H 
 
 ■8 
 
 88 
 
 H 
 
 ill H 
 
 ana WW 
 IeIIhHHBh 
 
 RSWwSS BflHfll 
 
 ill 
 111 
 
£% 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 'OO 4 
 
 ^o. 
 
 A V ^ 
 
 '* > 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 "% v^ 
 
 >. .* 
 
 
 *«. 
 
 : J > c> 
 
 
 ^ V 
 
 <•> 
 
 
 
 < 
 
 * «L, 
 
 
 J 
 
 
 r ^ 
 
 
 
 i ^ 
 
 
 
 % 
 
 \<<M;§ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 s ^ 
 

 
 
 V c > 
 
 
 
 

 
O E 
 
 B Y 
 
 MARY LEADBEATER, 
 (late shackletvnJ 
 
 TO WHICH IS PREFIXED 
 
 HER TRANSLATION 
 
 OF THE 
 
 THIRTEENTH BOOK 
 
 OF THE 
 
 M N E I D; 
 
 WITH THE LATIN ORIGINAL, 
 
 WRITTEN IN THE 
 FIFTEENTH CENTURY, 
 
 BY M A F F M V € 
 
 7, 
 
 DUBLIN; 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR ; 
 
 AND PUBLISHED BT MARTIN KEENE, 
 
 COLLEGE-GREEN ; 
 
 AND LONGMAN, HURST, REES AND ORME, 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 1805. 
 
Colles, Printer, 
 
 COPE-STREET. 
 
 
T O 
 
 THOMAS BELL, M, J>. 
 
 yV H E N from Edina*s classick seat 
 Thou came, thy tasks of youth complete. 
 Prepared to tread the path to Fame, 
 Prepared to win a 'worthy name ; 
 The wreath of Science bound thy brow*, 
 Thy bosom felt the honest glow. 
 Then, to each genuine feeling just, 
 Thy tutor, fait! fid to his trust, 
 Thy young ingenuous heart appro^d^ 
 And wished to honour whom it tov'd t 
 Thou. .sought him in his calm retreat, 
 And laid thy laurels at his feet, 
 Then did those aged eyes impart 
 The pleasure of that conscious heart $ 
 That prescient heart, and eye sedate, 
 Foretold and bless* d thy future fate. 
 But now, alas, that eye is clos*d, 
 That heart with kindred dust reposed : 
 
TO THOMAS BELL, M. D. 
 
 Yet thou, who knew the spotless truth 
 
 Of him who Jbrm'd thy tender youth, 
 
 Who knew that in his guiltless breast 
 The noblest virtues lov*d to rest ; 
 Thou wilt not turn thine ear away, 
 Neglectful of his daughter's lay, 
 Who, by this untried scene dismay' d, 
 To thee, her patron, loqks for aid. 
 
 M. L. 
 
T O R. S. 
 
 THE LITERAL TRANSLATOR. 
 
 I /EAR offspring of a brother lov'd. 
 Who, while he form'd thy mind 
 
 To ev'ry deed by Truth approved, 
 The native taste refin'd ! 
 
 For me, untaught in learned lore, 
 
 Maffaeus sung in vain ; 
 Nor could my anxious wish explore 
 
 The Latian poet's strain. 
 
 Thou broke the seal : — the glowing lays 
 
 With raptur'd eyes I view : 
 My grateful Muse the tribute pays, s- 
 
 The tribute is thy due. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 >*).5£**«iBs 
 
 To Thomas Bell, M. D ,... i 
 
 To R. V S. the Literal Translator — . iii 
 
 Account of Maffaeus i 
 
 Argumentum 2 
 
 Argument 3 
 
 iEneidos Liber XIII 4 
 
 The Xlllth Book of the ^neid 5 
 
 The Negro, addressed to Edmund Burke * .j. 87 
 
 Beaconsfield, the seat of Edmund Burke. ...... 95 
 
 Letter from Edmund Burke to M. Shackleton. . . 103 
 On a report of Edmund Burke's death, and 
 
 107 
 of his son's having been lost at sea* . . 
 
 On a visit paid to Ballitore by Edmund Burke 
 
 and his son J 
 
 Mill-Park. ., 117 
 
 A Farewell to the North 123 
 
 To W. F. G. on the loss of his linnet 131 
 
 To the memory of S. E 133 
 
 The Widow. . j 39 
 
 The interment of Varus :md his legions by Germanicus 149 
 
 Epithalamium. To A. S. ., 1 55 
 
 On a grotto made by children 161 
 
 On the death of my aunt , 163 
 
C N T E N T S. 
 
 Springmount 171 
 
 Lines written in a bower ^ 177 
 
 Returning from Dublin * . . . . 179 
 
 The Mother. 183 
 
 On the death of J. M 189 
 
 The bower of Philanthropy 193 
 
 On seeing the grave of A. W. .197 
 
 The weeping willow. To T. C 201 
 
 The shipwreck. 203 
 
 Written at the foot of a list of profiles. . . . 213 
 
 Farewell to England 215 
 
 Elegy. To A. S. .... . , 219 
 
 To S. H. 223 
 
 The withered flowers 227 
 
 To C. C. on his leaving Ballitore School. . .231 
 The visit. ..... ,.....,.. 233 
 
 Extract of a letter from T. W. . 1 , • . . . 237 
 On the aforesaid visit to Hagley Park. , , . . 239 
 On the death of my beloved father. . , . . . 241 
 From Edmund Burke tQ.IYL L. on her father's death. . 247 
 
 On my father's portrait. 253 
 
 To Peace. ,....,,..,.... 255 
 
 The ruined cottage. 259 
 
 To I. S. ....... 265 
 
 For R. S's. watch. . . . . 269 
 
 r !o E. G. . > , . . . 271 
 
CONTENT S. 
 
 On W. L's. recovery from a fever. . . . . . 273 
 
 To a friend on her marriage 275 
 
 To an absent friend. 277 
 
 The Summer-evening's revel 279 
 
 The Summer-morning's destruction. . .... 285 
 
 Narraghmore wood. . 289 
 
 To the Sylphs 293 
 
 To R. C. with his brother's profile. . > • . . . 295 
 
 Reply . .-297 
 
 Charleville forest ...... 299 
 
 Inscription on a bee-house. . . , . . . . . . . 303 
 
 To Dr. C. in India 305 
 
 To B. H. on his marriage . . . 307 
 
 The triumph of Terror. ........... 309 
 
 The invitation. . . 313 
 
 The Beggar. 315 
 
 On the death of Edmund Burke 317 
 
 Letter from E. B ► .... 321 
 
 Eallitore, . ; 325 
 
 View of Baiiitore taken from Mount Bleak. . .351 
 
 On E. S. leaving Baiiitore. . 362 
 
 To T. W, 36Z 
 
 On the marriage of T. B. and H. D. . . ... 364 
 
 The poplar 3G5 
 
 To Dr. B. on behalf of Ballkore Spaw 369 
 
 On the death of L. C. aged six. 371 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Taste 372 
 
 Joshua and Mary, the aged cottagers 374 
 
 The unjust claim 379 
 
 Abby's parlour 381 
 
 To B. H. with his Aunt's profile . 384 
 
 The procession 385 
 
 On the death of my dear mother 387 
 
 To A. S. on his daughter's marriage 390 
 
 View from Mount- Anvil 394 
 
 To Edward Rushton, of Liverpool : on the recovery 
 
 i 399 
 
 395 
 of his sight. 
 
 On reading poems by a Lady 397 
 
 On the report of Charleville Castle having been } 
 destroyed by an accidental fire 
 
 Lines written on a joyful event 401 
 
 On the death of Edith L , by R. S. . . . 403 
 
 The Father to his Daughter, by the same. . ... 405 
 Oa the birth of his grandson, by the same. - - - 409 
 A Paraphrase on the second elegy of the first book 
 
 412 
 of Proper this, by the same. 
 
 A -Translation of the Nuptial song of Catullus, by } 
 
 " the same. -----3 
 
 De iter f icicndo nocte ad Coalbrook Vallem, ") 
 
 i 416 
 Auctore Ricardo Shacklcton. J 
 
 On travelling; to Coalbrook Dale, in the nisrht-time, 
 
 bv the same. 
 
MAFFMTJS VEGIO, a Latin poet, born at Lodi, 
 in Lombardy, in 1407, "who wrote several pieces in verse 
 and prose, and teas highly admired in his time, was 
 the author of a Supplement to Virgil, which he called 
 the " Thirteenth Book of the JEneid" 
 
 Julius Scaliger and Gerard Voscius have declared him 
 a great poet 
 
ARGUMENTUM. 
 
 Turnus ut extremo vitam sub Marte profundit, 
 Subdunt se Rutuli JEneae, Trojana sequentes 
 Agmina. Dehinc superis meriti redduntur honores. 
 Congaudet nato ac sociis, memor ante malorum 
 Actorum, pater tineas. Turni inde Latinus 5 
 
 Morte dolet. Patriae miseranda incendia Daunus 
 Eversae, & chari deflet pia funera nati. 
 Connubium instaurat natae laetosque hymenaeos 
 Rex socer iEneae genero. Gens utraque pacto 
 Foedere pads ovat. Turn nomine conjugis urbem 10 
 Instituit. Et tandem placida sub pace regentem 
 Transtulit JEneam Venus astra in summa beatum. 
 
THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Now, Turnus vanquish'd in the last fought field, 
 
 To great iEneas the Rutulians yield. 
 
 By these the Trojans are at once obey'd, 
 
 And well-earn'd honours to the Gods are paid. 
 
 His friends, his son, the sire iEneas greets, S 
 
 Nor past misfortunes in his joys forgets. 
 
 Latinus grieves for Turnus' death. And then 
 
 A double wo increases Daunus' pain : 
 
 His country ruin'd, and in flames he sees 5 
 
 His dear son's funeral succeeds to these. 10 
 
 iEneas now Lavinia's hand receives, 
 
 Joyful to him, her sire, Lavinia gives. 
 
 In strict alliance and in sacred peace, 
 
 Between the nations former discords cease, 
 
 Lavinia then to consecrate to fame, 15 
 
 iEneas calls his city by her name ; 
 
 And Venus, last, iEneas good and great, 
 
 Beyond the stars, transfers to heav'nly state. 
 
M N E I D O S 
 
 UBER XIII. 
 
 Morte Tumi Latini exanimantur. 
 
 1 URNUS ut extremo devictus Marte profudit* 
 Eflugientem animam ; medioque sub agmine victor, 
 Magnanimus stetit iEneas, Mavortius heros ; 
 Obstupuere omnes, gemitumque dedere Latini, 
 Et durum ex alto removentes corde dolorem, 
 Concussis cecidere animis, ceu frondibus ingens 
 Sylva dolet lapsis boreali impulsa tumultu. 
 
 * JE* 12. I ult 
 
THE 
 
 THIRTEENTH BOOK 
 
 OF THB 
 
 M N E I D. 
 
 The Latians are dismayed by the death of lurnus. 
 
 W HEN now had ceas'd the long-continued fight, 
 And Turnus, crush'd beneath superior might, 
 Pour'd forth his flying soul and dearest blood ; 
 And 'midst the army now victorious stood 
 The dauntless chief, jEneas, mighty name, 3 
 
 So long distinguish 'd in the fields of fame ; 
 Amaz'd, distress'd, the drooping Latians groan, 
 And in the bosom's deep recesses moan : 
 They sink exhausted. Thus the graceful shade, 
 When of its verdant foliage disarray 'd, 10 
 
 Mourns its lost leaves, which the rude North has torn, 
 And wild on whirling blasts regardless born. 
 
6 .ENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Latini sese JEnece subdunt. 
 
 Turn tela infigunt terras, & mucronibus haerent ; 
 Scutaque deponunt humeris, & proelia damnant ; 
 Insanumque horrent optati Martis amorem, 10 
 
 Nee frenum nunc colla pati captiva recusant, 
 Et veniam or are, & requiem finemque malorum. 
 
 Sicut acerba duo quando in certamina tauri 
 Concur runt, largo miscentes sanguine pugnam ; 
 Cuique suum pecus inclinat : sin cesserit uni 1^ 
 
 Palma duci, mox quae victo pecora ante favebant 
 Nunc sese imperio subdunt victoris, & ultro 
 Quanquam animum dolor altus habet, parere fatentur. 
 Non aliter Rutuli, licet ingens mceror adhausit 
 Pectora pulsa metu caesi ducis, inclyta malunt 2( 
 
 Arma sequi, & Phygium iEnean foedusque precari 
 Pacis, & aeternam rebus belloque quietem. 
 Tunc Turnum super assistens placido ore profatur 
 
jENEId, book Tin. 
 
 The Latians submit to JEneas. 
 
 The quivering weapons' points in earth are plac'd, 
 
 And from their shoulders the broad shields unbrac'd } 
 
 Whilst on their swords the drooping warriors lean, 15 
 
 Who late in eager transport sought the plain ; 
 
 They curse the rage of battles, and abhor 
 
 The frantick wish which urg'd them on to war. 
 
 Now to the yoke their subject necks they bend, 
 
 And pray that here the savage strife may end 20 
 
 Of war destructive, and her cruel train, 
 
 And meek-eyed Peace commence her lasting reign. 
 
 As when two bulls in furious fight engage, 
 
 And streams of blood bespeak their deadly rage, 
 
 Each by his followers prompted still to dare 25 
 
 The toils and perils of the doubtful war ; 
 
 Yet to the lordly victor of the field 
 
 The adverse herds, howe'er reluctant, yield : 
 
 Thus the Rutulians yield, thus forc'd obey 
 
 The Phrygian hero's power, and own his sway; SO 
 
 The league of peace implore him to renew, 
 
 And rest from war all suppliant now they sue. 
 
 Beside his rival's corse the mighty man, 
 The great iEneas, thus compos'd began: 
 
iENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 JEneas ad Latinos concicmatur. 
 
 JEneas : Quae tanta ammo dementia crevit 
 
 Ut Teucros, superum monitis summoque tonantis 2£ 
 
 Imperio hue vectos, patereris, Daunia proles, 
 
 Italia, & pactis nequicquam expellere tectis ? 
 
 Disce Jovem revereri, & jussa facessere Divum. 
 
 Magnum etiam capit ira Jovem ; memoresque maloruni 
 
 Sollicitat vindicta deos. En ultima tanti 30 
 
 Meta furoris adest, quo, contra jura fidemque, 
 
 Hiacam rupto turbasti foedere gentem. 
 
 Ecce suprema dies, aliis exempla sub aevum 
 
 Venturum missura, Jovem ne temnere frustra 
 
 Fas sit, k indignos bellorum accendere motus. 35 
 
 Nunc armis laetare tuis : heu, nobile corpus, 
 
 Turne jaces! At non tibi erit Lavinia parvo 
 
 Nee dextra tamen iEneae cecidisse pudebit. 
 
 Nunc, Rutuli, hinc auferte ducem vestrum, arma virumque 
 
iENEID, BOOK XIII. 9 
 
 JEneas harangues the Latians. 
 
 " Whence sprung this madness, Turnus, in thy mind, 35 
 
 T' oppose the fate the ruling Gods design'd -, 
 
 T' expel the Trojans from the destin'd land, 
 
 Their dwelling fix'd by Jove's supreme command ? 
 
 Learn, mortals, learn how vain your efforts prove, 
 
 And bow in rev'rence to the will of Jove. 40 
 
 The Gods incens'd beheld your hosts contend, 
 
 And Justice' holy bands in sunder rend. 
 
 The broken league and violated laws 
 
 The Gods beheld ; the Gods espous'd our cause I 
 
 To future ages be this day a sign, 45 
 
 And let none dare contemn the pow'rs divine, 
 
 Nor rashly kindle war with all its woes, 
 
 For vengeance surely waits to punish those. 
 
 Now, Turnus, now, thy thirst of blood is o'er, 
 
 The pride of arms shall glad thy heart no more. 50 
 
 Ah me! thy noble form in silence lies, 
 
 For ever lost to thee the beauteous prizej 
 
 Yet shall thy spirit not disdain to own 
 
 *Twas by my hand thou fell, and mine alone. 
 
 Advance, Rutulians, take the sad relief, 55 
 
 To bear the body of your breathless chief, 
 
 B 
 
10 JENEIDOS LIBER Xilf. 
 
 JEneas ad Latinos conchmatur. 
 
 Largior, atque omnem deflendae mortis honorem. 40 
 
 *Sed quae Pallantis fuerant ingentia balthei 
 
 Pondera transmittam Evandro, ut solatia caeso 
 
 Haudlevia hoste ferat, Turnoque exultet adempto. 
 
 Vos memores tamen, Ausonii, melioribus uti 
 
 Disci te bellorum auspiciis. Ego sidera juro, 45 
 
 Nunquam acies, nunquam arma libens in pradia movi, 
 
 Sedvestris actus furiis defendere toto 
 
 Optavi (& licuit) Trojanas robore partes. 
 
 Nee fatus plura iEneas se laetus ad altos 
 
 Vertebat muros, & Troia tecta petebat: 50 
 
 Una ipsa Teucrorum omnis conversa juventus 
 
 Exultans sequitur, volucresque per arva pedum vi 
 
 Quadrupedes citat incusans acriore Latinos, 
 
 Ignavosque vocans : strepit altus plausibus aether. 
 
 Et, quamvis inhumata rogis dare corpora surgat 55 
 
 Ingens cura animo, sociosque imponere flammis, 
 
 *JE. 10. 496. 
 
JE N E I D, B O O K XIIL 11 
 
 JEneas harangues the Latia?is. 
 
 His arms I yield, and to his gallant shade 
 
 Be ev'ry funeral honour freely paid. 
 
 But the rich belt, which once my Pallas wore, 
 
 To sad Evander's sight I must restore ; 60 
 
 So shall his aged heart some solace gain, 
 
 Thus shall he triumph over Turnus slain. 
 
 Taught by the past, Ausonians, cease to rage, 
 
 And future wars with better omens wage. 
 
 For me, I swear by the bright lamps of night 65 
 
 That with reluctance I engag'd in fight, 
 
 But, by your fury urg'd, my Trojan train 
 
 I hasten'd to defend, nor fought in vain i" 
 
 Here ceas'd the chief, and with elated mind 
 To gain the Trojan tents his steps inclin'd : 70 
 
 His steps the sprightly youth of Troy attend, 
 And spur their steeds, and with applauses rend 
 The echoing air, resounding far and wide, 
 Whilst scorn and taunts the Latian bands deride. 
 But great iEneas, though his mighty mind, 73 
 
 With pity rnov'd, the flaming piles design'd, 
 And all tMe honours sacred to the dead, 
 Who on the fighting field indignant bled, — 
 
12 JENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Sacrificia actioque gratiarum. 
 
 Majus opus tamen iEneas sub pectore volvens 
 Primum aris meritos superum mandabat honores. 
 Turn pingues patrio jugulant ex more juvencos, 
 Immittuntque sues, niveasque in templa bidentes 60 
 Purpuream effuso pulsantes sanguine terram : 
 Viscera diripiunt, & cassim in frusta trucidant 
 Denudantque gregem, & flammis verubusque remittunt. 
 Turn vina effundunt pateris & dona Lyaei 
 Accumulant ; plenis venerantur lancibus aras ; 63 
 
 Thura ignes adolent ; onerata altaria fumant. 
 Turn plausus per tecta movent, magnumque tonantem 
 Extollunt, Veneremque, & te, Saturnia Juno, 
 Jam placidam; & meliorem ingenti laude fatentur, 
 Mavortemque ipsum : turn caetera turba deorum 7q 
 In medium effertur, summis cum vocibus altos 
 Perlata ad coelos. Ante omnes gratior unus 
 iEneas duplices mittebat ad iEthera palmas, 
 Et puerum pauca ore dabat complexus Iiilum: 
 
2E N E I D, BOOK XIIL 13 
 
 Sacrifices and thanksgiving. 
 
 Yet greater thoughts suspend these gen'rous cares, 
 
 The off' rings due of sacrifice and prayers, 5-80 
 
 Vow'd to the Gods, the pious prince prepares. 
 
 With Trojan rites the victims forth they lead ; 
 
 The swine, the snow-white sheep, the heifers bleed ; 
 
 With spatter'd gore the temples' floors are dy'd ; 
 
 The flesh and bowels ready hands divide ; 8 5 
 
 The flames, enrich'd with morsels, bright ascend, 
 
 And groaning spits beneath their burden bend. 
 
 With Bacchus' sparkling gifts the cups are crown'd, 
 
 And altars, breathing incense, blaze around, 
 
 With peals of joy the temples' roofs resound : J 90 
 
 While ev'ry lip extols the thund'ring Jove, 
 
 The God of battles, and the Queen of love, 
 
 And thee, Saturnian Juno, now resign'd 
 
 The deadly hatred of thy lofty mind : 
 
 With praises loud thy kindness is confest, 9$ 
 
 And all the heav'nly pow'rs with thanks addrest. 
 
 But from the crowd the Trojan chief retir'd, 
 
 No witness to his vows his soul desir'd, 
 
 Then folding to his heart his hope and joy, 
 
 The young lulus, thus address'd the boy ; 10(X 
 
 } 
 
14 JENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 JEneas jilium compellat. 
 
 Nate, in quo spes una patris, per tanta laborum 75 
 
 Quern variis actus fatis discrimina duxi, 
 
 Ecce inventa quies ; ecce ilia extrema malorum 
 
 iErumnis factura modum acceptissima semper 
 
 At que opt at a dies, quam, dura in bella vocatus, 
 
 Saepe tibi diis auspicibus meminisse futuram 80 
 
 Jam memini : nunc te, cum primum Aurora rubebit 
 
 Crastina, sublimem Rutulorum ad moenia mitt am. 
 
 Dehinc se ad gentem Iliacam volvebat ; & alto 
 
 Pectore verba trahens blando sic ore locutus : 
 
 O socii, — per dura ac densa pericula vecti, 85 
 
 Per tantos bellorum aestus, duplicesque furores 
 
 Armorum, per totque hyemes, per quicquid acerbum, 
 
 Horrendum, grave, triste, ingens : per quicquid iniquum 
 
 Infaustum & crudele foret, — convertite mentem 
 
 In melius : jam finis adest, hie meta malorum 90 
 
 Stabit, & optatam Latia cum gente quietem 
 
 Jungemus : dabit inde mihi Lavinia conjux, 
 
iENEID, BOOK XIII. 15 
 
 Apneas addresses his son. 
 
 " lulus, thou, thy father's joy and pride, 
 
 Who with thy sire his toils and dangers tried, 
 
 Thy sire, so long by various fortunes tost, 
 
 His projects baffled, and his wishes crost, 
 
 Behold the day of rest arriv'd at last,. 10£ 
 
 The welcome hour which crowns our labours past. 
 
 This was the day I know was long foretold, 
 
 The Gods approving, we should yet behold. 
 
 Thee in full state to morrow I intend, 
 
 To the Rutulian walls, my son, to send/' 110 
 
 Then thus his troops the conqu'ring prince addrest, 
 
 Smiles on his lips and rapture in his breast : 
 
 " Companions, — who my fates undaunted bore, 
 
 Now tost on seas, now harass'd on the shore, 
 
 Now by the raging strife of arms enclos'd, 115 
 
 And now to winter's deadly cold expos'd, 
 
 By danger, grief and toil so often worn, 
 
 My vet'rans brave, — to happier prospects turn ; 
 
 For here our lengthen'd labours all shall cease, 
 
 Now shall we hail the long-desired peace : 120 
 
 Mix'd with the Latian line, the precious band 
 
 That joins us shall be fair Lavinia's hand : 
 
16 ^NEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 — ; 
 
 JEneas Trojanos compellat. 
 
 Bello acri defensa, Italo cum sanguine mixtam 
 Trojanam transferre aeterna in secula gent em. 
 Unum oro, socii, Ausonios communiter aequo 95 
 
 Ferte animo, & vosmet socero observate Latino ; 
 Sceptrum idem sublime geret. Sententia mentem 
 Haec habet : at bello vos & praestantibus armis 
 Discite me, & pietate sequi ; quae gloria nobis 
 Cesserit in promptu est : sed (ccelum & sidera test or) 100 
 Qui vos tantorum eripui de clade malorum, 
 Idem ego sub major a potens vos praemia ducam. 
 Talibus orabat : variosque in pectore casus 
 Praeteritos volvens, partamque labore quietem 
 Haud parvo, nimium ardenti exundabat amore 105 
 In Teucros, gravibus tandem evasisse periclis 
 Exultans : velut exiguis cum ex aethere gyranji 
 
iE N E I D, BOOK XIII. 17 
 
 • ; ' ' ■■ ■ ' 
 
 Mneas addresses his Troops. 
 
 . ■ . . i =- 
 
 Then shall the Trojan and Italian blood 
 
 Through unborn ages roll a mingled flood. 
 
 Companions brave, now let th'Ausonians prove 125 
 
 With you the compact of fraternal love : 
 
 Latinus, venerable prince, obey, 
 
 Be his the regal pow'r and sov'reign sway. 
 
 This I resolve : but in the fields of fame, 
 
 To lead you still to deeds of arms I claim. 130 
 
 And, as before the righteous Gods I bend, 
 
 So may your pious prayers to heav'n ascend; 
 
 The glory which my better fortunes yield, 
 
 Now to admiring nations is reveal'd ; 
 
 Yet witness heav'n, and ev'ry lucid star, 135 
 
 That I, who snatch'd you from the wreck of war, 
 
 My Trojans, I will lead you on to fame, 
 
 Still worthier of your deeds, and of your name." 
 
 Thus whilst he spoke, within his mind arose ~l 
 
 The thoughts of present peace and former woes, >140 
 
 And with full tides his swelling heart o'erflows. J 
 
 With ardent eyes his much-lov'd band he view'd, 
 
 And haiFd their safety from the field of blood. 
 
18 JEN E ID OS LIBER XIII. 
 
 JEnece Lee tithe. 
 
 Incubuit pullis, & magno turbine milvus 
 
 Insiliens avido ore furit, stragemque minatur: 
 
 Turn cristata ales, perculso pectore, mater 110, 
 
 Consurgit misero natorum exterrita casu, 
 
 Rostrum acuit, totisque petit conatibus hostem 3 
 
 Et multa expulsum vi tandem cedere cogit ; 
 
 Dehinc perturbatos crocitans exquirit, & omnes 
 
 Attonitos cogit pro charis anxia natis, 115 
 
 Et tanto ereptos gaudet super esse periclo : 
 
 Non secus Anchisa genitus mulcebat amicis 
 
 Trojanos dictis, antiquum corde timorem 
 
 Flagrantesque agitans curas, & gaudia longis 
 
 Tandem parta malis ; & quae perferre molestum 120 
 
 Ante fuit meminisse juvat. Verum altior idem 
 
 Ingenti & clara iEneas supereminet omnes 
 
 Virtute excellens, & pro tot numina donis 
 
 Exorat, summisque Jovem cum laudibus effert. 
 
iENEID, BOOK XIII. 19 
 
 Joyful feelings of JEneas. 
 
 So when the kite rapacious cleaves the sky, 
 
 With wheeling flight, descending from on high, 145 
 
 Where from the parent hen the chirping brood 
 
 Seek the warm shelter, and receive the food ; 
 
 With sharpen'd beak, and wide-extended claw. 
 
 The foe prepares to glut his greedy maw : 
 
 The mother, all alarm'd, then rears her crest, 150 
 
 And beats with flutt'ring wings her anxious breast, 
 
 Strong in the cause of nature, meets the foe, 
 
 And guards her offspring from th'impending wo, 
 
 Renews her efforts, calls forth all her might, 
 
 And the invader puts at length to flight ; ] 55 
 
 Then cackling loud, collects her frighted train, 
 
 And joys to spread her shelt'ring wings again. 
 
 Anchises' son, thus careful, and thus kind, 
 
 With soothing accents charm'd each warrior's mind ; 
 
 From his light heart the scenes of sufFring fly, 160 
 
 Or but remember'd to increase his joy. 
 
 Foremost in deeds of arms, with pious love 
 
 The foremost he to hail the pow'rs above, 
 
 And render highest praise to mighty Jove. 
 
 i 
 
20 iENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Latinorum <§• Rutulorum qfflictio. 
 
 Interea Rutuli magnum & miserabile funus 125 
 
 Exanimumque ducem tulerant sub tecta frequentes, 
 Correpti moerore animos, largumque pluentes 
 Imbrem oculis, & jam lato clamor e Latinum 
 Defessum, & varios agitantem pectore casus 
 Complerant : qui postquam altos crebrescere questus, 1 30 
 * Et Turnum ingenti confossum vulnere vidit, 
 Haud tenuit lachrymas ; dehinc mcestum lenit agmen, 
 Corripuit manibus verbisque silentia ponens. 
 Ceu spumantis apri quando per viscera dentes 
 Fulmineos canis excepit prasstantior omni 135 
 
 Ex numero ; tunc infausto perterrita casu 
 Caetera turba fugit latratum, atque ore magistrum 
 Circumstans querulo pavitat, magnoque ululatu 
 Infremit, ac commota manu dominique jubentis 
 Ore silet, gemitumque premit, seseque coercet : 140 
 Haud aliter Rutuli suppressa voce quierunt. 
 Tunc sic illachrymans rex alto corde Latinus 
 
 # M. 12. 950. 
 
iE N E I D, BOOK XIII. 21 
 
 Distress of Latinus and the Rutulians. 
 
 Meantime the sad Rutulians, pierc'd with grief, 16£ 
 
 With streaming tears lament their breathless chief: 
 
 The lifeless corse is slowly born along, 
 
 The corse surrounded by a mourning throng. 
 
 And now the gath'ring sounds approaching near, 
 
 The plaintive clamours smite Latinus' ear ; 170 
 
 Pensive he sat, with anxious cares opprest, 
 
 Revolving various chances in his breast. 
 
 And now he hears the cause of all their wo, 
 
 That Turnus, crush'd beneath a mighty blow, 
 
 Now breathes no more ; his bosom heaves with sighs, 175 
 
 And tears fast streaming dim his aged eyes. 
 
 Gently he wav'd his hand, their grief restrain'd, 
 
 And silence through the mournful army reign'd. 
 
 As when the foaming boar his life defends, 
 
 And with fell fangs the pack's bold leader rendfe, 180 
 
 Aloof his fellows gaze with sad surprise, 
 
 And round their master utter fearful cries ; 
 
 Till, aw'd to silence by his threat'ning hand^ 
 
 They cease complaining, and obsequious stand. 
 
 So the Rutulians stood with voice supprest, 185 
 
 Whilst thus the careful prince with heaving breast s 
 
TZ iENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Latinus sese lamentatur. 
 
 Verba dabat : Quantos humana negotia motus 
 
 Alternasque vices miscent ! quo turbine fertur 
 
 Vita hominum ! O fragilis damnosa superbia sceptri ! 145 
 
 O furor ! O nimium dominandi innata cupido, 
 
 Mortales quo caeca vehis ? quo gloria tantis 
 
 Innatos transfers animps quaesita periclis ? 
 
 Quot tecum insidias, quot mortes, quanta malorum 
 
 Magnorum tormenta geris ? quot tela, quot enses 150 
 
 Ante oculos (si cernis) habes ? heu dulce venenum, 
 
 Et mundi lethalis honos ! heu tristia regni 
 
 Munera, quae haud parvo constent ; & grandia rerum 
 
 Pondera, quae nunquam placidam promittere pacem, 
 
 Nee requiem conferre queant ! heu sortis acerbae 155 
 
 Et miserse regale decus, magnoque timori 
 
 Suppositos regum casus pacique negatos ! 
 
 Quid, Turne, ingenti Ausoniam movisse tumultu ? 
 
 Et dura JEneadas turbasse in bella coactos? 
 
JE N E I D, BOOK XIII. ft 
 
 Latin us laments his own situation. 
 
 " What changes on the lot of man await ! 
 
 What toils, what tumults vex his transient state; 
 
 Whilst restless as the rapid whirlwind's strife, 
 
 Speeds the short circle of his busy life ! 1 90 
 
 How oft, though mighty hands the sceptre guide, 
 
 How oft in ruin ends its tow'ring pride ! 
 
 Desire of rule, and thirst of boundless sway 
 
 Have blindly led unthinking men astray : 
 
 O glory! through such mighty perils sought, 195 
 
 To what thy haughty vot'ries hast thou brought ? 
 
 For in thy path innum'rous ills abound, 
 
 There snares and death in ev'ry form are found. 
 
 Envenom'd are thy sweets with deadly hate, 
 
 Too dearly purchas'd all thy glitt'ring state : 200 
 
 The cares of empire crush the weary mind, 
 
 And placid quiet is for these resign'd* 
 
 The sparkling circle on the regal brow 
 
 But marks the victim of superior wo : 
 
 Hard is the fate of kings, to tumults prone, 205 
 
 And wars & dangers shake th'unsteady throne. 
 
 Why, Turnus, hast thou caus'd these mighty harms ? 1 
 
 Why fill'd Ausonia's land with wars alarms, > 
 
 And mov'd the Trojans' martial band to arms? J 
 
24 JENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Tumi temeritatem Latinus lament atur. 
 
 Quid juvat & violasse sacrae promissa quietis 160 
 
 Pignora ? quae tibi tanta animo impatientia venit ? 
 Ut Martem cum gente deum jussuque tonantis 
 Hue vecta gereres, & nostris pellere tectis 
 Ultro instans velles, nataeque abrumpere foedus 
 Pollicitae genero iEneae, & me bella negante 16S 
 
 Dura movere manu ? quae tanta insania mentem 
 Implicuit ? quoties te in saevi Martis euntem 
 Agmina, sublimemque in equo & radiantibus armis 
 Tentavi revocare, & iter suspendere cceptum 
 Corripui, & pavitans cedentem in limine frustra ? 1 70 
 Inde ego quanta tuli ? testantur mcenia tectis 
 Semirutis magnique albentes ossibus agri, 
 Et Latium toto vacuatum robore, & ingens 
 Exitium, fluviique humana caede rubentes, 
 
M N E I D, BOOK XI. 25 
 
 Latinus laments the rashness of Turnus. 
 
 What boots it to have rent the sacred ties 210 
 
 Of compact made before th'attesting skies ? 
 
 Why did thy spirit with impatience rage, 
 
 And headlong thus the deadly combat wage 
 
 Against those chiefs, a heav'n-descended band, 
 
 Who sought these shores by mighty Jove's command ? 215 
 
 My faith I plighted, and my daughter's love, 
 
 Yet with what madness did thy fury move ! 
 
 In vain I reason'd, I forbade in vain, 
 
 Thou spreadst the waste of slaugther oe'r the plain. 
 
 Whilst thou thy fiery steed exulting prest, 220 
 
 Sublime in radiant arms and tow'ring crest, 
 
 Seeking with fearless soul the scene of blood, 
 
 Where cruel Mars in direful triumph rode \ 
 
 How oft would I have call'd thee from the strife, 
 
 While trembling for thy honour or thy life ! 225 
 
 But what I suffer'd, what the woes I bare, 
 
 Let my fall'n tow'rs and ruin'd towns declare y 
 
 My fertile fields, once pleasant to the sight, 
 
 Now with the bones of slaughter'd Latians white ; 
 
 My kingdom drain'd, its rivers red with gore 230 
 
 Of myriads bleeding on the purple shore ; 
 
 D 
 
26 JENEID OS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Mortem Tumi deplorat Lalinus. 
 
 Et longi trepidique metus, durique labores, 175 
 
 Ouos toties senior per tanta pericula cepi. 
 
 At nunc, Turne, jaces ! Ubinam generosa juventac 
 
 Gloria, & excellens animus? quo splendidus altae 
 
 Frontis honos ? quonam ilia decens it frontis imago ? 
 
 Ah ! quantas Dauno lachrymas acresque dolores, 1 80 
 
 lurne, dabis ? quanto circumfluet Ardea fletu ? 
 
 Sed non degeneri & pudibundo vulnere fossum 
 
 Aspiciet ! saltern hoc miserae solamen habebit 
 
 Mortis, ut iEnese Trojani exceperis ensem ! 
 
 Haec fatus, lachrymisque genas implevit obortis ; 185 
 
 Turn sese ad turbam volvens, miserabile corpus 
 
 Attolli, & charum mcesti genitoris ad urbem 
 
 Deferri, atque pios fieri mandabat honores. 
 
 Mox circumfusi Rutuli toto agmine cassum 
 

 iENEID BOOK XIITv 27 
 
 Latinus laments the death of Turuus. 
 
 Myself with age and perils sore opprest, 
 
 Unwonted cares have broke my needful rest. 
 
 Now, Turnns, there thy faded glories lie, 
 
 Where the bright flame that fed thy sparkling eye ? 235 
 
 Where is the noble front, the dauntless mien ? 
 
 And where the gallant mind in danger all serene ? 
 
 Alas ! what tears shall hapless Daunus shed ! 
 
 How shall the streets of Ardea wail the dead ! 
 
 Yet shall thy sire thy fall unblushing view, 240 
 
 Through no dishonest wound thy spirit flew : 
 
 And may this thought his grief with triumph blend, 
 
 'Twas but to great JEneas thou could'st bend !" 
 
 He spoke, and wept, then turning to the crowd, 
 
 Who round the breathless chief in sorrow bow'd, 245 
 
 He bade them with the lov'd remains retire 
 
 To the lorn city and the mournful sire, 
 
 There pious honours on the dead bestow, 
 
 And sooth with fun'ral rites the mighty wo. 
 
 His wise commands the pensive troops obey'd, 250 
 
 And, gath'ring round, a spacious circle made: 
 
 Then the slain youth with gentle hands they rear, 
 
 Weep o'er his wounds, while on th'untimely bier; 
 
28 JENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Tumi corpus Latinus reddit. 
 
 Sublimem ingenti juvenem posuere feretro. 190 
 
 Multa super Teucrum raptorum insignia secum, 
 
 Et galeas, & equos, ensesque & tela ferentes; 
 
 Post currus Phrygia sudantes caede sequuntur. 
 
 It lachrymans, & ducit equum docta arte Metiscus* 
 
 Rorantem, & fletu madidum qui vexerat ante 195 
 
 Victorem Turnum, atque hostili strage furentem. 
 
 Hinc alii versa arma gerunt ; turn csetera pubes 
 
 Flens sequitur, largisque humectat pectora guttis. 
 
 Et jam fessi ibant per muta silentia noctis 
 
 Caedentes sese, gressumque in tecta Latinus 200 
 
 Flexerat ; ingenti turbatus funere mentem. 
 
 Una omnes lachrymas matres, puerique, senesque 
 
 Fundebant, moestam implentes mugitibus urbem. 
 
 Inscius at tantos Daunus superesse dolor es, 
 
 Et natum, extremo consumptum Marte, superbam 205 
 
 * JE. 12. 469. 
 
^NEID BOOK XIII. 29 
 
 Latinus sends the body of Turnus home. 
 
 His graceful limbs with decent care are plac'd, 
 
 Th'untimely bier with martial trophies grac'd ; 255 
 
 These crested helms, those swords and arrows bore, 
 
 Whose bloody points still smok'd with Phrygian gore. 
 
 Metiscus next advances on the plain, 
 
 Whilst briny show'rs his manly cheek distain : 
 
 He leads the warrior-steed, the steed which late 260 
 
 Bore his brave master to the field of fate, 
 
 When ev'ry pulse with native courage beat, 
 
 And battle's thundering din was musick sweet. 
 
 Next with inverted arms a train appear, 
 
 And melancholy youths bring up the sorrowing rear, 265 
 
 Their bosoms wet with tears of duteous love, 
 
 Through the dead stillness of the night they move. 
 
 Latinus sees them go ; his steps he turn'd, 
 
 And sought the Latian tents and inly mourn'd. 
 
 Matrons, old men, and boys, with mingPd cries 270 
 
 And loud complainings, pierce the pitying skies. 
 
 Not yet the heavy news to Daunus flew, 
 
 Not yet his son's untimely fate he knew, 
 
 That his brave spirit sought the shades below, 
 
 And that his fall gave conquest to the foe; 275 
 
30 JENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Ardea conflagrans. 
 
 EfFundisse animam, largisque ad moenia duci 
 
 Cum lachrymis : alios gemitus curasque fovebat ; 
 
 Namque ex di versa caderent dum parte Latini, 
 
 Et calido Turnus fcedaret sanguine terrain, 
 
 Urbem ingens flamma & muros invaserat altos, 210 
 
 Fumabatque rutis miser i patris Ardea tectis, 
 
 Et tota in cinerem vergebat, & astra /avillae 
 
 Altivobe implebant ; nee spes plus ulla salutis : 
 
 Sive quidem sic diis placitum est, seu praescia Turni 
 
 Signum ut fata darent horrendo marte perempti. 213 
 
 Extemplo concussi animos, turbataque cives 
 
 Pectora caedentes, miserandae sortis iniquum 
 
 Deflebant casum, longoque ex ordine matres, 
 
 Atque avidos totis fugiebant viribus ignes. 
 
 Ac veluti cum nigra cohors posuere sub alta 220 
 

 JENEID, BOOK XIII. SI 
 
 Ardea inflames. 
 
 Knew not that even now approaching near 
 
 His followers bore him lifeless on the bier : 
 
 Far other cares his weary mind opprest, 
 
 Far other fears alarm'd his aged breast; 
 
 For whilst the Latians fell with many a wound, 280 
 
 And Turnus' blood yet reek'd upon the ground, 
 
 Ev'n in that hour of fate the flames aspire, 
 
 And wrap his Ardea's stately walls in fire. 
 
 Columns of ruddy smoke invade the sky, 
 
 And high in air the whirling cinders fly : 285 
 
 The falling roofs with hideous crash resound, 
 
 Safety is fled, and danger stalks around. 
 
 Whether the Gods decreed this dire event, 
 
 Or whether fate prophetic warning sent, 
 
 By this dread sign, of Turnus' overthrow, 290 
 
 His stately city lies in ashes low, 
 
 With terror, anguish, and amazement fill'd, 
 
 And the dread waste with streaming eyes beheld. 
 
 The sons of Ardea shunn'd the horrid sight, 
 
 And trembling matrons urg'd their speedy flight. 295 
 
 So when the sable ants, with patient care, 
 
 Their dwellings and their magazines prepare, 
 
32 ^ENE ID OS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Ardeatum dolores. 
 
 Arbore, & in fissa radice cubilia longo 
 Formicae instantes operi, si dura securis 
 Incumbat, versoque infringat culmine parvas 
 Saeva casas, mox certatim sese agmine sparso 
 Corripiunt, mcestasque fuga, trepidaeque feruntur. 22f 
 Et velut ignitum testudo eversa calorem 
 Cum sensit, luctata diu, pedibusque renitens, 
 Caudam agitansque caput, magna vi cedere tentat, 
 JEstuat ; & multa insidians conamina miscet : 
 Haud aliter miseri per tanta pericula cives 230 
 
 Jactabant sese, & turbata mente ferebant. 
 Ante omnes senio confectus ad iEthera voces 
 Fundebat querulas Daunus superosque vocabat. 
 *Tum vero e mediis visa est consurgere flammis, 
 Percussisque ales volkare per aera pennis, 122s 
 
 Indicium nomenque urbis versae ardea servans 
 
 * V. Ov. Met 14. 573. $ seq. 
 
} 
 
 M N € I D, BOOK XIII. 33 
 
 Sufferings of the Ardeans. 
 
 Where the tall tree extends its leafy shade, 
 
 Amid the spreading roots securely laid ; 
 
 Should the fell axe inflict the ruthless wound, ~) 300 
 
 To lay the verdant honours on the ground, 
 
 And ev'ry little cell in dust confound: 
 
 Alarm'd, distrest, the frighted squadrons move, 
 
 And here and there in wild disorder rove. 
 
 Or as a tortoise, if a cruel hand 305 
 
 Lay on his shelly back the flaming brand ; 
 
 Soon as his render body feels the heat, 
 
 He shakes his head, he writhes his struggling feet, 
 
 Each effort tries, finds ev'ry effort vain, 
 
 And madly rages with the torturing pain. 310 
 
 Thus torn with grief, thus harass'd and dismay'd, 
 
 The wretched Ar deans, all disorderd, strayd. 
 
 Above the rest the aged Daunus moans, 
 
 And oft invokes the Gods with piercing groans. 
 
 But, strange to tell, from out the furious flame, 315 
 
 A bird, on soaring wing, uninjur'd came : 
 
 The ruin'd city in this sign survives, 
 
 And in the bird the name of Ardea lives ; 
 
 E 
 
34 JENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Daunus corpori jilii occurrit. 
 
 Et cui sublimes stabant in moenibus arces, 
 
 Mutata effusis nunc circumlabitur alls. 
 
 Attoniti novitate omnes, monitisque Deorum 
 
 Haud parvis confusi, humeros atque ora tenebant, 240 
 
 At Daunus patriae ardenti concussus amore 
 
 Eversae, duros gemitus sub corde premebat. 
 
 Haec inter magno volitans praenuncia mota 
 
 Fama ruit, latisque animos clamoribus implet, 
 
 Adventare novum multo cum milite funus, 214 
 
 Et Turnum exanimem, & lethali vulnere victum. 
 
 Mox turbati omnes nigras duxere frequentes 
 
 Incensas ex more faces ; ardentibus agri 
 
 Collucent flammis : dehinc se venientibus addunt : 
 
 Quos postquam toto videre ex agmine matres, 25(k 
 
 Percussis vocem palmis ad sidera tollunt. 
 
 At Daunus, chari ut patuerunt funera nati, 
 
 Substitit \ h demum ingenti correpta dolore 
 
JENEID, BOOK XIIL 35 
 
 Daunus meets the corse of his son* 
 
 And she, whose lofty tow'rs once pierc'd the skies, 
 Transformed now, on outstretch'd pinions flies. 320 
 Astonish'd at the change, and at the sign. 
 All bow'd in silence to the hand divine. 
 But Daunus, who his hapless city lov'd 
 With fervent zeal, with passion unreprov'd, 
 Beheld its fate with anguish ill supprest, 325 
 
 And hid his stifled sorrows in his breast. 
 Prophetic fame now warns the trembling train, 
 That, near approaching o'er the dusky plain, 
 Moves a strange fun'ral with a martial band, 
 And ev'ry ensign of supreme command : 330 
 
 'Twas Turnus sure whose noble corse they^brought. 
 On whom foul death his direful triumph wrought. 
 Swift at the word they rush with wild affright, 
 And blazing torches chase the gloom of night ; 
 They see their much-lov'd captain born along, 335 
 
 And join, with loud laments, the fun'ral throng : 
 The matrons clap their hands with frantick cries, 
 And plaintive clamours strike the starry skies. 
 When now his son's funereal pomp he view'd, 
 Awhile aghast the wretched Daunus stood ; 540 
 
36 iENEXDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Super Jtlii corpus Daunns iamentatur. 
 
 Ora movens, medium sese furibundus in agmen 
 
 Proripuit: Turnumque super prostratus, & haerens, 255 
 
 Quum primum fari potuit, sic edidit ore : 
 
 Nate, patris dolor, h fessae miser anda senectae 
 
 Rupta quies ! quo me, tantis jactate periclis, 
 
 Duxisti, et saevis tandem devicte sub armis? 
 
 Quo tua me praestans animi constantia vexit ? 260 
 
 Hie clarae virtutis honos, & gloria sceptri? 
 
 Hoc magm decus imperii? talesne triumphos, 
 
 Nate, refers? haec ilia quies promissa parenti 
 
 Afflicto toties ? haec meta optata laborum ? 
 
 Heu miserum! quam praecipites labentia casus 26 5 
 
 Saecla agitant! quanto volvuntur fata tumultu ! 
 
 Qui jam sublimes referebas clarus honores, 
 
 Et magnus toto in Latio, quern Troes in armis 
 
 Horrendum, & trepidi toties sensere furentem : 
 
2E N E I D, BOOK XIII. 37 
 
 Daunus laments over the corse of his son. 
 
 Then rais'd his eyes, and, torn with passion wild, 
 
 Rush'd through the weeping army to his child. 
 
 Long to the clay-cold corse the father clung, 
 
 And o'er the bier in speechless anguish hung ; 
 
 At length his bursting griefs an utt'rance found, 345 
 
 And thus he spoke, his words in sorrow drown'd : 
 
 44 My son, thy father's grief, whose peace is lost, 
 
 Thy hapless sire O whither hast thou tost? 
 
 And hath thy valour earn'd this doleful day, 
 
 Conquer'd at length, and fall'n to fate a prey I 350 
 
 Is this the honour by thy courage won ? 
 
 Is this the sceptre I design'd my son ? 
 
 Are these grim wounds fair empire's promis'd charms, 
 
 And these the triumphs of thy conqu'ring arms? 
 
 Is this the quiet my worn age desir'd ? 355 
 
 Thi the reward to which my hopes aspir'd ? 
 
 Alas ! what change in time's swift varying tide 
 
 The fates roll an to sorrows yet untried ! 
 
 He who so late in highest glory rose, 
 
 Rever'd through Latium, dreaded by his foes, 3(50 
 
 Who on their rear so oft with fury fell, 
 
 That happy he who 'scan'd their lot to tell:-*- 
 
58 iENElDOS LIBER XIIL 
 
 Continua lamentatio. 
 
 Nunc, mi Turne, jaces, miserandum & flebile corpus ! 270 
 Jam mutum est sine voce caput ! quo pulchrior alter 
 Non fuit in tota Ausonia, nee gratior ullus 
 Eloquio, nee quis positis ingentior armis! 
 Nate, ubi forma nitens? niveaque in fronte serenus 
 Iste decor, dulcisque oculorum aspectus, & altee 275 
 Sidereus cervicis honos ? his gloria Martis 
 Contigit auspiciis! tali rediture paratu, 
 Discedens voluisti avidis te credere bellis! 
 Heu mortem invisam, quae sola ultricibus armis 
 Elatos frenas animos, communia toti 280 
 
 Genti sceptra tenens, aeternaque fcedera servans ! 
 Qu3e magnos parvosque teris ! quae fortibus sequas 
 Imbelles, populisque duces, seniumque juventae. 
 Heu mortem obscuram ! qux causa indigna coegit 
 Eripere at que meum crudeli vulnere natum 285 
 
 Afficere ? O felix tarn grato caedis, Amata, 
 Successu laetare tuse : quae tanta dolorum 
 Fugisti monumenta, gravisque immania casus 
 
JE N E I D, BOOK XIII. 39 
 
 Continued lamentation. 
 
 Alas, my Turnus, of thy mighty pains, 
 
 A breathless, mangled corse alone remains. 
 
 Cold is that cheek, and pale, and stain'd with gore, 365 
 
 That form, the boast of Latium, charms no more: 
 
 Mute are those lips, whence elocution flow'd ; 
 
 For not to arms alone his fame he ow'd ! 
 
 Alas, my son, where are thy graces now, 
 
 The winning aspect, and the lofty brow, 370 
 
 That mien majestic, and that eye of fire ? 
 
 That eye for ever closM on thine unhappy sire ! 
 
 With willing mind thou sought'st the greedy war, 
 
 Thus to return, this thy triumphal car! 
 
 Detested Death ! the sjen'rous mind must bend 313 
 
 Beneath thy sceptre, and all projects end. 
 
 Thy pow'r reluctant all mankind obey, 
 
 The strong, the weak, are subject to thy sway : 
 
 Fix'd the decree which gave thee sov'reig.n pow'r, 
 
 Nor human force, or foresight rul'd that hour. 3SO 
 
 O gloomy Death ! within thy sullen shade, 
 
 Say why hast thou my noble Turnus laid ? 
 
 Escap'd the pangs which agitate my breast, 
 
 fclappy Amata, in thy death how blest ! 
 
40 iE N E I D O S LIBER XIII. 
 
 Continua lamentatio. 
 
 Pondera! Quid misero genitori plura paratis, 
 
 O superi ? natum rapuistis ! & Ardea nammis 290 
 
 Consumpta in cinerem versa est ! nunc aethera pennis 
 
 Verberat ! ah me, Turne, tua plus csede cruento ! 
 
 Deerat adhuc fors ista patris suprema senectae. 
 
 At vero tali se res cum fcedere versant 
 
 Ut, quern infesta furens miserum fortuna moratur, 29o 
 
 Ilium omni petat infrendens, & turbine cogat. 
 
 Dixerat ; & multa illachrymans largo ora rigabat 
 
 Imbre, trahens duros gemitus rapidosque dolores : 
 
 Quails, ubi incubuit validus Jovis unguibus ales, 
 
 Et parvum effuso divulsit sanguine foetum, 300 
 
 Cerva videns miseri turbatur funere nati. 
 
 Postera lux latum splendore impleverat orbem ; 
 
 Tunc pater infractos fatali Marte Latinus 
 
 Pefecisse videns Italos, totamque potenti 
 
 Cedere fortunam iEnex; bellique tumultum, 205 
 
JENEID, -BOOK XIII. 41 
 
 Continued lamentation. 
 
 And now, ye Gods, what have ye yet in store 385 
 To heap upon th'afflicted father more ? 
 'Twas you ordain'd my gallant son should bleed ! 
 My flaming city your commands decreed ! 
 Lov'd Ardea, my solace and my care, 
 Now beats with outstretch'd wings the yielding air ! 390 
 But, Turnus, for thy death my sorrows flow ; 
 This stroke was wanting to complete my wo ! 
 'Tis destin'd thus to mortals (bitter day !) 
 What fortune leaves us, death must rend away." 
 He spoke ; and briny torrents bathe his eyes, 395 
 His bosom pants with groans and heaving sighs : 
 As, when the tow'ring eagle seeks the lawn, 
 And rends, with ruthless beak, the tender fawn, 
 The parent hind, with unavailing grief, 
 Beholds her young expire without relief. 400 
 
 When now the dawn of morning cheer'd the view, 
 And o'er the world its opening radiance threw, , 
 Latinus, hoary sire, within his mind 
 Revolv'd past scenes, and future plans design'd : 
 He saw to fate the Latian forces yield, 405 
 
 And great iEneas victor of the field; 
 
 F 
 
42 JENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Lalinus ad JEnean legationem mandat. 
 
 Ingentesque animo curas, & fcedera volvens 
 Connubii promissa, suae nataeque hymenaeos ; 
 Praestantes vocat electos ex agmine toto 
 Mille viros, qui Dardanium comitentur ad urbem ; 
 Spectatum virtute ducem, jungitque togatos 310 
 
 Multa oratores memorans ; & euntibus ultro 
 Imperat tit (quando auspiciis monitisque deorum 
 Trojanam miscere Italo cum sanguine gentem 
 Expediat) placido intersint animoque revisant, 
 JEneadasque vehant alta intra moenia laeti. 315 
 
 Interea ipse urbem labefactam & vulgus inerme 
 Componit, solidatque animos, requiemque futuram 
 Spondet, & aeternam ventura in saecula pacem. 
 Inde jubet meritos, turba plaudente, triumphos, 
 Sublimesque domfts fieri regalis hcmores; 3£9 
 
JENEID, BOOK XIII, 43 
 
 Latinus sends an embassy to JEneas. 
 
 Then, poncTring deep within his anxious thought 
 
 The promis'd marriage, and th'alliance sought, 
 
 A thousand warriors, a selected band, 
 
 Forthwith he calls, and issues his command, 410 
 
 The Dardan chief with honours due to greet, 
 
 And lead triumphant to the regal seat. 
 
 With these the skilful orators depart, 
 
 With flowing robes and well-instructed art ; 
 
 To whom he gives in charge (since heav'n's command, 415 
 
 And fate's decrees, which must unalter'd stand, 
 
 Had wilPd the Trojan and the Latian line 
 
 From this eventful hour should ever join) 
 
 To hail, with words of peace and actions kind,, 
 
 The Trojans with Laurentum's sons combin'd, 4 4 20 
 
 And to the city walls, without delay, 
 
 Their Phrygian allies joyfully convey. 
 
 Himself meantime cheers his dejected town, 
 
 And unarm'd subjects, aw d by fortune's frown ; 
 
 Calms their worn minds, and bids their sorrows cease 5 425 
 
 And hails the balmy gifts of sacred peace. 
 
 Then he directs rtew triumphs to be made, 
 
 And all the honours of his house display'dv 
 
44 ^ENEIDOS liber xiil 
 
 Legatio castra Trqjana advenit. 
 
 Atque alacris monet unanimes ut fronte serena 
 
 Occurrant genero venienti, & pectore toto 
 
 Excipiant gentem Iliacam, magnisque receptent 
 
 Plausibus, optataeque effundant pacis amores. 
 
 Jamque instructa cohors Teucrorum castra subibat, 325 
 
 Cincta comas ramis oleae, pacemque rogabat. 
 
 Quam bonus .Eneas ad se intra regia duci 
 
 Tecta jubet, causamque viae placido ore requirit. 
 
 Tunc senior sic incipiens ardentia Drances* 
 
 Verba movet, nimium erepti pro funere Turni 330 
 
 Exultans : O Trojanae dux inclyte gentis, 
 
 Gloria spesque Phrygum ! quo nee pietate nee armis 
 
 * M. 11. 222. 236. 
 
} 
 
 M N E I D, BOOK XIII. 45 
 
 The embassy arrive at the Trojan camp. 
 
 His people warns with one accord to meet 
 
 His future son, and his arrival greet 430 
 
 With courteous rev'rence, whilst his Ilians find 
 
 Love in each aspect, candour in each mind, 
 
 To peaceful wishes ev'ry heart resigned. 
 
 And now th'instructed cohort sped their way, 
 
 And reach'd the camp where great iEneas lay; 435 
 
 Demanding peace, they trod the hostile ground, 
 
 Their manly brows with verdant olive crown'd. 
 
 The good iEneas saw ; and straightway sent 
 
 To guide their footsteps to the regal tent : 
 
 Then with mild words to know th'occasion sought, 440 
 
 That to the Trojan host the Latians brought. 
 
 Then thus spoke Drances, elder of the train ; 
 
 Fierce was his speech, and vaunting was his strain , 
 
 Alas, too much exulting in the blow 
 
 Which laid the brave, the gallant Turnus low : 445 
 
 " O chief renown'd, who leads't the Trojan host, 
 
 Hope of the Phrygians, and the Phrygians' boast, 
 
 Whose glorious name the world has ne'er beheld 
 
 In feats of arms, or pious faith exceJTd, — 
 
m iENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Drances ad JEnean concionatur. 
 
 Major in orbe fuit! victi obtestamur & omnes 
 Juramusque deosque deasque, invitus in unum 
 Conflatum vidit Latium, & temerata Latinus 335 
 
 Fcedera; nee Phrygios unquam turbavit honores, 
 Quin natae (quando superum sic vota ferebant) 
 Connubia, & generum magno te optabat amore : 
 Sed quicquid tanto armorum flagrante tumultu, 
 Tantorum furiisque operum atque laborious actum est, 340 
 Id rabidus Turni, & stimulis incensus iniquis 
 Confectusque odiis, furor attulit. Hie negantes 
 Invitasque dedit Latias in prcelia gentes. 
 Ulum omnis conversa cohors poscebat ut armis 
 Cederet, & magnum sineret suceedere pactis 345 
 
 Connubiis Anchisiaden : inde optimus ambas 
 Jungcbat palmas defessa astate Latinus 
 Infractus, nimioque ardentem Marte rogabat. 
 Nee nostras potuere preces inflectere durum, 
 Nee divum portenta animum ; quin acrius ignem 350 
 
JENEID, BOOK XIII. 4? 
 
 Drances harangues JEneas. 
 
 Conquer'd we bow, and each celestial Pow'r 450 
 
 We call to witness in this awful hour, 
 
 That with unwilling eye Latinus viewed 
 
 The violated league and tumults rude. 
 
 'Twas not his will that Latium should contend, 
 
 From Phrygian brows the wreath of fame to rend ; 455 
 
 And much he long'd his daughter's hand to join 
 
 In nuptial faith, illustrious prince, with thine. 
 
 Whate'er was done in the mad strife of arms, 
 
 The mighty labours, and the mighty harms, 
 
 These the insatiate rage of Turnus brought, 4Q(t 
 
 By open force and secret wiles he wrought. 
 
 Loath was Latinus in the cause to join ; 
 
 And the whole army prayed him to resign 
 
 His vain pretensions, und submit to fate, 
 
 Which doom'd the royal maid a Trojan mate. 46^ 
 
 Then our lov d prince, opprest with weary age, 
 
 Essays to calm his unavailing rage, 
 
 With hands uplifted begs his wrath to cease, 
 
 And joins his sufPring people's prayer for peace, — 
 
 In vain: nor prayers nor prodigies arrest 470 
 
 His lifted arm, or bend his stubborn breast •, 
 
48 iENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Drances ad urbem JEnean invitat. 
 
 Spumabat ferus ore vomens, bellumque ciebat. 
 
 At vero dignum invenit pro talibus ausis 
 
 Exitium, qui, te tandem victore, momordit 
 
 Nigrantem prostratus humum : nunc improbus cedes 
 
 Tartareas visurus eat ; quaeratque sub imo 355 
 
 Nunc alias Acheronte acies, aliosque hymenaeos. 
 
 Tu melior succede bonis Laurentibus haeres : 
 
 In te omnisque domus, & fessi inclinata Latini 
 
 Spes jacet; unum omnes Itali super aurea mittunt 
 
 Sidera, & ingenteni bello, & coelestibus armis 360 
 
 Extollunt, & vera canunt praeconia voces. 
 
 Te gravium veneranda patrum consultaque turba, 
 
 Invalidique aetate senes ; te beta juventus, 
 
 Et cupidae matres, pueri, innuptaeque puelke, 
 
 Unanimes aequo ore volunt ; Turnumque sub armis 366 
 
 'Exultant cecidjsse tuis : te tota precatur 
 
i£ N E I D, BOOK XIII. 49 
 
 Drances invites JEneas to the city. 
 
 The more oppos'd, lie rages yet the more, 
 And kindles war along the frighted shore, 
 Now ends in death his luckless enterprise, 
 Beneath thy conqu'ring falchion low he Hes, 47£ 
 
 Biting the sable dust ; deserv'd his fate : 
 Such the reward of unrelenting hate ! 
 Now let the wretch, the cause of all our wo, 
 Go visit the Tartarean seats below ; 
 And to the depths of Acheron repair, 480 
 
 Seek other armies, other spousals there : 
 But thou, with better omen, shalt succeed 
 To sway the sceptre for thy hand decreed. 
 Latinus, worn with age, reclines on thee; 
 Thou art his hope, the hope of Italy : 48 5 
 
 Thy name resound the golden stars above, 
 Godlike thy valour, O belov'd of Jove ! 
 All call on thee, thy presence all demand : 
 The venerable fathers of the land, 
 
 Feeble old age, and careless infancy, 490 
 
 And anxious mothers turn their eyes to thee ; 
 While youths and maids partake the gen'ral joy, 
 That Turnus falls beneath the chief of Troy. 
 
 G 
 
50 iENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 JEneas accipit legation-em. 
 
 Ausonia, & claris prsestantem laudibus efFert : 
 
 In te unum conversi oculi. Pater ipse Latinus, 
 
 Jam senior, sola hzec longaevae munera vitae 
 
 Qui natam tibi jungat habet, generique nepotes 370 
 
 Trojanos Italo admixtos in saecula mitt at. 
 
 Ergo age, magne veni Teucrorum ductor, & altos 
 
 Ingredere, celebres cape quos spondemus honores. 
 
 Finierat : cunctique eadem simul ore fremebant. 
 
 Quos pius iEneas, hilari cum fronte receptos, 3T»> 
 
 Prosequitur paucis, & amico pectore fatur : 
 
 Nee vos, nee placida solitum sub pace Latinum 
 
 Arguerim, verum infesti violentia Turni 
 
 Tantum opus, haud dubito, & tanti discrimina Martis 
 
 Concivit, juvenilis enim plus laudis amore. 380 
 
 Quicquid id est tamen, Ausonii, nil pacta recuso 
 
 Connubia, & sanctam <eterno cum fcedere pacem 
 
 Jungere: rex idem imperium & veneranda tenebit 
 
il N E I D, BOOK XIII. 
 
 JEneas accepts the offers of the embassy. 
 
 Ausonia hails thee to her utmost bound, 
 
 Thy name, thy praise in ev'ry mouth is found. 495 
 
 Latinus, father of his people, stays 
 
 His sinking age with hope of better days ; 
 
 On thy long line his future hopes depend, 
 
 Which shall the Trojans and the Latians blend. 
 
 Then come, great chief of Phrygia, and receive 500 
 
 The honours which we wish, and wait to give/' 
 
 He ceas'd: his foll'wers the glad theme repeat, 
 
 And with applause the Trojan hero greet. 
 
 The pious prince a fav'ring ear inclin'd, 
 
 His looks were cheerful, and his heart was kind ; 505 
 
 Then in few words replies : u Nor you I blame, 
 
 Nor did your peaceful king these evils frame ; 
 
 These woes the headstrong rago of Turnus bred, 
 
 By the fond love of youthful fame misled. 
 
 Your wish, howe'er, I seek not to withstand; 510 
 
 Glad I accept the fair Lavinia's hand, 
 
 And join the lasting league of sacred peace, 
 
 Pleas'd to behold the strife of battle cease. 
 
 My sire Latinus shall his sway maintain, 
 
 And over our united nations reign : SI 5 
 
52 iENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Exequicc. 
 
 Sceptra socer ; statuentque mei mihi moenia Teucri, 
 Et ncmen natas urbis erit ; sodosque penates 385 
 
 Adjiciam : vos communes in saecula leges 
 Concordesque ingenti animo mktetis amores. 
 Interea (quod restat adhuc) imponite fiammis 
 Corpora, qux duri miserandi insania belli 
 Arripuit : dehinc nos, cum primum crastina surget 390 
 Clara dies, lseti Laurentia tecta petamus. 
 Dixerat \ & tanto affatu conversa tenebant 
 Ora simul, stupefacti omnes, & apertius ingens 
 Mirantes pietatis opus : mox robore toto 
 Congestas rapuere pyras, ignemque repostis 395 
 
 Civibus immisere, altumque sub aethera fumus 
 Evolat, atque atris coelum sublime tenebris 
 Conditur ; innumeras ex omni rure bidentes, 
 Glandilegosque sues jugulant, pinguesque juvencos 
 
M N E I D, BOOK XIII. 
 
 Funeral rites. 
 
 ) 
 
 For me my Trojans shall a city rear, 
 
 Whose rising walls his daughter's name shall bear. 
 
 My household Gods I bring, in compact twin'd, 
 
 In common friendship, common laws combin'd : 
 
 These laws, these friendships, down the rolling tide 520 
 
 Of future time ? in concord sweet shall glide. 
 
 It now remains the pious rites to pay 
 
 To these who fell to bloody war a prey, 
 
 And on the fun'ral pyres their breathless bodies lay : 
 
 Then when the morning wakes the rosy hours, 525 
 
 We'll joyful seek Laurentum's lofty tow'rs." 
 
 He spake : on him their eyes the Latians turn ; 
 
 Wonder and rev'rence in their bosoms burn. 
 
 They own his pious cares, and lend their aid : 
 
 The fun'ral piles in order straight are laid ; 530 
 
 On the heap'd wood their slaughter'd comrades lie, 
 
 The flames ascend, and smoke involves the sky : 
 
 The curling wreaths the cheerful heav'ns invade, 
 
 And blot the radiant iio;ht with sullen shade. 
 
 And now the flocks in countless numbers bled, 535 
 
 And now the swine, on falling acorns fed ; 
 
54 JENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 JEneas Laurentum mgreditur. 
 
 Immittunt rogis ; latos incendia campos 400 
 
 Enudant ; fremit impulsis clamoribus 'aer. 
 Jamque sequens clarum extulerat lux aurea Phoebum : 
 Tunc Teucri Ausoniique omnes, mixto agmine, laeti 
 Consedere in equis, & gressum ad tecta movebant 
 Laurenti, atque altis erectam moenibus urbem. 405 
 Ante omnes pius iEneas ; post ordine Drances, 
 Multa duci senior memorans ; dehinc unica proles 
 Ascanius ; multumque animi maturus Alethes*, 
 Et gravis Hi oneusf, Mnestheusquej, acerque Serestus §j 
 Sergestus||, fortisque Gyas^[, fortisque Cloanthus ## : 410 
 Post alii mixtimque Itali Teucrique sequuntur. 
 Interea effusi stabant per moenia cives, 
 
 * JE. 1. 121. \ JE. 1.611. \JE. 4.288. §^E. 1.611 
 || JE. 1. 510. % JE. 1. 222. ** JE. 1. 226. 
 
Ill N E I D, BOOK XIII. 53 
 
 JEneas enters Laurentiim, 
 
 The fatted heifers vainly lowing came, 
 
 All victims doom'd to glut the greedy flame ; 
 
 The spacious fields a waste of ruin lie, 
 
 And the air trembles with the clam'rous cry. 540 
 
 Now Phoebus rose : from his refulgent beam 
 
 The purple rays of dewy morning stream ; 
 
 The Trojan and Ausonian bands, combin'd, 
 
 Mount their proud steeds, and leave the camp behind ; 
 
 To seek the city their glad steps are bound, 54S 
 
 Laurentum fair with stately turrets crown'd. 
 
 The great iEneas, not more great than good, 
 
 Before the moving host majestick rode ; 
 
 Then aged Drances, with discourse inclin'd 
 
 To please the hero's ear, and win his mind ; 530 
 
 Ascanius, his sole hope, of blooming years ; 
 
 Alethes next, of mind mature, appears ; 
 
 Ilioneus grave, and Mnestheus move along ; 
 
 Serestus lively, and Sergestus. strong, 
 
 And Gyas brave, and brave Cloanthus there : S55 
 
 Trojans and Latians mingle in the rear. 
 
 Now on their lofty walls, a num'rous band, 
 
 Th'expecting citizens of Latium stand ; 
 
SG ilNEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Latinus JEneoe occurrit. 
 
 Sublimesque alta statu ebant laude triumphos, 
 
 Trojanam cupido expectant es pectore turbam. 
 
 Et jam advent abant ; quos laeta front e Latinus 415 
 
 Occurrens magna excepit comitante caterva. 
 
 At postquam medio venientem ex agmine vidit 
 
 Dardanium iEnean, haud vera illusit imago : 
 
 Namque omnes super excellens at que altior ibat, 
 
 Et late regalem oculis spargebat honorem 420 
 
 Sidereis. Tunc, cum primum data copia fandi est, 
 
 Et voces caper e at que optatas jungere dextras, 
 
 Incipit, & prior affatur placido ore Latinus : 
 
 Venisti tandem ! cupidum nee fixa fefellit 
 
 Spes animum, lux Trojans clarissima gentis ; 425 
 
 Magnorum quern jussa deum tot casibus actum, 
 
 Italia & nostris voluere sistere tectis. 
 
i£ N E I D, BOOK XIII. 57 
 
 ^"*^~ ' " ' ■ .I. , i i. I,. u ,,_ , . . , 1. 1 I , ^__ 
 
 Latinus meets JEneas. 
 
 With anxious breasts their eager eyes they strain, 
 To seek the squadron moving o'er the plain ; 560 
 
 Prepar'd to hail with triumph and with joy 
 Th'illustrious leader, and the troops of Troy. 
 The troops approach : and now with regal state 
 Latinus issues from the city gate ; 
 To meet th'advancing host his steps he bends ; 565 
 A thronging crowd the monarch's steps attends. 
 And now the Dardan hero greets his view; 
 Latinus straight the Dardan hero knew. 
 His princely stature, maiVd amidst the rest, 
 And noble mien, the noble mine! ccnfeit ; 5W 
 
 The kindling eye, with beaming lustre 1: . : 
 And ev'ry manly grace enchants the sight. 
 The princes meet ; their better hands they join - 9 
 And thus Latinus speaks the man divine : 
 " Welcome at length ! although so long delay'd, 575 
 My anxious wish — my hopes have not betrayed; 
 Light of the Trojans! whom the Gods command 
 To fix thy dwelling in my favour'd land, 
 After thy wand'rings long, thy various woes, 
 Here to enjoy thy weil-deserv'd repose. .580 
 
 H 
 
iENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Amicltice alternatio. 
 
 Quanquam humana furens nimis ausa licentia sanctas 
 
 Turbarit leges & divum exciverit iras, 
 
 Quin etiam invictum toties meque arma negantem 430 
 
 Tradiderit duri perferre pericula Martis 
 
 (Factum etenim ! sed nee parvo stat, — numina justas 
 
 Indignata animis misere ultricia pcenas) ; — - 
 
 Nunc age, magne Phrygum ductor, quando omnis origo 
 
 Seditionis abest, & tanti criminis auctor, 43/J 
 
 Connubiis succede & promissis hynienaeis. 
 
 Sunt mihi magna regna, jacent ereptis oppida muris, 
 
 Sola autem fessae spes unica nata senectae : 
 
 Te generum & natum tempus complector in omne. 
 
 Quern contra bonus iEneas : Rex maxime, nullam 440 
 
 In te causam armorum tantique tumultus 
 
 Ctediderim, placidx assueto sub tempore pacisj 
 
JE N E I D, BOOK XIII. 
 
 Interchange of friendship. 
 
 Though daring men, with fatal fury fir'd, 
 
 Against th'unchanging will of Heav'n conspir'd, 
 
 And rous'd celestial wrath ; and drew me on 
 
 To mix in warfare, which I sought to shun, 
 
 And, after various efforts tried in vain, 585 
 
 At last imbrued with blood my peaceful reign 
 
 (Confest ! nor small the fine our folly paid, 
 
 Nor long the Gods our punishment delay'd) ; — 
 
 Yet now, sedition quell'd, its author slain, 
 
 Come, gallant leader of the Phrygian train, 590 
 
 Come, and receive thy bride, withheld so long, 
 
 And hear the promis'd Hymeneal song. 
 
 Kingdoms I have, though fortune thus has frown'd, 
 
 And though my towns are levell'd with the ground ; 
 
 Fatigued, and with the weight of years opprest, 595 
 
 An only daughter soothes my cares to rest : 
 
 Be thou my son ; let these embraces prove 
 
 A father's welcome, and a father's love." 
 
 To whom the Trojan prince : " O King renown' d, 
 
 Ne'er did my thought thy spotless honour wound ; 60^ 
 
 It was not thou who caus'd the dire alarms, 
 
 Dissolv'd the league, and rous'd the strife of arms. 
 
60 A N E I D O S LIBER XIII. 
 
 ace redintegrate Latini exliilarantur* 
 
 Et si qua est, pome hanc curam, pater cptime, quaeso. 
 Nunc adsum, & pat rem h socerum te betas in omnes 
 Accipio casus : magni mihi surgit imago 445 
 
 Anchisse, & rursum ardebo genitoris amore. 
 Talibus orabant inter se, & tecta subibant 
 Regia: cum studio effusae matresque nurusque, 
 Longaevique patres stabant, juvenumque cohortes, 
 Pulchra revisentes Trojanie corpora gent is ; 450 
 
 Ante omnes magnum iEneam, cupidoque notabant 
 Altum animo genus, & praestantem frontis honorem, 
 Quaesitamque alacres pacemque optata quietis 
 Munera laudabant : ceu quando longus & ingens 
 Agricolas tenuit resolutis nubibus imber 455 
 
 Suspensos, curvumque diu requievit aratrum ; 
 Tunc si clarus equos spatioso limine Titan 
 Lasset. & aurato coelum splendore serenet, 
 
JE N E I D, BOOK XIII. 61 
 
 The Latians rejoice in the return of 'peace, 
 
 Sootli'd be thy griefs, and ev'ry care resign'd, 
 
 And may my duteous love acceptance find I 
 
 O let me call thee sire : before mine eyes 605 
 
 The image of Anchises seems to rise ; 
 
 Once more my breast with filial flames shall burn, 
 
 And a fond father to these arms return." 
 
 Conversing thus, they seek the regal dome : 
 
 And now in troops the thronging Latians come, 610 
 
 Maids, matrons, youths, and aged fathers hie. 
 
 And on the Trojans gaze with greedy eye, 
 
 And much the strangers' graceful forms they prais'd ; 
 
 But most the chief their admiration rais'd, 
 
 Whilst in his polish'd brow, and air divine, 613 
 
 They trace the glories of his godlike line ; 
 
 Rejoicing now, their toils and dangers past, 
 
 To long-desired peace restor'd at last. 
 
 So, when continued show'rs of heavy rain 
 
 Suspend the cheerful labours of the swain, 620 
 
 The vallies mourn, the plough neglected lies, 
 
 And sullen gloom o'erspreads the weeping skies; 
 
 Should then bright Titan lash the liery steeds, 
 
 Which whirl his chariot through celestial meads, 
 
62 2ENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 JEneas Laiinice obvenit. 
 
 Lxtitia exundant, & sese hortantur agrestes : 
 
 Non secus Ausonii tarn laeto in tempore rerum 460 
 
 Composuere animos. Et jam rex aka Latinus 
 
 Atria, regalesque aditus intrarat, & una 
 
 Optimus iEneas, quern sequitur pulcher lulus; 
 
 Dehinc Itali mixtique Phryges : turn splendida late 
 
 Applausu, & magno completur regia ccetu. 465 
 
 Hacc inter, matrum innumera nuruumque caterva 
 
 In medium comit?la venit Lavinia virgo, 
 
 Sidereos dejecta oculos : quam Troius heros 
 
 Virtute h forma ingentem, (mirabile dictu !) 
 
 Ut vidit, primo aspectu stupefactus inhaesit; 470 
 
& N E I D, BOOK XIII. 63 
 
 JEneas meets Lavinia. 
 
 They take their ample way, and, breathing fire, 625 
 
 Before their footsteps clouds and storms retire : 
 
 Then glow the Heav'ns with streaming splendours bright, 
 
 And cheer the dewy earth with golden light ; 
 
 The tranquil skies the joyful peasants view, 
 
 And with glad haste their various tasks renew. 630 
 
 Such grateful joy Ausonia's sons display, — 
 
 Such, and so welcome is this happy day. 
 
 The spacious courts now king Latinus prest, 
 
 And to the palace led his noble guest ; 
 
 Next follow'd his lulus, fair and young; 635 
 
 Trojans and Latians close the mingled throng : 
 
 Exulting crowds the welcome train surround, 
 
 With shouts of joy the golden roofs rebound. 
 
 But now, in beauty's brightest bloom array'd, 
 
 Full in their sight appears the royal maid -> 640 
 
 Matrons and virgins in her train repair, 
 
 Her steps attending, worthy of the fair : 
 
 On her soft cheek the mantling blushes rise, 
 
 Whilst on the ground are fix'd her starry eyes. 
 
 The Trojan hero saw, and, all amazM, 645 
 
 With eager looks on fair Lavinia gaz'd; 
 
6 * JE N E I D O S LIBER XIII. 
 
 JEneas Laviniam nocorem duciU 
 
 Et secum Turni casus miseratus acerbos, 
 
 Qui, haud parva spe ductus, ovans in prcelia tantos 
 
 Civisset motus, durisque arsisset in armis. 
 
 Turn vero seterno junguntur fbedera nexu 
 
 Connubii, multaque canunt cum laude hymenseos : 475 
 
 Dehinc plausus fremitusque altum super aera mittunt, 
 
 Et lactam vocem per regla tecta volutant. 
 
 At fidum interea iEneas afatur Achaten, 
 
 Vadat, & (Andromache* quondam data munera) vestes 
 
 Intextas'auro ferat ; &, -quod saepe solebat, 480 
 
 Dum res Trojanae stabsnt, circumdare collo, 
 
 Auratum gemmis circumseptumque monile ; 
 
 Pneterea magnum cratera, in pignus amoris 
 
 Quern Priamus patri Anchisre donaverat olim. 
 
 *JE. 8« 48£, 
 
&NEID, BOOK XIII. 65 
 
 JEneas espouses Lavinia* 
 
 For through her graceful form, and aspect kind^. 
 
 Beam'd forth the lustre of her purer mind. 
 
 Strange it may seem, but in his breast arose 
 
 Compassion for his hapless rival's woes, 650 
 
 Who, urg'd by treacherous hope, defied th'alarms 
 
 Of direful tumult, and of horrid arms. 
 
 And now, th'eternal bands of Hymen tied, 
 
 The Trojan chief receives his promis'd bride : 
 
 Then sweetly float in air the nuptial lays, 65$ 
 
 With shouts of triumph, and with songs of praise \ 
 
 Through the gay palace rolls the joyful strain, 
 
 And gladsome echoes swell the notes again. ' 
 
 Meantime, unheeded by the festive band, 
 
 The chief to tried Achates gives command, 660 
 
 To take the glitt'ring robes, a costly load, 
 
 The gifts which once Andromache bestow'd; 
 
 And bring with these, all radiant to behold, 
 
 The necklace starr'd with gems, and bright with gold, 
 
 Which on that snowy neck was wont to glow, 665 
 
 While Troy yet flourish'd fair, nor fear'd impending wo : 
 
 Nor is the ample goblet left behind, 
 
 Which Priam to Anchises' hand resign'd,-— 
 
 I 
 
66 iENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Naptialis Jestivitas. 
 
 Nee mora : jussa sequens pulcherrima portat Achates 485 
 
 Munera ; turn socer ingentem cratera Latinus 
 
 Donatum capit, ac conjux Lavinia vestes, 
 
 Atque monile decens: placido dehinc pectore sese 
 
 Demulcent, variisque trahunt sermonibus horas. 
 
 Et jam tarda epulas fugientis tempora lucis 49Q 
 
 Poscebant \ mox regali convivia luxu 
 
 Effundunt, latosque alta intra tecta paratus. 
 
 Convenere omnes, strato discumbere in ostro 
 
 Deliciis jussi, & dapibus se inferre futuris. 
 
 Dat manibus crystallus aquas, mensisque reponunt 4i>& 
 
 Flaventem Cererem, turn keta fronte ministri 
 
 Innumeri magno distinguunt ordine curas : 
 
 Pars dapibus reficit mensas, pars pocula miscet, 
 
 Craterasque replet ; nunc hie, nunc volvitur iliac 
 
 Turba frequens, varios miscentque per atria motus. 500 
 
JE N E I D, B O O K XIII. 6? 
 
 Nuptial festivity. 
 
 Pledge of his love. The mandate straight obey'd, 
 
 The precious gifts are to the court convey'd. 670 
 
 The prince, with courteous mien and gen'rous soul, 
 
 Bears to his Latian sire the spacious bowl ; 
 
 The radiant necklace, and the robes of state, 
 
 Worthy her charms, adorn his beauteous mate. 
 
 And now their minds enjoy a sweet repose, 675 
 
 And the soft tide of various converse flows, 
 
 Till the slow passing hours the feast demand ; 
 
 The feast is spread, and by a regal hand: 
 
 While through the dome the ready menials haste, 
 
 And luxury presides at the repast. 6£0 
 
 The bidden guests on splendid carpets lie, 
 
 And crystal vases living springs supply : 
 
 They wash : and now, on ample tables laid, 
 
 The yellow gifts of Ceres are display'd ; 
 
 Attendants, deck'd with smiles, a num'rous band, 68$ 
 
 Around the festive board obsequious stand : 
 
 All know their parts ; the viands those replace, 
 
 And these with ruddy wine the goblets grace ; 
 
 The busy crowd now here, now there are found, 
 
 And fill th'extended courts with various sound. <6C0 
 
68 JENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Rerura recognitio. 
 
 At puerum pater immotis spectabat Iiilum 
 Luminibus, vultum admirans moresque Latinus, 
 Et graviter puerili ex ore cadentia verba, 
 Maturumque animum ante annos ; & multa rogabat, 
 Permixtas referens voces : dehinc oscula figens 505 
 Dulcia complexum manibus, junctumque fovebat ; 
 Et nimium exultans felicem, & munere divum 
 Donatum JEnearn pro tali prole ferebat ; 
 Postquam epulis compressa fames, traducere longam 
 Incipiunt fando, & labentem fallere noctem ; 510 
 
 Nunc duros Trojae casus, gentesque Pelasgas, 
 Nunc fera Laurentis memorantes prcelia pugn^e ;-^ 
 Quo primum diffusae acies,« — quo tela vicissim 
 Pulsa loco,— qui primum ovans invaserit agmen, 
 Fulmineumque ardens in equo madefecerit ensem. 515 
 Praecipue Tros JEneas, seniorque Latinus. 
 
iENEID, BOOK XIII. 69 
 
 Retrospective views. 
 
 But sire Latinus, lost in fond surprise, 
 
 On young lulus fix'd his wond'ring eyes : 
 
 Gaz'd on his beauteous aspect o'er and o'er, 
 
 Admir'd his mien, admir'd his manners more; 
 
 Admir'd his sage discourse, which sweetly fiow'd 695 
 
 From boyish lips, and manly grace bestow'd; 
 
 Much of the youth inquir'd, in whom appears 
 
 A mind mature beyond his tender years \ 
 
 Then, folding closely to his aged breast, 
 
 With all a grandsire's tenderness carest, 700 
 
 And deem'd his sire had Heav'n's high favour won, 
 
 Blest by the Gods in such a worthy son. 
 
 The banquet o'er, the converse they renew'd, 
 
 And the long night the varied themes pursued : 
 
 And now they tell of Troy's disastrous fate, 705 
 
 And now th'events of Latham's war relate ; — 
 
 Who broke the line where first the rout began ! 
 
 Whose gallant arm restor'd the rallying van ! 
 
 Who first, on fiery steed, impetuous bore 
 
 Down on the front, and drench'd in copious gore 710 
 
 His glitt'ring sword ! In these the amplest share 
 
 The Trojan chief and old Latinus bear. 
 
70 .EtfElDOS LIBER Xin. 
 
 Dardanus Tnyce conditor. 
 
 Magnorum herotim Latiique antiqua potentis 
 
 Gesta recensebant, fugientemque horrida nati 
 
 Arma sui, Saturnum Italis latuisse sub oris* ; 
 
 Hinc Latium dixisse, genusque in montibus altis ,520 
 
 Comperuisse vagum, legesque & jura dedisse, 
 
 Et Bacchi & frugum cultus : dehinc tecta secutum 
 
 Esse paterna Jovem ; utque Electra Atlantide cretusf, 
 
 I'asio Idaeas cseso Phrygiae isset ad urbes, 
 
 Dardanus, ex Corytho multa cum gente profectus, 525 
 
 Utque insignern aquilam, dono & Jove patre superbus, 
 
 Hector eae gentis signuin, illustresque tulisset 
 
 Primus avum titulos, Trojanae stirpis origo. 
 
 Talibus atque aliis inter se longa trahebant 
 
 Tempora: turn fremitus laetaeque per atria voces 530 
 
 Alta volant, strepitu ingenti tectum omne repletur ; 
 
 * JE. 8. 322. f J& 1. 135. 
 
JE N E I D, BOOK XIII. 71 
 
 Dardcmus founder of Troy. 
 
 In converse grateful they delight to trace 
 
 The deeds and heroes of the ancient days : 
 
 To tell how Saturn fled his vengeful son, 715 
 
 And on Italia's shores conceal'd, unknown, 
 
 Lay latent. Latium hence deriv'd her name ; 
 
 Hence sprung her arts, and hence arose her fame. 
 
 He taught the race, who roam'd the mountain's brow, 
 
 To law and right their stubborn necks to bow ; 72ty 
 
 To prune the purple vine's luxuriant shoot, 
 
 And bid their vallies bloom with golden fruit; 
 
 How mighty Jove himself, in later times, 
 
 Visits his natal bow'rs, and Cretan climes : 
 
 How Dardanus (whom Atlas' daughter bore, 72S 
 
 The fair Electra) left his native shore, 
 
 And, blood-stain'd, led from Corythus hk band, 
 
 To seek th'Idcean towns of Phrygias land. 
 
 Proud of his heav'nly parent, mighty Jove, 
 
 Proud of his gift, and prouder of his love j 730 
 
 Th'imperial eagle on his standard shone, 
 
 And him the sons of Troy their founder own. 
 
 "Such varied themes the lingering moments cheer : 
 
 But now triumphal sounds invite the ear; 
 
72 iENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Omen # precatio* 
 
 Dant lucem flammse, & lato splendore coruscant. 
 
 Consurgunt Phryges, & cithara resonante sequuntur 
 
 Ausonii, & plausum ingeminant, seque agmine toto 
 
 Permiscent, variantque pedes, raptimque feruntur. 5$5 
 
 Et jam festa novem largo connubia luxu 
 
 Attigerant celebrata dies : turn maximus heros 
 
 iEneas urbem curvo signabat aratro, 
 
 Fundabantque domos, & amictas aggere fossas. 
 
 Ecce autem fatum haud parvum ! diffundere flammam 540 
 
 Ingentem, & fulgore levem, & nubibus altis 
 
 Miscentem, summo Lavinia vertice visa est. 
 
 Obstupuit pater JEneas, duplicesque tetendit 
 
 Ad ccelum cum voce manus : Si, Jupiter, unquam 
 
 Gens monitis Trojana tuis, terraque marique 545 
 
 Paruit imperiisque libens, — si, Numina, vestras 
 
JE N El D, BOOK XIIL n 
 
 Omen and prayer. 
 
 The joyful fires are kindled, beaming bright, 735 
 
 Their festive splendours chase the gloom of night. 
 Trojans and Latians from the feast arise, 
 And swell the plaudits with their mingled cries j 
 Sweet sounds the harp, the joyous troop advance, 
 And form with mazy steps the giddy dance. 740 
 Such were the sports* and such the festive days, 
 
 Till the ninth morning pour'd her purple rays. 
 
 Then great iEneas plann'd. his city's bound, 
 
 And with the crooked ploughshare mark'd the ground. 
 
 These sink the fosses, these the dwellings raise: ~) 745 
 
 When lo ! a wondrous omen meets their 
 
 A flame innoxious o'er Lavinia plays 
 
 From her fair locks the streaming sparkles rise. 
 
 Part with short flash, and mingle with the skies. 
 
 -Father iEneas, fill'd with holy dread, 750 
 
 To Heav'n his lifted hands adoring spread* 
 
 And thus preferr'd his prayer : " O mighty Jove, 
 
 If e'er the Trojan race, with duteous love, 
 
 By land, by sea, thy mandates have obey'd,-— — 
 
 If I my vpws have, at thine altar paid, 75£ 
 
 K 
 
 ~ ~ ~ — w &'~ 
 £s raise: 1| 
 
 gaze ! > 
 
 > J 
 
14 JENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Venus omen interpretatur. 
 
 Si metui coluique aras, — per si quid agendum est 
 
 Quod restat, placidam felici afferte quietem 
 
 Augurio, k firmate, malisque imponite finem. 
 
 Talia jactantem circumstetit aurea mater, 559 
 
 Se Venerem confessa, almo & sic edidit ore : 
 
 Nate, animo pone hanc curam, k meliora capesse 
 
 Signa deum, gaudensque bonis succede futuris. 
 
 Nunc tibi parta quies, nunc met a extrema malorum ; 
 
 Nunc tandem optatam componunt ssecula pacem. 554 
 
 Nee flammam ad ccelos perlatam vertice charae 
 
 Conjugis horresce ; at constantem dirige mentem : 
 
 Namque erit ilia, tuum celebri quae sanguine nomen, 
 
 Trojanosque auctura duces ad sidera mittat. 
 
 Haec tibi magnanimos sublimi prole nepotes 56($ 
 
 Conferet, egregiis totum qui laudibus orbem 
 
 Complebunt, totumque sua virtute potentes 
 
 Sub juga victoresque trahent ; quos gloria summo 
 
 Oceanum transgressa ingens sequabit Olympo ^ 
 
iENEID, BOOK XIIL 
 
 Venus explains the omen. 
 
 Unceasing paid, and fear'd and own'd thy pow'r, 
 
 And saw thy promise gild each future hour, 
 
 Confirm this omen ; let our sorrows end, 
 
 And the bless'd reign of placid quiet send." 
 
 Whilst thus the pious prince his prayer addrest, 76(> 
 
 Sudden before his wond'ring eyes confest 
 
 His golden mother stood, in light array'd, 
 
 And smiles of love her balmy lips display'd, 
 
 As thus she spoke : " My son, dismiss thy care, 
 
 And now to taste the future bliss prepare : 7&5 
 
 Concord is thine, misfortune is no more; 
 
 Peace, long desir'd, revolving years restore. 
 
 Think not these flames can aught of ill portend* 
 
 Which from thy lov'd Lavinia's brows ascend : 
 
 Preserve thy constant mind, my son, and know 770 
 
 What to thy bride thy future house shall owe. 
 
 From her a noble race shall spring, whose fame 
 
 Ev'n to the starry skies shall bear thy name; 
 
 The wond'ring world their mighty deeds shall tell, 
 
 No seas shall limit, and no force shall quell : 775 
 
 High as Olympus shall their glories blaze, 
 
 And flame along the course of future days; 
 
76 JENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 76 JEneoe feliciialem futuram Verms prasdiciL 
 
 Quos tandem innumera ardens post illustria rerum 56$ 
 
 Gesta deos factura vehet super asthera virtus. 
 
 Hanc flammam yentura tuac prasconia gentis 
 
 Pesignant ; hoc omnipotens e culmine signum 
 
 Sidereo dedit. At, tantarum in munera laudum, 
 
 Quam statuis dicas a nomine conjugis urbem. 570 
 
 Praeterea, sacros Troja ex ardente penates 
 
 Ereptos compone nova intra mcenia, & altos 
 
 Infer ad aeternum mansuros tempus honores. 
 
 Hi (tibi mira feram !) tanto urbis amore trahentur^ 
 
 tJt vecti ad sedes alias loca prima Latini 575 
 
 Sponte sua repetent, iterumque iterumque reversi. 
 
 O felix, quern tanta manent ! dehinc pace tenebis 
 
 Sub placida gentem Iliacam j post fessus, & aevo 
 
 Confectus, tandem Elysias socer ibit ad umbras ; 
 
 Succedes sceptro, atque Italis dominabere, leges 580 
 
 Communes Teucrisque ferens ; turn laetus ad altum 
 
} 
 
 iENEID, BOOK XIII. Y? 
 
 Venus foretells to JEneas his future happiness. 
 
 On deeds illustrious shall their spirits rise 
 
 Aloft, and mingle with their kindred skies. 
 
 This lambent fire pourtrays thy noble line, 780 
 
 And Jove omnipotent has sent the sign 
 
 From his starr'd canopy, and seats divine. 
 
 Thy rising town must bear Lavinia's name, 
 
 And honour her, who thus exalts thy fame. 
 
 Thy household Gods be to these walls removd, 78£ 
 
 SaVd from the burning wreck of Troy belov'd : 
 
 Thy city these kind deities shall own, 
 
 And grace thy rising tow'rs with high renown ; 
 
 And such their constant love to this sojourn, 
 
 (Wondrous to tell !) they from this city borne - 790 
 
 Shall, self-impeird, again, again return. 
 
 O happy thou, and born to prosp'rous fate, 
 
 On whom such gifts, on whom such honours wait! 
 
 Thy Iiians shall thy regal rule obey, 
 
 And placid peace extend her gentle sway ; 79J 
 
 And when thy hoary sire, by age opprest, 
 
 Shall in Elysium find eternal rest, 
 
 Thou worthily shalt fill the Latian throne, 
 
 And for their common lord both nations thee shall own : 
 
715 JENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 — — — TiT 
 
 JEneas Latino siqjervivit. 
 
 Te mittes coelum : sic stat sententia divum. 
 
 Dixit ' y & inde leves se vexit ad auras. 
 
 iEneas, tanto stupef actum nomine mentem 
 
 Perculsus, divse peragit mandata parentis. 585 
 
 Et jam compositos felici in pace regebat 
 
 Dardanidas ; & jam decedens sceptra Latinus 
 
 Liquerat, & pius JEneas successerat ; omnem 
 
 Ausoniam, lataque potens ditione tenebat ; 
 
 Jam paribus Phryges atque Itali se moribus ultro, 590 
 
 Et socii ingenti firmabant pectora amore, 
 
 Concordique cequas miscebant fcedere leges. 
 
 Turn medio Venus exultans se immisit Olympo 
 
 Ante Jovem, & complexa pedes sic ore locuta est : 
 
 Omnipotens genitor, qui solus ab sethere summo 595 
 
 Cuncta moves, qui res hominum curasque recenses, — 
 
JENEID, BOOK XIIL 
 
 JEneas survives Latiniis. 
 
 Then to high heav'n resplendent shalt thou rise : — SCO 
 
 Such is the fate decreed thee in the skies." 
 
 She spoke ; and the light gales her form upbear. 
 
 Her beauteous form ascends the ambient air. 
 
 JEneas, struck with awe, the scene survey'd, 
 
 And all his Goddess-mother's words obey'd. 80«> 
 
 And now Latinus rul'd the peaceful state ; 
 
 Now full of days he meets the stroke of fate, 
 
 And, dying, gave to great ^Eneas' hand 
 
 The Latian sceptre, and supreme command ; 
 
 The Phrygians and Italians, firmly join'd, 810 
 
 In strictest bands of social love combin'd ; 
 
 Their manners equal, and their laws the same, 
 
 Enjoy their happy rest and well-eam'd fame ; 
 
 Then with exulting joy the Oueen of love 
 
 On high Olympus sought imperial Jove ; BIS 
 
 Embrac'd his knees all lowly ere she spoke, 
 
 Then op'd her rosy lips, and silence broke : 
 
 Father omnipotent, who high alone, 
 
 » 
 
 'Mid circling ether, from thy radiant throne 
 
 Mov'st all things, yet forget'st not human kind, 82Q 
 
 ^Their cares, their actions touch thy heav'niy rnrnd,— 
 
 <c 
 
W iENEiDOS LIBER XllL 
 
 Jovi pro JEned Venus supplicat. 
 
 ■■ ■ -■-* * . * 
 
 Dum Teucros traheret fortuna inimica, recordor, 
 Spondebas finem aerumnis, rebusque salutem : 
 Nee tua te promissa pater sententia fallit ; 
 Nam que omnes gaudere sacra tres pace per annos, GOO 
 Viderunt Italae nullo discrimine partes. 
 Verum ad siderei missurum culmina cceli 
 Pollicitus magnum iEneam, meritumque ferebas 
 Illaturum astris. Quid nunc sub pectore versas ? 
 Jamque optat matura polos iEneia virtus. 60£ 
 
 Olli hominum pater at que deum dedit oscula, ab alto 
 Pectore verba ferens : Quantum, Cytherea, potentem 
 iEneam, iEneadasque omnes infessus amavi, 
 Et terra & pelago, & per tanta pericula vectos, 
 Nosti ' 7 & «qpe quidem indolui commotus amore, 6K> 
 
£ N E I D, BOOK XHL 81 
 
 Venus addresses Jupiter in behalf of JEvmos. 
 
 Whilst fortune pitiless, with cruel hate, 
 
 Pursued the remnant of the Trojan state ; 
 
 My soul remembers well thy promise kind, 
 
 That peace and rest the hapless race should find : 825 
 
 Nor hast thou, gracious sire, my hopes betray d, 
 
 Nor was thy sacred promise vainly made ; 
 
 Three years of holy peace, serene and mild, 
 
 O'er all Italians happy states have smil'd. 
 
 Another hope thou bad'st my bosom know, 830 
 
 ( Sweet hope, which oft hath sooth'd maternal wo,) 
 
 That thou to starry realms and upper skies 
 
 Wouldst bid the great, the good iEneas rise, 
 
 Deem'd worthy to partake celestial joys. 
 
 What is thy will ? for now his soul aspires, 835 
 
 And, ripe for heavn, his heav nly seat desires." 
 
 She ceas'd : Olympus' Lord his child carest, 
 
 And her soft lip with kiss ambrosial prest \ 
 
 Then, from the deep recesses of his mind, 
 
 This soothing answer gave in accents kind : 840 
 
 " Dost thou not know, my daughter, heaVnly fair, 
 
 That with unwearied love, unwearied care, 
 
 7/ 
 
 ) 
 
83 iENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 Veneris supplicationi annuit Jupiter. 
 
 Nata, tuo, — tandemque malls, Junone secunda, 
 
 Imposui finem. Nunc stat sententia menti, 
 
 Qua ductoreni alto Phrygium succedere coelo 
 
 Institui, & jirma est ; numeroque inferre deorum 
 
 Constat, & id concedo libens : tu, si quid in ipso 615 
 
 Mortale est, adime ; atque astris ingentibus adde. 
 
 Quin si alios sua habet virtus, qui laude perenni 
 
 Accingant sese, gestis prxstantibus orbem 
 
 Exornent, illos rursum super a::thera mittam. 
 
 Assensere omnes superi ; nee regia Juno 620 
 
 Abnuit, at magnum JEneam suadebat ad altum 
 
 EfFerri ccelum, & voces addebat arnicas. 
 
 Turn Venus aerias descendit lapsa per auras, 
 
 Laurentumque petit ; vicina Numicius undis 
 
 •Eluromeis tibi currit in sequora arundine tectus. G2$ 
 
iENEID, BOOK XIII. §3 
 
 Japite)* grants the request of Venus. 
 
 Thy son I cherish 'd, and his warlike band, 
 
 Tost on the seas, or wandering on the land ; 
 
 And oft thy pious griefs my pity mov'd, t£43 
 
 Whilst sorr'wing sadly for a son belov'd : 
 
 Now Juno favours, and their conflicts end, 
 
 And my fix'd purpose shall thy wish befriend. 
 
 The Phrygian chief amid the Gods shall shine, 
 
 Such is my will, and fill a seat divine : S5Q 
 
 Do thou whate'er is mortal separate, 
 
 And guide his spirit to its glorious fate. 
 
 Yet more, if others, with his virtues crown'd, 
 
 Adorn the earth, for noble deeds renown'd ; 
 
 Like happy lot their gen'rous souls shall share, 85,5 
 
 And rise triumphant through the fields of air.'* 
 
 He ceas'd : th'assenting Gods the doom approve ; 
 
 Nor she denies, th'imperial wife cf Jove, 
 
 But deems the Trojan worthy of a place 
 
 Amid the stars and heav'n's ethereal race. 860 
 
 Now down the balmy gale glad Venus glides 
 
 To fair Laurentum ; where his silver tides 
 
 Numicius pours along, and, fring'd with reeds, 
 
 His silent waters to the ocean leads. 
 
84 JENEIDOS LIBER XIII. 
 
 JEnece apotheosis. 
 
 Tunc corpus nati abluere, & deferre sub undas 
 Quicquid erat rnortale jubet : dehinc beta recentem 
 Felicemque animam secum super aera duxit, 
 Immisitque JEneam astris ; quern Julia proles 
 Indigetem appellat, templisque imponit hopores. €3Cf 
 
 FINIS iENEiDOS. 
 
JENEID, BOOK XIII $5 
 
 i 
 
 Apotheosis of JEneas. 
 
 The goddess stood ; and to th'obedient wave ~) 865 
 
 With voice divine the sacred mandate gave, 
 
 Her godlike son's majestick limbs to lave ; 
 
 To wash mortality's dull dregs away, 
 
 And free the spirit from encumb'ring clay. 
 
 And now 'tis done ; and to the starry pole 870 
 
 She bears the joyous, disembodied soul: 
 
 There sits iEneas ; whilst his Julian line 
 
 Bid altars fair in his bright temples shine, 
 
 And him their guardian own with honours all divine 
 
 } 
 
 THE END OF THE iENEID. 
 
THE NEGRO. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO EDMUND BURKE*. 
 
 O THOU, this country's boast, this age's pride, 
 Freedom's firm friend, and Pity's gen'rous guide, 
 Great Burke ! whose voice, when wretchedness complains. 
 Humanity's invaded rights maintains. 
 Hark ! Nature speaks in injur'd Africk's right, 
 
 And deeds of horror are disclos'd to light : 
 
 Thou wert not silent that important day, 
 
 On such a theme thou couldst not silent stay. 
 
 When such a voice arose in such debate, 
 
 And Truth roll'd onward with impetuous weight, 
 
 Who dar'd to vindicate the impious deed, 
 
 And with unblushing front for slav'ry plead? 
 
 Britain, thy laws are gen'rous, wise and good, 
 Did not stern Justice stain her sword with blood ; 
 Still prompt to curb the spoiler's cruel hand, 
 And chase oppression from thy favour'd land. 
 
$& T H E N E G R 0. 
 
 And shall these laws, to foster freedom made, 
 
 Shall these defend oppression's guilty trade ? 
 Shall rapine wild, shall murder, foul with gore, 
 Ravage, unblam'd, affrighted Africk's shore ; 
 And vilest treach'ry basely bear away, 
 From the lov'd native land, the human prey ; 
 And vent'rous man resolve, (more rash than brave) 
 Resolve to make his fellow-man a slave? — 
 
 But that hard heart, which could not here relent, 
 Soon finds the crime become the punishment : 
 The gen'rous boast of liberty is flown, 
 The seeds of vengeance are by slav'ry sown * % 
 Ruling dejected men with sov'reign sway, 
 The Tyrant looks that all mankind obey. 
 With disappointed pride his haughty breast 
 Burns, and tumultuous passions rack his rest : 
 Or, in their wretched huts while captives weep, 
 See keen remorse, rous'd by the wailings deep, 
 Stalk round his nightly couch, and^ murder sleep 
 What though wealth on thee pour her golden flood, 
 (Ah, dearly purchas'd with thy brother's blood !) 
 
 .-} 
 
T H £ N E G R O. m 
 
 Wealth buys not peace : — the poor man pities thee : — ■ 
 WoulcTst thou be happy ?-^-set thy captives free. 
 
 How oft did Woolman's tears these woes deplore. 
 When that pure spirit mortal clothing wore ! 
 He stood a sign the wond'ring world among, 
 Nor touch'd the product of oppressive wrong : 
 He saw, he mourn'd the hapless Negro's fate, 
 Bound in the horrors of a captive state ; 
 Saw torn asunder Nature's tend'rest ties, 
 To bid th'unfeeling master's heaps arise, 
 And deeds of deadly die and foulest shame 
 Affix dishonour to the Christian name; 
 Heard the deep groans the sable bosoms rend: 
 (Shall not these groans to pitying Heav'n ascend?) 
 " And these are they," he cried," whose lab'ring hands 
 <c With ceaseless toil maintain these peopled lands; 
 " To them the means of life are scarce supplied, 
 ■ While their lords revel in luxurious pride : 
 <c And yet the right of liberty is theirs; 
 44 No duty dooms them to these servile cares ; 
 
 M 
 
90 THE NEGR O. 
 
 " And though proud man has mercy's law denied, 
 " These are the souls for which a Saviour died, 
 " And how we act to these — we must reply 
 " To Him, who views mankind with equal eye." 
 
 So spoke the Sage ; -and glad his heart had been, 
 
 Had he this dawning day of freedom seen. 
 
 O favour'd age ! the genial beams expand 
 
 The feeling bosom, and the lib'ral hand; 
 
 The poor are pitied, all are Nature's sons, 
 
 And soften'd man his abject brother owns ; 
 
 The youth to learning and to labour trains, 
 
 And smooths the couch where pale disease complains. 
 
 E'en on the cell where guilt and mis'ry lie, 
 
 Streams the sweet ray from Mercy's gracious eye ; 
 
 For, rank'd in Virtue's cause, her chiefs appear, 
 
 Illustrious names to future ages dear! 
 
 Not theirs the bloody pomp of martial meed. 
 
 But brighter honours crown the nobler deed. 
 
 Thjsre princely Leopold his sway maintains, 
 Mild as the breeze which fans his Tuscan plains p 
 Though strictest Justice guards the favour'd shore, 
 He bids the sword of Justice slay no more j 
 
THE NEGRO. 91 
 
 He deem'd that Nature's laws no ris;ht could have 
 To take that life the God of Nature gave. 
 
 Where the deserted babes protection find, 
 Their little lives to strangers' hands consign'd. 
 There noble Arabella's worth is tried, 
 Her sex's glory and her nations pride : 
 While gen'rous Raikes bids idle sport give way, 
 And useful lore defend the solemn day. 
 
 Lo ! Howard, like a pitying angel, speeds 
 From dime to clime, while mis'ry's cause he pleads, 
 The dungeon's depth all resolute explores, 
 Though putrid steams bedew the iron doors, 
 
 The sable vail see dauntless Clarkson rend, 
 And bold avow himself the captive's friend ; 
 Invoking sacred Pity's heav'nly rain, 
 To wash the blood which rusts upon his chair*. 
 
 There, Burke, thy lov'd, thine honour' d name shall stand, 
 And add new splendour ,to the godlike band. 
 
02 THENEGRO. 
 
 The gracious Father, universal Friend, 
 
 To whom the cries of guiltless blood ascend, 
 
 Has to thy charge superior gifts assign'd, 
 
 And bless'd thee with the love of human kind: — 
 
 O then continue still, thus doubly blest, 
 
 Thy gen'rous zeal to succour the distrest. 
 
 Let proud Oppression from thy voice retire, 
 
 While the rapt nations kindle at thy fire ♦, 
 
 Let either India echo back thy name, 
 
 While conscious Virtue yields the dearest fame. 
 
 And when thy noble soul shall wing its flight 
 To the pure realms of liberty and light ; 
 There, where the wicked shall no more molest, 
 There, where the wounded, wearied spirits rest, 
 There, where tjie captives meet, their sorrows o'er, 
 And tremble at th'oppressor's voice no morej 
 Amid the holy bands who glorious shine, 
 For ever hymning forth their songs divine , 
 The Patriarchs just, by early Nature blest 
 With the first sweets of her maternal breast ; 
 Th* Apostles, who the sacred mandates bore 
 Of universal love from shore to shore ; 
 
THENEGRO. 93 
 
 And the meek Martyrs, with their precious blood 
 Sealing those truths a blinded world withstood:— 
 Amid these holy bands, that peaceful fold, 
 Shalt thou the naked Negro-slave behold, 
 Whose manly limbs the servile chain confin'd, 
 While heathen darkness wrapp'd his fetter'd mind. 
 This work of God, the spirit and the frame, 
 His tyrant fellow-man depress'd with shame. 
 What though his ear no social lip inform'd! — 
 The heart He made, the gracious Maker warm'd: 
 Though small his knowledge, yet his guide was true ; 
 He kept that guide, and practis'd what he knew, 
 
 1789. 
 
BEACONSFIELD, 
 
 THE SEAT OF EDMUND BURKE. 
 
 ALL hail ye woods, in deepest gloom array'd I 
 Admit a stranger through your rev'rend shade, 
 With timid step to seek the fair retreat, 
 Where Virtue and where Genius fix their seat: 
 In vain retiring from the publick gaze, 
 Not deepest shades can veil so bright a blaze, 
 
 Lo ! there the mansion stands in princely pride 
 The beauteous wings extend on either side: 
 Unsocial Pomp flies from the cheerful gate, 
 Where Hospitality delights to wait; 
 A brighter grace her candid smile bestows, 
 Than the majestick pillars' comely rows. 
 Enter these ever-open doors, and find 
 AH that can strijce the eye or charm the mind: 
 
06 BEACONSFIELD. 
 
 Painting and sculpture there their pride display, 
 And splendid chambers deck'd in rich array. 
 But these are not the honours of the dome 
 Where Burke resides, and strangers find a home; 
 To whose glad hearth the social virtues move, 
 Paternal fondness, and connubial love, 
 Benevolence unwearied, friendship true, 
 And wit unforc'd, and converse ever new, 
 And manners, where the polish'd court we trace* 
 Combin'd with artless Nature's noble grace ; 
 For Nature sways a sov'reign sceptre here, 
 And boldly boastful bids her charms appear, 
 Or half conceals in shades.— O let me rove, 
 Where the still walk pervades the silent grove ; 
 Where various trees their various greens display, 
 The stately native, and exotick gay ; 
 The setting sun a parting lustre throws, 
 And bright with gold the wond'ring forest glows:— 
 Fain would I longer in these glades abide, 
 But their great master bids me turn aside. 
 Oh, what a blaze of beauty bursts around! 
 Deep shadVing woods the distant prospect bound* 
 
BEACONSFIELD. 97 
 
 Save where th'intruding village spire is seen, 
 Or sloping hills attir'd in lively green ; 
 The peaceful flocks roam the rich pasture o'er, 
 And infant harvests boast their future store. 
 But what is here ?— O genius of the grove, 
 Thy dwelling this :— then let me softly move* 
 Where laurel bow'rs the calm recess enclose, 
 And the tall oak, proud of his mighty boughs, 
 High in the midst a regal state maintains, 
 While in his shade eternal evening reigns* 
 Here the young forest lifts its shoots on high, 
 As emulous with older woods to vie ; 
 While the fair Planter's pleas ur'd eyes survey 
 Her grateful grove her guardian care repay. 
 Oh ! as she walks your balmy blooms among j 
 Let your sweet inmates pour the duteous song, 
 Nor, Philomel, withhold thy tuneful strain, 
 Which now my longing ears implore in vain. 
 
 Fast by the forest's utmost verge we find 
 Nature and Taste a temple have, design'd *, 
 
 N 
 
9S B E A C O N S F I E L D. 
 
 Bade useless logs a beauteous pile compose ; — 
 And light and gay the finish 1 d fabrick rose. 
 Now a new path the wand'ring step invites, 
 Where Nature still, though unadorn'd, delights : 
 There the neat farm-house hides its humble head; 
 There blooms the orchard, and there smiles the mead ; 
 While the mild tenants of the peaceful green 
 With active life diversify the scene. 
 Disdain not in these varied shades to find 
 A lively emblem of the master's mind : 
 Though born in life's superior walks to shine, 
 To grace its private paths, O Burke, is thine. 
 
 See where amid the tow'ring trees he moves, 
 
 And with his presence dignifies the groves : 
 
 Approach with silent awe the wondrous man, 
 While his great mind revolves some mighty plan: 
 Yet fear not from his brow a frown austere, 
 For mild Benevolence inhabits there ; 
 And while thine eye feasts on his graceful mien> 
 Think on the worth that Bes within unseen* 
 
BEACONSFIELD. 99 
 
 And own that Heav'n in wisdom has inshrin'd 
 In the most perfect form the noblest mind. 
 Like Virgil, prince of Latian poets, he, 
 Lover of rural life and poesy, 
 Improves with skilful industry the soil, 
 Cheers the poor peasant, and rewards his toil ; 
 While the rich stores of his prolifick mind 
 Instruct, adorn, amend and please mankind. 
 Friend to mankind he lives, and all the race 
 Glad would infold within his large embrace : 
 Nations and empires, modelTd by his hand, 
 Would with more strength consolidated stand ; 
 Fair Science, by his fost'ring genius led, 
 Would with new lustre raise her drooping head; 
 And all the arts of civil life would be 
 Nurs'd by his skill, and his humanity. 
 
 Blest be the man! — and blest is he — and shall,— 
 In spite of the great vulgar and the small, 
 Who, — though high heav'n with talents hath endow 'd, 
 With talents scarce to human lot allow'd, 
 
100 B E A CONSFIELD. 
 
 Yet, while the festive board displays its charms. 
 And sprightly mirth and social friendship warms, 
 When the sad voice of indigence he hears, 
 And pain and sickness, eloquent in tears, — 
 Forsakes the festive board with pitying eyes, 
 Mingles the healing draughty — and sickness flies: 
 Or, if the mind be torn with sore distress, 
 Seeks with kind care the grievance to redress. 
 This ? this is Edmund Burke — and this his creed:—? 
 This is sublime and beautiful indeed! 
 
 Much injured man ! — what though a servile train. 
 Whose wavVing souls deserve and hug the chain, 
 Inspir d by malice, and by folly led, 
 With wrongs and insults heap thy honour'd head,—- 
 Thy steady virtue, with unchanging ray, 
 Shall break the cloud, and chase the gloom away • 
 Then shall thy foes, with conscious blushes, see 
 Their country's friend, their monarch's friend— in thee. 
 Camillus thus ? by guilty Rome distrest, 
 Still felt the patriot-passion fire his breast ; 
 With generous arm her liberty restord, 
 And broke th' insulting Gaul's oppressive sword* 
 
BEACONSFIELD. 101 
 
 Ye cultured walks, where grace and beauty dwell, 
 Ye humbler scenes o^ rural life, farewell! 
 Mourn not your shades dishonour'd by my praise, 
 Ye shades, which whilom learn d far other lays; 
 For here of old, yon waving woods among, 
 With Waller's strains the joyful vallies rung. 
 Methinks his tuneful sprite still lingers here, 
 Still loves these scenes to all the Muses dear ; 
 Still the dear name charms with delightful sound, 
 And Edmund, Edmund, echoes all around. 
 
 And thou, the master of this fair domain, 
 Vouchsafe t accept this tributary strain. 
 To thee the Muse her artless song commends, 
 Nor fears the fate of what thy smile defends: 
 She to thy friendship dares aspire, ('tis true) 
 And claims it as hereditary due. 
 Deem not base Fiatt'ry fram'd the servile lay, 
 Nor turn thy disapproving ears away : 
 Paternal care watch'd o'er my growing youth, 
 And early stamp'd it with the love of truth ; 
 But while they bade my words and thoughts apTee 
 They bade my heart to love and honour Thee. 
 
LETTER. 
 
 EDMUND BURKE to MARY SHACKLETON. 
 
 " My dear Miss Shackleton, 
 
 '* 1 OUGHT not to have suffered myself to remain 
 so long at a disadvantage in your mind. My fault is 
 considerable : but not quite so great as it appears ; for 
 your letter went round by the way of Carlisle, and 
 it was a good while before it came to my hands. It 
 ought indeed to have been my care to have made the 
 earliest possible acknowledgment, where nothing more 
 was required; and in a case where indeed there was 
 little more in my power to do than to tell you, in a 
 few plain and sincere words, how extremely sensible 
 I was of the honour you have done me, by making 
 this family and this place the subject of some of the 
 most beautiful and most original verses that }iave for 
 many years been made upon any place or any persons. 
 They make us all a little the more fond of ourselves, 
 
104 EDMUND BURKE's LETTER. 
 
 and of our situation. For my part I will not com- 
 plain, that when you have drawn a beautiful land- 
 scape you have put an old friend of your father's as 
 a figure in the foreground; nor shall I pretend that 
 I am not pleased even with the excess of partiality 
 which has made him an object worthy of appearing in 
 such a scene. The scene itself, line as it is$ owes 
 much to the imagination and skill of the painter ; but 
 the figure owes all to it. You great artists never draw 
 what is before you, but improve it up to the stand- 
 ard of perfection in your own minds. In this descrip- 
 tion I know nothing of myself; but what is better, 
 and may be of more use, I know what a good judge 
 thinks I ought to be. As to your picture of this 
 part of the country, I cannot help observing, that 
 there is not the least of common-place in it. One 
 cannot apply it equally to every country, as most 
 things of this kind may be turned. It is particular 
 and appropriated ; and that without being minute or 
 tedious in the detail. Indeed it is a sweet poem ; and 
 shews a mind full of observation, and retentive of 
 images in the highest degree. Some of the lines are 
 
EDMUND BURKE's LETTER. 
 
 not quite so finished as to niatcH the rest, and some 
 time or other I may take the liberty of pointing them 
 out to you ; and some of the rhymes hitch upon 
 words, to which nothing (not even you) can give 
 grace. But these are lesser blemishes ; and easily 
 effaced, either by omission, or a trivial change. You 
 will excuse this freedom. But in so fine a poem, in 
 which your kindness for an old friend of your father 
 has given me so great an interest, you will naturally 
 expect that I should wish for the perfection which I 
 know you can give your work with a little more of 
 your care* 
 
 Pray excuse tliis Very iate and Very imperfect ac^ 
 knowledgment of the great favour you have done me* 
 X cannot plead business in favour of my delay. I 
 have had a great deal of leisure time. At the mo- 
 ment I write this, I never was more busy in my life % 
 and indeed thus much is in favour of activity and 
 occupation, that the more one has to do, the more 
 one is capable of doing, even beyond our direct task. 
 
 I am ever, with Mrs. Burke's, my brother's, and my 
 
 O 
 
106 EDMUND BURKE's LETTER. 
 
 son's most affectionate regards to you and to all Bal- 
 litore, which we love with great sincerity, 
 
 My dear Miss Shackleton, 
 
 Your most faithful, 
 
 And most obliged and obedient 
 
 Humble servant, 
 
 EDM. BURKE. 
 Beaconsfield, Dec. 13, 1784. 
 
 (o) 
 
 On receiving the above Letter* 
 
 If I am vain, this letter read, 
 And let it for my pardon plead. 
 
 When he, whom list'ning courts admire, 
 , A Senate's boast, \ Nation's pride, 
 When Burke commends my artless lyre, 
 I care not who commends beside j 
 And his reproof I value more 
 Than e'er I valued praise before* 
 
On a report of Edmuxd Burke?, Death, and of his $qa t 
 having been lost at Sea. 
 
 M)QO- 
 
 SAFELY secluded in the silent shade, 
 
 Far from the clamour and the toils of state, 
 
 No foreign cares our calm repose invade, 
 One link alone connects us with the great. 
 
 For Burke we love, and with affection dear 
 Our watchful eyes pursue his track of light ; 
 
 And, when he mov'd in powYs resplendent sphere,, 
 We bless'd the sphere where blaz'd an orb so bright. 
 
 But when, with virtuous scorn and just disdain. 
 From these polluted scenes he nobly turned - 7 
 
 Left to corruption and her venal train, 
 
 We not for him but for our country mourn'cj. 
 
 To him each dear domestick joy belongs, 
 Joys more congenial to his gen'rous heart 
 
 Than guilty wealth, amassed by cruel wrongs,-*— 
 Than all that po\v r and splendour can impart. 
 
108 REPORT OF EDMUND BURKE's DEATH, &* 
 
 Oh tell it not -.--recall the tidings sore, 
 
 Which damp our fainting hearts with chilling breath, 
 
 Rude as the blast which ravag d Belgia's shore, 
 When the loud tempest rous'd the seeds of death* 
 
 What costly sacrifice dost thou require, 
 Insatiate Ocean ? madly dost thou rave : — 
 
 Must such a son — the son of such a sire— - 
 
 Must Burke ? s sole offspring glut thy greedy wave ? 
 
 If o'er his head thy murd rous surge be rolTd, 
 While youth resists, and virtue pleads in vain, 
 
 Restore that treasure ; though the corse be cold, 
 The mounting spirit thou cpuldst not detain. 
 
 Attend, O stranger, on whose favour d land 
 The breathless form may wake compassion's claim j 
 
 Touch the pale limbs with no irrev'rent hand, 
 And e'en in death respect an honour'd name. 
 
 Pate rn At tears will thank thee for the deed : —~ 
 Paternal tears! when shall they cease to flow? 
 
 Oh bind the wounds which thou permitt'st to bleed, 
 Thou who alone canst heat so deep a wo! 
 
REPORT OF EDMUND BURKE's DEATH, &c. 109 
 
 Was it for this a father's tend'rest care 
 
 Watch'd o'er his child with ever-anxious eye? 
 
 While fost'ring ev'ry seed of virtue fair, 
 Was it for this his noble heart beat high? 
 
 Ah wo is me ! that noble heart will fail ; 
 
 That spirit bows which never bow'd before ; 
 And soon shall Fate prepare the dreadful tale: — 
 
 The tale is told* — that Edmund lives no more. 
 
 Oh heavy news ! and wert thou thus to fall ? 
 
 Was grief to riot on so rich a prey ? 
 And from the deep the deadliest shadows call 
 
 To veil the sunset of so bright a day? 
 
 While Science mourns, while Liberty deplores, 
 While an admiring world laments thy fate ; 
 
 Friendship the silent tear in secret pours, 
 To virtues which deserv'd a longer date. 
 
 When all the shining gifts which Nature gave 
 Shall feel the wasting hand of slow decay, 
 
 ^nd when, in prospect of the ^p'ning grave, 
 All that the world calls good shall fade away;— 
 
110 REPORT OF EDMUND BURKE's DEATH, &c. 
 
 That peace, with which no earthly treasure vies, 
 Grant him, we cried, when earthly scenes retire, 
 
 In good old age to close his honour'd eyes, 
 And calmly on the filial breast expire ! 
 
 Such meed to such superior worth was due, 
 Transcending far the notes of high renown, — 
 
 What voice was that ? — O be the tidings true ! — 
 Such glorious meed his virtues yet shall crown. 
 
 Twas thine, lov'd S , the cheering voice was thine, 
 
 Prompt to partake or sooth another's wo: 
 
 Sweet Prophetess— O may'st thou well divine, 
 
 And share the comforts which thy hopes bestow. 
 
 Tis so : — this happy hour our grief repays, 
 
 For Burke still lives, still owns a father's name: 
 
 His own dear hand the joyful truth conveys, 
 Nor trusts it to the tardy voice of fame. 
 
 Yes! we forgive thee freely for the wrong, 
 (Yet was the deed unkind) — whoe'er thou be, 
 
 To whom these cruel falsehoods best belong, 
 
 Which pierc'd the hearts that never injur'd thee* 
 
REPORT OF EDMUND BURKE's DEATH, &c. Ill 
 
 While light and life now fear and doubt dispel, 
 And the glad theme so many tongues employ, 
 
 *Twas not for me my griefs aloud to tell, 
 'Tis not for me to boast aloud my joy. 
 
 But while the changing scenes of life remove, 
 Be mine that patient faith, that equal mind, 
 
 Content the good and evil both to prove, 
 To Heav'n's high will in all events resign' A 
 
s, 
 
ON A VISIT PAID TO BALLITORE 
 
 BV EDMttKD BURKE AND HIS SON. 
 
 AND what though Winter's herald hoar 
 Rudely deforms the trembling sprays 
 
 The cheerful vale of Ballitore i— 
 O was it ever half v so gay? 
 
 What caus'd this sudden strange delight ?- 
 Has Summer turn'd her steps again ? 
 
 Or does some comet's radiant flight 
 This burst of loud applause obtain ? 
 
 More radiant than the comet's flight, 
 More welcome than the summer's day* 
 
 'Tis Burke, our " ever new delight," 
 'Tis Burke appears, — and all is gay* 
 
 P 
 
114 VJSIT TO BALLITORE. 
 
 O fond illusion! idle dream! 
 
 Let not these vain ideas rise •, 
 Will he to Griese's silent stream 
 
 Withdraw him from a nation's eyes? 
 
 When pomp, and wealth, and fame, and pow'r, 
 All court him to the splendid seat - 7 
 
 Will he prefer the rural bow'r, 
 
 And from admiring crowds retreat? 
 
 He will : — that heart no fetters bind, 
 
 Repressing memory's grateful swell ; 
 And simple nature pleas'd that mind, 
 
 Where all the nobler virtues dwell. 
 
 And still he owns this classick shade, 
 And still this classick shade he loves,. 
 
 Where once a careless youth he stray'd, 
 Where now a wondrous man he moves. 
 
 With love, with admiration warm, 
 
 Behold us fondly gather round, 
 To gaze upon that princely form, 
 
 And hear once more the man renowned. 
 
VISIT TO BALLITORE. 
 
 His cordial smile our zeal rewards ; 
 
 His soothing words our hearts engage ; 
 His noble courtesy regards 
 
 * The poor man's venerable age. 
 
 And he, the youth whose cultur'd taste 
 
 A polish'd court's attention drew, 
 Admires the scenes his father tracd, 
 
 And greets the friends his father knew. 
 
 And you, ye blooming stripling train, 
 
 This age's hope, this valley's pride, 
 What honest rapture fill'd each vein 1 
 
 How beat each heart while Burke you eyed! 
 
 * The steward, who was now serving the third generation 
 of Shackleton, who remembered the great Burke a littfo boy, pu- 
 pil to his old master, and who had continued to know and to 
 love him, was now presented to this illustrious man, who shook 
 him cordially by the hand, introduced his son to him, and said, in 
 reply to the old man's compliment of ( * You have many friends in 
 " Ireland, Sir," — " I am happy, Mr. Gill, ycu are one of 
 <{ them. — You look very well. — Am I much changed since you 
 " saw me ?" — The old man, whose eyes were dimmed by age, 
 and perhaps by grateful tears, answered that he could not see. 
 Then Edmund Burke, with all thai kindness and affability for 
 which he was so remarkable, took up a candle, and holding it to 
 his own face, gave poor Gill a full view of it, and afforded a 
 scene which those who were present cannot easily forget. 
 
116 VISIT TO BALLITORE. 
 
 u And this is he, the child of fame, 
 
 u Who trod our walks from care as free j 
 
 ** Now Indian echoes sound his name :— 
 
 * e Like him O shall we ever be ?" 
 
 s 
 ^.dvent'rous youths ! such talents rare 
 
 Hath prescient Heay'n to few assign'd : 
 
 But ajl to imitate may dare 
 
 The virtues of that gen'rous mincL 
 
 Here let your just desires be found, 
 The prize shall well the toil requite j 
 
 *Tis only with such virtues crown'd 
 Such splendid talents shine so bright. 
 
 1786. 
 
M I L L-P A R K. 
 
 SERENELY smil'd th'autumnal sky, 
 The harvest on the hills was spread; 
 
 The prospect gladden'd Peggy's eye, 
 She bade the coursers forth be led ; 
 
 For we must seek this fairy scene, 
 
 Where William's king and Peggy queen. 
 
 Her call obey'd, she mounts with speed, 
 Her cheeks the blush of morning died ; 
 
 Graceful she rules the stately steed, 
 By her enamour'd William's side, 
 
 Who greets her with such smiles as those 
 
 With which mild zephyr greets the rose. 
 
 And Mary join'd the social train, 
 
 The joys of friendship fill'd her breast ; 
 
 And James was there, a Sprightly swain. 
 By nature and by science blest ; 
 
 How much he knows, and knows how well, 
 
 I must not, and I dare not tell. 
 
118 MIL L-P ARK, 
 
 High on the Kill fair Mill-park stood; 
 
 The smiles of Nature decked the seat: — 
 But we must cross the rapid flood, 
 
 Or e'er we reach the mansion neat. — 
 The flood is past, the danger o'er, 
 We smile at what alarm'd before. 
 
 O'er rugged rocks the river pours, 
 High rise the cliffs on either side: 
 
 There the rough torrent hoarsely roars; 
 Here calmly flows a peaceful tide, 
 
 And on its bosom, all serene, 
 
 Retraces the delightful scene. 
 
 All fearless as the mountain doe, ' 
 Blithe Peggy leads the steepy way : — 
 
 "We stop, and view th'abyss below; — 
 Stay, vent'rous Peggy, prythee stay : 
 
 On one false step what dangers wait ! 
 
 And wouldst thou grieve thy gentle mate ? 
 
MILL-PARK. 119 
 
 The summit gain'd, at ease reclin'd, 
 We cull the bramble's sable pride \ 
 
 And call the tragick tale to mind, 
 When infant lips these berries died: 
 
 The tragick tale, through ages long, 
 
 Shall last in Nature's simple song. 
 
 Ah! who can hear their early doom, 
 And pity's precious drops refrain. 
 
 While, wand'ring in the nightly gloom, 
 They pour'd their guiltless tears in vain 
 
 Ye faint, ye fall, none hears your cry, 
 
 Save the kind redbreast hov'ring nigh. 
 
 The noisy works of busy trade 
 Too harshly strike the female ear: 
 
 The kettle boil'd, the china laid, 
 We must no longer linger here, 
 
 But seek the dome ascending fair \ 
 
 Neatness and quiet wait us there, 
 
120 M I L L-P ARK, 
 
 In converse free and unconfin'd 
 The careless moments glided o'er ; 
 
 No formal fetters chain'd the mind, 
 
 Which the soft bands of friendship wore* 
 
 But deep'ning shades involve the sky, 
 
 And warn us homeward soon to hie. 
 
 Then, Mill-park, take my last farewell, 
 Adieu for ever, shades so dear! — 
 
 But why, my heart, this sudden swell ? 
 Why gushes thus th'unbidden tear ? 
 
 Ah ! have not I a home so sweet, 
 
 Where all domestick comforts meet ? 
 
 Why did 1 leave that spot so dear, 
 
 From which my wishes ne'er would stray* 
 
 To feel the pangs of parting here, 
 Which love of home can scarce allay? 
 
 And wilt thou, friendship, sweet and kind, 
 
 Afflict so sore the drooping mind? 
 
M I L L-P ARK. 121 
 
 Oh! who would share thy pure delight, 
 Must also share thy tender pain: 
 
 Then take these tears, they're now thy right $ 
 But when I reach my native plain, 
 
 Shall not thy smile, with wonted grace, 
 
 Beam from each dear, each kindred face? 
 
 Q 
 
A FAREWELL to the NORTH, 
 
 iSlOW the long-dreaded hour at last is o'er, 
 And I have left thee, O belov'd Stramore; 
 Have pass'd thy friendly gate, not, as ere while, 
 Soon to return and meet the cordial smile : 
 The cordial smile the ready welcome shew'd, 
 Warm from the heart the ready welcome flow'd. 
 
 All pensive now my courser's pride I rein, 
 And fondly linger hindmost of the train; 
 The morning sun now flings his clieerful dies 
 O'er the wan aspect of the wintry skies. 
 Oh glorious orb! thou wak'st my woes again, 
 And bidst remembrance aggravate my pain; 
 Recall the morn we rose with spirits light, 
 To see thy dawn in summer's glory bright : 
 Thy splendours then di^t envious clouds invade; 
 Now gloomy grief extends her deeper shade. 
 
 Oh, let me pause and look a long adieu, 
 While vet this hill commands a farewell view! 
 
124 FAREWELL TO THE NORTH. 
 
 Fair on it's brow ascends the lofty pile, 
 Where art exults in nature's fav'ring smile : 
 Graceful it stands, with shelt'ring oaks embrown'd, 
 And eyes superior all the country round. 
 
 There, where the beauteous hill begins to rise, 
 Stramore in all her modest graces lies ; 
 Bright through the green her snow-white walls appear; 
 For neatness lives and reigns triumphant here: 
 All fair without, all pure within we find, 
 Such is the place, and such its inmate's mind. 
 How sweet to rove thy guiltless lawns along, 
 Where unmolested pours the woodland song! 
 Along thy garden's velvet walks to stray, 
 Or where thy thick'ning grove excludes the day I 
 And when stern winter lays the landscape bare, 
 Winter — that e'en Stramore disdains to spare, 
 Then the glad hearth displays its cheerful charms,^ 
 The social blaze the shivnng stranger warms; 
 While with the dearer warmth his bosom glows, 
 Which hospitable friendship here bestows: 
 He feels his welcome cordial and sincere, 
 For Affectation dares not venture here ; 
 
FAREWELL TO THE NORTH. 12.5 
 
 With all her various forms she Hies the plain, 
 Where simple Truth and modest Nature reign. 
 
 There, closely veil'd with many a twisted bough, 
 
 Retir'd Moyallen lifts her modest brow. a 
 
 Oh boast, fair village, boast with honest pride, 
 The blameless race which in thy shades reside ; 
 \* here virtuous actions give the mind delight, 
 While brilliant beauty captivates the sight. 
 Hast thou not, Bann, with conscious pleasure seen 
 Thy nymphs, like roses spangling o'er the green, 
 Whose buds, unfolding to the ambient air, 
 As those are spotless, but are scarce so fair? 
 O beauteous Bann, once more let me survey 
 The early sunbeams on thy waters play. 
 Oft have I ris'n at morn my limbs to lave, 
 With my lov'd Marg'ret in thy glassy wave : 
 Oh still as now unsullied may'st thou glide, 
 And trade industrious bless thy flowing tide ! 
 But burst not o'er thy banks with cruel sway. 
 To sweep the beauty of those meads away. 
 
 Dear, well-known scenes ! from you mine eyes depart, 
 Yet still remembrance graves you on my heart j 
 
V2G FAREWELL TO THE NORTH. 
 
 And whilst these eyes with fruitless sorrows swell, 
 This heart forebodes I look a last farewell. 
 
 Beside the smooth canal we take our way: 
 All Nature — all, save me alone, is gay. 
 
 Where yon blue mountains rear the lofty head, 
 Even there on eagle-wing is Fancy fled. 
 Rosstrevor\ sheltering shades has soon descried 
 Her sea-beat shore, and woody mountain's side: 
 That mountain steep, from whose aspiring brow 
 We view'd the spacious scenes outspread below; 
 With minds enlarg'd the spacious scenes survey'd, 
 And deem'd our perils past were well repaid. 
 
 Can I forget the morn, when all so gay, 
 Fiird with the promis'd pleasures of the day, 
 Hasty we phing'd the dashing waves among, 
 Press'd our wet locks and on our coursers sprung? 
 
 Joyous we mov'd, for C y led the band, 
 
 Soul of our circle, he th' excursion plann'd : 
 He lov'd to spread these social joys around, 
 Which in his heart benevolent abound. 
 
FAREWELL TO THE NORTH. 127 
 
 His much lov'd Lucia, deck'd with smiles, was there, 
 And mild Eliza, as the lily fair : 
 There gentle William, and his blooming bride, 
 With happy hearts the op'ning prospect eyed. 
 Mourne's lofty mountains, to the left displayed, 
 In crowded group project their gloomy shade ; 
 While on the right the sea's wide waters roll : — 
 Awe-struck I gaze, and wonder fills my soul ; 
 
 And D y gaz'd : but scarcely here could find 
 
 Objects to fill the measure of his mind ; 
 
 His active spirit Nature's secrets sought : 
 
 But chief her boldest wonders fiVd his thought. 
 
 Much rather would his ardent glance survey 
 
 The bursting fires of Cotapaxi play, 
 
 Whose haughty head invades untroubled skies. 
 
 While o'er his sides the c madding tempest flies : 
 
 Much rather would his willing ear attend, 
 
 While Niagara's thund'ring waves descend : 
 
 Yet he is pleas'd; for all sublimely now 
 Slieve-Donard lifts on high his awful brow: 
 The torrent's stony channel marks his side, 
 ^tnd cultivation dares not there abide. 
 Along his sea-worn base we take our way, 
 And far beneath, with fearful gaze, survey^ 
 
128 FAREWELL TO THE NORTH. 
 
 The boundless Ocean with tumultuous roar 
 
 Lash the black rocks, and whiten on the shore. — 
 
 What do I see ? — what sudden beauties rise ? 
 Are these enchanted groves, which meet mine eyes? 
 No — 'tis the work of toil — but Taste admires 
 ClanbrasshTs waving woods and gothick spires. 
 Up the rude mountain steals the soft'ning shade — 
 Oh ! there are haunts for contemplation made : 
 There, by the living spring in secret fed, 
 The river murmurs o'er its rocky bed ; 
 Now all collected spreads the silver store, 
 Now down the steep the rushing waters roar: 
 The guardian-banks their stony sides disclose, 
 And a deep shade o'er all a solemn cov'ring throws. 
 
 A softer scene now Fancy's eye surveys, "} 
 
 Where through fair fields the silver Lagan strays, I 
 And midst embow'ring trees looks forth the Maze. J 
 Let not the sacrilegious axe invade 
 A century's growth, this venerable shade, 
 Where the white hours behold, as gay they move, 
 Louisa's smile reward unshaken love. 
 
FAREWELL TO THE NORTH. 129 
 
 And Lisburn near, for beauty far renown'd, 
 Surveys her plains with Nature's favours crown'd: 
 High on green slopes the waving fir-trees grow, 
 And the canal's calm waters shine below $ 
 While on the borders move (a glitt'ring train) 
 Full many a blooming maid and sprightly swain. 
 
 Where, like the ocean's spreading waters wide, 
 Lough-Neagh's broad bosom hoards the limpid tide, 
 Fair Lurgan stands ; and Fancy roves again, 
 Where Taste and Brownlow beautify the plain : 
 But purer pleasures touch the grateful heart, — 
 The joys which friendship's social charms impart. 
 
 And thou, Dungannon, claim'st my votive layj 
 Still Mem'ry s eyes thy beauteous seats survey > 
 On Mem'ry's ear thy Echoes wondrous fall, 
 Where sev'n loud answers wait the single call. 
 Here fertile hills lift their bold slopes on high, 
 And, spread beneath, the woody vallies lie j 
 While hospitality, with courteous care, 
 Leads the glad stranger through the scenes so fair : 
 
 R 
 
130 FAREWELL TO THE NORTH. 
 
 Not to the parent-soil alone confin'd, 
 
 The flow'rs of kindness grace the children's mind. 
 
 O hospitality! thou plant belov'd, 
 On earth delightful, and by Heav'n approved, 
 Wert thou not sent the walks of life to grace, 
 To shield or solace man's afflicted race? 
 If his smooth path no adverse storms assail, 
 Thy beauties charm him, and thy sweets regale : 
 But should Adversity, with chilling blast, 
 Fade ev'ry flow'r which cheer'd him as he past, 
 Thy shelt ring arms a kind protection spread 
 O'er the forsaken wand'rer's houseless head. 
 
 Now cease, my Muse, for here thou must not dwell \ 
 Bid each dear shade, and dearer friend — farewell. 
 Still bound to you by friendship's sacred ties, 
 Though rivers roll between, and mountains rise, 
 In the calm quiet of my native bow'rs, 
 Oft shall my thoughts recall these happy hours; 
 And, spite of parting pangs, with joy review 
 These hours, which gave my heart such friends as you. 
 
 1783*. 
 
T O W. F. G. 
 
 -ON THE LOSS OF HIS LINNET. 
 
 VJ fair Aonian Maid, descend; 
 Assist me to console a friend ; 
 Swift through the yielding azure fly, 
 And wipe the tear frqm William's eye, 
 Who lately heard, from sorrow free, 
 His Linnet sing as sweet as thee. 
 
 Lately — but now no more shall hear 
 These " wood-notes wild," with raptur'd ear 
 Did he for this the food prepare, 
 And joy to tend his pleasing care ? 
 His pleasing care (ah luckless day!) 
 Some envious hand purloin'd away. 
 The open, empty cage he spies ; 
 Grief swells his heart, and fills his eyes : 
 The sweet inhabitant is gone, 
 Nor hears his master's fruitless moan. 
 
132 T O W, F. G. 
 
 But thou, who wrought this cruel deed, 
 With thee may never Linnet feed! 
 Thy cage for ever empty be, 
 And never Goldfinch sing for thee ! 
 May thee no Blackbird whistle near, 
 Nor ever Thrush with musick cheer! 
 But Rooks and Ravens croak around thee, 
 And Magpies with their din confound thee, 
 Who coukTst maliciously annoy 
 The pleasures of a fav'rite boy. 
 
 And yet in vain was all thy spite 
 To mar his innocent delight : 
 For though the pretty songster's fled, 
 The Muse herself comes in its stead; 
 The comfort of her verse she brings, 
 And Clio, not the Linnet, sings, 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF S, E. 
 
 WHO DIED AT CALCUTTA, 17S1. AGED 22. 
 
 iVlY Muse, which erst her earliest bays 
 On Edward E — — 's cold ashes laid, 
 
 Sorrowing, the mournful tribute pays 
 To Samuel's dear, departed shade. 
 
 Companions of those joyous hours, 
 
 When op'ning life bloom' d fair and gay, 
 
 Shall not the votive strain be yours ? 
 Must early friendship pass away? 
 
 No, seldom are those ties unbound, 
 
 Form'd when the heart no sorrow knew; 
 
 And if the long-lost friend be found, 
 Each long-lost scene we glad renew. 
 
134 TO THE MEMORY Of S, E. 
 
 Why would'st thou leave thy native isle, 
 Fair youth, those hostile seas to dare? 
 
 Can those sweet looks, that rosy smile, 
 Avert the wasting wrath of war? 
 
 While on thy form the Graces smilM, 
 All brighter shone thy polish'd mind; 
 
 Where genius ripe, and temper mild, 
 And early virtue were combin'd. 
 
 Yet grief assaiPd thy tender years, 
 
 Thy guiltless bosom heav'd with sighs - r 
 
 Unpitied oft the silent tears 
 
 Fiird the wrong'd orphan's beauteous eyes. 
 
 Though well his gentle heart confest 
 
 Each sacred claim to pity due ; 
 Yet dauntless courage fir'd his breast, 
 
 And war her sounding trumpet blew. 
 
 He caught the sound — he tempts the seas, 
 (And leaves each faithless friend behind) 
 
 Where the proud fleet her flag displays 
 All waving with the wanton wind. 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF S. E. 135 
 
 He 'scap'd the cannon's fiery wound; 
 
 He 'scap'd the ocean's greedy wave; 
 His youthful brows the laurel crown'd, 
 
 And valour's meed awaits the brave. 
 
 O best reward of ail thy pain ! 
 
 And shalt thou seek thy native shore? 
 A brother's face behold again, 
 
 Nor fear the frowns of Fortune more r 
 
 Close to that brother's soul allied, 
 
 Though fate your lots asunder threw 
 
 Far as the bounds of earth divide— 
 
 And shall ye meet where first ye grew? 
 
 Will ye not then, with joy elate, 
 Each other's admiration claim ? 
 
 While both account your various fate ; 
 
 For each brave youth was dear to fame. 
 
 Will you not then the scenes retrace 
 Of sportive childhood's golden days, 
 
 And own a brother's fond embrace 
 A nine years' separation pays? 
 
136 TO THE MEMORY OF S. E. 
 
 Ye will not thus : — ye meet no more : — 
 Death hovers in these burning skies > 
 
 And, distant from his native shore, 
 His prey the blooming warrior lies. 
 
 O eastern regions ! Fatal climes, 
 
 Where stern oppression rules severe !— 
 
 But Heav'n's broad eye beholds the crimes, 
 The cries of mis'ry Heav'n will hear. 
 
 Sure thou, lov'd youth, wert guiltless found, 
 Though fate ordain'd thine early grave: — 
 
 And didst thou 'scape the fiery wound, 
 
 And didst thou 'scape the greedy wave, 
 
 To sink beneath fell fever's fire? — 
 
 Thy warlike brother ploughs the sea; — 
 
 What joyful hopes his breast inspire ! 
 
 For nought on earth he loves like thee. 
 
 From western worlds, from hostile lands, 
 Where battle's crimson banners spread, 
 
 He comes : — 'tis thee his soul demands : — 
 He meets the tidings — Thou art dead ! 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF S. E. 137 
 
 Has he not heard the rushing foe? 
 
 Has he not heard the cannon's roar? 
 Has he not heard that tempest blow* 
 
 Which western isles must long deplore ? 
 
 Then why the soldier's cheek so pale? 
 
 Why do his vanquish 'd eyes o'erflow ? — - 
 Oh ! rever did his heart assail 
 
 A sound so dire, such sounds of wo ! 
 
 Uncertain thus our transient state - y 
 Uncertain thus our dreams of joy ; 
 
 And when such ills his path await, 
 
 Shall man his hapless kind destroy? 
 
 Ye brothers of the youth so dear, 
 
 Who tread like him a dang'rous way, 
 
 Accept this tributary tear ; 
 Accept this tributary lay. 
 
 Oh may you own the golden reign 
 
 Of Him who bids each tumu!t cease j 
 
 And hail the beauteous youth again, 
 In regions of eternal peace ! 
 
 * The hurricane in St. Lucia* 
 S 
 
THE WIDOW. 
 
 No circumstance of this distressful tale has been exaggerated. Tke 
 writer, visiting where the widow was a servant, was struck with 
 the extreme dejection of her countenance, and with the uncommonly 
 plaintive tones which she was overheard to sing. Happily for her she 
 sought where consolation alone was to be found, in the comforts of 
 Religion. 
 
 * NlNE days the mortal wound thou bore, 
 
 6 And Death with Nature strove; 
 5 And I was on this distant shore., 
 c Thou husband of my love. 
 
 x Denied to me each sacred rite 
 c Of mourning love to pay ; 
 
 < Denied to me the last sad sight: — 
 
 c Oh! thou wert far away. — 
 
 < Why was the youth I held so dear 
 
 c With ev'ry beauty blest? 
 
 * And why such ties of truth sincere 
 
 c Attach him to my breast \ 
 
140 THE WIDOW, 
 
 * That fated day why did we prize, 
 
 c Which saw our hands unite ? 
 
 * Unthinking Love no cloud descries 
 
 * In Fortune's glaring light. 
 
 c And why did War her voice abhorr'd 
 c Lift in our peaceful land? 
 
 * And why did he, my wedded lord, 
 
 ' Mix with the martial band? 
 
 6 Why did he trust the promise vain, 
 8 That he should here abide; 
 
 c Should stay to guard his native plain, 
 < And guard his helpless bride ? 
 
 c O ye, who honour's just demand 
 c So lightly can forego, 
 
 * Who tear him from his native land; 
 
 * Ye shall not part us so.— 
 
 Q With many a weary step I mov'de 
 ' Distress my bosom tore ; — 
 
 ' And now a mother's throes I prov'd, — 
 c And now a babe I bore. 
 
THE WIDOW. 141 
 
 c Patient for thee, my infant mild, 
 
 6 I bore a mother's throes ; 
 c But thou hast cost me, hapless child, 
 
 ' Severer pangs than those. — 
 
 c And is not yet our journey done, 
 6 Though Britain's isle we greet ? — 
 
 * My luckless lord! a burning sun 
 c Must on thy temples beat. 
 
 c Yon vessel bound for Indian lands 
 c Invokes the fav'ring wind : — 
 
 " Then go where rig'rous Fate commands;- 
 " I will not stay behind. 
 
 " With thee I'll tempt the ocean drear, 
 " And ev'ry dang'rous way : 
 
 " This smiling babe our toils shall cheer, 
 " And Hope shall be our stay. 
 
 *' And when the battle rages loud, 
 " My prayers shall louder be; 
 
 " I'll watch thee 'midst the furious crowci, 
 " Pll tend and cherish thee.' 
 
142 THE WIDOW. 
 
 c But see the war-steeFd chiefs appear, 
 c Their purpose dire to tell ; 
 
 c And from the father's breast to tear 
 c All that he lov'd so well. 
 
 6 O thou, who didst this doom approve f 
 
 * Ye Motliers all depart! 
 c Connubial, or paternal love 
 
 6 Ne'er warm'd thy savage heart: 
 
 c Else had that gen'ral cry of pain 
 c Relax'd thy stubborn will. — 
 
 < Keen anguish seiz'd my throbbing brain: — 
 < I feel, I feel it still. 
 
 c My babe, when ev'ry fond delay 
 4 Of ling'ring love was o'er ; 
 
 c How light did all the sorrows weigh 
 « Thy mother felt before! 
 
 6 Now high in air the streamer flows, 
 c The sails their bosoms swell ; 
 
 6 While to the husband of my vows 
 c I breath'd, a last farewell. 
 
THE WIDOW. 143 
 
 " Akd take," he cried, " these garments fair, 
 " These shall thy wants supply: 
 
 " Thy widow'd spouse has now no care 
 " To please thy partial eye. 
 
 " And take this watch of silver fine, 
 
 " (My joyous hours are past :) 
 " When Want shall seize each gift of mine, 
 
 " Resign this gift v the last.' 
 
 c Ye pitying maidens list'ning round, 
 ' I see your cheeks grow pale : — 
 
 c Your gentle breasts why should I wound 
 c With such a mournful tale ? 
 
 * Ne'er may your tender frames endure 
 c The hardships which I prov'd ; 
 
 c Cold, hungry, feeble, faint and poor, 
 6 And far from him I lov'd. 
 
 c Oh ne'er may yours these tortures own, 
 
 * Which oft my bosom dried; 
 6 While, answ'ring to its mother's moan, 
 
 4 My trembling infant cried. 
 
144 T H E W I D O W. 
 
 c But Fortune now with transient smile, 
 c As wearied with my harms, 
 
 * Restores me to my native isle, 
 
 c And to my kindred's arms. 
 
 6 How short the calm! — Now Rumour flies 
 c Swift from the hostile plain ; 
 
 6 And Rumour tells, my husband lies— 
 c Lies mingled with the slain. 
 
 c Yet o'er the clouds, which death portend, 
 
 ' Deceitful comfort stole ; 
 ■' And Hope, the wretch's latest friend, 
 
 fc Upheld my sinking soul. 
 
 6 For sure I thought that free from stain, 
 c A guiltless life I led, 
 
 * And pitying Heav'n would cease to rain 
 
 6 Such sorrows on my head. 
 
 c At least O grant me strength to bear 
 ' My mis'ry now complete: — 
 
 6 I heard the truth : — I liv'd to hear : — 
 * And Reason kept her seat. 
 
THE WIDOW. 145 
 
 6 It was that fatal day of blood 
 
 c On Commander's coast; 
 6 When Cuddolore the force withstood 
 
 6 Of Britain's warlike host. 
 
 6 That ruthless War permission found 
 ' To make my lord her prey : — 
 
 ' He languish'd with his mortal wound, 
 c And I was far away. 
 
 * In those dark hours my tender cares 
 
 c Might haply have prevail'd; 
 c And faithful Love with ardent prayers 
 6 Had Mercy's gate assaiPd. 
 
 * That precious flood of streaming gore 
 
 6 My duteous hand had dried ; 
 ' And friendless, on that burning shore, 
 c My husband had not died. 
 
 * No wonder now my songs are sad, 
 
 ' And tears incessant flow: 
 
 * This heart must never more be glad, 
 
 6 'Tis wedded now to wo. 
 T 
 
146 THE WIDOW, 
 
 4 Had he I lov'd unfaithful been, 
 ' And giv'n my vows away; 
 
 6 I still could bear that anguish keen,* 
 6 And for his safety pray. 
 
 * Oft in my dreams his image dear 
 
 6 Returns upon my sight : — 
 c I wake to pour the lonely tear, 
 c And sicken at the light. 
 
 * Oh! sure my fainting heart had died ? 
 
 ' But mercy sweet I found; 
 c And He the healing balm applied, 
 
 * Whose pow'r ordain'd the wound* 
 
 * He. gracious Father, firmest Friend, 
 
 c Beheld a widow's moan ; 
 f And taught me comfort's dews descend 
 
 * From Him, and Him alone.* 
 
 * This sentiment, singular 3,1 it xnzy seem, wa$ expressed bjr 
 the widow. 
 
THE WIDOW- 14' 
 
 The widow ceas'd. — My Nancy dear 
 
 Indulgent Pity sway'd; 
 And to her Mary's list'ning ear 
 
 The mournful tale convey'd. 
 
 Thou gave the subject to my Muse, 
 To thee she gives the strain ; 
 
 And never may our hearts refuse 
 To share .another's pain J 
 
THE INTERMENT OF 
 
 VARUS AND HIS LEGIONS 
 
 BY GERMANICUS. 
 
 FROM TACITUS. 
 
 JN OT far from hence, the scene of dire dismay, 
 The forest drear of Teutoburgium lay, 
 Where, slain by barb'rous hands, the Roman host 
 Mourn'd their brave countrymen ignobly lost. 
 Now twice the Sun had trod his annual round, 
 And still their bones strew the detested ground ; 
 Germanicus, the noble Roman chief, 
 His gen'rous bosom touch 'd with honest grief, 
 Asks if his troops consent to pierce the gloom, 
 And grant their yet unburied friends a tomb. 
 The pious troops the pious act approve, 
 Inspir'd by pity and fraternal love; 
 
156 INTERMENT OF VARUS, kc. 
 
 For in this tender interest all had part, 
 
 Or kindred's ties, or friendship's bound the heart ; 
 
 Or the disastrous lot of human kind, 
 
 Or war's eventful fortune mov'd the mind* 
 
 The deed resolv'd, Csecina hastes before, 
 To pierce the wilds, the doubtful paths explore - y 
 O'er reedy pools and treach'rous marshes laid 
 The bridge secure, or solid causeway made. 
 Approaching where the melancholy wood, 
 Hideous to sight, hideous to mem'ry, stood, 
 The troops with awe the deep'ning shades espy, 
 And now the doleful solitude is nigh. 
 They enter sad ; and all before them lay 
 The forest drear, the scene of dire dismay: 
 There his wide camp ill-fated Varus spread; 
 Three Roman Eagles there three legions led ; 
 The ruinous intrenchments still remain, 
 And the chok'd ditch had swallow'd up the slain: 
 Perhaps rcsolv'd their desp'rate fate they tried, 
 And here, as in their graves, contending died. 
 Behold the open field, a piteous sight, 
 The .field with bones of slaughter'd Romans white! 
 
INTERMENT OF VARUS, &c. 151 
 
 Long look'd on by the dark and angry sky, 
 There singly fah'n, and here in heaps they He : 
 There, as they fled before superior might ; 
 There, as they struggled in th'unequal fight ; 
 Here in their path are broken javelins thrown, 
 And there the gen'rous coursers' limbs are thrown. 
 O Roman hearts, how wildly throbb'd you then, 
 When the torn trees display'd the sculls of men! 
 Oh luckless fruit, and oh accursed groves, 
 The pious foot far from your confines roves. 
 Deep in your haunts the savage altars rise, 
 Where smok'd the horrid, human sacrifice ; 
 Where, by the stern barbarians captives led, 
 The Tribunes and Centurions basely bled. — 
 Oh scenes of horror! monuments of grief! 
 Nor rage, nor pity can afford relief: 
 Some few surviv'd their fellows' fate to tell, 
 And point the spot where their lov'd leaders felL 
 
 " We lost our Eagles there, the Roman shame 
 " Here wounded Varus moum'd his flying fame; 
 «* Retreating there, he made the fatal stand, 
 " And perish'd by his own unhappy hand.. 
 
152 INTERMENT OF VARUS, &c. 
 
 " There the tribunal of Arminius stood : 
 
 " The proud Arminius, red with Roman blood, 
 
 " Harangued his host ; and there his eyes he fed 
 
 " With Roman pris'ners to vile gibbets led, 
 
 " Our standards falPn, our glory laid so low ; — 
 
 " Insulting triumph of a barb'rous foe !" 
 
 'Twas thus the troops, by gen'rous pity sway'd, 
 The long-neglected, pious duties paid. 
 While all the melancholy business share, 
 None knew whose bones eiigag'd his tender care ; 
 But, while revenge and grief his bosom rend, 
 Beholds them as a kinsman or a friend, 
 In this sad office, grateful to the dead, 
 And in th 'indignant tears the living shed, 
 Germanicus took part ; and, kind as brave, 
 Laid the first sod upon the common grave. 
 
 Such are thy trophies, with such stains defil'd, 
 Insatiate War, Ambition's cruel child! 
 Behold man thirsting for his brother's blood, 
 Like the fell monsters of the savasre wood!— 
 And shall such hatred in those souls reside^ 
 For whom our gracious meek Redeemer died? 
 
INTERMENT OF VARUS, &c. 153 
 
 Forbid it, all ye sainted choirs above! 
 Forbid it, O thou sacred Law of Love! 
 Perplex'd and rugged is the path of life ; — ■ 
 Then do not plant it with the thorns of strife. 
 
 O for that time when War's loud voice shall cease, 
 When hopeless slav'ry shall obtain release* 
 And a tumultuous world be hush'd in universal peace ! 
 
 i 
 
 v 
 
EPITHALAMIU M. 
 T O A. S. 
 
 W HEN now thy tranquil heart calm comfort knows, 
 Nor hopes, nor fears disturb its sweet repose ; 
 When now thy cup of earthly bliss runs o'er, 
 And hardly canst thou dare to ask for more; 
 When now thy hours in gay succession move, 
 Blest in the sweet reward of constant love ; — 
 Say shall the Muse thou cherish'd raise her lay, 
 And to fraternal love the tribute pay? 
 Inspir'd by Lydia's smiles, the song renew, 
 The song to friendship and a brother due ? 
 Thus while the needle's task employs my hours, 
 The busy mind collects her active pow'rs, 
 In Fancy's fields to cull th'immortal blow, 
 And weave a garland for thy Lydia's brow. 
 
 Flow softly, Griese, attend the bridal strain, 
 Nor drink the tefairs of slighted love again. 
 
1.56 E P I T H A L A M I U M. 
 
 The flatt'ring groves their tempting smiles put on 
 What need we now your smiles ? the prize is won. 
 Ye would not cheer my brother when he stray'd, 
 An hopeless lover, in your mournful shade. 
 The waters murmur'd, and the breezes sigh'd, 
 And Echo sadly to his plaints replied ; 
 Yet to no other object turn his eyes, 
 Fix'd in his breast his Lydia's image lies, 
 Oh, then reward the worthy gen'rous swain, 
 Nor let a constant lover sue in vain. — 
 ghe smiles: the chilling snows dissolve away, 
 And hope's fair dawn foretells a prosp'rous day; 
 Soft yielding show'rs allay the boist'rous wind, 
 jAnd Nature learns from Lydia to be kind. 
 
 Flow softly, Griese, attend the bridal strain, 
 Nor drink the tears, of slighted love again. 
 
 At length the day arrives, the happy day, 
 Pale Doubt and Envy sicken at the ray ; 
 Where rise Eblana's tow'rs with graceful prida, 
 Twas there the happy nuptial knot was tied. 
 To fair Maria's dome our steps are led, 
 Where Friendship decks the board by Plenty spread. 
 
E P I T H A L A M I U M. l£7 
 
 There drest in smiles, behold the bridal throngs 
 
 Each damsel worthy of a poet's song: 
 
 No wishes to surpass the rest annoy 
 
 The gentle bosom, tun'd alone to joy; 
 
 As in the galaxy, with mingled rays, 
 
 The modest stars diffuse a gen'ral blaze. 
 
 Flow Softly, Griese, attend the bridal strain, 
 Nor drink the tears of slighted love again, 
 
 But see ! the bride in virgin-beauty drest, 
 Led by the Graces, gleams beyond the rest; 
 As Hesper's charms, in dewy lustre bright, 
 Excel the brilliant daughters of the night. 
 Her gentle manners, and her aspect kind, 
 Are but the mirror of her brighter mind. 
 See these blue eyes with Pallas' wisdom shine, 
 Skilful like her the various thread to twine; 
 But Pallas' sterner air aside she lays, 
 And on her lip the smile of Venus plays. 
 Diana's walk, and graceful blush is seen, 
 On thy smooth cheek, and in thy lofty mien ; 
 \Vhere wisdom, love, and moiesty conspire, 
 The finish 'd piece e'en Envy must admire; — 
 
158 EPITHALAMIUM, 
 
 But frown not on my song, accomplish'd fair, 
 If I to fabled names thy charms compare : 
 In those blest days when simple nature sway'd 
 The artless breast, so smiPd the Syrian maid; 
 tair as the morn to Manrre's valleys came, 
 And crown'd the Patriarch's Heav'n-directed flame. 
 Flow softly;, Griese, attend the bridal strain, 
 Nor drink the tears of slighted love again. 
 
 Now the glad steeds are to the chariot join'd, 
 The rolling wheels leave pomp and care behind. 
 No vulgar plain expects thee, lovely maid; 
 Thy presence deigns to grace no vulgar shade : 
 Dear to the Muses are our genial groves ; 
 There the great spirit of blest Science roves : 
 Spring flies before thee, and prepares thy way ; 
 A fresher green the smiling meads array: 
 Ambrosial dews refresh the springing flow'rs, i 
 The budding hawthorn, and the thick'ning bow'rs 
 Beneath thy feet the pregnant violet springs, 
 And Zephyrs fan thee with their balmy wings. 
 Thy blooming charge to hail thy coming fly. 
 And on their mistress feast the greedy eye ; 
 
E P I T H A L A M I U M. 159 
 
 While genuine smiles o'er their fresh beauties play. 
 
 Already conscious of her gentle sway. 
 
 Fk.w softly, Griese, attend the bridal strain, 
 Nor drink the tears of slighted love again. 
 
 Yes: thou wilt love our valley, lovely maid 5 
 Thy ir odest virtues seek the silent shade : 
 To crown these virtues, see ! immortal Love 
 Plucks spring's first treasures in th'unfading grove: 
 (No wanton boy, whose darts at random fly. 
 But a bright Being of the upper sky ) 
 Th' eternal buds shall round thy temples glow, 
 Nor scorch'd by summer's heat, nor chill'd by winter's snow. 
 
 Now, Griese,- flow swiftly through the happy plain. 
 And on thy willows let my harp remain, 
 Till prosp'rous Love awake the strings again. 
 
 ) 
 
OK A 
 
 GROTTO MADE BY CHILDREN, 
 
 BEHOLD this Grot: by infant hands 
 Compos'd, the little wonder stands, 
 tiere Lydia, Robert, Bella vied 
 Who best the rugged stone should hide : 
 Fraternal love their toils beguil'd, 
 And all who saw their labours srmTd. 
 The roof with shells and moss inlaid, 
 And velvet seat, their toils o'erpaid. 
 
 What joy the finish'd work inspires! 
 Unknown to you the wild desires, 
 The secret sigh, the starting tear 
 Of him who stoops to enter here; 
 While Innocence, your guardian, spreads 
 Her snowy pinions o'er your heads. 
 
 But, when your spreading forms arise. 
 Will you these childish joys despise? — 
 
 X 
 
162 ON A GROTTO MADE BY CHILDREN. 
 
 No : mem'ry still shall fondly gaze 
 On the dear scene of happier days. 
 But nobler tasks will then employ 
 The prudent girls, and studious boy ; 
 With manners pure, and thoughts refin'd, 
 So to adorn the deathless mind ; 
 So fitly words and actions place, 
 That those may add to these a grace. 
 Thus, when your Grot shall fall, you'll raise 
 A fairer monument of praise! 
 
ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF MY AUNT. 
 
 >«•*&•«« 
 
 W HY on the willow hangs my harp so long ? 
 The fun'ral dirge has oft been sung by me : 
 Then, dearest subject of my saddest song, 
 
 Why am I slow to mourn the loss of thee ? 
 
 Light sorrows soon dissolve, like melting snow ; 
 
 But when beneath the heaviest grief we groan, 
 The soul, astonish'd at so vast a wo, 
 
 Stands stupified, and harden \d into stone. 
 
 My dearest Aunt, I ne'er shall see thee more ; 
 
 No more instruction gather from thy tongue j 
 No more to thee my trifling cares deplore ; 
 
 Oh, cease my heart, with keen reflection stung ! 
 
 No : though my heart weeps blood at ev'ry vein, 
 I'll bring her virtues to my tortur'd mind, 
 
 Her patient suffering years of ling 'ring pain, 
 Her sweet, benevolence, and soul refin'cL 
 
1(54 r ON THE DEATH OF MY AUNT. 
 
 Happy the youth intrusted to her care ! 
 
 Her precepts taught us. her example won: 
 Happy, if we like her shall persevere, 
 
 Like her behold a joyful day's-work done ! 
 
 Gently she chid, and with delight approv'd, 
 Nor on our youthful errors frown 'd severe ; 
 
 We fear'd t'offend whom we so dearly lov'd, 
 
 Who sought our welfare with a mother's care. 
 
 Fair Charity fix VI in that breast her home ; 
 
 In that soft seat sweet Mercy lov'd to dwell : 
 And what the poor have lost — that rending groan, 
 
 Those looks, that gushing flood of anguish tell. 
 
 Did e'er her eye withhold the pitying tear ? 
 
 Did e'er her tongue the humble boon deny ? 
 Pid she to sorrow's tale refuse her ear, 
 
 Or fail'd her hand the cordials to supply ? 
 
 Clos'd is that eye, that shed the pitying tear ; 
 
 Mute is that tongue, which comfort could impart ° P 
 For ever deaf that once attentive ear, 
 
 And cold, for ever cold, that gen'rous heart ! 
 
ON THE DEATH OF MY AUNT. 165 
 
 When the loud storm disturb'd the peaceful night, 
 And the tall elm-trees bow'd before the windj 
 
 On those dear eyes did no soft slumbers light, 
 And soothing quiet fled that gentle mind. 
 
 Not for herself she fear'd : her tender heart 
 
 Felt for the poor, wet with the wintry rain ; 
 
 Felt for the tempest-tossed sons of art, 
 
 Who plough'd the dang'rous bosom of the main. 
 
 See pining sickness on her vitals seize, 
 
 And steal that dear, that valued life away: 
 
 Ah ! stop thy rapid progress, dire disease, 
 
 A little yet a little longer stay. 
 
 For her the widow supplicating cries, 
 
 And the poor orphans pour their prayers in vain, 
 " She who consol'd our woes expiring lies, — 
 
 < ; Can none (though all would gladly) ease her pain ?'' 
 
 Ah me ! with what unutterable pangs 
 
 That life so dear declining fast I view'd ; 
 
 While fell Suspense her unrelenting fangs 
 
 Fixd in my heart, and drank my vital blood! 
 
166 ON THE DEATH OF MY AUNT. 
 
 Ye sons of science, skill'd in Plan's lore, 
 
 Say can you comfort's healing balm impart? 
 
 What cordial can the fainting soul restore ? 
 
 Or where's the styptick for a bleeding heart? 
 
 I thought kind death my anguish soon would end; 
 
 But human reason judges oft in vain ; 
 I saw thee, oh my parent and my friend, 
 
 I saw thee languish under mortal pain. 
 
 I saw the dreary hour of parting breath ; 
 
 Saw trembling on thy lip the fatal sigh; 
 1 saw these precious eye-balls roll in death ; 
 
 I saw thee dying — and — I did not die ! 
 
 There was the cruel blow! — Death's heavy hand 
 Broke the fine thread, and bid us ever part : 
 
 Lost in convulsive grief we groaning stand, 
 
 And crowding sorrows swell the bursting heart. 
 
 Oh, what is life, its loss that we bewail, 
 
 And to preserve it with such fondness strive ? 
 
 What — that we should, when Nature's calls prevail, 
 Celestial shade, desire thee still alive? 
 
ON THE DEATH OF MY AUNT. 167 
 
 What is it, but to drink the cup of tears, — 
 
 Through a wild maze of thorny cares to tread, — 
 
 To war with passions, sink beneath our fears ? — 
 Oh ! what is life, when we behold thee dead ? 
 
 Thy loss an only sister's tears deplore, 
 
 Her sweet companion, and her earliest friend ; 
 
 Who hop'd, when life's tumultuous scenes were o'er, 
 Her latter days in peace with thee to spend. 
 
 Thy loss a faithful handmaid weeps sincere, 
 
 Whose filial love thy mild commands bespeak; 
 
 Who, like an orphan-child, with many a tear 
 
 Bath'd thy pale corse, and kiss'd thy clay-cold cheek. 
 
 Bur still, dear mother, still thy throbbing heart, 
 And cease, Eliza, fondly to complain ; 
 
 Had not wise Heav'n decreed this bitter smart, 
 
 Your prayers, your tears had not been pour'd in vain. 
 
 But weak are all our efforts; mighty wo 
 
 Soon bears down reason,, like a rushing sea: 
 
 Who bids the tears of nature not to flow? 
 
 Oh ! were they tears of blood, they're due to thee. 
 
163 ON THE DEATH OF MY AUNT. 
 
 See Mem'ry leads her fair, ideal band : 
 
 Let me embrace the pleasing, pensive guest. — 
 
 Oh Mem'ry, cease: thy close-compressing hand 
 Fastens ten thousand sorrows to my breast. 
 
 That converse wisely gay and sweetly grave, 
 
 That tear, which soft compassion taught to flow, 
 
 These peaceful smiles, which conscious virtue gave, 
 Wring my sad soul with agonizing wo. — 
 
 What do I see ? what form divine appears, 
 
 Breaks the black cloud, and shines serenely bright ? 
 
 Her placid eye-lids undehTd with tears, 
 
 Her mien compos'd, and robe of woven light ? 
 
 'Tis Resignation, by Religion sent: 
 
 She comes to lull our bleeding woes to rest; 
 She comes to bid us not that stroke lament, 
 
 Which made the suff'ring saint for ever blest. 
 
 There, where the stream of life immortal flows, — 
 There, where the tears are wip'd from ev'ry eye,— 
 
 There, where the weary traveler finds repose, — 
 There lives my Aunt: and she shall never die, 
 
ON THE DEATH OF MY AUNT. 169 
 
 Oh, if we gain that blest, that tranquil shore, 
 
 Say shall our souls uncloth'd each other know ? 
 
 Shall long-divided friends embrace once more, 
 
 Nor dread the stroke of death, which parts below - ? 
 
 Presumptuous mortal, form'd by Nature frail, 
 Receive as comforts sent the staff and rod; 
 
 Seek not to learn w T hat is beyond the vail, 
 
 But humbly hope, be still, and know thy God. 
 
SPRING MOUNT. 
 
 SPRINGMOUNT, while my ravished sight 
 Stray 'd o'er thy beauties with delight, 
 
 1 plann'd for thee the votive lay : 
 And now, though distant far away, 
 
 My Muse, in humble valleys born, 
 Attunes the trembling strings ; 
 
 Nor let fair Springmount's master scorn 
 The tribute which she brings. 
 
 When he, who on a worse intent 
 Than ever mov'd my Muse was bent, 
 Through the wide waste of Chaos trod 
 A long, uncomfortable road ; 
 
 At length he leap d the sacred fence, 
 
 And bursting on his view 
 Beheld the blest inheritance 
 To steadfast virtue due. 
 
 So when, in later days, my Muse 
 (She*!! the comparison excuse) 
 With painful step had journey'd slow, 
 O'er lofty Kilworth's dreary brow ; 
 
172 S P R I N G M O U N T. 
 
 At length she reach'd the social shrine, — 
 
 The doors are open thrown, 
 And Springmount, breathing sweets divine, 
 
 In all its glory shone. 
 
 Though thus compared, with difPrent views 
 Did Satan then, does now my Muse 
 An earthly paradise explore, 
 And traverse all its borders o'er : 
 An happy pair, with fell despite, 
 
 He purposed to destroy ; 
 An happy pah% in friendship's right, 
 Site celebrates with joy. 
 
 Let us ascend the turret's height, 
 And send afar the dazzled sight, 
 Where silver Lee, with rapid glide, 
 To the broad ocean pours his tide : 
 His banks 3 by nature's hand attir'd, 
 
 Where various beauties throng, 
 Seem by the passing ships admir'd, 
 As slow they move along. 
 
 There Cork her splendid front displays, 
 Nor she disdains the Muse's lays ; 
 
SPRINGMOUNT. 173 
 
 For where her stately streets extend, 
 The classick shades their beauties blend : 
 Remembrance wanders back to thee, 
 
 And haunts thy peopled streets, 
 Where courteous hospitality 
 
 With smiles the stranger greets. 
 
 Now call thy wand'ring glances home, 
 Where the lov'd mistress of the dome 
 Amidst her balmy garden stands, 
 And tends her flowVs with skilful hands. 
 The grateful sweets reward her care, 
 
 As though they joy'd to find 
 Congenial virtues flourish fair 
 Within their lady's mind. 
 
 O rosy Health, thy pinions spread, 
 And shield from harm that honoured head, 
 From noontide heats, and ev'ning dews-, 
 Her pleasing task while she pursues: 
 Thy smile shall gild the passing hours, 
 
 And brightest bloom bestow ; 
 Though western worlds present their flow'rs 
 On Springmount's hill to blow. 
 
174 SPRINGMOU'NT. 
 
 But, Springmount, plants of nobler kind 
 Employ thy lib'ral master's mind; 
 An hopeful train around him meet, 
 And sit beneath his doctrine sweet, 
 
 To taste that love, which widely spreads, 
 
 Or humbly seek to find 
 The dew, that solemn silence sheds 
 O'er the sequester'd mind. 
 
 Oh, may that pure and holy fount, 
 Which issues from the sacred mount, 
 Long the delightful streams supply 
 Of gospel-love and harmony! 
 
 Long may their host with kindly cheer 
 
 His visitants caress ; 
 And, like his Lord and Master dear, 
 Both break the bread, and bless! 
 
 Yet the dread hour is on its way, 
 (Far distant be the fatal day !) 
 When this lov'd pair for seats divine 
 Their earthly Eden must resign. — 
 
SPRINGMOUNT. 175 
 
 Oh, Springmount, how thy charms will fade, 
 
 Beheld by weeping eyes j 
 While grief shall sicken in thy shade, 
 
 And load the gale with sighs ! 
 
 That hall, where joys so pure were felt,, 
 Where open-hearted kindness dwelt, 
 Oh, may its echoes neer rebound 
 Intemp'rate riot's empty sound ! 
 The mother-vine laments that e'er 
 
 Her treasure she resign'd, 
 To sink the lords of nature fair 
 Below the bestial kind. 
 
 No, Springmount : ever be thy seat 
 Of virtue the serene retreat ! 
 Time harms not this immortal flow'r, 
 The fairest guardian of thy bow'r : 
 And when, to ruin's hand a prey, 
 
 Thy moulding fabrick lies ; 
 Children unborn shall point, and say, 
 " There dwelt the good and wise." 
 
I N E S 
 
 WRITTEN IN A BOWER, 
 
 UEAR, lovely bow r, to-morrow morn 
 From thee I haste away : 
 
 Say, will the sun with smiles adorn 
 That melancholy day ! 
 
 Ah yes ! the sun as bright will shine, 
 The flow'rs as gaily blow ; 
 
 Nought but this hapless heart of mine 
 Will wear the gloom of wo. 
 
 How quickly am I forc'd to haste 
 
 From scenes so fair and new ! 
 
 Thy charms I just began to taste ; 
 Sweet Abbeville, adieu. 
 
 What though to me more lovely vales 
 And sweeter shades are giv'n ! — - 
 
 A pang the parting spirit feels* 
 
 Though leaving earth for Heav'n. 
 Z 
 
RETURNING 1T10M DUBLIN. 
 
 ALL hail my dear, my native plain I 
 With joy I greet thy shades again ; 
 But far more grateful still I find 
 That welcome, which enchants my mind. 
 
 Yet ere I fondly rush once more 
 To all thy charms, O Ballitore. 
 One parting glance allow these eyes, 
 Where fair Eblana's tow'rs arise ; 
 Allow my heart one grateful swell, 
 Allow my lips one fond farewell. 
 What though, all friendless and alone* 
 Through crowded streets I ventur'd on, 
 And from rude passengers have borne 
 
 The insults of malignant scorn ! 
 
 What though, when no lov'd friend was nigh, 
 
 I heav'd for village-shades a sigh ; 
 
 Yet, when the distant domes I found, 
 With friendship's social blessings crown'd, 
 1 felt my toils were all o'erpaid, 
 And sigh'd not for the village-shade. 
 
180 RETURNING FROM DUBLIN. 
 
 And when my Nancy's voice so dear 
 
 Gladden'd my heart, and charm'd mine ear, 
 
 The hours unnotic'd past away ; 
 
 For then 'twas Friendship's gala-day. 
 
 With one reluctant glance, 'tis true, 
 
 I bade the stately town adieu ; 
 
 One soft regret assail'd my heart, 
 
 From many a tender friend to part : 
 
 But now these parting throbs are o'er, 
 
 Now let me fondly rush once more 
 
 To all thy charms, O Ballitore ! 
 
 For whilst I wander in thy grove, 
 
 Or while beside thy stream I rove, 
 
 A sweet emotion fills my mind, 
 
 Which in no other spot I find. 
 
 'Tis Home, that dear, domestick name, 
 Which wins us with so kind a claim ; 
 For transient joys abroad we roam, 
 But happiness resides at home. 
 Here, in their simple charms array'd, 
 I meet the Genii of the shade ; 
 And, foremost of the lovely train, 
 Content, sweet mistress of the plain : 
 
 } 
 
RETURNING FROM DUBLIN. 18 1 
 
 From the proud hall of state she flies, 
 And here her straw-roof 'd temples rise. 
 Once more, sweet maid, thy smile I feel, 
 The wounded spirit skill'd to heal ; 
 And when I lay me down to rest, 
 Closing the day, which thou hast blest, 
 The honey-dews of slumber bland 
 Steep my glad eyes at thy command. 
 And when night's dusky shadows fly, 
 And day unseals her golden eye, 
 Employment then, thy faithful friend, 
 Hastens thine empire to defend : 
 Swift to my peaceful couch she flies, 
 And bids me with the morning rise ; 
 For, foe to sloth, this active pow'r 
 Admits not of the vacant hour. 
 Beside her trips blithe Exercise, 
 In Recreation's gay disguise ; 
 The sportive walk she loves to lead, 
 She loves to rule the sprightly steed : 
 The cherub Health stands smiling by, 
 With ruby lip and diamond eye. 
 My meager form, my pallid cheek, 
 Her presence sure can ill bespeak ; 
 
182 RETURNING FROM DUBLIN. 
 
 Yet do I glory in her reign, 
 
 And feel her bound through ev'ry vein. 
 
 Giver of good, whose hand has shed 
 Such gifts on this unworthy head, 
 
 Continue these ; and O impart 
 
 The blessing of a thankful heart! 
 
THE MOTHER. 
 
 THE family here mentioned were not less respectable .be- 
 cause they were in humble life. The attachment of 
 the brothers was remarkable, and the words of the dy- 
 ing youth are expressed here almost 'verbatim. It is 
 not uncommon, when a favourite maiden dies, for her 
 Companions to revisit, and new dress her grave, at the 
 ^nd of a month, singing the song of lamentation sacred 
 to the dead. This tribute was paid by her companions. 
 to their dear Anastasia. Her lover attended, and her ve- 
 nerable parent, whose patience, though it had been 
 preserved through her sufferings till then, forsook her 
 on that afflicting occasion. 
 
 i^WEET is the gracious task that Heav n 
 Hath to a fav'rite few consign'd, 
 
 Xq heal the wounds which sorrow gave y 
 And sooth the tempest-tossed mind. 
 
 Fair child of feeling Anna comes,. 
 
 With pensive mien and pitying eye, 
 To wipe the childless mother's tear, 
 
 To calm the widow's bursting sigh, 
 
184 THE M O T H E R. 
 
 And while she sees distress and pain 
 
 The destin'd lot of all below ; 
 To such an ear 111 tell my tale, 
 
 Though simple be the tale of wo. 
 
 Beneath yon hill's o'er-sheltVing shade, 
 An aged widow's cottage rose : 
 
 Three manly sons, two daughters fair L , 
 Fromis'd her days a peaceful close,* 
 
 But chief one son, her eldest-born, 
 A mother's tend'rest cares repaid; 
 
 While, worthy of an higher sphere, 
 
 His soul each genVous purpose sway'd. 
 
 Him next in age, in virtue near, 
 
 With duteous love a brother eyed; 
 
 This pattern fair to imitate, 
 
 At once his pleasure, and his pride. 
 
 No wild intemp'rance stain'd their youth, 
 Their nights in. guiltless slumbers flew; 
 
 Their days in cheerful labour pass'd, 
 
 Their kindred souls together grew. 
 
THE MOTHER. 185 
 
 But see where raging Febris speeds : — 
 
 Turn from this dwelling turn away ; 
 
 The bowl of riot flows not here, 
 
 Nor luxury prepares thy prey. 
 
 Ah, fruitless prayer! — her offspring dear, 
 All on the bed of sickness laid, 
 
 From couch to couch the mother flies, 
 Aghast, astonish'd, and dismay'd. 
 
 Where's now that son, her eldest born? 
 
 He sleeps in long enduring night ; 
 
 His breathless corse by stealth convey'd 
 Far from his brother's watchful sight : 
 
 For 'twas his fond and frequent prayer 
 To die whene'er his brother died ; 
 
 And now that solemn hour was come, - 
 The mortal veil is drawn aside. 
 
 " Where is the brother of my heart ?" — ^ 
 " Oh let thy anxious bosom rest ; 
 
 " He sits beside the social hearth, 
 
 " Which oft receiv'd the joyous guest,' 
 
 A a 
 
186 THE MOTHER. 
 
 " Deceive me not ; — that well-known form, 
 " I see stand waiting by my side, 
 
 " That well-known voice I must obey" 
 
 So spake the youth : he spake and died. 
 
 And she, the sister of their love, 
 
 Whose youth they watch'd with careful eyes, 
 (Her guardians gone, why should she stay ?) 
 
 The blooming Anastasia dies ! 
 
 The mother saw her children fall, 
 
 With decent grief and equal mind ; 
 
 Thank'd Heav'n that once such blessing gave, 
 And bow'd, or thought she bow'd resign'd. 
 
 But now bright Maia's morning came ; 
 
 Her dawn no festive sports attend, 
 O'er Anastasia's early grave 
 
 The train of virgin-mourners bend. 
 
 With these the pensive lover came ; 
 
 With these the mournful rites to pay, 
 To hang the votive garland there, 
 
 And moisten with his tears the clay. 
 
T H E M O T H E R. 187 
 
 Hast thou not through Hibernian vales, 
 Observing simple nature, stray'd? 
 
 Hast thou not heard the song of death, 
 Far echoing from the fun'ral shade ? 
 
 Such song they rais'd : — and now they paus'd ; — 
 And now they ask'd, with plaintive cry, 
 
 " Youth, beauty, and thy lover smil'd ; 
 " Why, Anastasia, would'st thou die ?" 
 
 The mother heard : the mother came : — 
 
 Grief burst its bound : in accents wild. 
 
 Low bending o'er the new-made graves, 
 She fondly hail'd each buried child. 
 
 If — while her hoary locks she tore, 
 
 If — while the wounds of sorrow bled, : 
 
 At Heav'n her eyes accusing glanc'd ; 
 
 Sure Heav'n forgave the frantick dead. ;x 
 
 And thou wilt pity, gentle maid; 
 
 But never may thy bosom know 
 The tumults drear, the throbbing pangs, 
 
 Which swell the aching breast of wo i 
 
ON THE DEATH OF J. M. 
 
 ><»«< 
 
 C^OME, Sally, sister of my heart, 
 Let us from busier scenes retire, 
 
 To taste the joys that thought impart, 
 
 And nature's glowing charms admire. 
 
 Come, let us, while the evening gale 
 In balmy whispers softly blows, 
 
 Let us admire the golden vale, 
 
 Through which the winding river flows. 
 
 And here in sweet retirement laid, 
 FilPd with a tender pleasing pain, 
 
 We'll fondly view the well-known shade, 
 And trace forgotten scenes again. 
 
 At Mem'ry's call the soul expands ; 
 
 Nor dares the touch unhallow'd dry 
 The graceful tear, which trembling stands 
 
 In fair affection's glist'ning eye. 
 
190 ON THE DEATH OF J. M. 
 
 But ah ! what means this sudden gloom ? 
 
 What means this shade of sorrow deep ? 
 'Tis Death has faded all the bloom, 
 
 And bid the smiling landscape weep. 
 
 Where's the good man whose placid brow, 
 
 Whose genuine smile — adorn'd this shade ? 
 Where's # honest James ? — alas ! full low 
 In Death's eternal slumbers laid. 
 
 Oh James ! 'tis thee the valley mourns ; 
 
 The alter 'd prospect sad I see, 
 From scenes once lov'd while Fancy turns, 
 
 And looks around in vain for thee. 
 
 Thy humble cottage, plain and neat, 
 
 The river rolling at thy door, 
 Thy cultivated garden sweet, . 
 
 Delight my weeping eyes no more. 
 
 But let me drop this duteous tear, 
 All lonely on thy lowly grave, 
 The tribute of my love sincere, 
 
 A tribute which thou long shalt have. 
 
 * An epithet deservedly given to J. M. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF J. M. 191 
 
 What though to thy industrious care 
 Fortune her golden gifts denied, 
 
 Yet well that loss Contentment fair 
 
 With her more precious gifts supplied. 
 
 And sure if virtue bliss obtain'd, 
 To happier climes thy spirit flew : 
 
 No conscious guilt thy bosom stain'd, 
 Thy mind no hateful passion knew. 
 
 But see thy widow'd partner dear ! 
 
 Pensive the lonely grief she pours : 
 And cherishes with many a tear 
 
 " The mem'ry of departed hours." 
 
 For Fate that knot asunder tears , 
 
 In which bound up her comforts lie ; 
 
 And when twice twelve revolving years 
 Had closer drawn the tender tie. 
 
 But still, dear mourner, still thy heart, 
 This painful path will soon be o'er ; 
 Then shall ye meet, and never part, 
 In bliss rejoin'd for evermore. 
 
THE 
 
 BOWER of PHILANTHROPY. 
 
 Philanthropy, benignant Pow'r, 
 
 To thee we consecrate the bow'r, 
 
 The bow'r which stands with modest pride 
 
 Where Griese's silver waters glide. 
 
 Fatigued by summer's fervid beam, 
 The maidens sought the cooling stream : 
 Yet while amid its waves they bound, 
 Their timid eyes are cast around j 
 And when again their robes they seek, 
 Soft blushes tinge the tender cheek j 
 For frequent here the glances rude 
 Of passing strangers dare intrude. 
 
 But fortune led a courteous swain 
 To sojourn on this rural plain ; 
 Benevolence his heart inspir'd, 
 The ^ood of all his soul desir'd ; 
 
 B b 
 
194 THE BOWER OF PHILANTHROPY. 
 
 The delicate distress he knew, 
 And pity in his bosom grew ; 
 His nervous arm, and willing mind, 
 
 Perform the task the task so kind ! 
 
 Deep fix'd in earth the stakes he plac'd ; 
 The bending stakes each other brac'd; 
 O'er all the thick'ning brushwood throws, 
 And soon the friendly shelter rose. 
 Ent'ring, the eye delighted meets 
 The table smooth and rustick seats; 
 While the heart hails, with honest joy, 
 The gen'rous stranger's kind employ. 
 
 Now light of heart, and free from fear, 
 The smiling nymphs assemble here ; 
 And here, their garments cast aside. 
 They safely plunge amid the tide. 
 Long shall thy name remember'd be, 
 
 Long bloom thy bow'r, O G L — — 
 
 For here the grateful maid shall bring 
 The early product of the spring; 
 No fading flow'rs, but planted here 
 
 TChejr sweets shall crown the infant year. 
 
THE BOWER OF PHILANTHROPY. 195 
 
 The balmy woodbine there shall blow ; 
 
 The twisting hop its clusters shew ; 
 
 *The plant, which shades the trav'ller's heac*. 
 
 Shall over thine its branches spread. 
 
 Attendant youths shall fence around 
 
 With graceful trees the cherish 'd ground: 
 
 Th 'aspiring poplar there shall rise ; 
 
 The leafy chesnut cheer the eyes \ 
 
 The osier weave its pliant bough, 
 
 And od'rous shrubs their sweets bestow ; 
 
 While the blithe train shall mingle here^ 
 
 Partaking glad the festive cheer. 
 
 And then to thee, in joyous hour, 
 
 Philanthropy, benignant pow'r, 
 
 We'll consecrate the hallowed bow'r ! 
 
 } 
 
 * Trav^Ikfs joy. 
 
On seeing the Grave of A. W. at Clomnel. 
 
 THE subject of these lines, one of the most accomplished 
 persons of his time, died at the age of twenty-four on 
 his way to Mallow. The estrangement of his parents' 
 affections from such a young man was seen with asto- 
 nishment by his many respectable, virtuous friends, whose 
 endeavours, united with his own, were in vain, to pro- 
 cure the balm of reconcilement for their only son, 
 dying of a broken heari. 
 
 ALAS, the sadly pleasing sight! 
 
 Here then thy relicks rest : 
 The ever-verdant turf lie light 
 Upon thy gentle breast ! 
 
 No parent at the hour of death 
 To sooth thy pangs was near, 
 
 With anguish mark thy parting breath, 
 And shed the tender tear. 
 
 Ah no ! his cruel parents' ire 
 His tears cannot asswage ; — 
 
 Will you his precious blood require 
 To quench your causeless rage? 
 
189 ON SEEING THE GRAVE OF A. W. 
 
 Consuming sorrow fades his cheek, 
 
 And dims his radiant eyes ; — 
 Will you one word of comfort speak ? — 
 
 You will not — and he dies ! 
 
 Here now, releas'd from worldly cares, 
 
 Thy dear remains repose, 
 Unwept, save with the precious tears 
 
 Which pitying Heav'n bestows. 
 
 That tongue, which chain'd the list'ning ear, 
 Whence wit and humour flow'd, 
 
 Where solid sense and judgment clear 
 Their steady rays bestow'd; 
 
 Which oft fair Learning's charms displayed. 
 
 And op'd her sacred store, 
 Death seiz'd : and his dire signet laid 
 
 Upon the rosy door. 
 
 These eyes, which spoke the active soul, 
 
 And shone divinely bright, 
 Their lovely orbs no longer roll 
 
 To meet the cheerful lights 
 
ON SEEING THE GRAVE OF A. W. 199 
 
 The fine turn'd limbs, the flowing hair, 
 
 And ev'ry grace so gay, 
 With worms a darksome lodging share, 
 
 And mix with vilest clay. 
 
 Oh, W n, on thy humble grave 
 
 May spring's first gifts be found! 
 
 May here descending Angels wave 
 Their golden wings around! 
 
 And be thy gentle spirit blest 
 Now earthly woes are o'er ; 
 
 And in eternal glory rest, 
 
 When time shall be no more! 
 
 1776. 
 
THE W E E P I N G W I L L O 
 To T. l. 
 
 O THOU, who loVst the Muse's lore, 
 
 thou, -.• v. jse heart from guile is free, 
 O thou, who m y canst d e z '. : r e , 
 Reserve my weeping willow-tree. 
 
 Wheh gaudy day-light 'gam to :bie, 
 To earth this favour d phut I gave, 
 it spread its pensive shade 
 
 O'er W n*s long-neglected grave, 
 
 So might I here unseen retire 
 
 In silence friendship's deb: to pay; 
 
 Not ;: the rnstkk hind inquire 
 
 The spot where W ... n ? s relicks lay. 
 
 Frizni :: my inran: years! his care 
 The bursting buds of reason trac*d. 
 
 Intent with fostnng hand to real 
 
 Each seed of truth, each dow'r of taste 
 C c 
 
202 THE WEEPING WILLOW. 
 
 Though scarce my dawning judgment own'd 
 Its faithful guard, its early guide ; 
 
 Yet much his loss my soul bemoan'd; 
 
 And when he droop'd, and when he died, 
 
 Oft have I stole by twilight's gleam, 
 And fondly hop'd his shade to see ; 
 
 And oft invok'd that honour'd name:— 
 In life or death 'twas dear to me. 
 
 Sure thou hast seen, and must admire 
 (For who has unadmiring seen?) 
 
 That form of grace, that eye of fire, 
 That candid brow and modest mien. 
 
 That mind which filTd a lofty sphere, 
 
 Thou knew its pow'rs, its pow'rs were great : 
 
 And sure thou mourn 'd his doom severe;-— 
 Alas ! 'twas too severe a fate ! 
 
 Then, as thou lov'st the Muse's lore, 
 
 Then, as thy heart from guile is free, 
 
 then, as thou mis'ry canst deplore, 
 O G ' ■ . ,save my willow-tree* 
 
THE 
 
 SHIPWRECK. 
 
 THE Elizabeth was wrecked on the sands near Bridgewater, 
 the last night of 1781. Those who took the boat es- 
 caped, all who remained in the ihip perished. Amongst 
 these was an amiable matron returning from having paid a 
 religious visit to her friends, the people called Quakers, in 
 Ireland ; also a young man, who sailed with intention to 
 accomplish his marriage. 
 
 O H thou pale moon, who lead'st the shining throng 
 In silent pomp the sable heav'ns along, 
 Say why didst thou, with inauspicious light, 
 Beam on the forehead of that guilty night, 
 When the tall ship in all her gallant pride 
 Convey'd her treasure o'er the sounding tide ; 
 Nor saw the dang'rous sands which hidden lay, 
 Where Death, in dreary ambush, waits his prey ? 
 Her course is stopt. — —Ah, what can now avail 
 The mast fair tow'ring, and the swelling sail ! 
 Her bursting sides remorseless billows cleave, 
 And tenfold horrors crowd with ev'ry wave ; 
 While Death, slow rising from his secret bed, 
 Heaves high above the wave his ghastly head. 
 
204 THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 That was the night, inscribed with many a tear, 
 Which, stamp'd with sorrows, seal'd the closing year ; 
 That was the night, which bade from many a heart 
 The gentle brood of treasur'd joys depart : 
 For ev'ry heart feels its peculiar sore ; 
 And mine shall long remember and deplore 
 That fatal night, and that o'erwhelming tide, 
 When L— tt perish 'd, and where S w died. 
 
 Oh much lov'd Edith, whose devoted mind 
 The comfort of domestick joys resign'd ; 
 And left her home in arduous tasks to move, 
 Drawn by the golden cord of heavenly love ! 
 Sweet from her lips the pious precept flow'd, 
 The pious precept in her conduct glow'd ; 
 In her pure heart, as in a sacred dome, 
 The modest virtues found a peaceful home : 
 Their beams, which mortal mould could not disguise, 
 Shone on her guiltless front and gracious eyes. 
 But chief humility adorn'd her breast, 
 And with superior lustre crown'd the rest : 
 Deep in the lowly vale she lov'd to stay, 
 That vale where wisdom pours her purest ray. 
 
THE SHIPWRECK. 205 
 
 Can I forget with what enffagdns: art 
 
 Her winning manners stole upon the heart ? 
 
 That matron-dignity, with grace combined, 
 
 That chaste reserve, with social sweetness join'd? 
 
 While from her virtuous consort far remov'd, 
 
 Whom as her own unspotted soul she lov'd, — 
 
 While from her tender babes oblig'd to part, 
 
 Whose infant graces twin'd around her heart, — 
 
 If e'er her blameless thoughts had leave to roam, 
 
 They fled delighted to her peaceful home. 
 
 On the lov'd theme how fondly would she dwell! 
 
 While tend'rest passions her soft bosom swell! 
 
 Thou, partner of her gentle heart, forbear 
 
 For her return thus fondly to prepare ; 
 
 Suppress that ardent wish, that anxious eye, 
 
 And crush these hopes which must so quickly die. 
 
 Stretch not, sweet babes, your little arms in vain, 
 
 Nor of your mother's tedious stay complain ; 
 
 Ask not your sire if 'tis for her delay 
 
 He weeps so sore, and what has caus d her stay ? 
 
 Oh he must tell what you must long deplore, 
 
 That vour sweet mother will return no more ! 
 
206 THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 When Death's cold hand lay heavy on her head, 
 Nor spouse nor children round the dying bed 
 Receiv'd, in speechless grief, her dear command, — 
 Catch'd her last look, or grasp 'd her clay-cold hand. 
 Yet in that hour, your duties to supply, 
 In that dread hour, one faithful friend was nigh : 
 
 O S w, it was thou ! Thy gen'rous soul 
 
 The near approach of Death could not control. 
 Though thou wert skill' d the rolling floods to brave, 
 And dash, with nervous arm, th'opposing wave ; 
 Though the blest boat the happy few conveyed, 
 And on the grateful shore in safety laid ; 
 When thus t'escape was to thy friend denied, 
 Pent in the fatal vessel's gloomy side, 
 Thou left her not, resolv'd her fate to find ; 
 Sure then divine composure cloth'd thy mind ! 
 Yet ere the deadly wave thy soul opprest, 
 While life's last gasp still struggled in thy breast, 
 Did not one pang thy mother's anguish own ? 
 Did not thy lov'd Maria claim one groan ? 
 She, widow' d maid, with modest step no more 
 Unseen and silent seeks the sandy shore ; 
 O'er the white wave directs her piercing eye, 
 ;and fondly hopes th'expected sail to spy ; 
 
THE SHIPWRECK. 207 
 
 No longer, at thy wish'd return, prepares 
 
 To bid thy anxious heart resign its cares, 
 
 To crown thy constant love, to yield her hand, 
 
 And leave, with thee, her home and native land. 
 
 Ah, no ! — with poignant grief she mourns thee lost, 
 
 With eyes averted from the luckless coast ; 
 
 On her pale cheek consuming sorrow feeds, 
 
 And deep within her gentle bosom bleeds. 
 
 Veil not, sweet mourning maid, these wat'ry eyes, 
 
 Nor check the tribute of thy pious sighs. 
 
 Claim'd by the faithful love, the steadfast truth. 
 
 And all the virtues of this chosen youth. 
 
 When to thy banks, O Suir, the news was borne, 
 What tears increas'd thy flood that woful morn ! 
 Did not thy stream refuse to join that tide 
 Which robb'd thy fav'rite valley of her pride ? 
 O'er fair Clonmel a cloud of sorrow hung, 
 
 And S w's name dwelt on each mournful tongue. 
 
 Lov'd in his life, lamented in his end, 
 The candid, gen'rous, warm, and faithful friend ; 
 The charms of social converse well he knew, 
 Yet kept the holy limits still in view. 
 
208 THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 Oh, what a son thy parents best can say ! 
 Thou never griev'd them till this doleful day : 
 Dear to thy father as his precious sight ; 
 .Not with such pangs he lost the golden light, 
 Fraternal love enlarg'd his spotless mind, 
 Where precept with example's force combin'd. 
 While thou, my Anna, pour'st the tender tear, 
 Sure thou wert spar'd thy parents' hearts to cheer ! 
 Oh ! just prepar'd to take the dang'rous way, 
 But providential care decreed thy stay ; 
 Else had thou shar'd thy brother's wat'ry tomb, 
 And left thy hapless friend to wail thy doom : 
 Another pang thy parents then would know, 
 Another spring had swell'd the stream of wo. 
 While on thy drooping sire, whom sorrow bends, 
 Thy yet remaining brother fondly tends, 
 Thy mother's tears thy filial cares demand; 
 Approach, and wipe them with thy gentle hand. 
 See! rapt in grief the mourning matron lies, 
 Still fix'd on earth her sadly streaming eyes ; 
 While ev'ry thought on her lost darling . turns, 
 In fruitless agony she fondly mourns. 
 So good old Jacob mourn'd his Joseph dead, 
 And bow'd in dust his venerable head : 
 
THE SHIPWRECK. 209 
 
 Yet UVd this long-lost son in foreign lands, 
 To close his father's eyes with duteous hands. 
 But not for thee such pleasing prospects rise ; 
 Thy Joseph never more must glad thine eyes : 
 Cold lie his bones in everlasting sleep, 
 Hears'd in the caverns of the dreary deep. 
 Ah, had wise Heav'n ordain 'd his early grave, 
 And youth and strength been impotent to save ; 
 To smooth with tender care the restless bed, 
 Watch the dim eye, and raise the languid head ; 
 Decent in earth his dear remains to lay, 
 And all the sacred rites of sorrow pay ; — 
 These duties might have been some sad relief, 
 And lenient Time had heal'd the wound of grief. 
 But, Oh ! what hand can wipe the bitter tear, 
 Which rains incessant on th'untimely bier ? 
 
 Ye blessed shades, a pitying ear incline, 
 (For sure compassion dwells in seats divine ;) 
 If what the world calls pain can touch the breast, 
 Or human sorrows reach your place of rest ; 
 Implore that righteous hand which struck the blow, 
 To pour sweet comfort in the cup of wo. 
 
 D d 
 
210 THE S H I P W R E C K. 
 
 Thou tender mother, and thou consort kind, 
 Wilt ask the boon for him thou left behind ; 
 For thy sweet babes, their infant steps to stay, 
 And wipe the tears of innocence away : 
 For sure their anguish touch'd thy guiltless soul, 
 While earthly bonds did yet its flight control. 
 
 And thou, lov'd youth, would'st consolation crave 
 For those whose sorrows swell thy wat'ry grave ; 
 For thy fond parents sunk in grief profound, 
 For her to whom thy faithful heart was bound, 
 Thy gentle sister, and thy brother dear, 
 Whose youthful bloom is stain'd with many a tear. 
 
 Oh ! if to you the welcome task's assign'd, 
 To sooth, with hand unseen, each kindred mind ; 
 Whisper, while soft the healing balm ye shed, 
 " Enough has Nature mourn'd, enough has bled." 
 Tell them ; though, found'ring in the ruthless main, 
 Ye strove to reach the destin'd port in vain, 
 Yet are ye landed on a happier shore, 
 And the last conflict of your souls is o'er. 
 Though ye beheld tumultuous billows throng, 
 And near, and yet more near lead Death along, 
 
T HE SHIFWREC K. 211 
 
 Still ye possess'd that spark of Heav'nly joy, 
 Which waters could not quench, nor floods destroy. 
 Your noontide suns set in a blaze of light, 
 Nor long could Ocean spread the gloom of night ; 
 For thence they rise, and, with unclouded ray, 
 Roll in the course of HeavVs eternal day ! 
 
Written at the Foot of a List of Profiles. 
 
 V ROM sweet Moyallon's modest bow'rs, 
 
 To cheer our S n's lonely hours, 
 
 Across the vast Altantick sea, 
 
 Pledges of love, we come to thee. 
 
 What — though each but a shade be prov\ 
 
 Yet are we shades of forms belov'd - y 
 
 No higher title we pretend ; — 
 
 Dear is the shadow of a friend ! 
 
 Now, whilst thine eye shall fondly trace 
 The features of each kindred face ; 
 Whilst the big tear begins to start, 
 And soft emotions swell thy heart ; 
 Oh! could our lifeless lips convey 
 All that those friends would bid us say, 
 Then shoukTst thou hear, in accents kind, 
 Paternal love with counsel join'd, 
 Warning to shun the dang'rous way, 
 Where erring thousands wildly stray : 
 
214 ON A LIST OF PROFILES. 
 
 Then should'st thou hear, in plaintive tone, 
 Fraternal sighs thy absence moan : 
 Then should the voice of friendship cheer 
 Thy beating breast* and raptur'd ear. 
 But though these sounds no more impart 
 Pure pleasure to thy throbbing heart, 
 Let Mem'ry still her sway maintain, 
 
 Let soft Affection share her reign, 
 
 So be our voyage not in vain ! 
 
 j 
 
FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. 
 
 I O Britain's isle a long farewell, 
 Where plenty smiles and pleasures dwell 
 Farewell, ye woods, all waving wide, 
 Ye vales, attir'd in summer's pride, 
 Ye tow'rs, which proudly rise in air, 
 Ye cots, so cleanly and so fair ! 
 
 Now Cambria's rocky wilds appear, 
 Her mountains rude and valleys drear ; 
 While solemn midnight rules the sky, 
 And darkness veils the danger nigh, 
 Save where the sullen gleams display 
 The rocky steep beside our way ; 
 While the full torrent's hollow roar 
 Sounds sadly on the naked shore, 
 And fancy dreads, in ev'ry shad 3, 
 The midnight robber's murdering blade. 
 
216 FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. 
 
 And now we view the ocean wide, 
 And now the swelling surge we ride : 
 Loud roars the wind, the billows heave, 
 Swift bounds the bark from wave to wave; 
 Opprest with sickness, pale we lie, 
 And wish for land : the land is nigh. 
 
 Hibernians welcome isle appears ; 
 Returning health our spirits cheers. 
 There, seated in her beauteous bay, 
 Eblana's domes their pride display : 
 But there tumultuous Folly raves, 
 And high her torch dire Discord waves. 
 
 Then haste me to my native plain, 
 Where all the peaceful pleasures reign ! 
 Once more my longing eye devours 
 Her silent stream and modest bowVs ; 
 Once more the welcome kind I prove 
 Of friends, whom as myself I love ; 
 Once more confess, where'er I roam,. 
 
 No s?oot I find so dear as home. 
 
 j 
 
FAREWELL TO ENGLAND- 217 
 
 O Thou, whose kind, paternal hand, 
 Preserves by sea, protects by land, 
 Grant us that peace, 'tis thine alone, 
 To a tumultuous world unknown ; 
 That whether warring winds engage, 
 Or ruthless human passions rage, 
 A sacred refuge we may find, 
 The temple of a guiet mind! 
 
 Ee 
 
ELEGY, 
 Addressed to A. S. 
 
 >«•&©< 
 
 Y E S ! 'twas the voice of grief : my Anna's tear 
 
 Falls soft and silent, like the dews of night, 
 
 And, " Why," she cries, " canst thou so long forbear 
 " Fond friendship's tribute, and Maria's right? 
 
 " Her whom thou lov'd — ah ! canst thou thus resign, 
 " Nor pour thy sorrows o'er the breathless clay ?" — 
 
 My mourning friend, my tears shall mix with thine,, 
 And the just claims of sacred friendship pay. 
 
 While op'ning life with gayest prospects shone, 
 
 Still heard with pleasure, gaz'd on with delight., 
 
 All fair and fragrant as the flow'r new blown, 
 Maria's charms unfolded on the sight. 
 
 While affluence, beauty, wit, and youth adorn 
 
 With splendid gifts the dear, distinguish'd maidj 
 
 Bright as the living lustre of the morn, 
 
 The bloom of health her blushing cheek displayed. 
 
220 ELEGY TO A. S, 
 
 And pleasant was her home ; — where friendship dear, 
 Where duteous love, paternal kindness sweet, 
 
 Where all that life with social aid can cheer, 
 Beneath Maria's smile were wont to meet. 
 
 But (ah) how cfyang'd my lovely friend I find ! 
 
 Her beauteous eye a languid lustre gave ; 
 Her downy cheek its rosy die resign 'd, 
 
 And ruthless fate prepaid her early grave. 
 
 Full on my heart the gush of sorrow flows, 
 
 Nor can its bounds the swelling tide restrain : — 
 
 And is it thus we meet, thou blighted rose? 
 And must we part, and never meet again ? 
 
 No more thy wit shall charm my list'ning ear ; 
 
 No more thy beauty glad my raptur'd sight ;— 
 And cannot all the ties which hold thee here, 
 
 Detain thy spirit from its speedy flight ? 
 
 Hound thee the healthful northern breezes blew, — 
 Was there no healing in their fanning wings ? 
 
 From Clifden's shade thy silent step withdrew,-^ 
 Gush'd not for thee her salutary springs ? 
 
ELEGY TO A. S. 221 
 
 Patient she provd all human help was vain, 
 Her feeble frame the tossing tempest bore ; 
 
 Yet wish d to reach a father's arms again, 
 And anxious kindred on her native shore. 
 
 That wish obtain' d, life not another shares. — 
 What — though her walk with manyaflow'r was spread; 
 
 Her sharpen'd sight discern'd the secret snares, 
 Nor dar'd the doubtful path again to tread. 
 
 Oh say, my Anna,— thou — her mourning friend, 
 Whose faithful breast receiv'd her latest sigh, 
 
 Tell us what comfort did her close attend,— 
 Bid us assur'd like her in faith to die. 
 
 For Death his pining messenger employs ; 
 
 He stalks the desolated shades among : 
 His with'ring hand the pride of youth destroys; 
 
 The bloom is faded, and the nerve unstrung. 
 
 The tend rest ties he dares to violate : — 
 
 Here mourns the husband, — there laments the bride,— 
 
 Here filial- feelings urge the daughter's fate;' 
 Sinking to earth she joins her mother's side. 
 
222 ELEGY TO A. S. 
 
 There for an only son incessant flows 
 The tear of anguish from parental eyes; 
 
 While wintry torrents and the driving snows 
 Beat on th'untimely grave, where W n lies. 
 
 Oh ! there he lies and ev'ry grace resign'd : — 
 
 How oft admir'd! how long must we deplore 
 
 That dawning genius, and that lib'ral mind, — 
 That unassuming, modest merit, more ! 
 
 Ye, blameless shades, to happier scenes remove, 
 Though coward Nature, shrinking from the blow, 
 
 Grasp'd at the fleeting objects of her love \ — 
 Ye left a world of vanity and wo. 
 
 i 
 May we, my friend, our steps in . safety steer - 7 
 
 Be not our hour allotted spent in vain ; 
 
 Press through the shad'wy vale with awful fear, 
 
 And with these purer spirits mix again ! 
 
TO S. H. 
 
 JTiAIL, genial Spring ! and thou, my Sylvia, hail! 
 Come, let us wander through this vale belov'd, 
 While Nature breathes in fragrance all around, 
 Escapd the chains of Winter, the glad herb 
 Rejoices in the ray : — the timid flow'rs 
 Lift their sweet heads, and waft the soft perfume ; 
 While on the bough, which teems with many a bud, 
 The joyous birds sing loud. — O season dear. 
 Parent of mem'ry, oft at thy approach 
 Ideas lost return : — thou wak'st the time 
 My Sylvia still remembers ; yet the Sun 
 Has twice since then his annual race perform 'd. 
 'Twas night : the balmy dews in silence fell ; 
 The gales refresh'd the kindly influence own'd, 
 And through the garden's pleasant shade, my friend. 
 We movd, while on our heads the lucid stars 
 Pour'd cheerful light ; with health our bosoms glow'd, 
 And blithesome exercise our nerves had strung^ 
 We were not wont to bear unjoyous hearts, 
 Nor had we cause ; yet now with wonder own'd 
 That neither sorrow, care, nor pain we felt, 
 But all \yas tun'd to joy, — and tranquil joy, 
 
224 T O S. H. 
 
 Not turbulent : no higher wish remain'd, 
 
 Which earth could give, than always thus to feel. — 
 
 But, Oh, my Sylvia, always thus to feel 
 
 Was not for us : 'tis not for human kind. 
 
 How smoothly spreads the quiet stream of joy ! 
 Yet, flung by Envy's hand, th'intruding stone 
 Defaces in a moment ev'ry scene 
 So fair reflected on its placid breast ; 
 Or show'rs of grief its azure beauties stain* 
 And all discolour'd rolls the troubled flood. 
 Alas, my Sylvia! soon this lot was thine, 
 What time the best of fathers breath'd his last ; 
 What time his mourning children's duteous hearts 
 Pour'd forth the secret prayer, and would have pour'd 
 The vital flood to save him ; and what time 
 Thy gentle sister languish^, droop'd and died. 
 
 Oh, my lov'd Delia, on thine early grave 
 Permit this solitary tear to fall, 
 To sacred friendship, fond affection due. 
 We, born together, in this pleasant shade 
 Together, grew, and blameless innocence 
 Shone on sweet childhood's reign : — Ah had my heart 
 
TO S. H. 225 
 
 Retained that blameless innocence like thine! 
 It grew with thee, and o'er thy full-grown youth 
 Hover'd with angel-wing.— And does not peace 
 Dwell in that breast where innocence resides ? 
 Why then did Delia droop, and languor dim 
 Extinguish all the sprightly fires of youth, 
 And wan dejection with afflicting hand 
 Oppress that gentle heart ?— Ah ! well may youth 
 Droop, languish, and resign each sprightly charm, 
 When health retires. With aching heart I view'd 
 The roses fade, which erst with lively bloom 
 O'erspread that damask cheek; thy wasted frame 
 With grief I saw ; and yet I left thee thus : 
 To distant plains with wand'ring steps I turn'd, 
 Where kindred's call, where friendship's voice allur'd. 
 I left thee thus : but, ah ! I little thought 
 That I should never, never see thee more ; 
 That when returning to my pleasant home, 
 Thou should not greet me there ; but, cold and pale, 
 Sleep silent by thy honoured parents' side. 
 Then, fare thee well, my dear, my early friend! 
 O may we meet again in happier climes, 
 Where Peace the undisturb'd abode prepares, 
 And Virtue weaves the amaranthine crown! 
 
 F f 
 
THE 
 
 WITHERED FLOWERS. 
 
 OOFT, silken emblems of her doom 
 Who nurs'd you in your earthy bed, 
 
 This luckless hand has croppd your bloom, 
 This hand, which writes my Sylvia's dead. 
 
 These luckless eyes beheld her fade, 
 Like flow'rs beneath the vernal sky; 
 
 So low by blasts untimely laid, 
 
 These luckless eyes beheld her die ! 
 
 Oh Sylvia, dear familiar name, 
 
 In sportive childhood giv'n my friend J 
 
 Let none the fond ideas blame, 
 
 Which mem'ry with that sound shall blend. 
 
 For guiltless was the dawn of mind, 
 And innocence with cheerful ray, 
 
 Sweet hope, fond truth, and friendship ]kmd 
 Promis'd a long and happy day. 
 
228 THE WITHERED FLOWERS, 
 
 These fairy dreams do not destroy, 
 O death, — the lovely Sylvia spare, 
 
 Each varied scene of social joy 
 So form'd to heighten and to share ! 
 
 Each varied scene of social joy 
 At once the lovely maid resign 'd ; 
 
 Nor could thy wasting hand destroy 
 That equal tenor of her mind. 
 
 Oh Mem'ry ! call not back those hours, 
 Which Time's swift wing has swept away: 
 
 Fall from my hand, ye with'ring flow'rs ! 
 No longer are ye sweet and gay. 
 
 No : rather that last solemn scene 
 
 Let recollection still retain ; 
 Still view that aspect all serene, 
 
 Which triumph'd oer the mortal pain. 
 
 Still feel that calm which sweetly spread 
 O'er the worn minds that watch'd her breath, 
 
 When the dear, struggling spirit fled, 
 
 Ariel the lov'd eyes were clos'd in death : 
 
THE WITHERED FLOWERS. 229 
 
 Clos'd as in sleep. No alter'd mien 
 
 Confess'd the tedious pangs she bore: 
 
 But 'twas a deadly sleep I ween, 
 Our dearest Sylvia wakes no more ! 
 
 And there, the patient child of wo, 
 Behold the lonely sister stand ; 
 
 Meekly submitting to the blow 
 Which rends another tender band. 
 
 Yet is there sweetest peace in store 
 
 To heal that bleeding heart of thine, 
 
 That heart, with many a sorrow sore, 
 Which dar'd not — would not once repine. 
 
 Oh, if from realms of holy rest 
 Thy shade, my Sylvia, casts an eye, 
 
 Pitying the friends thou leav'st distrest, 
 
 Wilt thou not wonder that we sigh? 
 
 For now thou seest, in native light, 
 The measure of th* immortal mind ; 
 
 The narrow limits of our sight, 
 And the short term of life assign 'd. 
 
230 THE WITHERED FLOWERS. 
 
 For now weak Nature's strife is o'er, 
 Thy precious soul exults on high, 
 
 Subject to pain and death no more ;— - 
 Well may'st thou wonder that we sigh. 
 
To C. C. on his leaving 
 BALLITORE SCHOOL. 
 
 WHILE thee, dear C e, thy fate removes 
 
 Far distant from these classick groves, 
 With answ'ring sorrow mov'd, I spy . 
 Thy sobbing heart, and streaming eye^ 
 As, with a sister's honest joy, 
 I view'd the virtues of my boy, 
 Fair beaming from his infant heart, 
 As yet unskill'd in guile or art; 
 So, long belov'd and justly dear, 
 For thee I feel a sister's fear. 
 For now, with anxious mind, I see 
 The dang'rous path design'd for thee; 
 No more to range this guileless plain, 
 Or mingle with yon sportive train : 
 Ordain'd thy tender life t'expose 
 To treach'rous seas and furious foes; 
 Where war alarms the distant shore, 
 And the vex s d billows, foam with gore I 
 
232 To C. C. leaving BALLITORE SCHOOL. 
 
 Thee, as some lamb, mine eyes behold, 
 Chas'd from his fellows of the fold, 
 
 An unknown wilderness to tread : 
 
 Ah! who shall shield that helpless head; 
 While, ever prowling for their prey, 
 The wolves of vice beset his way ! 
 
 Oh thou good Shepherd, best of friends, 
 Whose care o'er all thy works extends, 
 To this lov'd innocent be near, 
 May he thy voice obedient hear, — — 
 Thy voice, which bids all sorrows cease, 
 Thy voice, which calls to rest and peace ! 
 
THE VISIT. 
 
 SOFT link of Nature's powerful chain, 
 
 Cement of souls, Society, 
 This joyful ev'ning thou shalt reign > 
 
 Thou call'st, and lo, we follow thee. 
 
 The North, the South their treasures lend, 
 A chosen band of hearts sincere > ■ * 
 
 Come, we'll the smiling hill ascend 5 
 For there resides a happy pair. 
 
 Here Nature's various charms conspire ; 
 
 The stranger's eyes her charms explore : 
 And some the beauteous babes admire* 
 
 And some their beauteous mother more, 
 
 To some the joys of former days 
 
 Rise glowing f while their raptur'deyes 
 
 Down on the blooming valley gaze, 
 Where Ballitore sequester'd lies, 
 
 G S 
 
234 T H E V I S I T. 
 
 " Ye roofs, ye shades so long belov'd, 
 
 " Where childhood's golden age I knew ; 
 
 " The rolling years, by time remov'd, 
 
 " Methinks these well-known scenes renew ! 
 
 46 Yes : these renew'd strike on my heart : — 
 But where are those companions dear, 
 
 * c Who in each pleasure bore a part ? — 
 " Alas ! I do not meet them here. 
 
 " Some, from these happy plains afar, 
 " Sleep silent in their early tomb : 
 
 " Others the cruel chance of war 
 
 " Untimely crushed their op'ning bloom. 
 
 " Here absence spreads a veil between, 
 
 " Which frustrates friendship's longing eyes; 
 
 ( " While those inflict a wound more keen, 
 ^ Who slight or scorn her tender ties." 
 
 T#u$ mus'd a youth to Nature dear, 
 
 And gaz'd on scenes he lov'd so well. 
 
 If, while he gaz'd, tlie pious tear 
 Of teojier -recollection fell,—*— 
 
THE VISIT. 2& 
 
 The wise may scorn, th'unfeeling blame ; 
 
 Nor blame, nor scorn the deed should move J 
 The tear is virtue's sacred claim, 
 
 And A— — i Ys smiles the tear approve; 
 
 For not alone 'tis A 1's part 
 
 With Wit's bright beam to strike the view: 
 His better boast a feeling heart, 
 
 To honest Nature firmly true. 
 
 Then let the candid bosom glow, 
 
 Nor of its tender sense complain j 
 
 For all that selfish aims bestow 
 
 ^Cannot be worth this gen'rous pain* 
 
Extract of a Letter from T. W. 
 
 My attention was forcibly arrested by Hagley- 
 Park : I wished to inspect the scenes, which had 
 employed the taste, and possessed much of the pre- 
 sence of the good Lord Lyttleton. It was after seven 
 o'clock when I entered the park : on which I felt some- 
 thing of respect, as if his Genius had still hovered 
 o'er the place. I ascended the high grounds for pros- 
 pects, which were delightful, — then plunged into the 
 deepest valleys, that seem'd form'd for pensive me- 
 ditation. Here walks, amid solemn woods, and by 
 the borders of gloomy waters, disposed the mind to 
 a pleasing melancholy. Who could behold without 
 emotion the bowers where Pope, Thompson, Lyttle- 
 ton, and West had wandered ? — where the noble 
 owner and his beloved Lucy had exchanged endear- 
 ments, and, to heighten the pleasures of connubial 
 harmony, united with the feelings of the heart the 
 treasures of the mind? I rambled alone till near nine 
 
238 EXTRACT OF A LETTER. 
 
 o'clock, and did not enjoy it the less on that ac- 
 count. I have seldom wished for a longer continuance 
 Of light : but alas ! 
 
 Before my work was done, 
 Among the groves of Lyttleton I wearied out the sun. 
 
On the aforesaid Visit to Hagley-Park. 
 
 1 HROUGH Hagley s sweet borders see W n stray? 
 
 While the beautiful tints fade in twilight away : 
 Behold him with awe the recesses explore, 
 "Where his spirit congenial had wander'd before : 
 Where the noble possessor great Lyttleton's mind 
 Has unbent from its cares for the good of his kind, 
 And from senates and courts with his Lucy retir'd ;— * 
 Which witnessed his anguish when Lucy expir'd ; — » 
 Where West sweetly sad, like the swan ere it dies, 
 Saw Death's dreary mist o'er his morning arise ; — 
 Where Thompson beheld the contemplative shade, 
 By the varying seasons with beauty array'd; — 
 Where Pope's living lays, like the Nightingale's strain. 
 The Echoes enraptur'd repeated again. 
 
 Stray on, gentle bard r— thou no danger need fear ; 
 Sure Rapine and Malice can ne'er harbour here : 
 Stray on ; though the woods darkly thicken around, 
 And solitude lonely possesses the ground ! 
 
240 ON A VISIT TO HAGLEY-PARK. 
 
 Thus some future trav'ller may cast his fond eyes, 
 Where *Enway's delightful enclosures arise : 
 And with feelings like thine may contemplate the shade, 
 Where the Virtues and Muses together have stray'd. 
 
 * T. Ws residences 
 
On the Death of my beloved Father. 
 
 " RFXUCTANT now I touch the trembling string, 
 
 Bereft of him who taught me how to sing 5 
 
 And these sad accents, murmur'd o'er his urn, 
 
 Betray that absence they attempt to mourn." 
 
 TlCKELL, 
 
 Ah! blame me not, if on the mournful lyre 
 Once more my melancholy hand I lay ; 
 
 Heart-piercing sorrows deep complaints inspire, 
 Let me the dictates of my grief obey ! 
 
 Oh, my lov'd sire, thou kind, thou partial friend, 
 Thy shelter from our hapless heads is torn, 
 
 Thy shelter form'd to cherish and defend ; 
 
 Now we through life must think of thee, and mourn. 
 
 Round the wide world in vain we cast our eyes, 
 A father's love, a father's care to find : 
 
 Low in the dust the tend'rest father lies, 
 
 And o'er his grave bleak blows the wintry wind. 
 
 H h 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
242 ON THE DEATH OF MY FATHER. 
 
 Joyous return'd from labours rich with love, 
 The dear embrace we'll interchange no more ; 
 
 No more with gladsome steps delighted move, 
 To hail thee at the lov'd paternal door. 
 
 No more to feast upon thy converse sweet, 
 Beneath the sunshine of thy cordial smile \ 
 
 No more that sacred sympathy to meet, 
 
 Which the sad heart could of its woes beguile. 
 
 No more, at silent eve's returning hour, 
 Close from thy happy family retir'd, 
 
 No more with awe I steal to yonder door, 
 And hear the sounds which Piety inspir'd. 
 
 For there thy secret soul was pour'd in prayer, 
 Then when thou thought no mortal heard those sighs 
 
 Ah, such as, kindled by a heart sincere, 
 Sweet-smelling incense, with acceptance rise! 
 
 Throughout the circle of the blameless day, 
 The influence of that holy hour was shed \ 
 
 Thy cheerful spirit felt serenely gay, 
 And p<ws&i sluaibej; hover'4 o'er thy bed* 
 
ON THE DEATH OF MY FATHER. US 
 
 For gifts which bounteous Providence bestow'd, 
 
 And unremitted industry had won, 
 Thy grateful heart with sweet sensations glow'd. 
 
 And of thy varied comforts lost not one. 
 
 And if Affliction pour'd her bitter flood, 
 
 Though keenly felt thy gentle soul the pain,, 
 Patient in tribulation firm thou stood ; 
 
 Unwont wert thou of suffering to complain. 
 
 Thy lib'ral hand obey'd thy heart sincere * 
 No selfish fears the gen'rous boon coafin'd t? 
 
 Safe in protecting Providence's care, 
 
 To that thy wants and wishes were resign'd; 
 
 Thou lov'd the youth ; they joy* d thy love to share; 
 
 No frown austere the timid mind deprest: 
 Grateful they felt thy soft, paternal care, 
 
 And laid their thoughts as on a father's breast. 
 
 » o 
 
 Thou liv'd the precept thou so often taught ; 
 
 And, in the tranquil day of quiet rest, 
 The place of sacred refuge early sought, 
 
 As the wise Halcyon build* in calms ker ne.U 
 
244 ON THE DEATH OF MY FATHER. 
 
 Fill'd with fraternal love for all thy kind, 
 Thy life and lip distill'd instruction sweet ; 
 
 The christian and the social virtues join'd 
 To make thy shining character complete. 
 
 But while we gaze, with filial feelings warm, 
 How sudden art thou ravish 'd from our sight ! 
 
 Never again to view that gracious form, 
 Save in the visions of the mournful night ! 
 
 The faithful, fond companion of thy life, 
 The tender sharer of thy joy or pain, 
 
 How did her soul support the fatal strife, 
 
 When nature's tend'rest bonds were rent in twain ! 
 
 Oh, who could bind that wound, so deep, so wide ! 
 
 Oh, who the smart of sorrow could allay I 
 
 3 Twas He— in early youth her chosen guide : 
 
 'Twas He — in feeble age th 'unfailing stay. 
 
 Ah, didst thou leave her, and thy pleasant home? 
 
 Ere yet nine days their hasty course had made, 
 How difF'rent thy return to that sad dome, 
 A clay-cold Corse within thy coffin laid ! 
 
ON THE DEATH OF MY FATHER. 245 
 
 Thou chosen of my heart, my gentle mate, 
 Thou lost the sire so lov'd, so lately won ; 
 
 Whilst with respect and love thy heart replete 
 Glow'd with the feelings of a duteous son. 
 
 Thy wish denied to tend the dying bed, 
 From the dear lip instruction sweet to gain, 
 
 Ev'n to behold that cheek when life was fled, 
 
 How was thy spirit wrung with piercing pain ! 
 
 Safe from the tumults of terrestrial strife, 
 
 Securely centred in eternal rest, 
 Say, shall we wish to lengthen weary life, 
 
 And still on earth detain th 'unwilling guest I 
 
 Yet shrinking nature dreads the orphan'd state, 
 Begs for a mother's life with selfish prayer :— 
 
 Oh, grant her drooping days a longer date, 
 . And to our tears our mourning parent spare ! 
 
 1792. 
 
LETTER 
 
 From Edmund Burke to Mary Leadbeater ; cm the 
 Death of her Father Richard Shackletqn. 
 
 My Dear Madam, 
 
 AFTER some tears on the truly melancholy event 3 
 of which your letter gives me the first account, 
 I sit down to thank you for your very kind 
 attention to me, in a season of so much, and 
 so just sorrow to yourself. Certainly my loss is 
 not so great as yours, who constantly enjoyed the 
 advantage and satisfaction of the society of such a 
 companion, such a friend, such an instructor, and 
 such an example : yet I am penetrated with a very 
 sincere affliction ; for my loss is great too. I am 
 declining, or rather declined in life, and the loss 
 of friends, at no time very reparable, is impossible 
 to be repaired at all in this advanced period. His 
 annual visit had been for some years a source of 
 satisfaction that I cannot easily express. He had 
 kept up the fervour of youthful affections; and 
 Jkis vivacity and cheerfulness, which made his early 
 
248 LETTER. 
 
 days so pleasant, continued the same to the last: 
 the strictness of his virtue and piety had nothing 
 in it of morose or austere ; and surely no life 
 was better, and (it is a comfort for us to add) 
 more happily spent than his. I knew him from 
 the boyish days in which we began to love each 
 other. 
 
 His talents were great, strong and various : 
 there was no art or science to which they were 
 not sufficient in the contemplative life ; nor any 
 employment that they would not more than ade- 
 quately nil in the active. Though his talents were 
 not without that ambition which generally ac- 
 companies great natural endowments, it was kept 
 under by great wisdom and temperance of mind ; 
 and though it was his opinion that the exercise 
 of virtue was more easy, its nature more pure, 
 and its means more certain in the walk he chose, 
 yet in that the activity and energy, which formed 
 the character of his mind, were very visible. 
 Apparently in a private path of life, his spirit 
 was publick. You know how tender a father he 
 
LETTER. 249 
 
 was to children worthy of him by their genius 
 and their virtue -****yet he extended himself more 
 widely ; and devoted a great part of his time tQ 
 the good of that society, of no mean extent, of 
 which the order of the Divine Providence had 
 made him a member* With a heart far from ex*, 
 eluding others, he was entirely devoted to the 
 benefit of that society, and had a zeal very un- 
 common for every thing which regarded its welfare 
 and reputation ; and when he retired, which he 
 did wisely and in time, from the worthy occu- 
 pation which he filled in a superior manner, his 
 time and thoughts were given to that object. 
 He sanctified his family benevolence, his benevo- 
 lence to his society, and to his friends, and to 
 mankind, with that reference in all things to the 
 Supreme Being, without which the best dispo- 
 sitions and the best teaching will make virtue, if 
 it can be at all attained, uncertain, poor, hard, 
 dry, cold and comfortless. 
 
 Indeed we have had a loss. I console myself 
 under it, by going over the virtues of my old 
 
 I i 
 
250 LET T E IL 
 
 friend, of which I believe I am one of the earliest 
 witnesses, and the most warm admirers and lovers. 
 Believe me, this whole family, who have adopted 
 my interest in my excellent departed friend, are 
 deeply touched with our common loss, and sympa* 
 thize with you most sincerely. 
 
 My son is just arrived in Dublin. My wife is 
 not very well, and is preparing for a journey to 
 Bath, which I trust will re-establish her. My 
 brother, who will hear this news with a sorrow 
 equal to mine, is now at Cheltenham for the 
 benefit of these waters. 
 
 Compose yourself, my dear Madam, you have 
 your work to do.***Pray remember me to the* 
 gentleman I have not the honour of knowing, 
 but whose happiness you make. Thank, for me, 
 my worthy friend Abraham for his good-natured 
 letter ; and beg him to consider it as answered in 
 this. I hope you will assure my dear friend Mrs. 
 Shackleton, the worthy wife of my late invalua* 
 
LETTER. 251 
 
 ble friend, that we sympathize cordially in all 
 
 she feels ; and join our entreaties to yours, that 
 
 she will preserve to you as much as possible of 
 
 the friend and parent ypu have lost. 
 
 I am, 
 
 With unfeigned respect and affection, 
 
 My dear Madam, 
 
 Your most faithful friend, 
 
 And obedient, humble servant, 
 
 MDMUNJO BURKE, 
 
 Beaconsfield, 
 Sep. 8, 179a 
 
ON MY 
 
 FATHER' s PORTRAIT, 
 
 oHADE of my sire, thou lookest not 
 
 Upon thy children here, 
 Assembled round the festive board, 
 
 With blameless mirth and cheer. 
 
 Stol'n is the glance which seeks that face, 
 
 And stifled is the sigh; 
 Lest grief should wring a brother's heart, 
 
 Or fill a sister's eye. 
 
 Thou, wont to join the social band, 
 And give and take delight ; 
 
 Enliv'ning wit, and wisdom's lore 
 So fitted to unite ! 
 
 No more the dear, paternal glance, 
 
 Cast fondly round we see ; 
 No more the little rising race 
 
 Embrace the grandsire's knee. 
 
254 ON MY FATHER'S PORTRAIT. 
 
 The silent canvass there displays 
 
 The features ever dear : 
 But ah! sweet shade, thou lookest not 
 
 Upon thy children here. 
 
 Oh then from thy celestial rest 
 
 In holy pity bow ; 
 Look down on those so dearly lov'd, 
 
 Our guardian angel thou! 
 
 Behold thy fond, thy faithful mate, 
 With worth, with talents grac'd, 
 
 Her active^, cultivated mind 
 Become a barren waste. 
 
 Thus talents fall: — but worth survives % 
 And, when life's day is o'er, 
 
 Triumphant to its native seat 
 The spirit ^shaU restore. 
 
T O 
 
 E A C E. 
 
 O PEACE, thine attribute to bless 
 
 Angels and men agree : 
 Though man thy favour forfeits oft, 
 
 At heart who loves not thee ? 
 
 The virtue, of thy pow'rful name 
 Restrains the tide of blood ; 
 
 While, oh ! thy spirit, meek and kind, 
 Is little understood. 
 
 Tis thou, who bid'st the troubled heart 
 G'ercharg'd with grief, be still : 
 
 'Tis thou, dost smooth life's rugged path, 
 And good extract from ill. 
 
 *Tis. thou, who art the rich reward 
 
 Of ev'ry duty done 5 
 plspePst the clouds of doubt, with rays 
 
 Bright as. the. morning sun. 
 
256 TO PEACE, 
 
 Not to the seaman tempest-tost, 
 Who sits him down to weep, 
 
 The tranquil calm more grateful spreads 
 Upon the boiling deep : 
 
 Not to the traveler, faint and sad, 
 
 Wand'ring by night forlorn, 
 Through breaking clouds more radiant shine? 
 
 The golden light of morn : 
 
 Not to the sick and throbbing brain, 
 
 With fever *s rage opprest, 
 More welcome is the soft return 
 
 And honey-dew of rest :— — 
 
 Than o'er the mind,- benighted, tost, 
 And sore with sorrow's sting, 
 
 When Peace her healing balsam pours., 
 And spreads her shelt'ring wing. 
 
 The world can nought like this bestow $ 
 No tongue the joy can tell : — 
 
 Then will the favour'd mind revolt^ 
 Or e'er a?ain rebel $ 
 
TO PEACE, 257 
 
 I ask not fame, I ask not wealth ; 
 
 They ne'er can purchase thee ; 
 But that my heart thy sacred shrine 
 
 For evermore may be ! 
 
 Thou, kind protectress, guard my path 
 
 From ev'ry form of strife 5 
 And lead me by thy gentle hand, 
 
 Through the low vale of life. 
 
 For never sure wilt thou regard 
 The proud, contentious mind ; 
 
 And sordid slaves of earthly cares 
 Shall not thy favour find. 
 
 Then, when the last dread hour shall come 5 
 Thy smite shall gild the scene, 
 
 And even death's dark vale illume 
 With prospects all serene. 
 
 K k 
 
T II £ 
 
 RUINED COTTAGE. 
 
 \ E trees, does your foliage delayy 
 Refusing to veil with its shade 
 
 That spot — once so cheerful and gay,. 
 That cottage — in ruin now laid? 
 
 While others arise on the plain, 
 
 These walls in sad silence repose j 
 
 As never expecting again 
 
 Such social delights to enclose. 
 
 Fair decency, cheerful content, 
 By industry honest were won : 
 
 Here quiet his days Owen spent, 
 
 And counted these blessings his owifc 
 
 His forge knew no weapons of blood > 
 Devoted to peaceful employ j 
 
 The stranger partook of his food, 
 
 Nor wa-nt chill' d the bosom of joy* 
 
260 THE RUINED COTTAGE, 
 
 Yet, torn from his babes, and his home, 
 From his consort so fond and so fair, 
 
 He must change, for a prison's dark gloom, 
 This balmy, salubrious air. 
 
 Her infant new-born at her breast, 
 
 His Doro beheld him depart ; 
 She sunk, with her sorrows opprest, 
 
 (Ah more — thou must ten times more smart !) 
 
 " And O if the lashes", she cried, 
 " My Owen be forc'd to endure, 
 
 54 With his blood if the scourges be died, 
 " His life will sink under it sure!" 
 
 See her Owen returning again, 
 
 His neighbours all smiling around, 
 
 His innocence free from a stain, 
 
 And no lash has inflicted a wound! 
 
 How chang'd the glad prospect, how soon! 
 
 See the clouds of Rebellion arise ! 
 The prison had then been a boon 
 
 Most grateful to Owen's sad eyes. 
 
THE RUINED COTTAGE- 261 
 
 What, though from the maddening train. 
 As soon as he might he retired; 
 
 In his cottage resolv'd to remain, 
 
 While innocence courage inspir'di 
 
 But innocence cannot avail, 
 
 When danger like this is so nigh: 
 
 This Doro, all weeping and pale, 
 
 Revolv'd, and implor'd him to fly. 
 
 For see, breathing vengeance and dread, 
 
 The disciplin'd armies appear; 
 The bands so tumultuous are fled, 
 
 And the cannon's dire thunder they hear I 
 
 i 
 
 But resolv'd in his cottage to stay, 
 
 In his cottage mild Owen they found ; 
 
 Like furies they seize on their prey, 
 
 And his bosom receives the death wound.* 
 
 The firebrands his dwelling invade, 
 
 The smoke—- it ascends to the sky ; 
 
 There innocence injur'd may plead ! 
 There heard is the sufferer's cry ! 
 
262 THE RUINED COTTAGE. 
 
 Then Doro, her infants around, 
 
 Beheld her lov'd home wrapt in fire ; 
 
 They heard the explosion's dread soirnd, 
 And in agony calPd on their sire. 
 
 Her stores by hard industry gain'd, 
 To rapine and flames were a prey: 
 
 But ah — if her Owen remain'd, 
 Of how little value are they ! 
 
 She darts through the furious crowd, 
 Resolving his fate to explore : 
 
 She calls on her Owen aloud; — 
 
 She sees him — all bath'd in his gore! 
 
 Oh then, on his corse as she lay, 
 Her babe all unconscious beside, 
 
 In vain she invok'd the cold clay ; 
 Her Owen no longer replied. 
 
 The warriors, reproach'd by her moans, 
 Their bosoms all pdison'd with strife, 
 
 With insults reply to her groans, 
 And threaten her innocent life. 
 
THE RUINED COTTAGE. 26S 
 
 Oh what was her life in that hour ! — 
 The load she had gladly resign'd; 
 
 Nor insults, nGr threats could have pow'r 
 To quell the fierce pangs of her mind. 
 
 She lives for her fatherless train, 
 
 She lives, though her comfort is dead, 
 
 Chill poverty's gripe to sustain, 
 
 And strive for a morsel of bread. 
 
 Humanity weeps at the tale ; 
 
 Yet frequent such scenes will appear^ 
 Till Concord's soft voice shall prevail, 
 
 Which angels delighted will hear. 
 
T O I. S. 
 
 '«»9@-^^®99«». 
 
 SOFT o'er the vale of Ballitore 
 
 The gale of peace was wont to blow ; 
 
 Till Discord rais'd her direful horn, 
 
 And filTd the shades with sounds of wo. 
 
 The blood-stain'd earth, the warlike bands, 
 The trembling natives saw with dread : 
 
 Dejected Labour left her toil, 
 
 And summer's blithe enjoyments fled. 
 
 But see ! th'avenging sword is sheath'd, 
 And Mercy's voice is heard at last : — 
 
 How sweet, beside the winter's fire, 
 To ponder on the perils past ! 
 
 Ah think not yet your trials o'er: — 
 From yonder mountain's hollow side 
 
 The fierce banditti issue forth, 
 
 When darkness spreads her curtain wide. 
 
 L 1 
 
966 TO I. S. 
 
 With murd'rous arms and haggard eyes, 
 The social joys away they fright ; 
 
 Sad expectation clouds the day, 
 
 And sleep forsakes the fearful night. 
 
 Nov/ martial troops protect the vale, 
 At distance prowl the ruffian band : 
 
 O Confidence, thou dearer guard, 
 
 Why hast thou fled this luckless land ? 
 
 We droop, and mourn o'er many a joy, 
 O'er many a friend to dust consign 'd : 
 
 Yet ev'ry comfort is not fled, 
 
 Behold, another friend we find ! 
 
 Lo! Juliet comes to grace the plain, 
 And friendship claims the precious prize 
 
 She grants the claim, — nor does her heart 
 The children of the vale despise. 
 
 Though polish'd life, with ev'ry charm, 
 To her its brilliant scenes display'd ; 
 
 Though form'd to ornament a court, -» 
 
 £he deigns to dignify the shade. 
 
TO I. S. 26V 
 
 But shades more worthy of the guest 
 From us this precious prize require; 
 
 Guiltless of blood, with quiet blest, 
 
 Where Truth's own bard attunes his lyre. 
 
 Where Clarkson for the helpless pleads, 
 Where Nature's charms majestick rise, 
 
 And broad Ulls water's beauteous lake 
 
 Gives back the mountains-, woods and skies ;• 
 
 There Juliet, may thy lovely maids 
 Their pencils' wondrous art employ; 
 
 While each acquirement gives the pow'r 
 T'increase their tender parents' joy. 
 
 Unknown to dissipated minds 
 
 The joys their gentle bosoms know: 
 
 Tis theirs to turn the classick page, 
 'Tis theirs to melt at others' wo f 
 
 And there, releas'd from war's alarm, 
 May thy lov'd lord delighted rove, 
 
 And lay the radiant scarf aside, 
 Dear pledge of Juliet's anxious love! 
 
268 TO I. S. 
 
 Like the bright dames of other days, 
 She fram'd the web of crimson stain, 
 
 To grace her hero's form, or bear 
 Her hero wounded from the plain. 
 
 And still, dispensing kindness round, 
 The happy household shall unite; 
 
 While, from amid surrounding bow'rs, 
 Their virtues beam with native light. 
 
 And in your comfort we shall joy, 
 While Fancy views your dear retreat; 
 
 Though Juliet's eye, and Juliet's smile, 
 No more our gladden'd sight shall meet. 
 
 What though the tender tear shall start, 
 And soft regret the sigh shall send! — 
 
 Yet shall our conscious hearts exult 
 In the rich gift of such a friend* 
 
, For R. S.'s Watch, 
 
 Which had belonged to his Grandfather. 
 
 JL/ESPISE me not, ingenuous boy, 
 Nor change me for a modern toy : 
 Oh, think of him who wore me long, 
 Nor do my oft-tried merit wrong. 
 So may thy hours like his be past ; 
 Then need thou never dread the last I 
 
TO E. G. 
 
 oWEET sang the birds, green wav'd the boughs^ 
 
 The flow'rs bloom'd fair to see, 
 When bright Eliza gave the hours 
 
 To friendship and to me. 
 
 Unchang'd her heart, unalter'd mine, 
 With answ'ring throbs they swell j 
 
 Ah, how delightful thus to meet ! 
 How sweet to love so well ! 
 
 Swift pass the hours, and from our eyes 
 
 The social band retreats : 
 But mem'ry dwells upon the past, 
 
 And feeds on hoarded sweets, 
 
 'Twas not the voice of duty urg'd 
 
 Thus hasty to remove ; 
 No, 'twas the soft, the tender call 
 
 Of fondest filial love ! 
 
272 TO E. G. 
 
 Their pious, venerable sire 
 
 Hangs tott'ring o'er the grave ; 
 
 While the fond arms extend around, 
 The precious life to save. 
 
 And there my gentle Nancy hears 
 
 The wail of want and wo ; 
 And bids the wild, untutor'd breast 
 
 With useful knowledge glow. 
 
 Such are your cares : such cares as these 
 
 Ennoble human kind ; 
 And ever be your sweet reward 
 
 The self-approving mind! 
 
On W. L 's Recovery from a Fever, 
 
 JlIAIL, thou returning year, for ne'er 
 So brightly smil'd Jthis annual day $ 
 
 And never let my joyous heart 
 The grateful tribute cease to pay ! 
 
 For on this day my partner dear, 
 The father of my infant train, 
 
 The tender husband of my love, 
 Lifts up his head in hope again. 
 
 As from the jaws of death redeem'd, 
 And raging Febris put to flight; 
 
 So peaceful beams the balmy morn, 
 After a long, tempestuous night. 
 
 Ah me, what anguish rack'd thy frame! 
 
 Ah me, what tortures tore my heart ! 
 While glided on the awful hours 
 
 With threading view that we must part! 
 
 M,m 
 
274 ON W. L/s RECOVERY. 
 
 « I look'd around, but comfort fled ; 
 
 The flatt'rer Hope I strove to shun : 
 How hard to keep the quiet state ! 
 
 How hard to say, Thy will be done ! 
 
 While spasms convulsive stretch'd the nerves, 
 Fierce throbs the manly bosom tore ; 
 
 High glow'd the cheek, wild roll'd the eyes, 
 In humid sweetness bath'd no more. 
 
 Then Patience, meek, celestial guest, 
 Her sacred influence sweetly prov'd ; 
 
 And constant then, *midst ev'ry pain, 
 Thy friends, thy consort, were belov'd. 
 
 'Twas then was tried thy kindred's love ; 
 
 Twas then thy faithful friends were tried ; 
 Then Paean's sons display'd their lore, 
 
 And stepp'd with Nature side by side. 
 
 And O may you, who shar'd our pain, 
 Whose hearts with ours responsive beat, 
 
 (What more can gratitude desire ?) 
 Like love, like skill, like friendship meet] 
 
T O 
 
 FRIEND, 
 
 On her Marriage. 
 
 JOYFUL rise the glist'ning morn, 
 Swift the white-wing'd minutes move^ 
 
 Nature's smiles the hour adorn, 
 
 William gains his plighted love* 
 
 She, whose image from his heart, 
 While her graceful form unseen, 
 
 Time and distance join'd to part, 
 And th'Atlantick flow'd between! 
 
 Vainly flow'd th'Atlantick wave, 
 Time and distance join'd in vain; 
 
 Love can ev'ry danger brave, 
 True love will unchanged remain. 
 
 Let me hail thee, gentle bride ! 
 
 For my conscious heart has prov'd 
 Soft the band which friendship tied, 
 
 Sweet to love and to be lov'd. 
 
276 ON A FRIEND'S MARRIAGE. 
 
 To the scenes our childhood lov'd, 
 Trac'd by Mem'ry's wistful eye, 
 
 Oft has pensive Fancy rov'd, 
 And awak'd the tender sigh. 
 
 Sweet companions of those hours, 
 
 Oft on them our thoughts shall dwell, 
 
 How they bloom'd like vernal flow'rs, 
 How like vernal flow'rs they fell! 
 
 Transient thus all temp'ral good, 
 
 Let th'immortal spirit press 
 For the soul-sustaining food, 
 
 Which shay ev'ry blessing bless, 
 
TO AN 
 
 ABSENT FRIEND. 
 
 ON Caledonia's distant shore 
 
 While yet my lov'd Belinda strays, 
 
 Deep in the groves of Ballitore, 
 
 Her Mira frames the artless lays. 
 
 Return, Belinda, kindred calls ; 
 
 Return, Belinda, friendship cries ; 
 Haste to our arms, and leave those walls, 
 
 Where proud Edina's turrets rise. 
 
 Thou tender wife, and gen'rous friend, 
 At Love's and Duty's mild command, 
 
 Thy William's wand'rings woukTst attend, 
 And leave thy pleasant, native land. 
 
 He goes to seek the mystick store, 
 
 Which Pecan's sons in secret hide ; 
 
 And better shall he learn their lore, 
 
 While thou sitt'st smiling by his side. 
 
278 TO AN ABSENT FRIEND. 
 
 But now the third long summer dawns ; 
 
 O shall not this his toils complete? 
 
 Then haste to greet your laughing lawns,— 
 
 Then haste your faithful friends to greet. 
 
 Yet ere from thence she turns her eyes, 
 Where many a tender pang was known, 
 
 To yonder grave Belinda flies, 
 
 To pour a mourning mother's moan. 
 
 " Farewell, my babe ! the rosy morn 
 
 " Could not thy op'ning charms excel:-— 
 
 66 Soon from thy parents' bosom torn, 
 " My babe, for ever fare thee well!" 
 
 O weep no more, Belinda lov'd; 
 
 Another babe demands thy care: 
 And who the sweets of life has prov'd, 
 
 Its sorrows too must learn to bear. 
 
THE 
 
 SUMMER- EVENING'S REVEL. 
 
 XI OW still the eve! how calm the sky! 
 What ! is the breeze afraid to sigh ? 
 How gaily smiles the garden's pride, 
 In the rich hues of Nature died! 
 The sweets the flow'rs and shrubs exhale 
 With fragrance load the balmy gale : 
 The balmy gale — where does it stray? 
 Oh, to these trees with blossoms gay, 
 Whose twisting branches, wide displayed, 
 Repel the sun with grateful shade. 
 
 Beneath the festive board is plac'd, 
 The board with glitt'ring china grac'd, 
 Surrounded by so bright a train, 
 Methinks I see th' Arcadian plain ! 
 There, like the doves which hover nigh, 
 
 Sits P with blooming Peggy by, 
 
 Brilliant, as when glad Hymen came 
 lately to crown their virtuous flame ; 
 
\80 SUMMER -EVENING'S REVEL. 
 
 A flame which, burning still more bright, 
 Adds lustre to the nuptial rite. 
 Good-humour'd Sally, tall and fair 
 As Dian's roving maids, was there : 
 
 L r, mild as ev'ning dew, 
 
 And, bright as Hesper, R n too. 
 
 Eliza (in whose serious eye 
 
 Sense, judgment and discretion lie) 
 
 And Mary, with contented mind, 
 
 Come sweetest pleasure here to find; 
 
 And William, tir'd with musty books, 
 
 Here brightens up his studious looks. 
 
 Their carpet was the verdant ground ; 
 
 The thrush and blackbird sang around : 
 
 All seem'd the general joy to share, 
 
 Far fled pale grief and wasting care, 
 
 For youth, and health, and love were there. 
 
 And see, to keep our spirits up, 
 
 Alicia brings the foaming cup, 
 
 FilTd with rich tribute of the kine, 
 
 Jlxalted by the gen'rous wine, 
 
 Sweeten'd by India s dulcet canes, — 
 
 Caird Sillabub by simple swains. 
 
 } 
 
SUMMER. EVENING'S REVEL. 2&1 
 
 They rise, their rural banquet made, 
 And leave the garden's pleasant shade : 
 Where, smiling wand'rers, will ye stray ?- 
 O'er the steep hills they take their way \ 
 The hills, which Nature's frolick hand 
 With careless pencil rudely plann'd \ 
 While at their feet, in lowly guise, 
 Like modest worth, the valley lies. — — - 
 Why do ye stand and gaze around, 
 And think ye tread on fairy ground? 
 No magick bade those waters flow, 
 And the wide-waving willows grow ; 
 These pigmy walks, and shady seat, 
 Were form'd for more than fairy feet: 
 A peasant poor, with dint of toil, 
 Reclaim'd the marshy, barren soil; 
 Taught the dull waters where to flow, 
 And bade the waving willows grow. 
 Amidst the labours of his hands, 
 O'erlooking all, his cottage stands : 
 His trusty dog, no fawning cheat, 
 Guards the low door with surly state. 
 
 N n 
 
282 SUMMER- EVENING'S REVEL. 
 
 Oh lovely maid, Contentment sweetal ' 
 The green grass knows thy printed feet : 
 Breaking from Dissipation's arms, 
 Thou in the shade display 'st thy charms. 
 Not such delights Ambition wait, 
 Under the canopy of state, 
 
 Lull'd by sweet musick's softest strain, 
 
 As those thou giv'st the homely swain, 
 When, stretch'd at careless ease, he lies 
 Beneath the shade he taught to rise ; 
 
 While on the bough the linnet sings, 
 
 Oh ! these are joys unknown to Icings. 
 
 Pleas'd with their walk, the sportive train 
 Descend the hill, and seek the plain. 
 Below the various landscape lies ; 
 The landscape charms the gazing eyes, 
 The groves, the fields, the gardens gay, 
 And Griese, whose silver waters stray: 
 Untir'd the pleasing scenes they view, 
 For ever fair, for ever new. 
 
SUMMER -EVENING'S REVEL- 28 
 
 Now twilight's dusky shades extend j 
 The silent dews of night descend : 
 The dews of night your health may harm, 
 And without health what scenes can charm l 
 Then seek the mansion, leave the plain ; 
 Yon awful cloud is big with rain. 
 
 These are our simple village pleasures, 
 Sweet employments, guiltless leisures, 
 Joys that please e'en when they're o'er ; 
 These are thy joys, O Ballitcre ! 
 
 1779. 
 
THE 
 
 SUMMER-MORNING's DESTRUCTION. 
 
 T\OW falls the thick-descending rain* 
 Where late the hostile squadron stood : 
 
 Ye show'rs, ye have not wash'd the stain 
 Of lost Horatio's precious blood. 
 
 The earth, which drank his blood so deaf, 
 The earth his murder will not hide, 
 
 x\nd torn Maria's streaming tear : 
 
 O shall these tears be ever dried? 
 
 The tender pledges of their love 
 
 In life's first dawn feel sorrow's smart; 
 
 And, whilst a parent's loss they prove, 
 Keen anguish wrings the infant heart. 
 
 Her trumpet dire Bellona blows ; 
 
 The echoing hills repeat the sound : 
 With blood the blighted valley flows, 
 
 And Death and Horror raq:e around. 
 
286 SUMMER-MORNING's DESTRUCTION. 
 
 Ah where is now the peaceful scene, 
 Where the soft Muse attun'd her lay -, 
 
 The tranquil bow'r, the cheerful green, 
 The rural sports at closing day? 
 
 The bow'rs were wrapt in ruthless fires, 
 Prone on their fields the peasants bled : 
 
 The Muses dropp'd their golden lyres, 
 And from the scene of slaughter fled. 
 
 Yet ere they bled, one sacred tear, 
 Horatio, on thy grave must fall : 
 
 To thee the Muse's song was dear ; 
 Thy soul awoke at Pity's call. 
 
 Thine was the voice, whose cheering sound 
 Spoke comfort to the couch of pain : — 
 
 And were these gentle accents found 
 To plead for life — and plead in vain ? 
 
 'JHigh flash'd the brandish'd swords in air; 
 
 Brave, though unarrn'd, their victim stood 
 Descending deaths remorseless tear 
 
 That breast, which thirsted not for blood. 
 
SUMMER-MORNING'S DESTRUCTION. 287 
 
 O hide the melancholy hour ; 
 
 O veil it deep in shades of night ; 
 Yet the broad sun display'd its pow'r, 
 
 And shone in morning-glories bright. 
 
 Sweet smiFd the war-devoted vale, 
 In summer's radiant robes array'd : 
 
 How soon did sorrow load the gale I 
 How soon did ev'ry beauty fade ! 
 
 Where are thy simple village pleasures, 
 
 Sweet employments, guiltless leisures ? 
 
 Where thy joys, which charm'd when o'er ? 
 Fled are thy joys, O Ballitore ! 
 
 1798. 
 
NARRAGHMORE WOOD. 
 
 JN OW Autumn flings her various dies 
 
 The lap of Nature o'er - 7 
 And ev'ry tree its pride of leaf 
 
 Waves wide through Narraghmore* 
 
 ... 
 But soon shall Winter's sullen gloom 
 
 Deform the tranquil skies \ 
 
 While from before his blasting breath 
 
 The with'ring foliage flies. 
 
 Come, let us wander through the woods, 
 Ere yet their bloom be past ; 
 
 Ere yet the stately beeches bow 
 Beneath th'insulting blast. 
 
 And come, thou youth of Scotia's land ; 
 
 And come, thou Scottish Maid ; 
 For Nature's charms your glowing eyes 
 
 With coldness ne'er survey 'd. 
 
 O o 
 
290 NARRAGHMORE WOOD. 
 
 What — though from friends, from scenes remov'd 
 
 To mem'ry fondly dear ; 
 Yet true the friends, and fair the scenes, 
 
 Which greet your presence here. 
 
 Yet fairer were these lawns, when here 
 
 Their noble Lady stray'd, 
 Beside her Lord, while sporting round 
 
 Their smiling cherubs play'd. 
 
 The cheerful cot, the cultur'd farm, 
 
 Bespoke the master kind : 
 His vassals' weal, his vassals' wo, 
 Employ'd his gen'rous mind. 
 
 Bright as the dewy star of eve, 
 
 His lov'd Matilda came; 
 Before her mov'd the rustick band^ 
 
 All candidates for fame, 
 
 It was not in the giddy dance, 
 
 Their nimble feet they plied s 
 But, busied at th'industrious wheel, 
 
 To win her favour tried. 
 
NARRAGHMORE WOOD. 291 
 
 And while Benevolence enthron'd 
 
 Sits in her radiant eyes, 
 Behold her lib'ral hands around 
 
 Dispense to each her prize. 
 
 The cheerful cot, the cultured farm, 
 
 The rural tasks adieu ! 
 Rebellion spreads her deadly veil, 
 
 And hides the grateful view* 
 
 She lifts her voice : the frantick crowd 
 
 Hear not the lord they love ; 
 
 Though from his lips persuasion's pow-r 
 Could aught but party move. 
 
 In vain upon his manly cheek 
 
 The tear of pity hung j 
 While, all reluctant, to their fate 
 
 He bears th!insensate throng. 
 
 Ah hapless band ! your fatal choice 
 Too soon you deeply rued ; 
 
 Whilst many a tear the widow's breast, 
 And orphan's cheek bedew'vl ; 
 
292 NARRAGHMORE WOOD. 
 
 Whilst 'mid these bow'rs, so fresh and green, 
 
 The bleeding victims lay j 
 And Horror trac'd the wasting path 
 
 Of Death and dire Dismay : 
 
 While the torn matron's arm up-rais'd 
 
 Her dying husband's head , 
 And the pale virgin sought her love 
 
 Among the mangled dead. 
 
 Now far from these deserted plains 
 
 Their Lord and Lady move : 
 The influence of their gracious smile 
 
 No more their vassals prove. 
 
 Return, return, exalted pair, 
 
 Departed joys restore \ 
 And grace the waving woods again 
 
 Of your lov'd Narraghmore. 
 
TO THE 
 
 SYLPHS 
 
 VSfr&i 
 
 oOFT, airy guardians of the fair, 
 
 Who watch o'er Virtue's calm repose, 
 
 Hither, ye busy Sylphs, repair, 
 
 While Stella's eyes in slumbers close :— 
 
 These eyes, which through the active day 
 Around their cheering influence threw ; 
 
 Now bright with Genius' vivid ray, 
 Now dimm'd with Pity's sacred dew. 
 
 Compose that sweetly anxious breast, 
 Which diff'rent duties strongly move;, 
 
 Nor be that feeling mind distrest, 
 Twixt filial and fraternal love. 
 
 But where the sleeping fair one lies, 
 May brightest visions round her play$ 
 
 And ever let these beaming eyes 
 Unclose upon a happy day! 
 
T O 
 
 RICHARD COLLES, 
 With his Brother's Profile. 
 
 1 O thee, who blend'st, with happy art, 
 The talents, of the head and heart, — 
 Whose sportive wit has never stray'd 
 Beyond the fence good-nature made $ — 
 To thee her gift a stranger sends, 
 Who hopes to rank amongst thy friends. 
 Say, canst thou in this shadow trace 
 The semblance of a brother's face? 
 Though distant far that day has roll'd, 
 Which first beheld these features cold, — ■ 
 Which saw his aged tutor's tear 
 Fall on the virtuous pupil's bier ; 
 Still Mem'ry views that aspect kind, 
 Fair index to a spotless mind ; 
 That eye benevolently bright, 
 Which gave, where'er it turn'd, delight : — 
 Still hears these guileless lips impart 
 The dictates of that honest heart, 
 
296 TO R. C. WITH HIS BROTHER'S PROFILE. 
 
 Where all those feelings lov d to meet, 
 Which make domestick joy complete. - 
 
 In vain :* for Death's relentless hand 
 
 Untwisted ev'ry tender band ; 
 Yet left his image deep imprest 
 On many a fond and faithful breast. 
 
R E P L Y. 
 
 " To me her gift a stranger fends, 
 
 " Who hopes to rank amongst my friends." 
 
 A STRANGER ! no : in ev'ry line, 
 In eVry verse I read of thine, 
 An old, a valued friend I trace, 
 Her, who immortaliz'd the Griese \ 
 And so correct her Lydia drew, 
 Her in Lavinia well I knew : 
 
 My brother in thy gift survives* 
 And after thirty years he lives : 
 Ey thy creative pencil charm'd, 
 Again with life his lips are warm'dj 
 His eye again lights up to see 
 A friend so kind, so good in thee 1 
 
 r> a 
 
 Pp 
 
CHARLEVILLE FOREST. 
 
 AND sweet the radiant morning smil'd, 
 Sweet sang the birds on ev'ry spray ; 
 
 When Bloom vihVs pleasant seat we leave. 
 For scenes more splendid, not more gay. 
 
 Here Hospitality resides, 
 
 By Courtesy and Freedom drest: 
 The venerable master's smile 
 
 With cordial welcome greets the guest. 
 
 Nor less the welcome which overflows 
 From his lov'd partner's faithful heart j 
 
 While she, the solace of their care, 
 In ev'ry kindness takes a part. 
 
 'Midst first of duteous daughters she. 
 And form'd in ev'xy sphere to shine* 
 
 Whether domestick cares engage, 
 Or polish'd circles charms combine. 
 
SOO CHARLEVILLE FOREST. 
 
 Where Charleville's fair forest waves, 
 With slow steps, and with raptur'd eyes, 
 
 We wander, and on ev'ry side 
 Behold the varied landscape rise. 
 
 Correct the taste, benign the heart 
 
 Of him, who led us through these groves, 
 
 And pointed out each charming scene, 
 Where Genius smiles, or Fancy roves. 
 
 There shines the far-extended lake. 
 Reflecting bright the summer sky ; 
 
 While graceful, o'er the glassy plain, 
 The silver swans come sailing by. 
 
 Here through deep shades the Clodio winds, 
 Hoarse murm'ring o'er its rocky bed : 
 
 There, fair to view and unconfin'd, 
 The smoothly gliding waters spread. 
 
 The tow'ring oak, whose sheltering boughs 
 Have many a winter's rage withstood, 
 
 Waves wide his venerable arms, 
 And dips his foliage in the flood. 
 
CHARLEVILLE FOREST. SOI 
 
 " Approach with awe th' Egerian grot," 
 Where Nature sports In frolick play ; 
 
 The stony roof, the rugged walk, 
 The tinkling stream's impervious way. 
 
 The gothick lights, the hermit's bed, 
 
 The gloom of deep surrounding shade : — 
 
 Truth rends the veil, and yields to art 
 Her triumph ; and 'tis here display'd. 
 
 Blest was the plan ! when Famine frown'd,- 
 And Labour look'd around for bread ; 
 
 Benevolence and Taste conspir'd, 
 
 And thus the hungry poor were fed.* 
 
 And here Benevolence and Taste * 
 
 We find their traces here again ; 
 
 While, charm'dj within the beauteous cot 
 The strangers meet, a grateful train. 
 
 * In a time of scarcity, Lady C. relieved the wants 
 of many poor families, by employing labourers in 
 forming this grotto, which appears to be the rude work 
 of Nature. 
 
 % 
 
302 CHARLEVILLE FOREST. 
 
 But hark ! loud hammers strike the ear ; 
 
 The rising walls attract the sight ; 
 And ages yet unborn shall view 
 
 The stately Castle's awful height. 
 
 From such abodes the barons bold, 
 By honour* led, indignant came; 
 
 And Britain's sacred charter bore, 
 
 And gain'd the meed of deathless fame. 
 
 Deep sinks the moat, high rise the tow'rs* 
 And hostile force and fraud defy; 
 
 Yet not against a foe they rise, 
 No hostile force or fraud is nigh. 
 
 Their noble lord a better guard 
 Shall in his own kind bosom prove: 
 
 No safer fortress shall he need, 
 Blest in his grateful vassals' love. 
 
INSCRIPTION 
 
 O N A 
 
 BEE- HOUSE. 
 
 rilTHER turn, ye busy wand'rers, 
 N-jr to seek a dwelling roam : 
 
 Hear your friend, who kindly offers 
 Safety, comfort, and a home. 
 
 Here, unscorch'd by sultry summer, 
 Your sweot tasks in peace pursue ; 
 
 And the rage of surly winter 
 Here can never injure you. 
 
 Never to this happy mansion 
 
 Shall the murd'rous match draw nigfy i 
 Cherish here your tender offspring, 
 
 And the wants of age supply. 
 
 Hither turn, ye busy wand'rers^ 
 Nor to seek a dwelling roam : 
 
 Hear your friend, who kindly offers 
 Safety, comfprt, and a home. 
 
To Dr. C. in India. 
 
 1 O thee, who from thy Scottish hills 
 Hast wander 'd far away, 
 A stranger-Muse, from Erin's shore, 
 Presents her humble lay. 
 
 Should pow'r, or wealth, or fame for thee 
 
 Their splendid gifts combine, 
 Shall pow'r, or wealth, or fame allure 
 
 A heart so form'd as thine ? 
 
 To cheer distress, and want to chase. 
 
 This be the gift of pow'r ! 
 For this may wealth around thy path 
 
 Distil her golden show'r 1 
 
 The still small voice when Conscience speaks,. 
 
 Approving to the heart, 
 This may'st thou hear ! — the trump of fame 
 
 Can no such joy impart. 
 
 But ah ! thou wand'rest far away 
 ; om those who leve thee dear, 
 
 Who h ave for thee the secret sigh, 
 And drop the silent tear. 
 
306 TO Dr. C. IN INDIA. 
 
 Fancy, reclin'd on Pity's breast, 
 
 Makes others' woes her own -, 
 Dwells on thy father's manly grief, 
 
 Thy mourning mother's moan. 
 
 But I beheld thy sister's pangs : — 
 
 The fatal page she read, 
 Which "told where India's sunny plains 
 
 Were strew'd with British dead. 
 
 Then apprehension pierc'd her heart, 
 
 It bled at ev'ry vein, 
 " My Brother ! did my Brother fall, 
 
 " To swell the Jieaps of ^lain ?" 
 
 hadst thou seen the deep despair 
 
 Her streaming eyes exprest, 
 pr heard thajt agonizing throb, 
 
 Which rent her gentle breast j 
 
 Would India's wealth have brib'd thy stay?- 
 Then leave that luckless shore; 
 
 And to thy dear, domestick hearth 
 Its wonted joys restore* 
 
To B. H. on his Marriage. 
 
 <o< 
 
 I O hail thy parents' bridal day, 
 Whilom I fram'd mine artless lay ; 
 And now, dear friend, the Muse I pray 
 
 To smile on me, 
 Whilst I my humble tribute pay 
 
 To worth and thee. 
 
 For while, with conscious pride elate, 
 I view thee and thy gentle mate, 
 Rich in the blessings which await 
 
 On love and truth - 9 
 Fair seems thy chance of future fate, 
 
 Thou favour 'd youth 1 
 
 Thee, yet a babe, good-nature blest, 
 And breath'd her spirit in thy breast \ 
 Of various gifts this was the best, 
 
 O happy boy. 
 Thine artless eyes the soul confest, 
 
 Of honest jov. 
 
308 TO B. H. ON HIS MARRIAGE. 
 
 And Science won thine early love, 
 Fancy and Taste with thee would rove 
 Along the stream, or through the grove ; 
 
 Whilst unconfm'd, 
 All mean and sordid cares above, 
 
 Soar'd thy young mind. 
 
 But if Compassion's voice was heard, 
 Or Friendship shew'd her form rever'd, 
 Taste, Fancy, Science disappear'd 
 
 From thy fond eye ; 
 And glad to cheer, or to be cheer'd, 
 
 Swift would'st thou fly. 
 
 Thy lovely Jane one feeling more 
 Has added to thy mental store; 
 Enhancing all thou own'd before, 
 
 And lessening none, 
 Fix'd in the bosom's inmost core, 
 
 Till life be done. 
 
 Be thine (for here all bliss depends) 
 The grateful heart which lowly bends: 
 The incense pure that spirit sends 
 
 He will approve, 
 Whose favour all his gifts transcends, 
 
 The God of Love. 
 
THE 
 
 TRIUMPH OF TERROR. 
 
 ON the morning in which Ballitore was given up to the military, 
 the life of an old man was attached : he was rescued by his 
 daughter : hut epileptick fits were the consequence of the shock 
 which she received, and which caused her untimely death. 
 
 JL HE morning, unconscious of horrors, arose, 
 
 The whispering Zephyr breathM soft thro* the shade j 
 And Nature, awaken'd from balmy repose, 
 
 Her charms all bespangled with dew-drops display'd. 
 
 But hark ! in the vale so secluded and sweet, 
 The cries of destruction and misery blend ; 
 
 And 'mid the green boughs, once of peace the retreat, 
 The pitiless fiames, wing'd with vengeance, ascend. 
 
 Oh what wrought this change ? 'twas a people misled 
 In deeds of rebellion and strife to engage : 
 
 Yet listen to mercy ; — the guilty are fled ; 
 Oh let not the guiltless fall victims to rage ! 
 
810 THE TRIUMPH OF TERROR. 
 
 " Oh stay thy hand, soldier, — Oh pity my sire, 
 " And from his hoar head turn thy weapon aside : 
 
 u Or, if thou a sacrifice seek to thine ire, 
 
 " Then deep in my breast let thy weapon be died" ! 
 
 Filial Piety pleaded ; — the* soldier withdrew ; 
 
 And Ferdinand rose, while his beating heart glow'd : 
 Then swift to his daughter's fond bosom he flew, 
 
 For now to each other existence they ow'd. 
 
 But ah ! that fond bosom had agony seiz'd, 
 
 With a gripe too severe e'en for Hope to unbind ; 
 
 And what though the tumults of war were appeas'd, 
 The fatal impression still dwelt on her mind. 
 
 'Twas then that the triumph of Terror began, 
 
 And youth's sprightly grace from that moment decay'd : 
 
 Her eyes lost their lustre ; and wither'd and wan 
 
 Was that cheek on which Health once in dimples had 
 play'd. 
 
 Her delicate nerves by convulsions were strain'd, 
 Her eye-balls all haggard so wildly would rove ; 
 
 Yet Reason unshaken her empire maintain'd, 
 Undiminish'd the duties of filial love. 
 
THE TRIUMPH OF TERROR. 311 
 
 To cheer the lone couch where her parent was laid, 
 When sickness oppress'd him, each effort she tried ; 
 
 To cheer his lone cot, and his labours to aid, 
 
 His food and his raiment her cares would provide,. 
 
 In this pious act to the streamlet she came, 
 
 To prepare the coarse viands which nature requir'd ; • 
 
 When sudden distemper assaiPd her worn frame, 
 And 'mid stifling waters poor Polly expir'd ! 
 
 Fair maids of the valley, ye mourn'd for her woes, 
 
 To you may the wretched with confidence come : 
 3own your cheek the soft current of tenderness flows, 
 And Pity your bosoms has clairnd for her home. 
 
THE 
 
 INVITATION, 
 
 BRIGHT Damsel of Scotland, say when wilt thou cheer us 
 With these looks, and this converse which always have 
 charm d ? 
 
 Now Spring s rosy pinions we feel waving near us. 
 Her breath the chill air and our bosoms has warm'd. 
 
 The buds from their tedious confinement are bursting ; 
 
 The Thrush plumes his wing, andsings sweet on the spray* 
 And, freed from the fetters his banks once incrusting, 
 
 Griese winds through the fresh-springing meadows 
 his way. 
 
 See the Nymphs to invite thee their arbours adorning ; 
 
 And worthy thy love are the Nymphs of the vale ; 
 Forms fair as the flow'rs which bedeck the Spring morning, 
 
 Hearts gentle and pure as the Spring's balmy gale. 
 
 When Summer advances, with radiance all glowing, 
 They shall woo thee to wander along the gay green : 
 
 When Autumn her treasures around is bestowing, 
 Thy presence shall heighten the joys of the scene. 
 
 R r 
 
31* THE INVITATION. 
 
 And when gloomy Winter again shall draw near us, 
 
 Though the air shall be chill, yet our hearts shall be warm, 
 
 If, bright Damsel of Scotland, thou cease not to cheer us ; 
 For thy looks and thy converse shall cease not to charm. 
 
T H E 
 
 BEGGAR. 
 
 AN old man of a most interesting appearance sometimes 
 came to Ballitore. He stood silently, never craved alms, 
 received them thankfully and modestly, but did not tell his 
 story till it was drawn from him by accident. The versifica- 
 tion of it was read to him. He was deeply affe&ed^ en- 
 deavoured to suppress his feelings, yet with sobs was articu- 
 lated " My boys, my pretty boys !" The writer was in- 
 troduced to him ; he rose, and bowed with a grace remarka- 
 ble for his age and station : ** How did you put it together ? 
 "—But God gave you the gift, and he will give you a 
 better gift." — His name was asked. — He requested to be 
 excused from replying : he had never told his name since 
 he began to beg : — " but you may call me Andrew." 
 
 4 * 1 HOUGH sunk is thine eye, yet thine eye it is bright 
 And hale is thy cheek, though thy locks they are white ; 
 While thy meek looks alone our compassion implore, 
 As silent thou bend'st on thy staff at our door : 
 O say, pensive stranger, why heaves the deep sigh, 
 And the salt drops of sorrow so often dost dry ?'* 
 
 " Alas 1 I have cause for those sighs heaving deep^ 
 While my tears the poor pittance of charity steep ; 
 
316 THE BEGGAR. 
 
 For my heart bleeds to think of the days that are past, 
 The days when I fear'd not cold poverty's blast. 
 
 Contented and happy I liv'd on my farm ; 
 My fields they were green, and my cabin was warm : 
 The wife of my youth sat and spun by my side, 
 While our dear* duteous sons ev'ry comfort supplied. 
 
 Two such boys as my boys, once with pride I could say, 
 You scarcely would meet on a long summer's day j 
 Their cheeks were so ruddy, so bright was their hair, 
 And their skins, like the lily, so soft and so fair. 
 
 Yet I will not deny, when rebellion arose, 
 That my sons took the field, the sad scene of my woes ; 
 They fell : — their white bosoms were purpled with gore : — 
 Oh pity my anguish, nor question me more. 
 
 Now far from that home where no comforts remain'd, 
 My hapless old dame an asylum has gain'd ; 
 Where lonely her grief in sad solitude flows, 
 While I bear her the tribute which pity bestows. 
 
 But soon shall our wants and our sorrows be o'er, 
 These tears cease to stream, and those hearts throb no more : 
 We pant for the moment which loosens our chain, 
 And gives us to join our dear children again/' 
 
ON THE 
 
 DEATH of EDMUND BURKE. 
 
 1 IS o'er : — that lamp is quench'd in endless night, 
 Which Nature kindled at her purest flame, 
 By Science fann'd, — if Science could enhance 
 
 A genius from which Science caught new rays : 
 
 No, 'tis not quench'd ; the spark ethereal lives, 
 And it shall blaze along the track of time, 
 While we, who joy'd beneath the radiant beam, 
 Shall mix unheeded with our kindred clay. 
 
 That Star is set, on earth to shine no more* 
 On which admiring nations wond'ring gaz'd : 
 That pow'rful stream of eloquence is dry, 
 Which with commanding force o'erwhelm'd the mind. 
 O mourn for this, that from a barren world 
 
 Such excellence is fled ! But, publick care 
 
 Apart, in pensive solitude retir'd, 
 
 Lamenting Friendship drops the silent tear. 
 
 lit ere tender recollection calls to mind 
 
 The sweet benevolence which mark'd that mien ; 
 
318 ON THE DEATH OF EDMUND BURKE, 
 
 That mien which unadmiring who could view ? 
 Tis hers, with soft regret and pleasing pain, 
 To trace the social and dome3tick scene, 
 Where, ever shining, most of all he shone. 
 She saw the lib'ral hand the healing balms 
 Dispense unboasting ; and to haggard eyes, 
 Bedimm'd with poverty, and pain, and care, 
 The vivid rays of health and hope restore. 
 Th'unvarying friendship, and the candid mind, 
 Prompt to forgive and ready to atone, 
 Were his. — And O how close the tender ties 
 Of Father, Husband, Brother, bound his heart ! 
 Why droops that noble soul ? Alas ! he mourns 
 A brother's fate, companion of his youth, 
 By death relentless sever 'd from his side. 
 
 Yet still remain'd that son, the cnly pledge 
 Of a long, happy union ; and on whom 
 Paternal love had fix'd the ardent gaze 
 Of fond presaging hope, from infant years 
 To manhood's ripen'd bloom. And now retir'd 
 Th'illustrious father from the publick scene, 
 And onward mov'd the son to fill Ms sphere 
 On life's conspicuous stage. — Ah, what avail 
 
ON THE DEATH OF EDMUND BURKE. 319 
 
 Fame, youth and health ! for Febris' fiery dart 
 The throbbing temple smote, and soon dislodgd 
 From the frail tenement the spark divine. 
 O blasted hope ! O bitter streaming tears ! 
 O childless parents ! mourning o'er the tomb 
 Where duteous love, cold, and unconscious lies 
 
 Of pangs that filial heart had bled to heal ! - 
 
 The blow was struck, and life's delights were o'er. 
 
 Three suns roll'd joyless o'er that honour'd head ^ 
 Yet trembling hope, with lowly fear, surveyd 
 The op'ning scenes of hope and rest secure, 
 Where sorrows cease, and tears are wip'd away : 
 For well that meek, that noble spirit knew 
 This meed, which Fame nor Genius dare demand : 
 Though great his claim on both, a higher claim, 
 Divine Philanthropy, he held on thee- 
 
 Farewell, O ever honour'd, ever dear, 
 
 And long lamented : may thy matchless voice, 
 
 Which never more shall charm terrestrial ear§, 
 
 Th' immortal choirs of Hallelujah join J 
 I 
 
LETTER 
 
 FROM 
 
 Edmund Burke to Marv Lead beater, 
 
 Dictated by him in his last illness, and signed by 
 his tremulous hand. 
 
 96Sfc&4^>* 
 
 My dear Mrs. LeadbeateR, 
 
 1 FEEL as I ought to do your constant hereditary 
 kindness to me and mine. What you have heard 
 of my illness is far from exaggerated. I am, thank 
 God, alive, and that is all.- — Hastening to my 
 dissolution, I have to bless Providence that I do 
 not suffer a great deal of pain ****** 
 
 Mrs. Burke has a tolerable share of health in 
 every respect, except much use of her limbs. She 
 remembers your mother's most good-natured at- 
 tentions, as I am sure I do, with much gratitude, 
 I have ever been an admirer of your talents and 
 Virtues, and shall ever wish most cordially for every 
 thing which can tend to your credit and satisfaction. 
 
 Ss 
 
322 EDMUND BURKE's LETTER. 
 
 I therefore congratulate you very heartily on the 
 
 , birth of your son ; and pray remember me to the 
 
 representative of your family, who I hope still 
 
 keeps up the school of which I have so tender a 
 
 remembrance ; though, after so long an absence, 
 
 and so many unpleasant events of every kind that 
 
 have distracted my thoughts, I hardly dare to ask 
 
 for any one, not knowing whether they are living 
 
 or dead, lest I should be the means of awakening 
 
 unpleasant recollections. Believe me to be, with the 
 
 most respectful and affectionate regard, 
 
 My dear Mrs. Leadbeater, 
 
 Your faithful friend, 
 
 And very humble servant, 
 
 EDMUND BURKE, 
 Bath : 23d May, 
 
 17 97. 
 
 P. S. Pray remember me to Mr. Leadbeater. I 
 have been at Bath for these four months to no pur- 
 pose ; and am therefore to be removed to my own 
 house at Beaconsfield to-morrow, to be nearer to a 
 habitation more permanent, humbly and fearfully 
 hoping that my better part may find a better man* 
 Sion* 
 
SUCH was the mild lustre of this setting Luminary f Hl$ 
 friend the Bishop of M. thus remarks : " The great scene, or* 
 which Providence gifted and allotted him to move, was closing; 
 and no record can ever be produced to mark the leading fea- 
 tures of his character so strongly as that you possess in this 
 letter. It shews him still cherishing the early affections of his 
 heart, among the higher cares which the station he had attain* 
 ed imposed upon him ; and, afrer having controlled the des- 
 tinies of the world, as all now agree he did, by his later writ- 
 ings, turning his last thoughts to the retired, unassuming 
 daughter of the friend of his youth, and to those tranquil and 
 humble scenes, which in your poems seem to be fo dear 
 to your heart, and which you no less warmly connect with 
 his praifes aod his memory, than he did himself with his 
 fortunes through life." 
 
BALLITORE. 
 
 I HOUGH distance parts my friend and me, 
 The Muse would fain converse with thee. 
 Full oft my roving fancy flies 
 To where my lov'd Lavinia lies : 
 Now, slowly wand'ring by its side, 
 We gaze on Suir's transparent tide ; 
 Now, Fairy-hill, thy steep ascend, 
 And o'er the plain our views extend. 
 O could we meet, what joy 'twould be ! 
 But distance parts my friend and me. 
 
 Lo 1 rosy Summer now draws nigh, 
 And Spring resigns the weeping sky : 
 Slow she retires, and turns again, 
 As loath to leave the lovely plain ; 
 While buxom Summer, bright and fair, 
 Comes sailing on the glowing air, 
 And joys in Griese's silver wave 
 Her loose ambrosial locks to lave. 
 Lavinia, come, and taste once more 
 The beauties of sweet Ballitore ; 
 
326 BALLITORE. 
 
 This charming spot, where joys abound, 
 By rising hills encompass d round, 
 Fair hills, which rear the golden brow, 
 And smile upon the vale below. 
 
 Shall I with fiction deck my verse, 
 And thus the poet's dream rehearse ? 
 
 The Queen of flow'rs, and God of day, 
 
 As through the clouds they took their way, 
 
 The fragrant wreath, which Flora crown'd, 
 
 And Phoebus' lyre, of silver sound, 
 
 Dropp'd from those heav'ning pow'rs (they tell), 
 
 And in this smiling valley fell. 
 
 Swiftly the Deities descend, 
 
 And here their radiant course they bend : 
 
 On Griese's verdant banks they spy, 
 
 With joy, their sacred symbols lie ; 
 
 But with more joy they mark the plain, 
 
 Where sweet Contentment holds her reign. 
 
 At their approach new beauties rise : 
 
 They gladly quit their native skies : 
 
 They bid their glories all farewell, 
 
 And here for ever choose to dwell. 
 
B A L L I T O R E. 327 
 
 But, Ballitore, my simple Muse 
 To praise thee need not fable use : 
 Lavinia, through the valley stray ; 
 The Muse and I attend thy way. 
 
 Here we begin : — Now fair and wide, 
 Grac'd with young elms on either side, 
 The lov'd Mill-avenue we tread, 
 Dear to the daughters of the shade. 
 
 As some fair virgin sits retir'd. 
 In lovely, lowly state, admir'd, 
 Her beauties but in part reveaPd, 
 The rest in modest guise conceaPd , 
 So Ballitore from hence is seen,. 
 Half hid in shades of deepest green. 
 Where'er one turns his raptur'd sight, 
 The beauteous landscape gives delight, 
 The verdant gro\es, th'enamell'd meads, 
 The rising hills, and op'ning glades ; 
 Neat houses here and there he sees, 
 Dispers'd among the tufted trees -> 
 The cultur'd, fields with plenty blest, 
 In summer's pride the gardens tirest, 
 
328 BALLITORE. 
 
 The crystal streams, which purling flow, 
 Diffusing nurture as they go ; 
 And Griese, that, with meancTring glide, 
 Through the sweet village rolls its tide. 
 
 Our minds the pleasing prospect fills, 
 Environ'd by the distant hills ; 
 Delightful hills, which gently rise, 
 And seem to kiss the bending skies. 
 Far as the eye can reach, we view 
 A tow'ring structure, fair and new \ 
 Then a contrasted scene behold, 
 A castle ruinous and old. 
 Contemplative, in these we find 
 Fit objects for the musing mind; 
 So generations pass away, 
 Born, rising, hast'ning to decay. 
 
 Onward our saunt'ring steps we bend, 
 
 And now the little bridge ascend : 
 
 How sweet to stand and gaze around, 
 And listen to the dashing sound 
 Of the white wave, which foams along, 
 Tumbling the rugged stones among! 
 
BALLITORE, 329 
 
 And now the clacking mill we hear, 
 And note the humble cottage near ; 
 Where James and Nanny, honest pair 
 As ever trod this maze of care, 
 In waning age, remote from strife, 
 In quiet pass their virtuous life. 
 Thou kindest nurse, whose tender care 
 Did with our infant-weakness bear ; 
 Who saw our first ideas stray, 
 And wip'd our earliest tears away -, 
 O ever honour 'd, ever dear, 
 My heart will long your names revere : 
 Except (ah, nsver be it so !) 
 
 No spark of virtue in it glow ; 
 
 Till then, or till it cease to move, 
 My heart will James and Nanny love. 
 
 There rears that house its modest head, 
 Where my blest hours of childhood fled : 
 Amidst, these bow'rs so sweet and gay 
 Sally and I were wont to stray, 
 Nature's soft chain, with friendship twin'd, 
 Our sister-hearts in one combin'd. 
 
 T t 
 
330 BALLITORE. 
 
 There, as a sheet of silver bright, 
 The mill-pond charms the dazzled sight, 
 Deck'd with the sallow's hoary pride., 
 We walk admiring by its side. 
 
 We cross the dike ; the field we gain, 
 The fair mill-field, a lovely plain : 
 But lovelier once, all gaily drest, 
 The cowslip gilding o'er her breast, 
 
 The ruthless plough her bosom tore ; 
 
 The golden cowslip charms no more. 
 But Julia, Lady of the plain, 
 Recalls her native charms again ; 
 Her verdant robe again we view : 
 O ! had she calPd the cowslip too ! 
 
 We come to Fuller's-Court, the square 
 For widows fam'd and maidens fair. 
 Here my dame Fuller keeps her home, 
 And three fair daughters grace the dome; 
 Enter the portal when you will, 
 And all is neat, and all is still. 
 There Julia's ever-open door, 
 Encompass'd by the smiling poor \ 
 
BALLITORE. 331 
 
 Or to the right direct thine eyes, 
 
 The thread industrious Mary plies : 
 Though small her house, her heart is wide, 
 For Truth and Friendship there reside. 
 
 We pass the gate : how fine the sight ! 
 The trees their bending heads unite > 
 In the blest cool we move along, 
 Regal 'd with the wild warblers' song : 
 The village, through the arches green. 
 As through a long perspective, seen. 
 
 Emerging from this lovely shade, 
 A beauteous open is di splay *d ; 
 And hedges neatly dipt declare 
 That Jonathan inhabits there, 
 
 O'er the trim fence now cast thine eye, 
 The variegated landscape spy ; 
 The sloping hill, upon whose side 
 The grove erects its sable pride, 
 
 " Majestick, though in ruins."-- — 
 
 Ah me ! my bleeding heart is sore, 
 - To see the spoils of Ballitore :- 
 
332 BALLITORE. 
 
 In honour to the sacred dead, 
 Mar not this venerable shade.- 
 
 Not honour for the sacred dead 
 Can save this venerable shade ; 
 The axe inflicts the frequent wound, 
 The Hamadryads' shrieks resound ; 
 The falling trees the grass o'erspread, 
 And Clio droops her languid head. 
 
 Turn to the left : that structure tall 
 Encloses those within its wall, 
 Who, great by blood, but greater far 
 
 By manners and by virtues, are :- 
 
 Alas, what woes wait Ballitore ! 
 
 And must the plains your loss deplore ? 
 
 The three fair damsels on the right 
 With looks so sweet allure our sisrht ; 
 And, like their hospitable sire, 
 They kindly, " Can't you stay ?" inquire. 
 
 See in the grove that structure neat ! 
 Here we for worship often meet : 
 O may we cloth-d in silence hear 
 The still, small voice for ever near ! 
 
BALLITORE. 338 
 
 But, not to place and form connn'd* 
 The worship of th 'all-perfect mind 
 Doth, like the sun, its beams impart', 
 And loves the temple of the heart. 
 
 How pleasant: the surrounding grove, 
 Where the gay students love to rove ! 
 The stately fir with verdant head, 
 Dear to the Muse the beechen shade, 
 United, form a calm retreat 
 JYom glowing summer's raging heat. 
 Here with soft breath the tuneful flute 
 To gentle Echo makes it suit ; 
 Though not in strains so softly gay, 
 
 As blooming H 11 was wont to play. 
 
 Too venturous boy, where dost thou rove. 
 
 Far distant from this peaceful grove ? 
 
 Beyond the vast Atlantick's wave, 
 
 Dost thou the thund'ring battle brave : 
 
 Or fainting, pale and bleeding lie, 
 
 No tender parent weeping by ? 
 
 Perhaps sad recollection strays 
 
 To former scenes, and happier days; 
 
 To scenes, which must return no more. i- 
 
 Thy flute, this grove, and Ballitore. 
 
334 B A L L I T O R E. 
 
 What piercing cries assail our ear ! 
 Alas, the house of slaughter's near : 
 The bleating lamb pours forth its life* 
 Trembling beneath the bloody knife ; 
 The lordly bull there meets his death, 
 Unwilling he resigns his breath. 
 The grove re-echoes to his roar ; 
 The axe, the bane of Ballitore, 
 In his broad front inflicts the wound, 
 And his black blood o'erflows the ground. 
 Such scenes of murder we decline, 
 Harsh to the Muse's eyes and thine. 
 
 The hammer sounds: there walls arise 
 And here a ruin'd mansion lies; 
 This ruin'd mansion I revere, 
 Here first my father drew the air. 
 
 And now the school approaching near, 
 A humming noise salutes our ear ; 
 The busy bees, who sip the flow'rs 
 Which blossom in Parnassian bow'rs, 
 Rich stores of honey thence convey, 
 The treasures of a future day. 
 
B A L L I T O R E. 335 
 
 The door unbarr'd, with mirth and glee 
 They rush, and hail sweet Liberty. 
 Come, we'll attend the sprightly train, 
 And view them sporting on the plain \ 
 With rosy cheeks, and laughing eyes, 
 Each to his dear amusement hies ; 
 This b'ds the bounding ball to fly ; 
 That sends the feather'd cork on high ; 
 Some sling the stone with dext'rous throw, 
 And others bend the guiltless bow : 
 Those whip the whirling top ; and these 
 The rolling marbles better please. 
 One in his captive linnet joys : 
 His pigeons' tendance one employs : 
 These, straining ev'ry nerve, on high 
 Behold the kite, in rapture, fly, 
 While, as the bird of Phoebus fair, 
 She sails sublimely through the air. 
 The sweets of Nature those invite, 
 Who in their gardens gay delight : 
 To sow the tender seed in earth, 
 And careful watch the springing birth, 
 To see the flow'r its leaves unfold, 
 With crimson stain'd, and bright with gold ; 
 
336 B A L L I T O R E. 
 
 Or on their mossy seats recline, 
 And studious court the gentle Nine. 
 
 Amongst the throng my darling P e 
 
 Comes singing on, devoid of care ; 
 Belov'd by all, for o'er his head 
 Scarce six unspotted years are fled. 
 Sweeter than spring's first blossoms he ; 
 
 But, David., not more sweet than thee : 
 
 O fairest flow'r that grac'd our shade, 
 How soon did all thy glories fade ! 
 
 Though winter comes, it hath its charms j 
 E'en winter's cold their bosoms warms : 
 Fearless they tempt the frozen tide, 
 And o'er the slipp'ry surface glide ; 
 Or with incessant pains and care 
 On high the gnawy pillar rear ; 
 Or in the hall, at close of day, 
 (While six fair tapers lend their ray,) 
 They turn th'insrructive page, and find 
 A feast to feed th'immortal mind. 
 Some trace the map with curious eye, 
 And point where difPrent kingdoms lie : 
 
B A L L I T O R E. 337 
 
 Here those self-taught the pencil guide, 
 And imitate the garden's pride ; 
 While these, with more exalted views, 
 Record the labours of the Muse. 
 
 Say why each eye so bright appears, 
 Why ev'ry cheek contentment wears ! 
 See where divine Hygeia stands, 
 And scatters blessings from her hands: 
 She o'er the cheek the roses spread, 
 And ting'd the lip with brighter red, 
 Kindled the lightning of the eye, 
 And taught the nimble feet to fly. 
 Not all the jewels, which adorn 
 The crown by Britain's monarch worn, 
 Can equal, or compare at all 
 With those that grace my father's haB. 
 
 Withdrawing from the busy throng, 
 A youth soft stealing moves along, 
 
 J B yclept, whose up-cast eye 
 
 Explores the wonders of the sky ; 
 
 U u 
 
338 B A L L I T ORE. 
 
 For 'tis his innocent delight 
 To ken the glories of the night. 
 Now bright Bellatrix he surveys, 
 And Saturn's more refulgent rays, 
 The Polar star admiring views, 
 And Venus bath'd in ev'ning dews. 
 
 Scorn not these scenes, which simply please: 
 Great Burke once led a life like these ; 
 Though Britain's cause he now maintains, 
 He sported on these verdant plains. 
 
 Yet these — e'en these have ills to bear; 
 (No state on earth is free from care :) 
 Perhaps, in playful transport tost 5 
 The ball, or shuttle-cock is lost ; 
 The pigeons stray, the linnet dies, 
 And sorrow swells the brightest eyes : 
 Or, when the kite sublimely sails, 
 Up-born by all the flying gales, 
 The cord is broke : — she downward flies, 
 And distant fields receive the prize. 
 Or, when the gardens shine most bright, 
 (Alas, how transient is' delight!) 
 
BALLITORE. 33$ 
 
 Some roving dog, in luckless hour. 
 Has trampled down the fairest flow'r ; 
 Or filthy swine, with brutal taste, 
 Has laid the pride of summer waste. 
 Or, when they hope secure to glide, 
 Descending rain has marr'd their slide \ 
 Their pillar, late so snowy white, 
 Deform'd and spoil'd, disgusts the sight. 
 
 Lo ! the poor caitiff, pent on high, 
 From the sick chamber casts his eye ; 
 Beholds their sports with jealous pain, 
 And wishes for his health again. 
 
 See allforlorn the new-come boy ! 
 Tasteless to him each scene of joy : 
 How does he solitary roam, 
 And whines and sighs, and thinks of home ! 
 Some thoughtless lads deride the swain, 
 While others pitying sooth his pain 
 Thus (while they wipe his tears away ) ; 
 " Like thee we mourn'd : but now can say, 
 " No joys more sweet than these thou 'It find J 
 •* So give thy sorrows to th.e wind," 
 
340 BALLITORE. 
 
 Alas, what grief — should Vice invade 
 With backward steps this learned shade ; 
 Or Folly, with unmeaning face, 
 Intrude into this happy place ! 
 No longer are ye dear to fame, 
 But fall a prey to guilt and shame ; 
 Your glory fades, and ye no more 
 Are deemed the pride of Ballitore, 
 But heav'n avert the fatal day, 
 Which takes your innocence away ! 
 
 Here leave we the gay, giddy throng, 
 And move with careless steps along 
 To where these various houses rise, 
 Of aspect mean, and small of size : 
 The Burrow this is calPd; and here 
 The trades, a smiling train, appear. 
 First highly favour 'd Edward see ; 
 A triple crown is wreath'd for thee : 
 Thee Crispin teaches all his arts, 
 And Hermes fluent speech imparts ; 
 See gen'rous Phoebus too reveal 
 The great, the godlike pow'r to heal : 
 
B A L L I T O R E. 341 
 
 There his dependants you may spy, 
 Poor, pale, and in a garret high : 
 
 Yet here e'en here Content is found ; 
 
 Their sonars the tatter'd roofs rebound. 
 
 Where yonder steed unwilling stands, 
 Murry the low-roof d forge commands ; 
 Farrier and smith : his wondrous skill 
 Has reach 'd beyond the distant hill : — 
 But while I write what changes rise! 
 The village mourns ; poor Murry dies. 
 
 Learning's the growth of Ballitore : 
 With caution ope that close-shut door ; 
 High on an antique chair of state 
 There the school-mistress keeps her seat : 
 Her little subjects standing by 
 Their horn-books and their samplers ply, 
 Watching with fear her awful nod, 
 And trembling at the lifted rod* 
 
 These mould'ring piers, the Burrow-gate, 
 Beneath each pier is plac'd a seat, 
 From whence the never-wearied eye 
 As far as Fuller's-court can spy : 
 
BALLITORE. 
 
 The trees so green, and houses white, 
 With mingled beauties charm the sight. 
 The old, the gay, the grave, the young 
 Oft to the village-forum throng : 
 Here ragged politicians muse, 
 And tell the list'ning crowd the news ; 
 The vet'f an * here, his dangers o'er, 
 Breathes the sweet air of Ballitore. 
 
 But all, astonish'd and dismay'd, 
 Behold the havock of the shade; 
 For just before their wond'ring eyes 
 The cruel desolation lies. 
 Onward we move — how sad a scene ! 
 
 The ditch fill'd up, — the open green, — 
 
 The trees cut down, — all bleak and bare :« 
 
 Ah, what a dismal sight is there ! 
 
 All as she view'd, and view'd with pain, 
 
 Thus sung the Muse, but sung in vain : 
 
 " Oh thou (thy name I'll yet conceal,) 
 
 ** Foe to the graces of my vale, 
 
 " If Science bless'd thy early years, 
 
 " If e'er the Muses heard thy call* 
 " Pity the Hamadryads 1 tears, 
 
 a Nor bid their verdant honours fall ; 
 
B A L L I T O R E. 343 
 
 " Ah, never, never be it said, 
 
 " That thou deform'd thy native shade ! 
 
 " Yonder I see my mangled grove : 
 
 " What insults must the Muses prove!" 
 
 In vain the Hamadryad weeps ; 
 The Muse her song in sorrow steeps 
 In vain : regardless of their tears, 
 Fate and great Plutus stopp'd his ears. 
 The lovely trees, with arms outspread, 
 Bow the green honours of their head } 
 They bow to gold, whose pow'rful sway 
 Corrupted human kind obey. 
 This surely did thy heart inthrall, 
 And caus'd that mighty elm to fall ; 
 That mighty elm, which long had made 
 With spreading boughs a grateful shade 
 Around the trunk sad Clio twin'd, 
 
 But told her sorrows to the wind : 
 
 Prostrate it falls, alas ! no more 
 The grace, but grief of Ballitore. 
 Around th'indignant neighbours throng,. 
 But wild amazement tied each tongue ; 
 
344 BALLITOR E. 
 
 Thou, author of its fate, wast pleas'd ; 
 All, all but thee dumb sorrow seiz'd ; 
 
 Thou only smil'd to see its doom ; 
 
 So Nero smil'd on burning Rome. 
 
 Still, as with pensive steps we stray, 
 The falling trees bestrew our way : 
 Scarce Abigail's abode so trim 
 Attracts our eyes with sorrow dim ; 
 Though Abby's smiles, and parlour neat, 
 Might well attract the passing feet. 
 
 Oh grief of griefs ! my dear delight, 
 The Muse aghast prepares for flight ; 
 Foe to the axe, the peaceful maid 
 Resolves to quit her injur 'd shade.—— 
 O stay, sweet Clio, prythee stay ; 
 
 Nor leave thy lov'd, thy fair abode, 
 Where thou hast deign'd to sport and play, 
 
 Since Burke the tuneful vallies trod: 
 He with my father trod the plains, 
 And ravish 'd Echo caught their strains. 
 Thou didst their kindred spirits tie 
 In the soft bonds of harmony \ 
 
B A L L I T O R E. 345 
 
 Though rolling years have flown away, 
 Their friendship has not found decay: 
 Then look not at the mangled trees, 
 Here still are shades as sweet as these. 
 
 She hears ; she stays. O how I'm blest ! 
 
 I feel her warm my panting breast. 
 
 Behold these elms, a double row, 
 Which by the winding waters grow ! 
 Here stood the meekly mourning maid; 
 She dried a crystal tear, and said : 
 " Yon havock I can half forgive, 
 " Since thou hast left this shade to live." 
 
 On the new bridge fast by we stay, 
 And the RETREATS fair dome survey; 
 Graceful she stands, and eyes her face 
 In- the smooth river's liquid glass. 
 Before the door (a grateful view,) 
 A verdant carpet Nature threw ; 
 With thousand colours gaily died, 
 All bright in summer's rosy pride. 
 Here the diseased poor repair, 
 To tell my pitying aunt their care : 
 
 X x 
 
346 BALLITORE. 
 
 She hastens to relieve their woes, 
 Bids Famine feed, and Pain repose. 
 
 The road hence from our village leads, 
 Which trees adorn with bending heads ; 
 So thick the twisting branches blend, 
 They hide the hill we must ascend : 
 So, when the present bliss we know, 
 We look not at the future wo. 
 This steepy hill when we descend, 
 Our feet with quickest motion bend ; 
 But, when ascending, leave with pain 
 The beauties of this charming plain. 
 
 Still on the bridge we choose to stay, 
 While Phoebus shoots his ev'ning ray ; 
 Wide spread the silver waters here, 
 Unruffled, calm, serene and clear ; 
 But straiten'd at the other side, 
 With gently-tinkling murmurs glide. 
 A darker gold these waves arrays, 
 On those a softer lustre plays. 
 
 And now the setting orb from high 
 Rolls down the blushing western sky ; 
 
BALLITORE. 347 
 
 Around he throws his parting fires 9 
 And in a blaze of gold retires. 
 On ev'ry side we cast our eyes ; 
 Behold ! the fading landscape dies ; 
 The glowing colours melt away, 
 And twilight dims the eye of day. 
 But yonder see ! array'd in light, 
 Mounts the pale empress of the night: 
 Walking in brightness through the shades, 
 Onward the host of heav n she leads ; 
 Brighter she gains th'ethereal way, 
 And sheds around a milder day ; 
 From high beholds her silver beam 
 Reflected in the lucid stream. 
 1 The stream, rejoic'd so fair a guest 
 Should sleep upon his placid breast, 
 Would fain his gliding waters stay, 
 With her delightful locks to play. 
 
 A solemn silence reigns around; 
 
 I No busy footsteps beat the ground; 
 The moon no careful watch-dogs bay, 
 
 f No breezes shake the bending spray, 
 No flute awakes the slmnb'ring grove, 
 Where not a leaf is heard to move ; 
 
548 B A L L I T O R E. 
 
 Scarce heard the distant, dying sound, 
 Such solemn silence reigns around. 
 
 But hark ! what musick breaks the night, 
 And fills our breasts with calm delight ? 
 If Fame say true, from Erin's skies 
 The tender Philomela flies : 
 But sure 'tis Philomel I hear, 
 Which pours such musick on mine ear ; 
 Her varied notes so gently crowd, 
 Now softly sweet, now thrilling loud. 
 Melodious bird, whate'er thy name, 
 Which hauntest Griese's tuneful stream, 
 And singst the summer's night away, 
 
 Mute in the gaudy glare of day, 
 
 If Genius of the flood thou be, 
 
 Or if the Muse exist in thee, 
 
 Whate'er thy name, so sweet thy--song, 
 Long may'st thou live, and warble long ! 
 May never lifted gun destroy 
 Thy precious life ; nor truant-boy 
 Thy humble mansion e'er annoy ! 
 But may thy soft, mellifluous strains 
 Exhilarate these happy plains ; 
 
 i 
 
BALLITORE. 349 
 
 And with thy melody restore 
 Peace, love and joy to Ballitore ! 
 
 Here ends our walk : — and here, my friend, 
 The gay description I shall end. 
 These lines present no fancied view, 
 'Twas Truth the faithful landscape drew. 
 Here, from the busy world retir'd, 
 This fragrant air I first respir'd ; 
 And here may all my days be spent, 
 With Innocence, and sweet Content, 
 With Contemplation, ever calm, 
 And Friendship, life's most precious balm ! 
 
 But where are all these blessings found, 
 Unless by thee, Religion, crown'd? 
 O be thou first to gain my breast, 
 And be it worthy of the guest! 
 Content and Innocence appear, 
 Celestial maid, when thou art here. 
 Thou raisest Contemplation's eye, 
 To seek the blest abodes on high ! 
 Our friendships form'd by thee endure; 
 'Tis thou our blessings canst secure ; 
 
BALLITORE. 
 
 Thou bidst our passions all subside : — 
 Be thou my guardian, and my guide ! 
 Then, in this sweet, sequester'd shade, 
 More lovely by thy presence made, 
 Remote from envy, care and strife, 
 Calm will I pass my quiet life; 
 Taste purer joys, when these are o'er, 
 And lay my bones in Ballitore. 
 
 1778. 
 
VIEW OF 
 
 B A L L I T O R E, 
 
 Taken from Mount-Bleak. 
 
 IN the fresh morning of my early days, 
 While the gay dreams of fancy floated round, 
 Seated on this fair hill, with raptur'd eyes, 
 I trac'd the beauties of the vivid scene, 
 And fram'd the artless lay.* Revolving years 
 Have somewhat chang'd the scene. Beneath the axe 
 The stately grove has falPn, and left expos'd 
 To publick gaze the graves of those we lov'd. 
 The village now attracts the passing eye ; 
 The modest village, seated in the vale, 
 While fair behind ascends the graceful hill, 
 Crown'd with nine trees, whose summit seen afar 
 My heart has hail'd, while journ'ying to my home, 
 By absence dearer made, And there appears 
 The lov'd paternal roof, embowVd in shade, — 
 The stately ash,— the orchard's twisting boughs, — 
 
 * Alluding to ci The View ;" a poem written in very early 
 life. 
 
352 VIEW OF BALLITORE. 
 
 And ever-greens, defying winter's frown, — < 
 Deserted now ! No more the master dear 
 " Walks forth to meditate at even-tide," 
 Amidst his garden's blooms : to happier climes 
 His spirit pure has fled. No more his mate 
 Tends her sweet flow'rs, relaxing thus her mind, 
 Her careful mind, anxious for gen'ral good. 
 Now second childhood has resum'd the reign ; 
 And Innocence, guide of her blameless life, 
 Gilds the sweet ev'ning with the ray serene, 
 Escap'd from all the horrors, all the woes, 
 Which burst upon this valley, since those hearts 
 So exquisitely feeling ceas'd to feel. 
 Blest while their noble talents they employed ; 
 Blest when their noble talents they resign'd: 
 For worthily they us'd them. Now we leave 
 That spot to tender recollection dear ; 
 The eye moves gently onward, where the bridge 
 Her arches throws across the silver Griese, 
 Which, oft meand'ring, lingers in the vale. 
 There thick the clust'rinq; habitations stand, 
 And high amid them fcow'rs the ample roof, 
 Beneath .whose shelter oft Hibernians sons 
 The lore of science learn'd : Ah, not untaught 
 
VIEW OF BALLITORE. 353 
 
 The lore of virtue too ! Illustrious Burke, 
 Here dawn'd the beam of thine effulgent day: 
 And here (a kindred spirit) W — gh— n glow'd 
 With promises as fair ; till the hard hand — 
 The hand unnatural of paternal hate— 
 Crush'd all his graces in the early grave :* 
 And there, thou lov'd companion of my life* 
 The seeds were planted by Affection's hand, 
 Which grew and flourish'd fair, and o'er my head 
 A grateful shield and shelter now bestow. 
 You worthy pair, who in this mansion rule, 
 Long may your influence in the vale be felt, 
 Around your board long bloom your olive plants, 
 And long your gentle neighbours cheer, with whom 
 You now divide your roof! O dreadful morn,! 
 Though nature smil'd in summer's glories gay, 
 And breathing fragrance ! Dreadful was the morn, 
 When she, the meekest of her sex, beheld 
 The raging host, on blood and plunder bent, 
 
 * See page 197. 
 
 J The village of Ballitore was given up for two hours to 
 the military : during that short space much was done 
 to caufe deep regret. 
 
 Yy 
 
354 VIEW OF BALLITORE. 
 
 Her substance rend away so justly earn'd, 
 And fill her quiet house with uproar wild. 
 She saw ; she trembled ; and her falt'ring tongue 
 Refus'd its office : yet her gentle heart 
 Felt no resentment, thankful that her life 
 Escan'd their savage hands : but in that house 
 She could abide no more ,— though once the spot 
 Most lov'd on earth : for there her parents dwelt; 
 There her dear sisters and her brother, dear 
 Circled the joyous hearth ; and there she watch'd 
 Their spirits' parting flight. O never more 
 May terror vex thy mind ; but with thy friend, 
 Thy faithful Anna, whose angelick mien 
 Bespeaks a spirit half uncloth'd, enjoy 
 The sacred gift of friendship, and the band 
 Draw closer, which ev'n Death shall not untie I 
 There, half retir'd and half reveaPd to sight, 
 While the gay garden spreads its bloom around^ 
 The Cottage stands, surveying all the charms 
 Which wood and water, hill and vale, unite. 
 'Twas Juliet's penetrating eye which fix'd 
 The beauteous site, and Juliet's beaming smile 
 Approv'd , the rising work, — then passed away 
 
VIEW OF BALLITORE. 355 
 
 To gild another sphere. There lowly lies 
 
 My humble home, devoid of outward grace, 
 
 Yet the soft nest of dear, domestick love, 
 
 And cordial friendship. Ye will witness this, 
 
 Ye maidens lov'd, with whom we share our roof, 
 
 And share our hearts. Together we have joy'd, 
 
 Together mourn'd ; and surely now we know 
 
 Joy may unite, but sufFring knits the band. 
 
 What sights of grief, of terror and distress 
 
 Have pass'd, since by our door the drowned maid 
 
 Was borne by weeping friends ! Sad prelude this 
 
 To scenes of deeper wo ! Here War's stern voice 
 
 Roar'd horrible, and threat en'd death around 
 
 Without discrimination. Party-rage 
 
 Here seiz'd its victim with assassin-hands. 
 
 And, pale and mangled on the bloody earth, 
 
 The graceful form of lov'd Horatio lay. 
 
 Long did the spot, stain d with his precious blood. 
 
 Arrest the passing foot, and wake the sigh 
 
 And starting tear. He had a heart to feel; 
 
 And many a heart has deeply felt for him ; 
 
 Felt for his widow'd wife, his beauteous babes, 
 Who, twining round their hopeless mother's neck, 
 Caird on their tender sire with bitter cries. 
 
356 VIEW OF BALLITORE. 
 
 Hadst thou, who struck the last and fatal blow, 
 Which the sad widow and her babes deplofd, 
 Beheld this picture of domestick grief 
 Sure (if thy breast was fram'd of human mould) 
 The fatal blow pierc'd not with sharper pangs 
 Than those that breast must feel ! Here slowly pass'df 
 The long sad fun'ral of the hapless youth, 
 Whom violated laws condemn'd to die ; 
 Whose wretched father, when his age's hope 
 Torn from his arms he saw in prison bound, 
 Awhile he rav'd, with sudden frenzy fir'd. 
 Then with his sacrilegious hands he stopp'd 
 
 His own sad breath. The living fun'ral here * 
 
 The living fun'ral — pass'd before our eyes ; 
 Such sight as ne'er before our eyes beheld, 
 And never may they meet such sight again ! 
 The martial band on stately coursers rode, 
 
 .J The unfortunate father of a young man who suffered 
 for offences againft the Government, put an end to 
 his own life. 
 
 * Two convicts passed strongly guarded through Balli- 
 tore, to suffer death at the place where their crime 
 had been committed. 
 
VIEW OF BALLITORE. 357 
 
 Their polish'd armour glitt'ring in the sun : 
 Silent they march' d : — it was the march of death! 
 Bound on the cart the mournful victims sate : 
 Health through their veins impelled the circling blood, 
 
 Nature had far remov'd the stroke of death, 
 
 The stroke of death their fellow-man ordains ! 
 Onward they move, their coffins by their side : 
 No friend accompanies to sooth that hour 
 Approaching dark with fate ; the pitying eye 
 Pursues the path, the path which ends in death ; 
 The throbbing heart beats quick, and firm disclaims 
 The right of man to take that life away, 
 His Maker's gift. O princely Leopold,* 
 Did thy blest spirit from its place of rest 
 Behold this scene ? Why canst not thou impart 
 A portion of thy spirit to the minds 
 Which frame our laws ? Our virtuous laws were then 
 Guiltless of blood : Revenge and gloomy Hate 
 Would prowl no more ; and Reformation's reign 
 Would spread its influence o'er the peaceful land. 
 Then had our eyes been spar'd the doleful sight, 
 
 * Leopold, Aichduke of Tuscany, formed a code of 
 Laws, by which he abolished the punishment of death 
 
 throughout his dominions. 
 
$58 VIEW OF BALLITORE. 
 
 The lifeless body of the slaughtered youth, + 
 
 Borne like the slaughter'd beast dishonour'd by: 
 
 Rash was the blow! Offended Justice frown'd, 
 
 And Mercy wept. O ye companions dear, 
 
 Who mourn'd with us the woes which others felt, 
 
 How well did ye participate our own ! 
 
 Can I forget ? No, I can ne'er forget 
 
 Those hours of anguish when my partner dear, 
 
 The father of my infants, hopeless lay 
 
 Upon the bed of pain. The midnight hours 
 
 Were witness to your cares, your tender cares, 
 
 While with kind hands ye rais'd his drooping head ; 
 
 While with kind words ye sooth'd my aching heart. 
 
 And when restor'd to me and life again 
 
 Ye saw the friend ye lov'd, how did your souls 
 
 With gen'rous transport in our joy unite ! 
 
 With us ye wept, when the paternal pangs 
 
 Our hearts crush'd sore ; when, like the new-cropt rose 
 
 While yet unfaded, lay our lovely child, 
 
 Prey of untimely death ; when chilling fear 
 
 CongeaTd the vital flood, more fatal far 
 
 Than was the greedy flame : escap'd so late 
 
 The murd'rous ball of death, which through her couch 
 
 X A young man rashly shot by the military. 
 
 I 
 
VIEW OF BALLITORE. 359 
 
 innoxious pass'd, when ev'n the ruffian fierce 
 RecoiPd with dread, lest innocence was harm'd ! 
 How oft, dear partners of these dreary hours, 
 How oft has slumber fled our midnight couch, 
 Scar d by the robbers shout, on spoil intent, 
 And threat 'ning murder !* By my William's side 
 Pleading ye stood, while at his breast were rais'd 
 The instruments of death. With baffled rage 
 The brutal hand on gentle Anna lights : 
 Methinks I still behold the streaming blood 
 Stain her white neck, and clot her auburn hair ! 
 Methinks I hear Maria's piteous moan 
 Wailing her sister's wounds with wild affright, 
 Which not the plundring band could hear unmov ? d! 
 Distrest and madden'd with the stings of guilt 
 
 And stripes of Justice, still their hearts could feel : 
 
 With accents chang'd to pity's gentle voice, 
 With aspects fall'n, they from the scene retir'd. 
 And D may such a scene return no more 5 
 But may we long enjoy our tranquil rest ? 
 With grateful hearts, and thankful for our lot-! 
 
 * The winter following the rebellion, the inhabitants 
 of the village were frequently assailed in their houses 
 by midnight robbery 
 
*J60 VIEW OF BALLITORE, 
 
 Now raise the eye, where on the sloping hill 
 Ascends the mansion fair : the mansion fair 
 Its venerable master boasts no more ; 
 No more, with outstretch 'd hands and cordial smile, 
 He greets the stranger, while his ruddy cheek 
 Still glows with health, and while benevolence 
 Still sparkles in that eye, though sev'nty years 
 Had long since glided o'er that snow-white head* 
 Alas the change ! though on the verdant lawn 
 Th'unconscious flocks in peaceful silence feed, 
 Though there the garden, nurtur'd by his hand d 
 Invites the early spring, — he is not there 
 To mark the bloom ! Alas ! the good old man 
 Lies lifeless on his couch ; and to that couch 
 Brought from a wat'ry grave. O sight of wo! 
 O sight to waken Pity's tend'rest tear ! 
 Close to his breast his lovely daughter lies ; 
 To her bare bosom strains the breathless form 
 Hour after hour, indulging fruitless hope 
 With vital heat to animate again 
 Th 'extinguished pulse. My William, while our steps 
 Passed from the alter'd mansion once so gay, 
 Dost thou remember what a mournful look 
 We cast behind? and when we trod the plain. 
 
VIEW OF BALLITORE. 361 
 
 Where late the grove in graceful verdure wav'd, 
 Regret assail'd us ; and the cottage there 
 txpos'd to view where our sweet infant bloom'd, 
 Now cold and mould'ring in the silent clay, 
 
 Revived the feelings of paternal pain ? 
 
 There, rear'd by Taste, the modest dwelling rose, 
 To which Horatio his Maria led, 
 A blooming bride : sweet was the dwelling then ! 
 Now lonely, roofless, stand the mould'ring walls, 
 To all-devouring flame decreed a prey, 
 Sad monument of ruthless party-rage. 
 Grief has bedimm'd thy vale, O Ballitore : 
 The rage of war has filFd it with dismay; 
 The axe has marr'd its shades ; yet still my heart 
 Clings fondly to that spot where first it beat : 
 Paternal fondness, and connubial love, 
 And filial hopes have met my wishes there, 
 And friendship firm, and social neighbourhood. 
 Here let my blameless days glide quiet by ! 
 Such was the wish I fram'd in joyous ycuth ; 
 No change that wish has alterM. Fortune, Fame, 
 Your gifts I ask not. Here with calm Content 
 I Sequester'd let me live, — with Peace expire ! 
 
 1801. Z z 
 
On E. S. leaving B alii tore. 
 
 Vv HEN Corydon left the sweet vale, 
 Where first he beheld the fair light, 
 
 Soft sorrows were heard in the gale, 
 And sighs broke the silence of night. 
 
 It was not the grace of his form, 
 
 Nor his skill when he pip'd on his reed, 
 
 Which thus could the villagers charm, 
 Which won all their hearts for his meed : 
 
 Twas that Wit, which, so sportive and gay, 
 By Good-nature was ever restrain *d j 
 
 'Twas that mind, which in youth's slipp'ry way 
 By Honour and Truth was sustain 'd. 
 
 $Tow the ocean our Corydon ploughs j 
 Now a city receives the lov'd youth ; 
 
 But faithful for aye be his vows 
 To Good-nature and Honour and Truth. 
 
ToT. W. 
 
 Who lamented the cutting down of fine thorns, belonging 
 to Lord Lowther, and who dreaded the fate of some of 
 the finest oaks in England. 
 
 1 HOU mourn'st thy fav'rite walk, my friend ; 
 
 O let me mourn with thee ! 
 For well I know the looks, which bend 
 
 O'er the lov'd, fallen tree. 
 
 Why slept the Muse, when the loud strokes- 
 
 Disturb'd the quiet glade ? 
 
 Arouse her, ere the destin'd oaks 
 
 The threaten'd blows invade. 
 
 For she will touch, with softest strain, 
 
 The chords by Pity twin'd ; 
 And sure she will not plead in vain 
 
 To noble Lowther's mind ! 
 
 Then shall the lyre as pow'rful prove 
 
 As erst in Orpheus' hand : 
 His musick bade the forest move \ 
 
 Thine bids the forest standi 
 
O N T H £ 
 
 Marriage of 1l . B. and H. D 
 
 WlIILE its glad master leads his bride 
 To B -f d's lovely bow'rs, 
 
 What fragrance floats along the gale ! 
 How brightly bloom the flow'rs ! 
 
 Fair spread the lawns, wide wave the trees, 
 
 And birds on ev'ry spray 
 Seem, while responsive notes they pour, 
 
 To hail this happy day. 
 
 Sweet smiles the bride ; the raptur'd youth 
 
 Forgets his ten years' pain : 
 O never may the constant heart 
 
 Be doom'd to sigh in vain! 
 
 And thou, fair maid, who grant'st the meed 
 
 To Love and Merit due, 
 Hear, while the Muse prophetick sings, 
 
 This day thou ne'er shalt rue. 
 
THE POPLAR. 
 
 " FAREWELL, ye fields so fresh and fair, 
 " In summer's glowing beauties drest ! 
 
 " My weary age resigns your care, 
 
 " Which oft has pleas'd, and oft opprest, 
 
 " Farewell, thou garden, whence the breeze 
 " So frequent wafts the rich perfume ! 
 
 " Rear'd by my hand, farewell, ye trees, 
 
 " v\ hich now with autumn's promise bloom I 
 
 " And you, ye natives of the shade, 
 
 u Who wave on high the graceful head ! 
 
 " My hand your tender fibres laid, 
 
 " Where now your ample roots are spread. 
 
 " Thou mansion simple, yet belov'd, 
 " Receive thy masters fond farewell ! 
 
 " Here sweet domestick joys I prov'd ; 
 " Here sorrow bade my bosom swettV 
 
366 THE POPLAR. 
 
 " So long endear'd, these scenes I leave 
 " With pensive, yet with willing mind ; 
 
 " And social joys shall pleasure give 
 " To equal pleasures left behind." 
 
 The good man ceas'd : — his steps he turn'd : 
 
 His steps involuntary move : 
 And now he paus'd, and now he mourn'd, 
 
 And fondly eyed the infant grove. 
 
 For there a stately poplar rose ; 
 
 Smooth was the bole and green the bough : 
 Remembrance wak'd a father's woes, 
 
 And tears unbidden swiftly flow. 
 
 " Cold is thy heart, my William dear, 
 " And low in dust thy form is laid : 
 
 * Thou saw thy poplar flourish here* 
 " But ne'er rejoic'd beneath its shade. 
 
 w When dire fDisease, with spoiler's hand, 
 " Had marr'd his blooming guiltless prey ; 
 
 " When Death obey'd the stern command* 
 " And rent my age's hope away: 
 
 f The only son of the venerable mourner died of the 
 Tinall-pox, at 12 years of age. 
 
THE POPLAR 367 
 
 " 'Twas then I spied thy little tree ; 
 
 " Paternal tears the plant bedew'd : 
 " I watch *d its growth, and thought of thee, 
 
 " While spring the bursting buds renew'd. 
 
 " What — though no more beneath the shade 
 " At ev'ning I shall linger here: 
 
 " Yet never may the axe invade 
 " These boughs to sacred mem'ry dear ! 
 
 w " Dost thou approach, my Mary mild ? - 
 
 " Then let me clear my clouded brow : 
 
 >* I yet can boast a duteous child ; 
 
 " My Mary lov'd, that child art thou." 
 
T 
 
 t) R. B E L L, 
 
 On Behalf of Balliiore Spaw* 
 
 r ROM that sweet vale to Science dear, 
 That vale which boasts thy name, 
 
 High rank'd amidst her fav'rite sons, 
 'to hand her own to fame $ 
 
 Hear, while, her injur'd spring beside, 
 The drooping Naiad mourns, 
 
 She claims thy friendly aid,— to thee 
 Her pensive eye she turns. 
 
 If ever, while these sylvan glades 
 Thy childish footsteps prest, 
 
 The charms of Nature won thy gaze, 
 And touch'd thy feeling breast : * 
 
 If here the gen'rous seeds were sown, 
 Which now a shelter spread, 
 
 And comfort's balmy dews distil 
 To sooth the fainting head : *■ ■> ■ « « 
 
370 ON BEHALF OF BALLITORE SPAW- 
 
 Then chase Oblivion's sullen form, 
 Which long my stream defiPd; 
 
 For here of old Hygeia stood. 
 And sweet thy Goddess smil'd. 
 
 So, while disease and pain retire 
 Far from this favoured well, 
 
 The Naiad, Dryad, and the Muse 
 Shall join to bless their Bell! 
 
ON THE DEATH OF 
 
 LETITIA COLLES, 
 
 Aged Sir. 
 
 WHILE soft regret calls forth the tender tear, 
 
 Which falls on sweet Letitia's early bier, 
 
 And pensive mem'ry sadly seeks to trace 
 
 Th'angelick beauties of her mind and face $ ■ ■ 
 
 To the fond throbbings of paternal grief 
 
 'Tis Heav'n alone can minister relief. 
 
 Yes ! Heav'n shall sooth their hearts with anguish prest, 
 
 Dry the salt tear, and heal the bleeding breast, 
 
 And bid their souls in adoration rise 
 
 To him all-good, all-pow'rful, and all-wise, 
 
 Who calPd their cherub to her native skies. 
 
 } 
 
T 4 S T .$. 
 
 \JH who is she, whose glances keen 
 
 All Nature's charms descry ? 
 Oh who is she, whose graceful mien 
 
 Attracts the raptur'd eye ? 
 
 Tis Taste ;' the child whom Genius lov'd 
 
 Of all her children best : 
 Through Dawson-court the nymph has rov'd a 
 
 The groves her presence blest, 
 
 Twas she, who o'er the trelliss'd walk 
 
 The fragrant woodbine led : 
 Twas she, who rang'd each lucid stalk 
 
 Along the genial bed. 
 
 Amidst these bow'rs, by art uncheck'd, 
 
 She fram'd Philocles' cell : 
 'Twas she these fair alcoves bedeck'd 
 
 With ev'ry beauteous shell. 
 
 Nor only to the gladden' d eye 
 
 Her joys can Taste impart ; 
 But she can calm the swelling sigh, 
 
 And sooth the sorr'wing heart. 
 
T E. S73 
 
 For oft its mistress in this shade 
 
 Has pour'd the silent tear, 
 While Mem'ry these lov'd forms pourtray'd, 
 
 Though lost, for ever dear. 
 
 Yet Virtue o'er that blameless breast 
 
 Shed soft the healing balm ; 
 The throbs of grief her pow'r confest, 
 
 Confest her pow'r to calm. 
 
 And Taste she sent to cheer that hour, 
 
 Which languor might invade ; 
 Though Nature's vernal songsters pour 
 
 Their musick through the glade. 
 
 Yet !o ! a brighter form we meet, 
 
 A form more cherish'd here ; 
 Her voice than sweetest songs more sweet, 
 
 Her smile than hope more dear. 
 
 Benevolence, to thee 'tis giv'n 
 
 With joys of purest kind, 
 Joys blessing earth, approv'd by Heav'n, 
 
 To heal that patient mind. 
 
JOSHUA and MARY, 
 
 The aged Cottagers* 
 
 JL HE cot is humble : — low it lies 
 
 Fast by the river's side; 
 Worn is the thatch, the wind-beat wall 
 
 Has lost its snowy pride. 
 
 *Tis poor within,~and .Sickness there 
 
 His deadly arrow shakes ; 
 While by his victim's weary couch 
 
 Pale Sorrow weeps and wakes. 
 
 Yet those who move through lofty halls, 
 
 On costly viands fed, 
 And soft repose their dainty limbs 
 
 Upon the downy bed, 
 
 Might cast the glance of envy here, 
 
 And of their fate complain; 
 Might envy her, who pining lies 
 
 Upon the bed of pain.- 
 
THE AGED COTTAGERS. SIS 
 
 For here to soften ev'ry pang 
 
 Has filial kindness strove; 
 And here, unquench'd by age or care, 
 
 Glows fond connubial love. 
 
 Life's adverse blast had Joshua known, 
 
 And felt misfortune's chill : 
 Yet blest content his cottage cheer'd j 
 
 For Mary cheer'd him still. 
 
 Nigh fifty years have sped their flight 
 Since their glad bridal day ; 
 
 But faithful Love, a spark from Heav'n, 
 Can never know decay. 
 
 But how on Joshua's hoary head 
 
 The weight of sorrow fell, 
 When Mary cali'd him to her side, 
 
 To speak the sad farewell. 
 
 His hand between her trembling hands 
 With feeble force she press'd; 
 
 And on her lip his trembling lip 
 The kiss of love impress'd* 
 
376 THE AGED COTTAGERS. 
 
 And when the mourning sire withdrew 
 
 Alone to vent his wo, 
 The daughter's feelings only those 
 
 Who feel like her can know. 
 
 For deep within her struggling breast 
 Her sorrows would she hide; 
 
 And to her mind, and to her frame, 
 Indulgence still denied. 
 
 Strong are her feelings, yet must these; 
 
 To stronger duties bend, 
 Absorb'd in cares to cheer her sire, 
 
 Her mother's couch to tend. 
 
 The rains descend, the river swells 
 Its banks oppose no more ; 
 
 And Lucy sees the spreading flood 
 Approach the cottage door. 
 
 c * Fear not, my mother, in these arms 
 " 1*11 bear thee hence away ; 
 
 « Thy Lucy, thy devoted child, 
 " Shall be her parent's stay. 
 
THE AGED COTTAGERS. 877 
 
 " Alas ! the night is dark and drear, 
 *' The flood roars wild and wide ; 
 
 " And these cold wintry blasts shall chill 
 " Her life's low ebbing tide." 
 
 Oh where shall hapless Lucy turn, 
 From sorrow to remove ? 
 
 To Him, who, as a father strikes, 
 But with a father's love : 
 
 To Him, who, when the elm-tree fell 
 
 Beneath the tempest dread, 
 The mighty ruin turn'd aside, 
 
 And spard this humble shed: 
 
 To Him, whose all-commanding voice 
 
 The winds and waves obey ; 
 Even now behold the floods subside, 
 
 And at the threshold stay! 
 
 To Him, who can th' o'erwhelming tide 
 Of deepest grief restrain : 
 
 To Him, whose mercy now rebukes 
 The minister of pain. 
 
 3 B 
 
3*78 THE AGED COTTAGERS 
 
 For when soft hope had ceas'd to cheer, 
 
 And all her fate deplor'd; 
 The fainting matron rais'd her head, 
 
 To Welcome life restor'd. 
 
 Oh then the feelings which illum'd 
 
 The sire and daughter's eye ! 
 Those feelings Wealth might envying view, 
 
 'But Wealth could never buy, 
 
THE 
 
 UNJUST CLAIM. 
 
 6 V-/EASE, haughty Scotia, and no more 
 Vaunt of thy Chief, thy Bard of yore. 
 Fingal the brave, of noble name, 
 And Ossian, sweetest child of fame, 
 The Hero, and the voice of song, 
 To Erin's sainted isle belong." 
 
 'Twas thus the blooming auth'ress spoke. 
 And her long tresses proudly shook. 
 The brightest maid of Scotia's coast 
 Heard, not unmov'd, the mighty boast : 
 Though calm her breast as summer's sea, 
 It rose, indignant, at the plea ; 
 Though mild as spring her azure eye., 
 Yet kindling spirit we might spy ; 
 Glow'd her soft cheek with deeper red, 
 While thus the lovely patriot said : 
 
 " Dear to my heart is Erin's strand ; 
 Fraternal love, and Friendship's band 
 Attach me to the smiling land. 
 
 } 
 
380 THE UNJUST CLAIM. 
 
 And bravely have her Heroes bled, 
 And sweet her Bards have sung; 
 Nor envy 1 th'illustrious dead 
 
 Th'applause of heart or tongue. 
 But never shall I yield the claim 
 Of my own Caledonia's fame : 
 Her Hero, and her Bard of old, 
 Sweet was the Bard, the Hero bold, 
 Fingal, the first in gallant fight, 
 And Ossian, 'midst his darkness bright ! 
 Full many a Chief on Highland hill 
 These ancient records treasure still ; 
 These records, which so clearly prove 
 Our title to the names we love. 
 And oft the weary sons of toil 
 With native songs their cares beguile ; 
 The songs which mourning Ossian sung, 
 While sad Malvina's harp was strung. 
 Fair auth'ress, may just praise be thine, 
 And fame's own wreath thy brows entwine ; 
 But seek not, as the high reward, 
 My country's Hero, and my country's Bard!" 
 
ABBY's PARLOUR. 
 
 IN OW twice twelve years have rolTd along, 
 
 Since Abby's parlour claim'd my song ; 
 
 T'hen gaily flow'd the artless rhyme, 
 
 For I was in my youthful prime, 
 
 And will you wonder if the strain 
 
 Shall in this channel flow again ? 
 
 True : Time o'er me his hand has flung ; 
 
 Yet the soft Muse is ever young : 
 
 My spirits and my strength decay ; 
 
 Yet the blithe Muse is ever gay, 
 
 And on this groupe she loves to gaze^ 
 
 Worthy the songs of former days ! 
 
 Still Abby here maintains her place, 
 Her cordial smile, and courteous grace ; 
 While by her side her daughter dear 
 Her short'ning day delights to cheer, 
 And both, with smiles and accents sweet, 
 These brilliant lads and lasses greet. 
 
 Fair as the snow-drop on the plain, 
 So fair, so pure, is lovely Jane : 
 
382 ABBTs PARLOUR, 
 
 Her beauteous eyes and iv'ry arm, 
 And mild good-nature's dearer charm 
 Oombin'd, what heart feels not alarm? 
 
 The rose-bud, wet with morning dew, 
 Fragrant its scent, and bright its hue, 
 O who that budding rose can see, 
 Sweet Bessy, and not think on thee? 
 
 Eliza, wifh her form of grace, 
 Her wit, and " mind-illumin'd face,'* 
 Bright sparkled here, and by her side, 
 By virtue as by birth allied, 
 Her brother sate, with aspect mild, 
 On whom fair Science gracious smiFd. 
 
 And here two stranger-youths are found : 
 Where'er they tread 'tis classick ground \ 
 The Mantuan reed and Grecian lyre 
 By turns their ardent bosoms fire; 
 Yet modest worth, and artless truth 
 Still more adorn their blooming youth. 
 
 And here my yet unopen'd flow'r* 
 My Deborah, in this social bow'r, 
 
 ) 
 
ABBY's PARLOUR. 
 
 3S3 
 
 Charm'd with her privilege, shall find 
 
 Examples fit to charm her mind. 
 
 While pleas'd I greet the circle dear, 
 
 I view them through a trembling tear ; 
 
 And Mem'ry fain would forms pourtray, 
 
 Long sleeping with their kindred clay. 
 
 Cease Mem'ry and thy task resign, 
 
 This hour, bright hope, this hour be thine, 
 
 And long may festive joys round Abby's parlour shine ! 
 
 
T O 
 
 B. H. with his Aunfs Profile. 
 
 •o > 
 
 C^/LOS'D are those eyes in endless night, 
 Those eyes, which sparkled once so bright 
 Pale are those lips, whose winning smile 
 Could grief of half its pangs beguile : 
 For ever mute that charming tongue, 
 Where Truth, Persuasion, Pity hung ; 
 Which could, with sweetest grace, impart 
 The dictates of the purest heart. 
 Yet ev'n this shadow shall be dear, 
 Embalm'd by MemVy's precious tear, 
 Long as our lips thy name repeat, 
 Long as our hearts with life shall beat. 
 
 Dear youth, upon whose glowing breast 
 This lovely image is imprest 
 In colours which shall never fade, 
 Receive, for thou will prize, this shade. 
 
THE PROCESSION. 
 
 Jr ROM the vale the procession mov'd silent and slow, 
 
 And slowly ascended the hill : 
 'Tis the maids of the village these honours bestow, 
 
 And the rites due to Friendship fulfil. 
 
 To deck the green grave where their Ellen is laid, 
 
 And her Mary lies low by her side, 
 They crop the sweet flow'rs of the spring ere they fade, 
 
 And Purity's symbols provide. 
 
 The cross borne before by a virgin's fair hands, 
 And the garland for Innocence meet, 
 
 The flow'r-burden'd baskets, the white taper wands, 
 This scene of mild sorrow complete. 
 
 The scene touch'd the stranger, — and gently she sigh'd, 
 For compassion was thron'd in her soul ; 
 
 And down her soft cheek, while the damsels she eyed, 
 The tears of true tenderness stole. 
 
 3 C 
 
386 THE PROCESSION. 
 
 " And this is a tribute to merit," she said, 
 " A tribute the heart must approve ; 
 
 " The living instructed, and honour'd the dead, 
 " By these duties to Friendship and Love." 
 
 Yes, worthy these duties, and worthy thy tear 
 
 Was Ellen, who lowly is laid : 
 With smiles ever ready her parents to cheer, 
 
 While her industry lent them its aid. 
 
 RjiTiR'd as the vi'let, and fresh as the rose, 
 While youth's early dawn promis'd gay : 
 
 See the tyrant small-pox all his terrors disclose, 
 And mark this sweet bud for his prey ! 
 
 While o'er Ellen's couch, where distemper rag'd wild. 
 
 Little Mary unconscious reclin'd, 
 Contagion has blasted thy bloom, hapless child, 
 
 And both to the dust are con sign 'd, 
 
 Then, ye maidens, who now from the full flowing heart 
 Drop your tears on your lov'd Ellen's grave. 
 
 Never let from your view these examples depart. 
 Which her worth and her innocence gave. 
 
ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF MY DEAR MOTHER. 
 
 vjLAD Nature now unfolds her ample breast 
 
 To catch the gales of spring, and all around 
 
 Is full of life and joy. My sister lov'd, 
 
 Raise thy sad eyes, and join the gen'ral smile : 
 
 For thou hast watch'd, with more than filial love, 
 
 With more than filial care, through the long night,- 
 
 Through the drear winter, which obscur'd a mind 
 
 Once beaming bright in Reason's purest ray. 
 
 But now the morning dawns j the spring returns 
 
 To the freed spirit in its native clime : 
 
 Yet never more a mother's anxious eye 
 
 On us shall turn ; no more a mother's lip 
 
 Shall pour instruction ; — for instruction flow'd 
 
 By precept and example from that breast, 
 
 Where candour, piety and mercy dwelt. 
 
 Her's was the heartl for others prompt to feel ; 
 
 Her's was the hand extended to relieve ; 
 
 And her's was judgment clear, and taste, combin'd 
 
 With honest truth and plain simplicity. 
 
388 ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER. 
 
 When taste and judgment fell a shapeless wreck, 
 When that kind hand could deal relief no more, 
 When consolation and when wisdom dwelt 
 No longer on that tongue, — yet that dim eye 
 
 r 
 
 Oft glisten'd with affection's tender tear, 
 
 While fondly turn'd upon the forms she lov'd. 
 
 And when, with pitying love and soft regret, 
 
 We view'd the gentle smile which frequent play'd 
 
 Upon the pallid cheek, ah, who could mourn 
 
 That childhood, free from even childhood's cares, 
 
 Had lull'd that active spirit to repose ! 
 
 And grateful Memory on that faded form 
 
 Dwelt with respectful eye ; while from the lip 
 
 Of Poverty the ardent blessings stream'd 
 
 On her who sooth'd, who pitied and relieve. 
 
 The daring band, who bore the steely pikes 
 
 Through the once peaceful valley, stain'd with blood,- 
 
 The armed soldier breathing fierce revenge,- — 
 
 The midnight robber, bursting ev'ry bar 
 
 Which guards domestick quiet, — all rever'd 
 
 Virtue enshrhVd in that benignant form. 
 
 While life and health and reason yet were her's, 
 
 She thankfully the precious gifts enjoy 'd. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER. 389 
 
 Still mindful of the solemn close of all, 
 An easy passage to her place of rest 
 Was oft implor'd ; and O, thou parent dear, 
 Thy prayer was granted ; and thy spotless soul 
 Without a sigh th'incumb'ring clay resign'd. 
 
T © 
 
 A. S. on his Daughter's Marriage , 
 
 -&Mi 
 
 JljOW pleasant 'midst our native bow'rs 
 
 To pass the quiet day ; 
 And, like our soft and silent stream. 
 
 Glide unperceiv'd away ! 
 
 Though small, my brother, be our stream, 
 
 It swells the Barrow's tide ; 
 And many a fertile mead adorns 
 
 Its willow-fringed side. 
 
 And though nor rank, nor wealth, nor pow'r 
 
 Exalt our humble name, 
 Yet has it won a nobler meed, 
 
 The meed of honest fame ! 
 
 From those fair plains, where Humber flows, 
 
 To distant BaUitore, 
 Our grandsire came — to Science dear, 
 
 By Virtue favour'd more. 
 
TO A. S. 391 
 
 Then newly planted were these shades, 
 
 The labours Nature ^hless'd ; 
 And simple Taste the peopling vale 
 
 In rural beauty dress'd. 
 
 JHis blooming charge, on Griese's banks, 
 
 Their blameless tutor led ; 
 And from his ample stores their minds 
 
 With fair ideas fed. 
 
 There Burke, ingenuous, young and gay, 
 
 Tripp'd sportive by his side ; 
 And with fond rev'rence, filial love, 
 
 His blameless tutor eyed. 
 
 'Twas then true Friendship's sacred band 
 
 Combin'd two hearts in one; 
 And gave the youth a chosen friend, 
 
 His tutor's blameless son. 
 
 What — though in difPrent spheres they shone, 
 
 This band still held them, nigh; 
 Nor absence, time, nor death prevails 
 
 To. rend that sacred tie ! 
 
!92 TO A. S. 
 
 While Burke in courts and senates blaz'd, 
 And empire's int'rests weigh'd, 
 
 His father's steps our honour'd sire 
 Trod, in his native shade. 
 
 And then, when justly-earn'd repose 
 
 His tranquil age obtain 'd, 
 With thee his son, his staff, his hope, 
 
 His precious trust remain'd. 
 
 Dear was the trust ; thou felt it dear ; 
 
 And many a worthy name, 
 Form'd by thy fost'ring care, arose 
 
 To virtue and to fame. 
 
 But who for science — who for worth- 
 So justly is renow r n'd, 
 
 As that lov'd youth, whose fondest hopes 
 Thy daughter's hand has crown'd ? 
 
 Thy daughter, — lovely as the flow'rs 
 Which form the wreath of spring i 
 
 Sweet as the fragrant, fanning gales, 
 Which life aad gladness bring I 
 
TO A. S. $93 
 
 Meek, modest, with retirement's veil 
 
 Her mind its treasure hides ; 
 Yet, stedfast as the Polar star, 
 
 From duty never slides. 
 
 Such gift thou gave : that kindred soul 
 
 Such gift alone suffic'd ; 
 And to its full extent the boon 
 
 That kindred spirit priz'd. 
 
 Now with blest omen, gen'rous pair, 
 
 Begin your bright career ! 
 The friend's warm wish, the poor man's prayer, 
 
 To you is ever near. 
 
 While soft on many a parent's breast 
 
 Glad expectation plays; 
 Receive the little, smiling band, 
 
 The hope of future days. 
 
 And while you mould the ductile mind* 
 
 Enrich'd by Wisdom's lore, 
 O let yourselves the models be! 
 
 The parent asks no more. 
 
 3 D 
 
 I 
 
VIEW FROM MOUNT-ANVIL, 
 
 -o; > 
 
 oTOP, charioteer, and let me gaze awhile ; 
 For Art's and Nature's charms around me smile : 
 There the broad ocean bids the soul expand ; 
 There, gemm'd with villas, shines the fertile land ; 
 There, wide extended, fair Eblana lies, 
 Her spires, her domes, in graceful grandeur rise. 
 Blest be those domes, where Pity fix'd her throne, 
 Which mild Benevolence has mark'd her own ! 
 Here may the lonely stranger bend his feet, 
 Nor dread the cold averted glance to meet ; 
 Here modest Want may tell her piteous tale, 
 No stern repulse bids the sunk cheek turn pale : 
 While from these ample stores and glowing hearts 
 Fair Charity the lib'ral aid imparts ; 
 And from her altars purest odours breathe, 
 Sweeter than all Arabia's gales bequeath. 
 Long may fair Commerce on those Hllows ride, 
 And peace and plenty flow with ev'ry tide 4 
 And to these gen'rous delegates of Heav'n 
 Th'increasing pow'r of doing good be. giv*n ! 
 
T O 
 
 EDWARD RUSHTON, 
 
 OF LIVERPOOL: 
 
 On the recovery of his Sight, 
 
 WELCOME, to light restored, sweet bard 
 To faith and patience, deeply tried, 
 
 To fortitude, the rich reward 
 
 Unerring Heav'n has now supplied. 
 
 Thy smile fair Nature's smile shall meet, 
 While glancing round thy raptur'd gaze. 
 
 Her well-remember 'd charms shall greet. 
 The theme so frequent of thy lays. 
 
 And thou shalt see the blushing dawn 
 Bright o'er the swelling hills arise ; 
 
 And thou shalt see the dewy lawn, 
 
 Where ev'ning paints the western skies. 
 
 And thou shalt see thy Mersey's tide 
 Through fertile vallies gently stray ; 
 
 And thou shalt see the ocean wide 
 The wealth of other realms convey. 
 
396 TO E. RUSHTON, OF LIVERPOOL. 
 
 Thou seest, while joy thrills through thy veins, 
 
 Thy gratulating friends draw nigh ; 
 And what the modest tongue restrains 
 
 Shall glisten in the speaking eye. 
 
 And thou 6halt dwell upon her face, 
 
 Whose love has cheer'd thy years of pain ; 
 
 Thy children's op'ning beauties trace ; 
 And tears shall dim thine eyes again. 
 
 Jt was at Pity's sacred shrine 
 
 The costly sacrifice was made ; 
 Thy precious sight, the spark divine, 
 
 Quench'd, while thou lent the wretched aid. 
 
 But now the film is drawn aside ; 
 
 Thy heart's fond prayer is granted thee: 
 Then bless the light, so long denied. 
 
 For thou behold'st the negro free! 
 
 J EDWARD RUSHTON, after haying been for more 
 .than thirty years excluded from a glimpse f of the world, has been, 
 by a successful operation, restored to' his sight, which he loft in 
 his youth ; when, being on .board a Guinea ship, an infectious 
 disorder broke out amongst the Negroes, to whose relief no one 
 would venture but himself. In consequence of this act of hu- 
 manity, he was seized with an inflammation in his eyes, which 
 terminated in blindness. 
 
O N 
 
 Reading Poems by a Lady. 
 
 WHILE Melesina wakes the living lyre, 
 
 And Truth and Hist'ry guide the moral song, 
 The raptur'd heart is kindled at her fire, 
 
 And quaffs th'harmonious tide which rolls along* 
 
 Wealth, Beauty, Genius, all combine to pour 
 Their brilliant gifts upon their fav'rite fair : 
 
 Wise was the choice, and happy was the hour, 
 In which these brilliant gifts united were ! 
 
 Not her's the joy to bask in fortune's glow : 
 Her simple taste from purer springs is fed ; 
 
 *Tis her's to bid the golden current flow, 
 
 Where the bleak wilds of poverty are spread. 
 
 Seek not in courts : — ye shall not find her there ^ 
 She prov'd the pomp of courts, and found it vain : 
 
 Behold her seated on the rustick chair, 
 Surrounded by the little, lowly train ! 
 
ON READING POEMS, &c. 
 
 The uncouth accents strike her patient ear, 
 And oft the tedious task's repeated o'er > 
 
 Whilst winning smiles his wond'ring bosom cheer, 
 The little peasant learns the artless lore. 
 
 And whilst the tear of sweet benevolence 
 Adds tenfold lustre to the radiant eye, 
 
 Th 'admiring pupil steals the side-long glance, 
 And grateful feelings prompt th'unconscious sigh. 
 
 Thus in her breast ennobling virtues shine, 
 While meek Humility inhabits there : 
 
 Wealth, Beauty, Genius, well may you combine 
 Your brilliant gifts to grace your fav'rite fair J 
 
ON THE REPORT OF 
 
 CHARLEVILLE CASTLE 
 Having been destroyed by an accidental Jire. 
 
 AND have the flames destroy'd that pile, 
 The boast and wonder of our isle, 
 And laid those splendid chambers waste, 
 So late the fair abodes of Taste ? 
 While Taste and Genius mourn the fate 
 Which gave their work so short a date, 
 Yet pleas 'd Humanity shall tell 
 That not one life a victim fell ; 
 And she, while rose the castle high, 
 Watch'd o'er the work with anxious eye, 
 And warded danger ; while she spread 
 Her sacred shield o'er ev'ry head.* 
 
 Yes, Guardian Genii of the dome, 
 Still shall ye make these tow'rs your home. 
 No victim they to ruthless flame ; 
 False is the trump of noisy Fame : 
 And ever false be each alarm, 
 Which threats their noble Lord with harm ! 
 
 * Grqat care was taken to prevent those employed in the 
 building of the castle from meeting with any accident. 
 
LINES 
 
 Written on 
 A JOYFUL EVENT. 
 
 Y E white cliffs of Albion, which proudly are rearing 
 
 Your heads o'er your faithful ally, the rough main,— - 
 Ye green smiling vales of my lov'd native Erin, — 
 
 Ye mountains, the haunts of the brave Scottish swain,-— 
 Unite in the joy, while the tidings are telling, 
 And each honest bosom with rapture is swelling, 
 For Freedom's bright beam the dire cloud is dispelling^ 
 And her hand breaks asunder the slave's galling chain. 
 
 In your palmy recesses no more shall ye tremble^ 
 Ye natives of Africk ; nor dread to behold 
 
 The man with fair face, who can smile and dissemble* 
 Then lead you his captives to barter for gold : 
 
 Who could hear the deep groans which to Heav'n were 
 ascending, 
 
 "Who could see the breast heave with deep agonies rending* 
 
 Nor feel that the wrath from above is impending, 
 While his soul the strong fetters of av'rice enfold, 
 
 3 E 
 
 
402 ON A JOYFUL EVENT. 
 
 Ye band, of Humanity's rights the defenders, 
 
 Your courage, your wisdom, your zeal have been tried * 
 For Right against Wrong the unwearied contenders, 
 With Truth, Justice, Mercy, all rank'd on your side. 
 The blest vict'ry is won ; while wjth gratitude glowing 
 The glad hearts of thousands your meed is bestowing, 
 Through your bosoms the stream of sweet peace shall 
 be flowing: 
 By the pure spring of conscience that stream is supplied. 
 
ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF EDITH L 
 
 See SHIPWRECK, p. 203, 
 BY R. S. 
 
 As deep sequester'd in the sacred cell, 
 
 Where visions, raptures, inspirations dwell, 
 
 The pious Edith sat, alone, retir'd, 
 
 And for her soul the bread of life desir'd ; 
 
 The bread she sought was granted, with command 
 
 To share with others in another land. 
 
 Obedient to the word, she cross'd the main ; 
 
 No tender ties of nature could detain : 
 
 Hibernia's isle receiv'd the welcome guest, 
 
 And the sweet harbinger of peace confest. 
 
 From house to house with holy zeal she sped, 
 
 And brake, with hands all clean, the living bread ; 
 
 Her words to various states of conscience reach'd, 
 
 And e'en her sojemn silence loudly preach'd. 
 
 Faithful she labour'd ; and, her service o'er, 
 
 Glad was returning to her native shore ; 
 
 Of self — and all she did — full meanly thought, 
 
 And peace and preservation only sought. 
 
404r ON THE DEATH OF E. L- 
 
 Heav'n saw, well-pleas*d, the ten our of her mind, 
 
 Meek, modest, humble, patient, and resign'd % 
 
 But saw recorded in the book of Fate 
 
 What sorrows would her future life await: 
 
 He that knows all things knew the time was best 
 
 To take her hence to everlasting rest ; 
 
 Of the frail body let a wreck be made, 
 
 But to the port of bliss her soul convey'd. 
 
THE 
 
 FATHER 
 
 TO HIS 
 
 DAUGHTER 
 BY THE SAME. 
 
 JVJ.ARY, come, let thee and me 
 Look about this world, and see 
 How we may most happy live, 
 What the purest joy can give; 
 Where is hid the noblest treasure, 
 And what life's a life of pleasure : 
 Pleasure — first in all men's view, 
 The great object they pursue ; 
 In whose search their lives they spend, 
 Lose their souls, yet miss their end! 
 
 Pleasure, — where canst thou be found? 
 Growth of what luxuriant ground ? 
 Where's thy happy haunt ? — Oh, where, 
 Undisturb'd by Grief and Care ? 
 
406 THE FATHER TO HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 Some in sensual delights, 
 Festive days, and wanton nights, 
 Seek to find thee : — —all in vain : 
 They but find remorse and pain. 
 
 In Ambition's lofty seat, 
 And the pomp of worldly state, 
 Others with aspiring eye, 
 Thinking thou art thron'd on high, 
 While they soar with giddy head, 
 Grasp a phantom in thy stead. 
 
 Vers'd in philosophick lore, 
 The learn'd thy mystick path explore; 
 With lamp of Science look about, 
 And vainly hope to find thee out. 
 Their lamp's false light leads them astray ;- 
 Thou shinest in the blaze of day. 
 
 The miser dreams that solid pleasure 
 Is safely lock'd up with his treasure, 
 And each new guinea which he hoards 
 New joy and happiness affords ; 
 He opes his chest : — the gold is there : 
 But pleasure's fled — he knows not where. 
 
THE FATHER TO HIS DAUGHTER. 407 
 
 Since then, daughter of my love, 
 
 All such searches fruitless prove, 
 
 Let us hear what Wisdom says ; 
 
 She can guide in pleasure's ways. 
 
 Wisdom cries " Nor sensual joys, 
 
 - 
 " Nor ambition's glitt'ring toys, 
 
 u Nor false learning's swelling pride, 
 
 " Nor the wealth which misers hide, 
 
 " Solid happiness can bring ; 
 
 " Since polluted is their spring. 
 
 " Let my humble vot'ries know, 
 
 M Whence those happy currents flow, 
 
 " Which through generations ran, 
 
 '' Gladd'ning the pure heart of man. 
 
 u That's true happiness alone, 
 "> Which proceeds from Heav'n's high throne ; 
 a Water of life, as crystal clear, 
 " The just in ev'ry age to cheer ; 
 " Calm, uninterrupted joy, 
 " Without any base alloy ; 
 " Sole, supreme, unmixed good, 
 " Saints' delight, and Angels' food, 
 " Earnest of eternal bliss 
 " In after-life, begun in this/' 
 
408 THE FATHER TO HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 Here then., daughter, let us hold : 
 Thou art young, and I grow old ; 
 Let us both united strive 
 In all good conscience so to live, 
 So to keep our vessels clean, 
 That we may this prize retain. 
 O may this our cares engage, 
 Stay to youth and staff of age ! 
 Then true pleasure we shall find, 
 Centred in a virtuous mind. 
 
ON THE 
 
 BIRTH 
 
 OF HIS 
 
 GRANDSON. 
 BY THE SAME. 
 
 WELCOME be the lovely boy, 
 
 His fond parents' hope and joy : 
 
 By thy birth what tender ties 
 
 All in social order rise ! 
 
 To the names of Husband, Wife, 
 
 Dearest in domestick life, 
 
 Thou hast added all these other 
 
 Names of Grandsire, Father, Mother, 
 
 Aunts and Nephew, — ties that bind 
 
 In close union human kind. 
 
 Welcome, beauteous babe ! for thee 
 Hath old age, with tott'ring knee, 
 Wand'ring in the Muse's bowers, 
 Stopp'd to cull the fairest flowers j 
 
 a f 
 
410 ON THE BIRTH OF HIS GRANDSON. 
 
 And, with trembling hand, e'en now 
 Weaves a garland for thy brow. 
 
 Welcome thrice, my darling child ! 
 Sure propitious Heav'n has smil'd 
 On thy birth ; for ev'ry grace 
 Marks the features of thy face, 
 Where we both thy parents find, 
 Ease and dignity combin'd. 
 
 Sweetest infant, since thou art- - 
 Sent to act in life a part, 
 While of yet unconscious age, 
 Ere thou tread the publick stage, 
 Sunk in balmy slumbers, rest 
 On thy mother's fragrant breast, 
 While thy grandslre comes to shed 
 His best blessings on thy head! 
 
 God, before whose awful sight 
 Thy forefathers walk'd aright, 
 By his hand all-pow'rful led, 
 By his gracious bounty fed, 
 And his guardian-angel still 
 Watching to preserve from ill, 
 
ON THE BIRTH OF HIS GRANDSON. 41 i 
 
 Bless the lad: — and may the name 
 Better than all worldly fame, 
 Sacred name, which qualifies 
 For admission to the sides, 
 This new name, O Richard, be 
 Named evermore on thee 1 
 
A PARAPHRASE 
 ON THE SECOND ELEGY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 FIRST BOOK OF PROPERTIUS. 
 
 BY THE SAME. 
 O 
 
 WHY thus thy locks with studious pains array, 
 And with a silken robe thy limbs display ? 
 Why to such sweets add sweetness, loveliest maid, 
 And seek from rich perfumes superfluous aid ? 
 Why Nature's beauties mar with borrow'd pride, 
 And in the pomp of dress thy graces hide ? 
 Believe me, nothing can those charms improve ; 
 The craft of Art's abhorr'd by naked Love. 
 
 See what gay colours vest the flow'ry ground, 
 And ivies spread spontaneous all around ! 
 See how the shrub best in wild caverns grows, 
 And the pure stream untutor'd winding flows ! 
 The shores, with native painted pebbles gay, 
 Shine radiant, and lend lustre to the day: 
 The birds in air their wild notes warbling fly. 
 And mock the pow'rs of studied harmony ! 
 
A PARAPH R AS E. 413 
 
 Not with false ornaments renowned dames, 
 Of sweetest ancient poets sweetest themes, 
 Lur'd the first heroes, in old time, to prove 
 The painful-pleasing blandishments of love : 
 But, with the force of genuine beauty's sway, 
 They made the conqu'rors of the world obey. 
 No glitt'ring gems did their fair forms adorn, 
 But a bright bloom, fresh as the rosy morn : 
 Lovers to gain no vulgar arts they tried ; 
 No want of Grace where^yirtue beautified! 
 Each nymph desir'd no more of beauty's praise, 
 Than just to plea:>e the man she wish'd to please. 
 
 To such as these my fair one I compare ; 
 In thee their graces all united are. 
 To thee Apollo grants poetick fire ; 
 To thee the Muse her own melodious lyre ; 
 Pallas and Venus for thy sake combine, 
 And Wit and Beauty, their best gifts, are thine. 
 
 Thus perfect in thy lovely self, complete, 
 Above the splendour of exterior state, 
 Perpetual pleasures to my life impart, 
 And fill with purest joys my grateful heart ! 
 
A TRANSLATION 
 
 OF PART OF THE 
 
 NUPTIAL SONG OF CATULLUS. 
 
 BY THE SAME. 
 
 oC 
 
 As bosom'd in the secret garden grows 
 
 The summer's peerless pride, some beauteous rose, 
 
 From ev'ry hostile danger fenc'd around, 
 
 Safe from the browsing flocks, or ploughshare's wound, 
 
 By SoPs kind beams, by genial moisture, fed, 
 
 And fann'd by Zephyrs in its fragrant bed : — 
 
 Full many a youth, and many a damsel tries, 
 
 With fond desire, to gain the precious prize. 
 
 See the same flow'r, to some rude hand a prey, 
 Its fragrance languish, and its bloom decay ! 
 The youth no more, no more the damsel tries, 
 With fond desire, to gain the precious prize. 
 
 Thus dear to all the virtuous maid remains, 
 While her fair form no foul pollution stains : 
 But once delil'd, if her's no longer be 
 The radiant flow'r of sacred chastity; 
 See her, abhorr'd and shunn'd, no more appear 
 To youths delightful, nor to damsels dear ! 
 
DE ITER FACIENDO NOCT2 
 A D 
 
 COALBROOK VALLEM, 
 
 AuCTORE RlCARDO SHACKLETQN. 
 
 IN OCTE, solicitus, lentus, fessus peragebara 
 
 Ad vallem Coalbrook, incomitatus, > iter. 
 Vallem despexi tandem de culmine montis, 
 
 Mens 5c inopino capta timore fuit : 
 Fumosas etenim nubes consurgere vidi, 
 
 Formas dccmonicas, flammiferumque polum. 
 Ferreus hie stat pons, alter Phlegethonque sub illo 
 
 Undis spuniosis it, strepitante sono : 
 lllic tarda palus, ingens, deformis et ulva, 
 
 JEstuat immundis, Sty;x velut alter, aq\irs. 
 
ON TRAVELLING TO 
 
 COALBROOK DALE, 
 
 IN THE NIGHT-TIME. 
 
 BY THE SAME. 
 
 0C0 
 
 1 O Coalbrook dale, alone, by night, 
 
 I journey 'd pensive, slow, 
 At length from Lincolns-hills* proud height 
 I view'd the vale below ; 
 
 Dreadful the view ! — in dusky spires, 
 
 The smoky columns rise ; 
 And fiend-like forms stir up the fires, 
 
 Which redden all the skies. 
 
 Like Phlegethon a river pours 
 
 Beneath an iron bridge its flood ; 
 
 A lake, like Styx, tremendous roars, 
 Black, baleful, and deform'd with mud. 
 
 3 G 
 
418 ITER AD COALBROOK VALLEM. 
 
 Audivi sonitus diros, se volvere vidi 
 
 Ignem torrentem gurgite flammivomo. 
 Talibus obstupui monstris, cursumque repressi, 
 
 " Heu, certe, " damans, " Tartarus hie locus est !' 
 Augescunt animi tandem, properansque petivi 
 
 Claram munditiis, hospitioque domum : 
 Comiter exceptus, & amore refectus Abisc, 
 
 Exclamo gaudens, " Hie locus Elysium est." 
 
 FINIS. 
 
JOURNEY TO COALBROOK DALE. 419 
 
 ■ 
 
 Dire sounds I heard : — I saw with dread 
 
 The fiery surges swell : 
 Aghast I stopp'd my course, and said, 
 
 " Oh, sure this place is Hell !" 
 
 At last recover'd from my fears, 
 
 I sought the stately dome, 
 Where courtesy with kindness cheery 
 
 And strangers find a home. 
 
 Receiv'd, refrcsh'd, and edified 
 
 With social Christian grace, 
 Beneath Abiah's roof, I cried, 
 
 < c Sure Heav'n is in this place." 
 
 THE END. 
 
ERR 
 
 T A. 
 
 »o > 
 
 In Page 
 
 77, 
 11.1, 
 
 135, 
 151, 
 158, 
 186, 
 
 43, for mota read motu. 
 516, in the Latin, " there should be 
 " no period here, the context 
 " is misunderstood." 
 
 A. Shackleton. 
 SO, for pourtray read portray. 
 
 re 
 
 2, — employ 
 
 4, — joy 
 15, — account 
 
 6, — thrown 
 19, — pregnant 
 11, 
 
 blessing 
 
 — 187, 14, — • for bled 
 
 — — 16, — dead < 
 
 194 ? — — i9 9 — nia id 
 
 231, ■ 4, — heart 
 
 In the Ruined Cottage, — Doro 
 
 285, — — "7, — torn 
 
 _ —,291, 16, — bears 
 
 292, — 5, — torn 
 
 SI 1, 11,—- cheek 
 
 , — 326, 11, — h 
 
 383, — — 2, — charm 
 
 395, — — 12, .— where 
 
 -~ — 409, — — 14, — stopp'd 
 
 av nine: 
 
 o 
 
 employs. 
 
 joys. 
 
 recount. 
 
 strewn. 
 
 fragrant. 
 
 blessings. 
 
 bleed. 
 
 deed. 
 
 maids. 
 
 breast. 
 
 Dora. 
 
 lorn. 
 
 leaves. 
 
 lorn. 
 
 cheeks. 
 
 heav'nly, 
 
 form. 
 
 when. 
 
 stoop'd. 
 
 4 
 
 £46 
 
 «* i 
 

 
 
 
 x-* A 
 
 
 ^ "^ 
 
 
 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: April 2009 
 
 
 ^ ^ 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
 
 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 (724)779-2111 
 
 
 6 c$ 
 

 
 <£. 
 
 
 .*■ 
 
 
 *: 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 r J? *+. 
 
 ,%* '< 
 
 > N 
 
 
 
 
 
 %& 
 
 * v V 
 
 
 ^ ^ 
 
 x o © 
 
 
 
 
 
 „ ^ 
 
 
 
 o o x 
 
 s // ^> 
 
 
 * .^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^ -^ 
 
 
 *, vV 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 014 525 759 1