inconstant, and light, 
 As a leaf that is borne on the wings of the 
 wind ! 
 
 Here, here is that cheek, which I once thought 
 could glow 
 With the blushes of love, for no other than me ; 
 Alas ! I must mourn the illusion, for — oh ! 
 I must still, (tho* thou'rt false,) I must still think 
 on thee ! 
 
188 POEMS. 
 
 Here, here is thy likeness, still worn next my 
 heart ; 
 
 Alas ! than thyself 'tis more constant and true ; 
 Come, then, image of Julia, we never shall part, 
 
 I'll think on past joys, when those charms I view ! 
 
POEMS. 189 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 m 
 As when some captive bird oft sings, 
 
 Imprison'd in his wiry cage; 
 In vain he spreads his little wings; 
 
 The wire still mocks his baffled rage! 
 So 'tis, when this warm, flutt'ring heart, 
 
 With love, with rapture, ispossest, 
 Yet, like the bird, not all its art 
 
 Can free it from its cage— thy breast! 
 
190 POEMS. 
 
 And, yet, dear Rosa ! still, 'tis true, 
 
 To bondage Pd my heart consign, 
 Could I but hope, in pity, you 
 
 Would let it be confin'd with thine ! 
 For, oh ! this heart, alive to love, 
 
 On earth has now no resting place, 
 Unless thou, like another dove, 
 
 Would bring the olive branch of peace ! 
 
 Then, since this heart's so stubborn grown, 
 
 That it will not obey my will, 
 But follows laws entire its own, 
 
 Oh ! let it be thy pris'ner still ! 
 And, tho' this heart, to sigh in vain 
 
 For thine, perhaps, in pride, is loath ; 
 Yet, Rosa, I should ne'er complain, 
 
 If but one prison held them both! 
 
POEMS. 191 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO SUN-RISE, 
 
 Bright Sol, arising from his eastern bed, 
 
 Illumes and warms, with smiles, the busy world ; 
 Yet cheers not him from happiness that's hurl'd, 
 
 But leaves the wretch to mourn his joys all fled. 
 
 Sure, such a life, resembles more the dead, 
 Whose restless, sufPring soul's deni'd that rest, 
 Seeks on this earth the friends they lov'd the best, 
 
 And leaves, for kindred souls, their lonely bed ! 
 
192 POEMS. 
 
 A life, like this, vain, vain the hope to cheer ; 
 
 For, in that torpid soul, where pleasure sleeps, 
 The suns bright beams, perchance, may cause a tear, 
 
 As, when they light on snow, e'en nature weeps ! 
 Yet, ah ! tho* nature weeps, she feels a glow, 
 But, cold, cold is the breast, tho' tears may flow! 
 
FOEMS. 193 
 
 SONNET- 
 
 to SUN-SET* 
 
 The sun, in splendor sinking in the west, 
 Brings on the dear, the lonely, twilight hour £ 
 When fancy o'er the mind usurps her pow'r, 
 
 And reigns, despotic, o*er the roving breast i 
 
 To this, succeeds the darker hour of rest ; 
 When superstition holds her midnight reign ; 
 And terror tortures the bewilder 'd brain, 
 
 'Till morn does chace the visions of the brea t! 
 2 B 
 
19* POEMS. 
 
 Dear, dear to me, those lonely, peaceful hours; 
 
 'Tis then the child of fancy silent roves ; 
 'Tis then love's victim seeks the much-lov'd botv'rs, 
 
 And breathes a fervent sigh to her he loves. 
 
 9 Tis then, alas! His then he feels and knows 
 
 No morrow's sun can sooth him to repose ! 
 
POEMS. 19£ 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO THE MOON. 
 
 Chaste mistress of the sky !— bright orb of night! 
 Thy silver beams, as o'er the waves they play, 
 Reflect a lustre dearer far than day; 
 
 And sooths the pensive soul to sweet delight I 
 
 Thy rays sppear to me, so pure, so bright, 
 That oft towards heaven I fondly raise my eyes, 
 To seek that peaceful home beyond the skies. 
 
 Where all is tranquil as this lonely night ! 
 
196 POEMS. 
 
 But, oh! on earth to cringe as passion's slave; 
 
 To writhe with jealousy, to glow with love ; 
 Still — still, deceived by hope, with anguish rave ; 
 
 Yet, still, with life to feel this bosom move : 
 For, oh ! conflicting pangs this breast does tear, 
 And leaves me e'en the victim of despair ! 
 
POEMS. 197 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 Sweet, plaintive bird of night ! thy pensive song, 
 
 Is sweetest music to a lovers ear ; 
 
 When'er thy mournful notes, so sweet, so dear, 
 Upon the breeze of night are borne along. 
 Those pensive notes e'en echo would prolong ; 
 
 And gentle zephyr waft them thro' the trees ; 
 
 Where, mingling with the moaning of the breeze, 
 The night-wind, sighing, seems to join thy song. 
 
198 POEMS. 
 
 Repeat, sweet bird, repeat that pensive strain ; 
 
 That cadence, wildly sweet, oh ! turn once more ; 
 For, oh ! my soul, perchance, may peace regain, 
 
 While list'ning to the song thou warblest o'er. 
 And, oh ! 'twill sooth ray soul, sweet bird of night, 
 Tho* yielding but to visions of delight ! 
 
POEMS. 199 
 
 ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE 'MUSES, 
 
 Tho* life, indeed, is but a span ; 
 And, death, stern death, awaits on man; 
 Tho' some from death would vainly fly ; 
 Yet, knowing, man was born to die ! 
 Let such at life or death repine, 
 But, may such torments ne'er be mine ! 
 Yet, some there are, heave sorrow's sigh ; 
 In anguish live, yet fear to die ! 
 
200 POEMS. 
 
 And, tho' they pass their years in grief, 
 They dread the only sure relief; . 
 
 That certain balm for worldly woes, 
 Which death and death alone bestows ! 
 'Tis strange — in woe they'd sooner live, 
 Than take the balm which death can give ; 
 They'd sooner cringe as passions's slave, 
 Than court the freedom of the grave I 
 Degenerate race ! since die ye must, 
 Why not in Heaven put your trust ? 
 For, sure, this life no thought should claim, 
 Being but a transitory dream; 
 'Till from our death-like slumbers freed, 
 Our souls shall wake to life — indeed ! 
 But, ah i not so in former days, 
 When Rome and Greece attun'd their lays ; 
 
POEMS. 201 
 
 When every bard, inspir'd, sung, 
 Would melt the heart by pity wrung ; 
 The soul to glorious thoughts would raise ; 
 Or, yield to love's impassion'd lays ; 
 Those bards of old, who # aitn'd to be 
 Blest with an immortality; 
 Free from ail pangs, all worldly woes,. 
 In realms above, their souls repose ; 
 And, while they rest in tranquil bliss,. 
 Their names immortal prove in this I 
 As witness — Homer and Tibullus,. 
 Horace, Sappho, and Catullus - y 
 Virgil, Juvenal, and Persius,. 
 Bion, Moschus, and Lucretius ; 
 Lucan, Ovid, and Propertius, 
 Hesiod, Anacreon, and Tyrtaeus ; 
 
 2 c 
 
202 POEXS. 
 
 Whose works shall live till time is o'er, 
 
 And chaos wrap the world once more S 
 
 Yet, still, there is one Little name, 
 
 Shall add to Erin's wreath of fame ; 
 
 Shall gather fancy's choicest fiow'rs, 
 
 To grace bright Erin's much-lov'd bow'rs \ 
 
 Immortal bard ! employ'd e'en now, 
 
 In twining fiow'rs for Erin's brow; 
 
 When, to the world those fiow'rs are shewn, 
 
 Erin shall claim them as her own ! 
 
 E'en now, the wreath which you've begun, 
 
 Proclaims thee Erin's dearest son ; 
 
 And, when, in years far hence, 'tis seen, 
 
 Oh ! it shall prove — an evergreen ! 
 
POEMS. 203 
 
 TO ROSA, 
 
 Oh, Rosa! when thy gentle breast, 
 
 With anguish e'er does move, 
 Thy bosom let me lull to rest, 
 
 In soothing strains of love. 
 And, should a soft, unconscious sigh, 
 
 Tow'rds thy sweet lips incline, 
 Oh, Rosa ! then I'll gently try 
 
 To kiss it off with mine \ 
 
lQ4i POEMS. 
 
 But, should thy tears in sorrow roll, 
 
 Then, Kosa, fly to me; 
 For, oh ! 'twould be, to my warm soul, 
 
 A bliss to weep with thee ! 
 Those precious tears which you have shed, 
 
 To me, dear maid ! consign ; 
 'Twill sooth my woes, tho' hope has fled, 
 
 This relic — which was thine ! 
 
POEMS* 205 
 
 ON WOMAN. 
 
 He, who could woman's smiles behold, 
 And, yet, to those dear smiles be cold; 
 If such there be, — that man I hold 
 
 As born without a soul : 
 Whose heart had ne'er with passion strove 5 
 Whose bosom ne'er did throbbing move, 
 Responsive to the sigh of love, 
 
 Nor felt its vast control. 
 
206 POEMS* 
 
 But, colder still, his savage breast, 
 Who could behold, (yet calmly rest,) 
 A lovely woman, when distress'd, 
 
 Her cheek quite pale and wan: 
 He, who, when woman thus appears, 
 Feels not a wish to dry her tears, 
 And calm her sighs, and hush her fears, 
 
 Is more or less than man! 
 
POEMS. 207 
 
 TO ROSA, 
 
 As worn out with my weight of grief, 
 I strive in sleep to seek relief; 
 In slumbers strive to sooth my woes; 
 And calm, by undisturbed repose, 
 The torments of my throbbing heart, 
 The torments caus'd by Cupid's dart; 
 In vain I strive to lull to rest, 
 The anguish of my aching breast; 
 
208 POEMS. 
 
 For, should I, by a gentle sleep, 
 
 Forget to sigh, and cease to weep; 
 
 Oh, Rosa ! then I dream of thee, 
 
 But, dream that thou art true tome; 
 
 And, in my slumber's vision, feel, 
 
 (As at the altar's foot we kneel,) 
 
 Thy heaving bosom throb 'gainst mine* 
 
 Which my fond arm did close entwine ; 
 
 And, as your yielding form I press'd 
 
 Still closer to my anxious breast, 
 
 I swear to you, dear Rosa ! then 
 
 I thought myself most blest of mem 
 
 Even before, (in love's excess,) 
 
 I dar'd thy lips 'gainst mine to press ; 
 
 Or, felt, in extacy of bliss, 
 
 That rapt'rous, — that entrancing kiss ; 
 
POEMS. 209 
 
 I 
 
 That ratifi'd the vows we made, 
 Which nought, save death, could e'er invade ! 
 But, when those visions all are fled, 
 Which o'er my soul such rapture shed ; 
 When, with delight, I ope my eyes, 
 The false, the faithless vision, flies; . 
 And, all it leaves me is to know 
 The dreadful certainty of woe I 
 Oh, cruel Rosa ! if thy heart, 
 Could e'er be brought to feel a part 
 Of that hot fire which burns in mine, 
 You'd, surely, then to love incline I 
 But, as thy marble, frozen soul, 
 Is colder than the northern pole ; 
 And, feels not, (tho* it does inspire,) 
 The genial warmth of love's, strong fire ;. 
 2 D 
 
210 POEMS. 
 
 If thy cold, indifferent heart, 
 Cannot be warra'd to feel — in part, 
 The pow'r of love, then grant to me, 
 Thy coldness, which, perhaps, may free 
 This captive heart, and let it prove 
 The shrine of peace — tho' not of love ! 
 
POEMS. 2X1 
 
 THE ELOPEMENT. 
 
 Awake, my life! thy true love calls; 
 
 Oh ! bless thy lover's arms ; 
 I've climb'd the gate — I've seal'd the walls, 
 
 Inspir'd by thy charms. 
 Those silken ropes, which I have brought, 
 
 Shall aid our happy flight : 
 Arise, my love ! nor waste one thought* 
 
 Save what can yield delight. 
 
212 POEMS. 
 
 And, canst thou, dearest ! canst thou sleep, 
 
 At such a time as this ? 
 And, in soft slumbers canst thou steep 
 
 Thy visionary bliss ? 
 Oh, no! my love! — my life! appears; 
 
 Then haste, descend to me; 
 Thy love shall calm love's timid fears, 
 
 These fears you've felt for me ! 
 
 And, as we wander far from home, 
 
 This throbbing heart shall prove 
 Love's sacred shrine ! — nor e'er shall roam 
 
 One thought from thee or love. 
 And, while I'd sigh to taste the bliss, 
 
 That bliss I'd still forego ; 
 Nor dare to snatch one stolen kiss, 
 
 Except what you'd bestow ! 
 
POEMS. 
 
 £13 
 
 Yet, should a doubt e'er cross thy mind, 
 
 That I could thee resign; 
 Or, that my love is less refin'd, 
 
 Or, not so true as thine. 
 Then, list, dear maid ! whilst I repeat 
 
 This vow, now giv'n so free — 
 May this fond heart forget to beat, 
 
 When it beats not — for thee! 
 
2 1 4 POEMS. 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 Whilst busy fancy does retrace 
 The blooming beauties of thy face; 
 And, znem'ry does, delighted, dwell 
 Cn ev'ry charm, on ev'ry spell, 
 By which you gain'd entire control 
 Over my yielding heart and soul! 
 
 t fond chimeras still arise? 
 And visions pass before my eyes ; 
 
POEMS, c l\t 
 
 Whilst dreams do, still, torment my mind, 
 And paints thee, loving, melting, kind ! 
 Each trivial circumstance does bring 
 Some hidden cause, some secret sting, 
 That wounds as deep as Cupid's dart, 
 When first it rankl'd in my heart! 
 If Kesper's glitt'ring light I see, 
 My fancy then reverts to thee ! 
 Sweet star! that rules a lover's night, 
 How oft, ere now, you've met my sight ; 
 When, wand'ring, blest, with her I love, 
 You've lent your light from realms above ! 
 If I but saunter in the shade, 
 Where no tumultuous sounds invade, 
 My thoughts, from worldly matters free, 
 Still dreams of bliss, and points to thee ! 
 
216 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 But, if pale Cynthia's silver ray, 
 
 Should gleam along my lonely way, 
 
 Oh ! then, what pow'r can e'er control 
 
 The ruling passion of my soul ! 
 
 For, then, I think on moments blest, 
 
 When love and hope both warm'd my breast ; 
 
 When thou, pure, heavenly orb of night, 
 
 Discover'd by thy clear, chaste light, 
 
 My lovely Rosa's winning smile, 
 
 That smile that could my heart beguile ! 
 
 Oh, Rosa! now I strive in vain, 
 
 My long-lost coldness to regain ; 
 
 In vain I sue the gods above, 
 
 For hope is sever'd now from love. 
 
POEMS*. 21.7 
 
 TO A CHILD SLEEPING. 
 
 Sweet babe! thou sleep'st — thy innocence defies 
 The pangs of love, e'en tho' it mutual prove ; 
 
 Serene thou sleep'st, nor heed my bitter sighs- 
 Sighs that are wasted on a hopeless love. 
 
 Poor child ! sleep on, and may thy future years* 
 In tranquil innocence like these be spent ; 
 
 May'st thou have never cause for sighs or tears,* 
 
 Or coldness in some fair one to lament ! 
 2 E 
 
218 POEMS. 
 
 Oh ! that when like thee, innocent and free, 
 
 My soul had fled to those blest realms above; 
 I need not then, poor baby, envy thee, 
 
 Nor grieve to feel the torturing pangs of love ! 
 But doom'd to bear the burthen of my woe, 
 
 Alone to wander, to the silent tomb ; 
 Oh, death ! relieve me, be not thou my foe, 
 
 In pity, bear me to my last sad home ! 
 
POEMS. 219 
 
 TO ROSA, 
 
 Oh, Rosa ! say can nothing move 
 Your heart to pity or to love ? 
 Will not the anguish you bestow, 
 Move you to mitigate my woe ? 
 Will not the tears I nightly shed 
 Upon my lonely useless bed, 
 Will not the sighs I daily heave, 
 Some pity from your breast receive ? 
 
220 POEMS. 
 
 Oh, Rosa! Rosa, if you knew 
 
 The fervent love I feel for you, 
 
 Your heart would surely then incline 
 
 To beat in unison with mine ; 
 
 And tho' 'tis cold as mountain snow, 
 
 So cold, that 'tis my direst foe, 
 
 r T would surely then respondent move, 
 
 If plac'd near mine, and warm'd by love ! 
 
 I swear by all the host of Heav'n, 
 
 The power ne'er to man was giv'n, 
 
 To love with truer, purer zeal, 
 Than that which I towards you do feel ! 
 *Tis pure as woman could inspire — 
 s Tis such as sets my soul on fire ! 
 *Tis ardent as a man could feel-^ 
 s Tis stronger than I dare reveal ! 
 
POEMS. 221 
 
 Dear maid ! thou coldest of the fair* 
 Were you to witness my despair ; 
 My gloomy days, my sleepless nights, 
 My inward thoughts, that death invites ! 
 I think e'en thou f tho* cold thou art, 
 Would feel some pity for a heart, 
 That's all thy own, and while it pants, 
 It throbs with love and life at once. 
 Oh ! that its throbbings once were o'er, 
 Then love should torture' me no more :„ 
 Oh ! that kind death would free my heart, 
 And ease the wounds of Cupid's dart! 
 Yet, were eternity in view, 
 My last thoughts stili would be with you ; 
 And while Fd wing my rapid flight, 
 %o realms of eternal light, 
 
222 P0EM3. 
 
 My soul, (still lingering behind, 
 As if it -would some object find,) 
 Would never rest, 'till meeting thine, 
 They'd journey on their way divine ; 
 For, by all thy charms, I swear, . 
 It would not Heaven to me appear, 
 If you, dear Rosa, were not there. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 LOVE'S THORNS. 
 
 Oh ! when shall this unquiet heart have rest, 
 
 And when shall it its freedom e'er regain ? 
 Oh ! when shall peace return to this sad breast, 
 
 And when shall love cease its tyrannic reign ? 
 Love, tho' it's mutual, is not free from care, 
 
 Its pangs are felt where two fond hearts unite ; 
 What then must be my grief, for tho' the fair 
 
 Still fiies me, yet I love with fond delight ! 
 
224 poehs. 
 
 Her every word, her features, form and voice, 
 
 Delight my senses, and enslaves my heart ; 
 So much, that e'en tho' love left me my choice, 
 
 I would not willingly resign his dart ! 
 My head seeks some excuse my heart to free, 
 
 In vain it seeks, for even were it found, 
 My heart, rebellious to my head, would be 
 
 And own no fault, where charms did still abound. 
 
 But where perfection holds her sacred shrine, 
 
 And modest loveliness with every grace, 
 Adorns that maiden, whom I once thought mine, 
 
 When first I gazed upon her angel face : 
 No wonder, then, my heart would hug its chain, 
 
 And fear the void its freedom would create ; 
 Sooner for ever I'd her slave remain, 
 
 And bear the angry frcwns of wayward fate! 
 
POEMS, 225 
 
 Sooner for her I'd burn with hopeless love, 
 
 And sigh for charms that never can be mine, 
 Than love another, tho' it mutual pro ye, 
 
 So much to misery I myself consign. 
 Oh, contradiction strange! — oh, fate severe ! 
 
 In vain to free me from thy pow'r I strove ; 
 Why will you thus my wretched bosom tear, 
 
 With all the pangs of unrequited love I 
 
 2 F 
 
226 POEMS. 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 ON SEEING THE FIGURE OF HIBERNIA, REPRESENTED AS 
 
 AN EMBLEMATIC DEVICE, ON THE CAR BY WHICH 
 
 MR. SADLER IS TO ASCEND WITH THE BALLOON. 
 
 Sure, Sadler well deserves our praise; 
 
 His name well ever prize ; 
 
 For, he, it seems, intends to raise 
 
 Hibernia to the slies ! 
 
POEMS. 221 
 
 AN HIGH-FLOF/N EPIGRAM. 
 
 While Sadler strives to raise the i»ini 9 
 
 To steer the fa n'd balloon ; 
 And, leaving all his friends behind, 
 
 Seeks new friends in the moon. 
 Just so, some genius, which Pm loth 
 
 With Sadler to compare, 
 Bears some resemblance, still — for both 
 
 Build Castles in the Air 1 
 
228 POEMS. 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 ON HAVING MY POCKET PICKED WHILST LOOKING AT THE 
 SCIENTIFIC ELEPHANT. 
 
 This scientific Elephant, 
 
 Oh! curse his long proboscis! 
 
 And, curse the science there that's meant, 
 By which I've gaind my losses I 
 
 ■ 
 
POEMS. 229 
 
 EPIGRAM, 
 
 TO A FRIEND AFTER A GAME OF CARDS* 
 
 Dear Sir, to play at cards with you, 
 I ne'er again would choose; 
 
 For, I not only play'd at loo, 
 But, also, play'd at lose. 
 
230 POEMS. 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 ON HEARING A FRIEND SAY HE HAD SEEN TEN HORSES 
 YOKED UNDER A WAGGON IN LONDON, 
 
 How different are the city folks, 
 
 Who daily drive at random, 
 To honest Giles, for he, it seems, 
 
 Would scorn to drive a tandem. 
 Thus, fashion's laws are varying still, 
 
 And, still, they fain would mend'em ; 
 So, Giles, instead of two, drives ten, 
 
 And, 'stead of tan, — drives tendem I 
 
toems. £31 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 T'other day Tom chanc'd to get a fall ; 
 And, while he in the dirt did sprawl, 
 His friend came up, with doleful phiz, 
 And Tom's mishap began to quiz. 
 This nettl'd Tom, a foolish lout, 
 Who said, he'd not be thus held out! 
 Oh, no ! my friend, too much I prize you, 
 But, seeing you fell, I wish'd to rise you ! 
 
322 FOEMS. 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 Since death does prove that all mankind 
 To earth and dust must be consign'd; 
 Then, sure, the present phrase is just, 
 Since man, at best, is but — a dust t 
 
poems. 233 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 As when some ship upon the main, 
 By angry storms is toss'd; 
 
 The wish'd-for land she strives to gain, 
 But, while she strives — she's lost J 
 
 So 'tis with me, — for when in love, 
 With hope my heart was deck'd ; 
 
 To gain thy favor when I strove, 
 
 Oh ! then that heart was wrecked 
 
 2G 
 
234 POEMS, 
 
 And, yet, I surely think there's few 
 
 That e'er can love like me ; 
 No heart I think can beat as true 
 
 As mine does throb to thee ! 
 Oh ! Kosa, Rosa, could your heart 
 
 E'er feel a love like mine, 
 They never, never more would part, 
 
 But live in joys divine ! 
 
POEMS. 235 
 
 ON HEARING OF THE SUDDEN DEATH 
 OF A POOR MAN. 
 
 Relentless death ! thou harbinger of woe ! 
 Why wilt thou prove thyself man's direst foe i 
 Why take that man, (whose happiness lay here,) 
 From those blest ties affection makes so dear ; 
 From his lov'd family, perhaps his wife, 
 The dear companion of his well-spent life; 
 Why summon him, when others you might see 
 Doom'd but the victims of despair to be ? 
 
236 POEMS. 
 
 But, thou, stern death, but seldom will appear 
 Only to those who feel their heaven lies here ; 
 Thou'lt take the happy, snatch the blest away ; 
 But, make the wretched drag their load of clay 
 Thro* years of sufferings, despair and grief, 
 Nor grant to them thy timely, kind relief! 
 Oh, death ! thou'rt cruel as the lovely fair 
 That dooms me to the torments of despair ; 
 Like her, thou know'st my misery and woe ; 
 Like her, thou know'st it, yet no pity shew ! 
 Oh, death ! relent, thy blessed aid I crave, 
 In pity bear me to the silent grave! 
 
POEMS. 237 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 THE ELM AND VINE. 
 
 As round some elm, the tender vine, 
 In loving folds, shall oft entwine; 
 Alike they bear the storms of weather ;— 
 Alike they rise or fall together; 
 United still, — so 'tis with love, 
 When two fond hearts congenial move; 
 And, if in sorrow one should grieve, 
 Its woe the other shall relieve ; 
 
£33 poems. 
 
 And, oft with sympathising fears, 
 Shall sooth its grief, and dry its tears ; 
 In love and unity they'll wait, 
 To calmly bear the storms of fate ; 
 And, like the loving elm and vine, 
 They'll pass their hours in bliss divine! 
 
poems. 239 
 
 ELEGIAC STANZAS. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO ROSA, 
 
 'Twas not the magic of thine eye, 
 That eye of blue, so mildly beaming ; 
 
 'Twas not thy charms for which I sigh ; 
 'Twas not those charms my soul inflaming. 
 
 •T was for thy heart I fondly sigh'd; 
 
 Alas ! that it and mine should sever ; 
 *Twas for that heart — which you denied, 
 
 And, now, alas ! we part for ever ! 
 
240 POEMS. 
 
 Yet, tho* the past was spent in bliss, 
 The future brings a hopeless morrow ; 
 
 And, oh! that it should come to this, 
 The present hour is pass'd in sorrow ! 
 
 Oh ! nought on earth can cheer my doom, 
 Nor ne'er can I my peace recover, 
 
 'Till, plac'd within the silent tomb, 
 Despair, and love, and life, are over ! 
 
POEMS, 241 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO ABSENCE. 
 
 What pangs assail the lover's beating heart, 
 
 When absence oft inspires the rising sigh ; 
 
 When tears bedew the lustre of that eye, 
 Which looks, in vain, for her who caus'd the smart! 
 Yet, when two loving hearts are fore'd to part, 
 
 Then, absence, faithful, adds to Cupid's pow'r; 
 
 And, each revolving, each succeeding hour, 
 
 Serves but to sharpen his unerring dart ! 
 2 H 
 
24 2 poems. 
 
 *Tis then, when absence brings her form to view, 
 
 Tis then, the soul, in memory, does retrace 
 Each well-remember' d charm, so bright, so true, 
 
 As proves that soul — a mirror for her face ! 
 But, oh ! what mirror can reflect the fair- 
 When absent? — try this breast— oh, Rosa's there! 
 
POEMS. 243 
 
 TO CUPID. 
 
 God of Love, oh ! hear my pray'r, 
 And thy wretched suppliant spare ; 
 \ own I'm vanquish'd, own thy sway ; 
 For, ever since that fatal day 
 When first my eyes on Rosa glanc'd, 
 My heart and soul were so entranc'd, 
 That, ever since, in vain I strove 
 To free me from the pow'r of love ! 
 
244 POEMS. 
 
 Yet, 'tis not of this I complain, 
 But, of the maiden's cold disdain ; 
 For, she was surely form'd for love, 
 As every grace and charm does prove ; 
 Yet, if I praise her brilliant eyes, 
 She mocks my \ove 9 nor heeds my sighs. 
 Oh ! Cupid, Cupid, lend thy aid, 
 And warm the heart of this cold maid ; 
 And, as she 'well could love inspire, 
 Oh ! make her feel a lover's fire ! 
 But, Cupid, if e'en thy control, 
 Cannot inspire the maiden's soul 
 
 To love, then let thy mother's art, 
 
 Warm the fair one's frozen heart; 
 But, if all this in vain should be, 
 Oh, Cupid! then thy captive free. 
 
POEMS. 245 
 
 I pray thee, by th' extatic blisses 
 You've felt in Psyche's tender kisses, 
 To free me from this heart-felt pain, 
 And bid me cease to sigh in vain ! 
 
 What have I said ? forbid it love ! 
 
 Forbid it, all ye pow'rs above ! 
 Do not ! oh, do not set me free, 
 But let me still her captive be ! 
 Cupid, still closer draw thy chain, 
 And I will still thy slave remain ; 
 Nay, draw it closer, closer still, 
 And I'll obey thy restless will; 
 Until life's o'er, oh \ let me prove 
 The slave of Rosa, and of love ! 
 Oh ! do not let me plead in vain, 
 And I will even kiss the cfiain 
 
246 POEMS. 
 
 That Rosa 'twin'd around my heart, 
 When first 1 felt thy piercing dart! 
 Pity the ravings of my mind, 
 Which now to endless grief's consign'd ; 
 I own 'tis so distracted, I 
 Can scarce do any thing but sigh ; 
 And murmur oft, and oft complain, 
 And vent my griefs in love's soft strain ! 
 Then, Cupid, if you can't inspire 
 The maiden with a lover's fire, 
 E'en should she not obey thy will, 
 Oh ! let me be her lover still ! 
 
 jrmts. 
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