Digitized by the Internet Arciiive in 2007 witii funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.arcliive.org/details/collectionofpoemOOkohlricli COLLECTION OF POEMS,, CHIEFLY MANUSCRIPT, FROM LIVING AUTHORS, EDITED FOR THE BENEFIT OF A FRIEND, By JOANNA BAILLIE. LONDON: PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND ftROWN, PATBRNOSTER-ROW. 1823. LOKDOM: Printed by A.& R. Spottiswoode, New- Street- Square. ADVERTISEMENT. Ihe numerous and respectable subscribers to this volume are well entitled to the warmest acknowledgments of the Editor, and she begs they will do her the honour to accept her grate- ful thanks, which are presented with a deep and cordial sense of the kind and generous motives that have led them to favour this collection of Poems with their countenance and liberality. But what will please them more than any thanks which she can offer, is the assurance, that they have enabled her, in a year so peculiarly un- favourable for such an undertaking, to promote the object for which it is published far beyond what she could have hoped, and that they have thereby done a permanent service to one who is worthy of receiving it. A3* Mimms VI To her literary friends, who have so Hber- ally, readily, and cheerfully supplied her with the manuscripts which compose this collection, she cannot too strongly express her obligations. She is proud of the names she has been per- mitted to produce as her poetical helpmates on this occasion ; and, so supported, feels herself honoured beyond what has ever yet fallen to the lot of any editor. To those, who, from diffi- dence or other reasons, have given her verses without a name, of which no name needed to ' have been ashamed, she is likewise greatly in- debted, and she thanks them all with a warm and lively gratitude. This volume also contains several MS. poems of one, who is now out of the reach of all thanks from a being of this world, written with that elegance, tenderness, and graceful facility which characterized every thing that came from her pen : a dutiful daughter, who loves and respects her memory, will consider the acknow- Vll ledgments implied in this notice as belonging to herself. * The Editor begs the indulgence of the Reader, and the pardon of her poetical contri- butors, for any oversights or mistakes which may be discovered in the various pieces contained in this volume. The former will do well to attribute any want of correctness to herself, which will make the requested indulgence almost a personal boon : the latter will be assured that she has done no injury to their verses from any wilful carelessness ; and will recollect, that in submitting them to an Editor, without classical learning, who never has written correctly, they have rendered themselves liable to be so injured, ♦ Since this volume was put to the press, Mr. Charles Johnson, the amiable and elegant writer of the greater number of the sonnets which are scattered over it, has sunk into an early grave. But it is to be hoped, that this melancholy event will not prevent the Public from being made acquainted with the other poetical productions which he has left behind him. A 4 Vlll which does the more enhance their kindness in contributing to this collection. She ought not to omit mentioning that the liberality of her bookseller, printer, and stationer, have reduced the expences of publication to those merely of cost charges. SUBSCRIBERS' NAMES. THE KING'S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY. 5 copies. His Royal Highness the Duke of York. His Royal Highness the Duke of Gloucester. 5 copies. Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Gloucester. 2 copies. Viscount Andover. Right Hon. Lady Ashburton. Lord Chief Justice Abbott. Lady Abbott. Hon. Hugh Arbuthnot. Sir Thomas Ackland, Bart. Lady Apreece. 3 copies. Sir Edmund Antrobus, Bart. 2 copies. General Sir Henry Askew. Miss Isabella Askew. — Askew, Esq. Mrs. Askew. Mrs. Affleck. 2 copies. The Rev. Archibald Alison, Edinburgh. Boyd Alexander, Esq. , Mrs. Alcock. 2 copies. Mrs. Andrews. — Andre, Esq. Miss Louisa Andre. G. C. Antrobus, Esq. Mrs. Aspinal. Miss Aitchison, Airdrie. Miss Alexander. Miss C. Alexander. Miss J. Alexander. James L' Amy, Esq. J. D. Alexander, Esq. Rev. C. Anstey. Edmund Antrobus, Esq. 2 copies. Mrs. Anderson, Russell Square. Sir William Adams, Albemarle Street. J. J. Angerstein, Esq. 5 copies. J. J. Angerstein, Esq., Jun. 2 copies. Lewis Allsop, Esq. James A. Anderson, Esq. Mrs. Anderson. Lt. Col. Aitchison, 3d Guards. Mrs. Richard Allan. Miss Allan. Mrs. Andre, Bath. Mrs. Abernethy, Bedford Row. Mrs. Simpson Anderson, Charlton Kings. 2 copies. Samuel Anderson, Esq. J. Andrews, Esq., Bond Street. 2 copies. B Earl Bathurst. Countess Bathurst. Viscount Bernard. 2 copies. Viscountess Bernard. 2 copies. Viscount Barrington. Viscountess Barrington. Hon. W. K. Barrington. Hon. George Barrington. Hon. Augustus Barrington. Hon. Russel Barrington. Hon. Lowther Barrington. Hon. Henry Barrington. Hon. Arthur Barrington. Hon. Caroline Barrington. Hon. Frances Barrington. Hon. Charlotte Barrington. Hon. Georgina Barrington. Hon. Elizabeth Barrington. The Bishop of Bangor. The Right Hon. Lady Byron. Lord Belhaven. Lady Belhaven. Lord Boston. Lady Boston. Lady Anne Barnard, Berkeley Square. 2 copies. Hon. Mr. Justice Bayley. Lady Bayley. XI Hon. Mr. Justice Best. Lady Best. The Hon. Mrs. Boyle. 5 copies. Hon. Miss Brodrick, Bath. Sir Henry Bunbury. Lady Bunbury. Lt. Gen. Brown, Curzon Street. 20 copies. Rev. Archdeacon Bonney. Rev. Archdeacon Benger. Mrs. Benger. Robt. Barber, Esq. Everard Brand, Esq., Arlington Street. Mrs. Brand. Mrs. M. P. Benfield, Cumberland Street. Mrs. Berkley. Dr. Robertson Barclay, Keavil. Miss Berry. Mrs. Brant, Frances Street. Mrs. Blanchard. — Blanchard, Esq. — Bourdillon, Esq. Miss Brown. Mrs. J. Blanchard. George L. Blount, Esq. 2 copies. Rev. Sackville Bale. Edward Boodle, Esq., Lower Brook Street. Mrs. BeUi, Bruton Street. Rev. J. B. Blount. Rev. Charles Belli. Dr. Baillie, 10 copies. Mrs. Baillie. 5 copies. W. H. Baillie, Esq. 5 copies. Mrs. Agnes Baillie, Hampstead. 2 copies. B. C. Brodie, Esq., Saville Row. Mrs. Brodie. Miss Bennet. Miss C. Bennet. Mrs. Bennet. Mrs. Benyon. Mrs. T. Bradney, Hampstead. H. W. Burgess, Esq., Sloane Square. Miss Ballard. Mrs. Booth. George Brown, Esq., Russell Square. 5 copies. James Brown, Esq. 2 copies. Xll John Barnes, Esq. Miss Barnes. Miss Jessy Barnes. Mrs. Barnes. 2 copies. William Bell, Esq. G. H. Blackburn, Esq. John Bannatyne, Esq. A. B. James Barton, Esq. Charles Balfour, Esq. Mrs. Baker. Robert Bill, Esq., Bedford Square. Mrs. Bill. Mrs. Bramwell. Master Bramwell. Master H. R. Bramwell. Mrs. Bidwell. John Bowdler, Esq., Eltham. Mrs. John Bond, Stoke Newington. John Burchel, Esq., Walthamstow. James Boudon, Esq., Hampstead. Miss Bolton, Thornhill, Staffordshire. Mrs. Bolton, Soho, Staffordshire. Miss Black, Kensington Square. Miss C. Beresford. Mrs. Harriet Bowdler, Bath. 2 copies. Charles Bosanquet, Esq., Hampstead Heath. John Bisset, Esq. S. Baker, Esq. S. Baker, Esq., jun. G. Baker, Esq. Sir J. Brenton Capt. Brenton, R. N. Mrs. J. Brenton. Capt. Brain, R. N. J. P. Boileau, Esq., New Norfolk Street. Miss Boileau, Mortlake. J. T. Batt, Esq. Mrs. Batt. James Burn, Esq. 10 copies. Dr. Bliss, Bath. Mrs. Burgess. Robert Barclay, Esq., Bury Hill. 5 copies.^ Mrs. Barclay. Miss Barclay. Xlll Rev. J. G. Bollond. J. Bollond, Esq. Mrs. Bevan, Half-moon Street. Mrs. Brown, Upper Grosvenor Street. Robert Bruce, Esq., M. P., Kennet, N. B. Mrs. Bruce, Kennet, N. B. Miss Boulton, Givens Grove, Surrey. W. Bolland, Esq. Mrs. Bolland. Mr. Serjeant Bosanquet. Samuel Bosanquet, Esq. Robert Bell, Esq., Edinburgh. James Balfour, Esq., Edinburgh. J. Hunter Blair, Esq., Edinburgh. Dr. Bain. Mrs. Bazalgette. 2 copies. Mrs. Burr, Portland Place. Mrs. Brent, St. James's Palace. Mrs. Burroughs, Chetwynd Park. Mrs. Barker, Baker Street. John Blackburn, Esq., Edinburgh. 5 copies. Mrs. Blackburn. 5 copies. E. Burn, Esq. — Brandt, Esq. Mrs. Brandt. R. W. Brandt, Esq. James Brandt, Esq. Rev. W. O. Brandt. Miss Brandt. A. Bogle, Esq. 2 copies. Miss Bogle. 2 copies. Hugh Bogle, Esq. James Bogle, Esq. jun. Mrs. Belcher. Rev. Wm. Broderick. 2 copies. Mrs. C. Best, Craven Street. William Bragge, Esq. Rev. Wm. Buckland, Corpus Christi Coll. Oxford. Rev. Thomas Barnby, Stepney. Miss Begbie, Porto Bello, Edinburgh. Robert Buchanan, Esq. 5 copies. N. Basevi, Esq. 2 copies. Mrs. Barchard. Michael Bland, Esq., Montague Place, Russel Square. Mrs. Bogle, Manchester Square. XIV Miss Bogle. 2 copies. John Buller, Esq. Miss Baker, Frampton Lodge, Gloucestershire. John Baron, M.D., Gloucester. Mrs. Blunt, Hampstead. Mrs. Brandling, Gosforth House, Newcastle. Mrs. Bell, Woolmington. — Barham, Esq. G. H. Barnett, Esq., Lombard Street. D. Bevan, Esq., Lombard Street. Henry Brougham, Esq., M. P. 2 copies. William Brougham, Esq. Mrs. Bogle, Gilmour Hill. 3 copies. Miss A. Bogle. Mrs. Buchanan, Dowan Hill. 5 copies. Mrs. James Brown, Glasgow. Mrs. James Bogle. Hugh Bogle, Esq. 2 copies. Mrs. H. Bogle. 2 copies. The Miss Blackburns. 3 copies. Hubert Buchanan, Esq. 2 copies. Dr. Balmano. Archibald Buchan, Esq., Catrine Bank. 2 copies. Archibald Brown, Esq. 2 copies. Mrs. Bolton, Storrs. Mrs. Birch, Bath. Mrs. Barrow, Bath. Rev. Alfred Burmiston. Miss Buchanan. 3 copies. Lt. S. B. 10 copies. H. H. Birley, Esq., Manchester. John Birley, Esq., Manchester. Mrs. H. H. Birley, Manchester. Jos. Birley, Didsbury. Miss Birley, Liverpool. J. L. Buller, Esq., Bush Lane. G. H. Blackburn, Esq., South-sea House. — Badham, Esq. Mrs. Brodie, Salisbury. W. B. Brodie, Esq. Mrs. Boyd, Greenshields. Mrs. George Buchanan. James Block, Esq. 10 copies. John Barclay, Esq. 10 copies. J. Buchanan, Esq. XV Earl of Clanwilliam. 5 copies. Countess of Cassilis. 5 copies. Countess of Clare. Lord John Campbell. 2 copies. Lady John Campbell. Lord Cloncurry. Lady Cloncurry. Lord Clancarty. 2 copies. Lady Clancarty. 2 copies. Lady Mary Cook. Lady Elizabeth Clements. Hon. Rob. Clements. Lady Louisa Clinton. Hon. Miss Courteney. Hon. Mr. Cowper, Digswell. Hon. and Rev. Archibald Cathcart. The Lord Justice Clerk. Hon. Mrs. Coventry. Sir William Cunningham, Bart., Caprington. 2 copies. Lady CunlifFe. Lady Copley. Col. Charlewood, Grenadier Guards. Lady Campbell. 2 copies. Rev. William Chapman. Mrs. Chapman. Miss Croft, Charterhouse. Mrs. Chalmers, Abingdon Street. Mrs. J. Craufurd, Sunning Hill. Thomas Coutts, Esq. 2 copies. Sir Alexander Crichton. C. M. Clarke, Esq. 5 copies. Mrs. Cooke, Hertford Street. Lt. Col. P. Campbell, R.A. Samuel Chilver, Esq. The Rev. George Crabbe, Trowbridge. ^w** Miss Colley. Mrs. Corbeau, Bath. Mrs. Campbell. Sir A. Cathcart. Mrs. Claxton. Archibald Cullen, Esq. Mrs. Cullen. Miss Crawford. 2 copies. XVI Robert Christie, Esq. .2 copies. Henry Crokatt, Esq. John Carstairs, Esq., Stratford Green. Mrs. Carstairs. Henry Cheape, Esq. John Christie, Esq., Mark Lane. Mrs. Carr, Hampstead. 2 copies. Mrs. Cole, Hampstead. Archdeacon Coxe. # Mrs. Coxe. John Cowper, Esq., Stamford Street. B. Currie, Esq. Mrs. Cowley. Mrs. S. A. Cowley. — Chamber, Esq. Philip Combauld, Esq., Hampstead. Mrs. Calvert. Henry Colburn, Esq., Conduit Street. Colv. Coup, Esq., Sherwood Lodge. Miss Carey. Jos. Cripps, Esq. M.P., Cirencester. Jos. Cripps, Esq., Jun. Miss Clement, Hill Street. Mrs. Courthorp. John Campbell, Esq., Kilberry. 2 copies. Miss Campbell, Heriot Row, Edinburgh. J. Cunningham, Esq. Miss Christian, Russell Square. Dr. Charles, Edinburgh. 5 copies. John Craig, Esq., Edinburgh. 5 copies. Jos. Cowper, Esq., Friday Street. Mrs. Crawford. Miss Caldwell. M. Gen. Cuppage, R.A. — Clayton, Esq. Mrs. Clayton. J. Clayton, Esq. 3 copies. Mrs. M. Clayton. N. Clayton, Esq Miss Carey, Mamhead. Robert Crawford, Esq., DawHsh. Miss Cheveley, Buckingham House. 2 copies. Mrs. Cooke, Montague Street, Russell Square. Stanley Clarke, Esq. Mrs. Stanley Clarke. Capt. Walter Campbell. xvu Calvert Clarke, Esq. Rev. Dr. Cooke, President of Corpus Christi Coll. Oxford. Rev. Dr. Copleston, Provost of Oriel Coll. Rev. Dr. Chapman, Mag. Coll. Rev. G. L. Cooke, Oxford. Rev. T. L. Cooke, Beckley. Mrs. Cooke. Miss Chapman. Miss J. Cooke, Bath. Mrs. Charrington, Mile End. Charrington, Esq. John Ca^mpbell, Esq., Edinburgh. Rev. Mr. Craig. C. M. Christie, Esq. Col. Gilbert Cooper. Dr. Currie. G. Currie, Esq., Cornhill. Miss M. Cheveley. Mrs. Cambridge, Whitminster House, Gloucestershire. Mrs. Currie, Chester. General Cartwright. Carrick, Esq. Mrs. Claxton, Bath. J. Cooper, Esq., Ballendalloch. Mrs. Hamilton Campbell. The Misses Campbell, Canaith. 2 copies. Campbell, Esq., Moran. 3 copies. Miss Campbell. Miss Helen Campbell. Mrs. Campbell, Strathearn. Mungo Campbell, Esq. 2 copies. Miss Elizabeth Campbell. William Cathcart, Esq., Towers. 2 copies. Miss Cathcart. Miss Isabella Cathcart. Mrs. Cunningham, Kilmarnock. 2 copies. Mrs. Clerk, Elm Bank. Robert Cunningham, Esq., Seabank. William Campbell, Esq., Nether Place. Miss Campbell. Wm. Clark, Esq. 2 copies. Mrs. Campbell, Succoth. Miss Craig, Glasgow. Miss Mary Craig. Mrs. Colquhoun, Killermont. XVIU Mrs. Crooks. David Connell, Esq., Glasgow. Mrs. Cathcart, Blairston R. Cathcart, Esq., Corbiston. Miss Cathcart. Arch. Campbell, Esq., Finlayston John Colquhoun, Esq., Killermont. Edward Cockett, Esq., St. James's Palace, Richard Church, Esq., Bedford Place. S. J. Cupper, Esq., Crosby Square. 2 copies. W. Cririe, Esq., Manchester. Richard Cardwell, Esq., Blackburne. 10 copies. Rev. Richard Cardwell, Liverpool. 5 copies. John Cardwell, Esq., Liverpool. 5 copies. James Cardwell, Esq., Wigan. 2 copies. Mrs. Edward Coxe. Mrs. Dalzell Colquhoun. Mrs. Lethan Cuthell, Kelvenside. Mrs. Collings, Hampstead. Miss Cathcart, Gayfield. Miss Colbery, Cavendish Square. L. A. De la Chaumette, Esq. Benjamin Cohen, Esq. Mrs. Cohen. James Cleland, Esq. Mrs. Cleland. D. The Hon. and Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of Durham. 5 copies. The Bishop of St. David's. The Right Hon. Lady Dacre. The Right Hon. Lady Dunstanville. Lord Chief Justice Dallas. Lady Dallas. Mrs. Dallas. Hon. Mrs. Douglas, Bothwell Castle. Hon. Miss Douglas, Bothwell Castle. Hon. and Rev. Champion Dymoke. Hon and Rev. Thomas Dawnay. Sir Francis Drake, Bart. Lady Drake. Sir Humphry Davy, Bart. P.R.S.&c. Sir David Dundas, Bart. Lady P. Dairy mple, Woodside, Lymington. XIX Gen. Sir John Doyle. Sir John Milley Doyle. General Dirom, Mount Annan. Mrs. Dirom. Lieut. Col. Drummond, 3d Guards. H. Dobree, Esq. James Dunlop, Esq. 5 copies. R. B. Dunlop, Esq. 2 copies. Robert Davidson, Esq. Mrs. Dixon, Portland Place. 5 copies. Miss Dauncey. Mrs. Davy, Devonshire Square. Mrs. Dyce. 2 copies Lieut. Col. Davies, M. P. Mrs. Dumaresq. Mrs.Doveton, Upper Wimpole Street. Miss Dobson. Wm. Delafield, Esq. Miss Dickens. Miss Deane, Lincoln's Inn Fields. Col. Durrant, Wimpole Street. W. J. Dennison, Esq. M. P. 5 copies. Mrs. Denman. 5 copies. Thomas Denman, Esq., M. P. 5 copies. Mrs. Thomas Denman. 5 copies. Henry Davidson, Esq. Mrs. Davidson. Miss Davidson. Duncan Davidson, Esq. General Douglas, Woolwich. Major Douglas. John Douglas, Esq., Twyford Abbey. Mrs. Douglas. Mrs. Tyrwhitt Drake. Miss Drake. Mrs. DefFell. The Misses DefFell. Dr. Duesbury. Miss Duckworth. >-* Richard Duppa, Esq- ---^ . C^^ Philip Duncan, Esq., Bath. / Mrs. T. Dickins, Bolsover Street. T. Dyson, Esq., Lavington, Sussex. Mrs. Dyson. George Daniell, Esq., Lincolns Inn Fields, a 2 XX E. R. Daniell, Esq., Lincoln's Inn Fields. Miss Dallas, Gloucester Place. 3 copies. Mrs. Drewe. J. Duncan, Esq., New College, Oxford. Rev. A. Dawson, Brazennose College. Mrs. Daniel, Warwick. E. T. Daniel, Esq., Southampton. David Dundas, Esq., Edinburgh. James Dundas, Esq., Edinburgh. Mrs. Douglas, Douglas Park. 5 copies. Ralph James Dundas, Esq. Dr. J. H. Davidson. 5 copies. George Dunlop, Esq. 5 copies. Mrs. Dunlop. Mrs. Edward Dawkins. Mrs. Dawson, St. Leonard's. W. J. Davidson, Esq., Inchmarto. 2 copies. R. Davies, Esq. Mrs. Dumbleton, Bath. Miss Dunlop, Glasgow. William Davidson, Esq. Mrs. Robert Dunlop. A. Dunlop, Esq., Clober. John Dunlop, Esq., Greenock. Mrs. John Dunlop. Mrs. W. Dowal. Professor Davidson, Glasgow. Richard Duncan, Esq., Glasgow. Mrs. Denniston, Kelvin Grove. 5 copies. Miss Douglas, Rosehall. Mrs. Dinwiddie. Mrs. Dunlop, Annan Hill. Mrs. Dundas, Dundas Castle. Thomas Dobson, Esq., Bucklersbury. Rev. James Dallaway. Duff, Esq., Hutton. Mrs. Home Drummond. D. D. 3 copies. Mrs. Douglas Dickson, Hartree. William Dundas, Esq., Temple. James Dundas, Esq., Clerk to the Signet. Mrs. Denni, Winchelsea, Sussex. Miss J. Denni, Winchelsea, Sussex. Mrs. Donald, Glasgow. XXI E. Marchioness of Exeter, Countess of Effingham. Lord Ellenborough. Hon. Mrs. Estcourt. Hon. Mrs. T. Erskine, Lower Brook Street. Lady English, Grosvenor Street. 2 copies. Mrs. Edwards. Colonel Eustace. Mrs. George Ellis, Sunning Hill. Edwards, Esq. Mrs. Evan, Seaton Grove. N. B. Edmonstone, Esq. Wm. Empson, Esq., Temple. John Elliott, Esq. Mrs. Elliott. Rev. Luther Elliott, Salviston. Mrs. A. Elliott, Egland. 4 copies. Mrs. Elliott, Fenchurch Street. Robert Liston Elliott, Esq. Robert Elliott, Esq. 2 copies. G. H. Errington, Esq. Miss Edgeworth. Miss F. Edgeworth. Miss H. Edgeworth. Rev. Noel T. Ellison, Baliol Coll. Oxford. 2 copies. Mrs. Erskine, Linlathen. John Elliott, Esq., Montague Place, Russell Square. Mrs. Eaton, Kitton Hall, Stamford. Ellis Ellis, Esq. Wm. Eccles, Esq., Eccles, Manchester. John Evans, Esq., Aldermanbury. T. Erskine, Esq., Linlichan. Rowland Evan, Esq., Bond Street. Miss Eccles. Mrs. Grenville Ewing. James Ewing, Esq. 5 copies. Viscountess iFIelding. Lord William Fitzgerald. His Excellency Baron Fagel. The Hon. Miss Fox. Sir Wm. Forbes, Bart., Pitsligo. a 3 XXll Sir Thomas Farquhar, Bart. Lady Farquhar. Miss Farquhar. 5 copies. Wm. Frankhn, Esq. Mrs. Franklin. Mrs. Flower. 2 copies. Mrs. Fisher, Upper Seymour Street. Mrs. Farrer. Miss Fector. Miss A. C. Fryer, Cedars, Hammersmith. Miss Jane Fryer. Mrs. Farquhar. Richard Franklin, Esq. Flood, Esq., Clement's Lane. John Freeman, Esq , New Kent Road. Mrs. Foreman, Upper Harley Street. 5 copies. Francis Freeling, Esq., Bryanstone Square. Miss Ferrier. Mrs. Fenwick. Edward Fletcher, Esq., Lime Grove, Putney. Mrs. Fletcher. M. A. Fletcher, Esq., Edinburgh. J Fullerton, Esq. Edinburgh. Miss Fawkland. Captain Forrest, Montague Place. Mrs. Forrest. Farquhar, Esq. Mrs. Farquhar. A Friend. 10 copies. Mrs. Floyer, Stanford, Gloucestershire. Miss Freeman. Miss Fanshawe, Berkeley Square. Miss Catherine Fanshawe. Miss Elizabeth Fanshawe. George Frere, Esq., Hampstead. Mrs. Frere, Downing Lodge, Cambridge. Miss Fountayne, Popplewick, Nottinghamshire. Mrs. Fountayne, Bath. Mrs. Fordyce, Bath. Mrs. Fitzgerald, Bath. John Foster, Esq., Bread Street. Mrs. Fielder, Bath. Miss Fielder, Bath. Wm. Fielder, Esq. jun., Bath. 2 copies. Wm. Fielder, Esq., Blackburn. 2 copies. Wm. Farrer, Esq., Bread Street. XXlll G. W. Finch, Esq., Lincoln's Inn Fields. James Fyfe, Esq. 5 copies. Mrs. Fairlie, Holms. J. Fullerton, Esq., Glenorchard. Mrs. Freeland. Miss Freeland. Kirkman Finlay, Esq. 20 copies. Wm. Finlay, Esq., Trees. 2 copies. Thos. Farrer, Esq. Miss Frodsham. J. B. Ferrers, Esq., Throgmorton Street. A Friend. 2 copies. Mrs. Wm. Fulton, Paisley. Mrs. Fletcher, Castle Street, Edinburgh. Miss Ferguson, Monkwood. 2 copies. James Finlay, Esq., Glasgow. John Finlay, Esq., Glasgow. Wm. Finlay, Esq., Trees. J. K. Finlay, Esq., Glasgow. G. Earl of Glasgow. Countess of Glasgow. Earl Gower. Countess de Grey. Countess of Gosford. Right Hon. Lady Gwydir. 2 copies. Right Hon the Dowager Lady Grantham. Right Hon. Lady Grantham. Lord Glenbervie Lady Coffin Greenly, Tilly Court, Herefordshire. Sir Alexander Gordon. George Goodenough, Esq., Hertford Street. Mrs. Goodenough. Mrs. Gordon, Manchester Square. 10 copies. Mrs. Gundry, Richmond. Mrs. Graham. Mrs. Green, Bedford Square. Mrs. Greaves, Hampstead. Allan Gilmour, Esq., Portland Place. Goring, Esq., Weston Park, Sussex, Miss Goring. Miss F. Goring. Miss Gurney, Keswick. John Glennie, Esq. a 4 XXIV J. G. Graeff, Esq. 10 copies. Miss Gisborne. Miss Gunning. Henry Gosse, Esq. Mrs. Gregory, Biggleswade. S. Greaves, Esq. Mrs. Darby Griffith, Padworth House. Gurney, Esq. James Graham, Esq., Edinburgh. Dr. Gillies. The Rev. Dr. Gray. Mrs. Gray, Quarry Bank, Manchester. Miss Graham.. Rev. Wm. Gamier. Mrs. Gamier. G. B. Greenough, Esq. Captain George Gooch. 5 copies. James Gibson, Esq. Dr. Graham, Professor of Botany, Edinburgh. ^rs. C. Gurney, Bath. Charles Greenway, Esq., Manchester. Guild, Esq., Glasgow. John Gordon, Esq., Aitkin Head. 5 copies. Miss Graham, Gairbraid. 5 copies. Rev. Professor M'Gill, Glasgow. Mrs. Glasgow, Mount Greening. 2 copies. W. L. Gower, Esq. 3 copies. Mrs. Henry Grant, Portraan Square. A Lady, by Mrs. Gundry. William Graham, Esq. Mrs. G. Grame, George's Square, Edinburgh. H. Goldsmid, Esq. George Grant, Esq., Russell Place, 2 copies. Alexander Garden, Esquire. 5 copies. Robert Grahame, Esq., Whitehill. 2 copies. Mrs. Grahame. Thomas Grahame, Esq. 2 copies. H. Countess of Harcourt. Countess of Hopeton. Earl of Hardwick. 2 copies. Countess of Hardwick. 2 copies. Viscountess Hampden. 2 copies. Right Hon. Lady Holland. Hon. Henry Howard. 5 copies. XXV Right Hon. Wm. Heygate, Lord Mayor. Sir Henry Halford, Bart. P.C.P. Hon. Lady Halford. Hon. Lady Haselrige. Hon. Mrs. Hopwood, Hopwood Hall, Lancashire. Sir John Hope, Bart., Pinkie. Sir John Hay, Bart., Hayston. Lady Hamlyn. Sir George Hewitt, Bart., Mamhead. Mrs. Howley, London House. 5 copies. Lady Hope, Carriden. General Hughes. Mrs. Hughan. 20 copies. Mrs. Humphreys. Hall, Esq., St. James's Street. 5 copies. Miss Helen Halkett. Hewett, Esq. Dr. Holland. S. Hoare, Esq., Hampstead Heath. 5 copies. Mrs. Hoare. Mrs. S. Hoare. 2 copies. Capt. Hamilton. Mrs. Hay. 5 copies. S. C. Holland, Esq. 2 copies. John Huldjo, Esq. 2 copies. "* Miss Hunter. Mrs. Hibbert, Lower Berkeley Street. Mrs. Sampson Hanbury, Poles, Herts. Henry Handley, Esq., M.P. Col. Higgins, 3d. Guards. Harvey, Esq. Miss Harper, Montague Square. Mrs. Hest, Rester Mill, Cornwall. Dr. Haviland. Mrs. J. Hamilton, Cambridge. Jeremiah Harman, Esq., Adam's Court, Broad Street. Mrs. Harman. Wm. Hunter, Esq., Sackville Street. Mrs. Hamilton. Mrs. M. Holland. David Haliburton, Esq. 5 copies. Mrs. Hankey, Bedford Square, Miss Hankey. Mrs. J. Hankey, Grosvenor Square. 2 copies. Miss Hankey. J. Haines, Esq., Hampstead. XXVI Mrs. Haines. Rev. Dr. Haggett, Prebendary of Durham, Mrs. Haggett. Mrs. Hunter, Chester Street. Henry Holland, Esq. Dr. Hope, Edinburgh. 5 copies. James Hope, Esq. 3 copies. Mrs. Hunter, Thurstone. Capt. Hunter, Edinburgh. Miss Hunter, Edinburgh. John Hawkins, Esq., Bognor Park. Mrs. Holford, Hampstead Mrs. Horseman. W. H. Holmes, Esq. Mrs. Hill, Broom, Worcestershire. Miss Hill, Dennis. Charles Hill, Esq. Charles Hoare, Esq., Fleet Street. Anthony Heaviside, Esq. Capt. W. Heaviside. Rev. Dr. Hay, Christ Church, Oxford. Mrs. Hay. Rev. Morgan Hughes. 2 copies. Miss Holme, Wimpole Street. Rev. H. Hutton, Colchester. Rev. R. Hoblyn, Colchester. Rev. C. Hewitt, Colchester. James Halls, Esq., Colchester. Hook, Esq. Mrs. Hamilton. Miss Halliday. Rev. W. J. HaHiday. Mr. Baron Hume. Mrs. Edmund Hopkinson. 10 copies. John Herschell, Esq. 2 copies. George Halliday, Esq., St. James's Street. John Hunter, Esq. Henry Hallam, Esq., Wimpole Street. 5 copies. Henry Hicks, Esq., Lease, Gloucestershire. Miss Hunt, Exeter. Miss F. Head, Ashfield, Devon. Mrs. Harford, Blaise Castle, Bristol. Mrs. Hooper, Abbots Ripton, Hants. Jos. Hornby, Esq., Kirkham, Lancashire. 2 copies. Wm. Hornby, Esq., Kirkham, Lancashire. 2 copies. John Hornby, Esq., Blackburn. 10 copies. XXVll Chamberlain HinchlifF, Esq., Southwark. Samuel Horrocks, Esq., Bread Street. Henry Hurle, Esq., Bedford Row. John Hinchman, Esq., Watlihg Street. James Hunter, Esq., Highgate Hill. Dr. Hutton, Calder Bank. Mrs. Hutton. Lawrence Hill, Esq., Glasgow. 3 copies. Mrs. Henderson, Glasgow. Miss Henderson, Glasgow. Mrs. Horrocks. Charles Hutchinson, Esq. Wna. Hay, Esq., Hayfield. Alexander Hamilton, Esq., Grange. Hamilton, Esq., Sundrum, Mrs. Hamilton. Mrs. Hamilton, jun. A. West Hamilton, Esq. 2 copies. Mrs. A. West Hamilton. The Misses Hamilton. 2 copies. Hynd, Esq. William Hunter, Esq., Glasgow. 5 copies* J. G. Hamilton, Esq. 2 copies. Mrs. Hindes. E. P. M. Miss Holford. 2 copies. — Hudson, Esq. Mrs. Hudson. Thomson Hankey, Esq., Dalston. Mrs. Thomson Hankey. Mrs. H. Haynes. Mrs. Hosier, Newlands. Miss Hope, Hastings. Mrs. Hort. Henry Hay, Esq., Warren Street. Thos. Hay, Esq., Warren Street. Wm. Hunt, Esq., New Norfolk Street. W. Hesaltine, Esq., and Friends. 20 copies. Mrs. George Hibbert, Portland Place. 9 , d^/^-T^^ L J. ^ Hon. Mrs. Irby. Hon. Mrs. F. Irby. Lady Inglish. Mrs. Jordan, Finchley. 10 copies. Jameson, Esq., Lawrence Pountney Lane. xxvm Professor Jardine, Glasgow. 2 copies. John Jardine, Esq., Edinburgh. Henry Jardine, Esq., Edinburgh. Miss Jardine, Edinburgh. Wilson Jones, Esq., Stratford Green. Rev. H. C. Jones, Stratford Green. Mrs. H. C. Jones. Mrs. J. Johnston, Birmingham. Rev. Dr. Jenkyns, Master of Baliol Coll. Oxon. Rev. F. Jenkyns, Oriel Coll. Charles Johnson, Esq., Danson, Kent. Mrs. Jekyll, Bath. John Johnston, Esq., Scott's Yard. 5 copies. John Johnston, Esq., jun. 3 copies. Hugh Johnston, Esq. 3 copies. John Jardine, Esq. M. Jones, Esq., Duke Street, Manchester Square. Rev. Evan James, Esq. Stepney. James Innes, Esq. 2 copies. R. H. Innes, Esq. Miss Ingham. Mrs. Ireland. James M' Invray, Esq., Lade. Mrs. M* Ilwham, Cairbrae. Mrs. Ives, Catton. Francis Jeffry, Esq., Edinburgh. The Hon. and Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of Kildare. Lord Mark Kerr. Lady Mark Kerr. Lady Isabella Kerr. Lady Isabella King, Bath. N. Kirkland, Esq., Bennet Street Mrs. Kenrick. Nicholas Kerwan, Esq., Lime Street. Miss Kindersley. Kensington Book Society. 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Wilkinson, Esq. 2 copies. Miss Wilkinson. Mrs. Westfaling, Rudhall. Yuile, Esq., Bedford Square. MAC DUFF'S CROSS, A DRAMA. PRELUDE. Nay, smile not, lady, when I speak of witchcraft, And say that still there lurks amongst our glens Some touch of strange enchantment. — Mark that frag- ment, I mean that rough-hewn block of massive stone. Placed on the summit of this mountain pass. Commanding prospect wide o'er field and fell, And peopled village, and extended moorland, And the wide ocean and majestic Tay, And the far distant Grampians. — Do not deem it A loosened portion of the neighbouring rock, Detach'd by storm and thunder, — 'twas the pedestal On which, in ancient times, a cross was rear'd, Carv'd o'er with words which foil'd philologists ; And the events it did commemorate Were dark, remote, and undistinguishable. As were the mystic characters it bore. But, mark, — a wizard by a southern stream, B 2 Tuned but his magic harp to this wild theme, And, lo ! the scene is hallow'd. — None shall pass, Now or in after days, beside that stone. But he shall have strange visions ; — thoughts and words, That shake, or rouse, or thrill the human heart, Shall rush upon his memory when he hears The spirit-stirring name of this rude symbol, — Oblivious ages, at that simple spell, • Shall render back their terrors with their woes, Alas ! and with their crimes, — and the proud phantoms ' Shall move with step familiar to his eye. And accents which, once heard, the ear forgets not. Though ne'er again to list them. — Siddons, thine. Thou matchless Siddons ! thrills upon our ear ; And on our eye thy lofty brother's form Rises as Scotland's monarch. — But, to thee, Joanna, why to thee speak of such visions ? Thine own wild wand can raise them. — Yet since thou wilt an idle tale of mine. Take one which scarcely is of worth enough To give or to withhold. — But time creeps on, Fancy grows colder as the silvery hair Tells the advancing winter of our life. But if it be of worth enough to please. That worth it owes to her who set the task, If otherwise, the fault rest with the author. MAC DUFFS CROSS. Scene. — The summit of a Rocky Pass, about ttvo miles Jrom the ancient Abbey of Lindores in Fife. In the centre is Mac Duff's Cross, an antique Monument ; and at a small distance, on one side, a Chapel, with a lamp burning. Enter Ninian and Waldhaves, Monks of Lindores, — Ninian crosses himself and seems to recite his devo- tions. — Waldhaves stands gazing on the prospect, as if in deep contemplation. NINIAN. Here stands the cross, good brother, consecrated By the bold thane unto his patron saint Magridius, once a brother of our house. Canst thou not spare an ave or a creed ? Or hath the steep ascent exhausted you ? You trode it stoutly, though 'twas rough and toilsome. — waldhaves. I have trode a rougher — NINIAN. On the highland hills, Scarcely within our sea-girt province here. Unless upon the Lomonds or Bennarty. B 3 I 6 WALDHAVES. I spoke not of the literal path, good father. But of the road of life which I had travell'd. Ere I assumed this habit ; — it was bounded, Hedged in, and limited by earthly prospects. As ours beneath was closed by deU and thicket. Here we see wide and far, and the broad sky. With wide horizon, opens full around. While earthly objects dwindle. — Brother Ninian, Fain would I hope that mental elevation Could raise me equally o'er worldly thoughts. And place me by so much the nearer heaven. — NINIAN. 'Tis good morality. — But yet forget not. That though we look on heaven from this high eminence, Yet doth the Prince of all the airy space. Arch foe of man, possess the realms between. WALDHAVES. Most true, good brother ; and men may be farther From the fair haven they aim at, even because . They deem themselves secure on't. NINIAN {after a pause). You do gaze. Strangers are wont to do so — on the prospect. Yon is the Tay rolled down from highland hills. That rests his waves after so rude a race In the fair plains of Gowrie — westward yonder, Proud Stirling rises — yonder to the east, Dundee, the gift of God, and fair Montrose, And still more northward lie the hills — WALDHAVES. Of Edzell. NINIAN. How know you the towers of Edzell ? WALDHAVES. I've heard of them. NINIAN. Then have you heard a tale. Which, when he tells, the peasant shakes his head. And shuns the mouldering and deserted walls. WALDHAVES. Why, and by whom deserted ? NINIAN. Long the tale — Enough to say, that the last lord of Edzell, Bold Reynold Lindesay, had a wife, and found — WALDHAVES. Enough is said, indeed — for a weak woman ; Aye, and a tempting fiend, lost paradise. When man was innocent. NINIAN. They fell at strife, B 4 1^ 8 Men say, on slight occasion that fierce Lindesay Did bend his sword against De Berkeley's breast, And that the lady threw herself between : That then De Berkeley dealt the Baron's death-wound. Enough, that from that time De Berkeley bore A spear in foreign wars ; — and, it is said. He hath returned of late ; and therefore, brother, The prior hath ordain'd our vigil here, ^''wl wpl To watch the privilege of the sanctuary, And, rights of Clan Mac Duff. — a WALDHAVES. What rights are these ? NINIAN. Most true ! You are but newly come from Rome, And do not know our ancient usages. Know then, when fell Mac Beth beneath the arm Of the predestined knight, unborn of woman, A triple boon he ask'd, and thrice did Malcolm, Stooping the sceptre, which the thane restored. Assent to his request. And hence the rule, That first when Scotland's king assumes the crown, Mac Duff's descendant rings his brow with it : And hence, when Scotland's king calls forth his host, Mac Duff's descendant leads the van in battle ; And last, in guerdon of the crown restored, Red with the blood of the usurping tyrant. The right was granted in succeeding time, That, if a kinsman of the thane of Fife Commit a slaughter on a sudden impulse, And fly for refuge to this Cross Mac Duff; He for his sake shall find it sanctuary ; For here must the avenger's step be staid, And here the panting homicide find safety. ' * WALDHAVES. ..ii:lll And here a brother of your order watches, ""'^^^ 1 To see the custom of the place observed ? — ^^ NINIAN. Even so ; — such is our convent's holy right, (^l' ^^iT Since Saint Magridius, blessed be his memory ^^^ ojnU Did by a vision warn the abbot Eadmer, — And chief we watch, when there is bickering ><^<^' Among the neighbouring nobles, as most likely From this return of Berkeley from abroad, Having the Lindesay's blood upon his hand. — WALDHAVES. ' ' The Lindesay then was loved among his friends ? Tfiifa vn; ninian. Honoured and fear'd he was — but little loved : For even his bounty bore a show of sternness, And when his passions waked, he was a Sathan, For wrath and injury. 10 WALDHAVES. , , ,^.^ ^rfj^j^ ^^ How now, sir Priest — forgive me — I was dreaming Of an old baron, who did bear about him Some touch of your lord Louis. , ,.,r. NINIAN. lo'i .>H Lindesay*s name, my brother, -iff lo^I Indeed was Louis ; and methinks beside That, as you spoke even now, he would have spoken. I brought him a petition from our convent: /farf tnut He granted straight, but in such tone and manner, By my good saint ! I thought myself scarce safe Till Tay roll'd broad between us. I must now Unto the chapel — meanwhile the vigil's thine ; And, at thy word, the hurrying fugitive. Should such arrive, must here find sanctuary ; And, at thy word, the fury-paced avenger Must stop his bloody course — e'en as swoln Jordan Controll'd his waves, soon as they touch'd the feet Of those who bore the ark. ,, ; , WALDHAVES. Is this my charge ? NINIAN. Even so ; — and I am near, should chance require me. At midnight I relieve you on your watch. When we may taste together some refreshment. I have cared for % and for a flask of wine. n There is no sin, so that we drink it not Until the midnight hour, when lauds have tolPd. Farewell awhile, and store of peace be with you. [_Ea:it towards the Chapel, WALDHAVES. It is not with me, and alas ! alas ! I know not where to seek it. This monk's mind Is with his cloister mark'd, nor lacks more room. Its petty duties, formal ritual, Its humble pleasures, and its paltry troubles, Fill up his round of life. Even as some reptiles, They say, are moulded to the very shape, And all the angles of the rocky crevice. In which they live and die. But for myself, Hunted by passion to the narrow cell, Couching my tired limbs in its recesses. So ill-adapted am I to its limits. That every attitude is agony. How now ! what brings him back ? JRe-ente7' Ninian. NINIAN. Look to your watch, my brother ; — horsemen come : I heard the tread when kneeling in the chapel. WALDHAVES. My thoughts have rapt me more than thy devotions. Else had I heard the tread of rushing horses Farther than thou could'st hear the sacring bell ; But now in truth they come : — flight and pursuit Are sights I've been long strange to. — NINIAN. See how they strain adown the opposing hill ; Yon grey steed bounding on the headlong path As on the level meadow ; and the black, Urged by the rider with his naked sword. Stoops on his prey, as I have seen the falcon Dashing upon the heron. — Thou dost frown And clench thy hand, as if it grasp'd a weapon. WALDHAVES. 'Tis but for shame to see one man fly thus While only one pursues him. — Coward, turn ! — Turn thee, I say ! thou art as stout as he. And well ma/st match thy single sword with his. Shame, that a man should rein a steed like thee, Yet fear to turn his front against a foe : — I am ashamed to look on them. NINIAN. Yet look again, — they quit their horses now, Unfit for the rough path : — the fugitive Keeps the advantage still. WAI.DHAVES. I'll not believe that ever the bold thane IS Reared up his cross to be a sanctuary vv'A To the base coward, who shunned an equal combat. — - How's this ? — that look — that mien — my eyes grow dizzy. — NINIAN. He comes : — thou art a novice on this watch : — Brother, PU take the word and speak to him. Let down thy cowl; — know that we spiritual champions Have honor to maintain, and must not seem To quail before the laity. [ Waldhaves lets down his cowl, and steps back. Enter Maurice Berkeley. NINIAN. Wlio art thou, stranger ? speak thy name and purpose. BERKELEY. I claim the privilege of Clan Mac DufF. My name is Maurice Berkeley, and my lineage Allies me nearly with the thane of Fife. NINIAN. Give us to know the cause of sanctuary ? BERKELEY. Let him shew it, Against whose violence I claim the privilege. ( XIOC|U u Enter Lindesay with his Sword drawn; he rushes at Berkeley ; Ninian interposes, NINIAN. Peace in the name of Saint Magridius ! Peace in our prior's name, and in the name Of that dear symbol which did purchase peace And good-will towards man ! I do command thee To sheathe thy sword and stir no contest here. LINDESAY. One charm FU try first, To lure this craven from the enchanted circle Which he hath harboured in. — Hear you, De Berkeley, This is my brother's sword, — the hand it arms Is weapon'd to avenge a brother's death : — If thou had heart to step a furlong off And change three blows, — and for so short a space As these good men may say an avemary. So, heaven be good to me ! I would forgive thee Thy deed and all its consequences. BERKELEY. Were not my right hand fetter'd by the thought That slaying thee were but a double guilt In which to steep my soul, no bridegroom ever Stepp'd forth to trip a measure with his bride More joyfully than I, young man, would wait Upon your challenge. 15 LINDESAY. He quails and shuns to look upon my weapon, Yet boasts himself a Berkeley. BERKELEY. Lindesay ; and if there were no deeper cause For shunning thee than terror of thy weapon, That rock-hewn cross as soon should start and stir. Because a hunter-boy blew horn beneath it, As I for brag of thine. NINIAN. I charge you both, and in the name of heaven. Breathe no defiance on this sacred spot, Where christian men must bear them peacefully. On pain of the church-thunders. -— Calmly tell Your cause of difference ; — and lord Lindesay then Be first to speak them. LINDESAY. Ask the blue welkin — ask the silver Tay, The northern Grampians — all know my wrongs ; But ask not me to tell them while a villain. Who wrought them, stands and listens with a smile. — NINIAN. It is said Since you refer us thus to general fame. That Berkeley slew thy brother, the lord Louis, In his own halls at EdzeU — jjt 16 LINDESAY. Aye, in his halls — In his own halls, good father, that's the word In his own halls he slew him, while the wine Passed on the board between ! — Tlie gallant thane, Who wreaked Mac Beth's inhospitable murder, Built not his cross to sanction deeds like these,;) jj, j, BERKELEY. Thou say'st I came a guest ; — I came a victim — A destined victim, train'd on to the doom His frantic jealousy prepar'd for me : He fix'd a quarrel on me, and we fought. Can I forget the form that came between us, isdW And perish'd by his sword? — 'Twas then I fought For vengeance — until then I guarded life. But then I sought to take it, and prevail'd. LINDESAY. Wretch! thou didst dishonor, .^a And then didst slay him. BERKELEY. There is a busy fiend tugs at my heart, ,(yi^ q^j But I will struggle with it. — ^ Youthful knight, My heart is sick of war, my hand of slaughter ; I come not to my lordships or my land, i^-./iio But seek just so much earth in some cold clqisj^d icJT As I may kneel on living, antl wWn deadf|j;,| nwo aiff i 17 Wliich may suffice to cover me. — Forgive me th at I caused your brother's death ; And I forgive thee the injurious terms With which thou taxest me. LINDESAY. Take worse and blacker; — murderer — adulterer Art thou not moved yet ? — BERKELEY. Do not press me further ; The hunted stag, even when he seeks the thicket, If forc'd to stand at bay, grows dangerous ! — Most true, thy brother perish'd by my hand. And if you term it murther, I will bear it. Thus far my patience can — but if thou brand The purity of yonder martyr'd saint, Whom thus my sword but poorly did avenge. With one injurious word, come to the valley, And I will show thee how it shall be answer'd. — NINIAN. This heat, lord Berkeley, doth but ill accord With thy late pious patience. — BERKELEY. Father, forgive, and let me stand excused To Heaven and thee, if patience brooks no more. - I loved this lady fondly — truly loved ; Loved her, and was beloved, ere yet her father c 18 Conferred her on another. — While she lived, Each thought of her was to my soul as hallowed As those I send to Heaven ; and on her grave, Her bloody, early grave, while this poor hand Can hold a sword, shall no one cast a scorn. — LINDESAY. Follow me : — I am glad there is one spur Can rouze thy sluggard metal. — BERKELEY. Make then obeisance to the blessed cross, For it shall be on earth thy last devotion. — {They are going off,) WALDHAVES. {RusMng foTWavd,) Madman, stand — Stay but one second, — answer but one question. "There, Maurice Berkeley, can'st thou look upon That blessed sign, and swear thou'st spoken truth ? — BERKELEY. . I swear by Heaven, And by the memory of that murdered innocent, Each seeming charge against her was as false As Ermengarde was spotless. — Hear, each saint ! Hear me, thou holy rood ! — hear me from Heaven, Thou martyred excellence ! — Hear me from penal fire, (For sure not yet thy guilt is expiated ?) Stern ghost of her destroyer ! 19 WALDHAVEs. {Thvows buck Ms consoL) He hears ! he hears ! — thy spell hath raised the dead. LINDESAY. My brother ! — and alive ! — WALDHAVES. Alive, but yet, my Richard, dead to thee. — No tie of kindred binds me to the world : All were renounc'd, when with reviving life Came the desire to seek the sacred cloister. — Alas, in vain ! for to that last retreat. Like to a pack of blood-hounds in full chace, My passions and my wrongs have followed me, Wrath and remorse — and to fill up the cry. Thou hast brought vengeance hither. — LINDESAY. I but sought To do the act and duty of a brother WALDHAVES. I ceased to be so when I left the world. — But if he can forgive, as I forgive, God sends me here a brother in mine enemy, To pray for me, and with me. — If thou can'st, De Berkeley, give thy hand. — BERKELEY. (Givcs Ms hand,) It is the will Of Heaven made manifest, in thy preservation, c 2 20 To save from further bloodshed ; for, De Berkeley, The votary, Maurice, lays the title down. — Go to his halls, lord Richard, where a maiden, Klin to his blood, and daughter in affection. Heirs his broad lands. — If thou can'st love her, Lindesay, Woo her and be a speeder. '21 FAIR MEAD LODGE, EPPING FOREST. (an extract FBOM " RETROSPECTION," A MS. POEM.) Hail, Fair Mead ! hail, my forest glade ! Thou green isle, girt around with shade ! Woods, where of old with hound and horn The Norman hunter woke the morn : Where yet along the grassy lawn At dim of eve, and grey of dawn. The deer his silent way pursues, And prints his hoofs in treacherous dews : — And thou, my lone and little lake, Where the stag loves his thirst to slake, When summer on the gilded stream. Darts the broad sun-shine's noon-day beam ! Hail, peaceful Lodge ! my summer-seat, A wild, sequestered, lone retreat, Oer-shadow'd by a Druid oak That whilome felt the woodman's stroke. Then, as disdainful of the blow, Drove its gnarPd roots more deep below. And proudlier to the tempest spread, An ampler girt, a broader head, c 3 22 There, underneath its brow that rears The burden of a thousand years, Beneath the arms whose branch of yore The quiver of the Norman bore, And heard the twanging of the yew When Harold's shaft hke lightning flew ; I trace the spots in grove and glade, Where in wild woods my childhood stray'd. When the full moon at magic hour Shot thro' the leaves a spangled show'r. That show'd upon the dewy blade Fresh rings that fairy feet betray'd. Are these the haunts where stray'd the child. Thro* thorny brakes and thickets wild ? How chang'd the scene ! With fond delay, The woodman, lingering on his way. Asks the cold soil, and clay-bound earth, What magic hand has chang'd its birth. Or art — if art — in that recess Has tam'd the forest wilderness ? Mary ! thy hand hath touched that place, And o'er it cast an added grace ; And where wild nature spread the wood. And o'er the darken'd solitude. The beech, the oak, the horn-beam sprung. And hollies spir'd the thorns among, Thy touch hath clear'd th' ungenial shade, And gladden'd with new suns the glade. Th' acacia, laurel, cypress, thine. And bow'rs that breathe of eglantine. It was thy hand that rear'd my grove, And lin'd with moss the seat I love, Entic'd the ivy-twine that weaves O'er the thatch'd roof its glossy leaves ; Shap'd each gay plot that decks the scene. And wound my walk their flow'rs between : There, from Italia's fragrant shore. Gay shrubs to deck my dwelling bore ; There bade the myrtle scent the gale. With sweets that breath'd on Arno's vale ; Woo'd gentlest Zephyrs to awake The flow'rs that glow'd o'er Como's lake. And Britain's boldest suns illume The Paestan rose's double bloom. Sweet is it in such haunts to dwell, And bid life's troublous scenes farewell, Nursing in peaceful solitude High visions that the world exclude \ If yet one spot -^ one resting place — Where Peace may build on earth her bow'r, And in its hallow'd haunt retrace A dream of Eden's blissful hour, c 4 0^ 24 'Tis in that sole, that sacred spot, Where innocence and woman dwell ; *Tis in that heart, which wavering not, Believes what God has deign'd to tell ; And anchoring its hope above, Passes o'er earth in simple love. Such, Mary ! thy unsully'd heart, And such the spot, where'er thou art. — 25 THE LAY OF THE BELL. • (from the GERMAN OF SCHILLER.) " The most original and beautiful, perhaps, of all Schiller's poems, unequalled by any thing of Goethe's, is called * The Song of the Bell,' — a varying irregular lyric strain. The casting of a bell is, m Germany, an event of solemnity and rejoicing. In the neighbour- hood of the Hartz, and the other mine districts, you read formal announcements in the newspapers from bell-founders, that at a given time and spot a casting is to take place, to which they invite all their friends. An entertainment out of doors is prepared, and held with much festivity. Schiller, in a few short stanzas, forming a sort of chorus, describes the whole process of the melting, the casting, and the cooling of the bell, with a technical truth and a felicity of ex- pression, in which the sound of the sharp sonorous rhymes and expressive epithets constantly forms an echo to the sense. Between these technical processes he breaks forth into the most beautiful episodaic pictures of the various scenes of life, with which the sounds of the bell are connected." * Vivos voco. — Mortuos plango. — Fvlgura Jrango, Fast immur'd within the earth, Fixt by fire the clay-mould stands, This day the Bell expects its birth : Courage, comrades ! ply your hands ! Hotly from the brow Must the sweat-drop flow : If by his work the master known, Yet — Heav'n must send the blessing down. * The above passage, in which the peculiar character of " The Bell of Schiller" is described with much taste and feeling, is ex- tracted from a very entertaining publication of Mr. Dodd, " An Autumn near the Rhine." «6 The work we earnestly prepare, May well an earnest word demand : When cheering words attend our care, Gay the labour, brisk the hand. Then, let us weigh with deep reflection. What by more force must be achieved ; And rightly scorn his mis-direction. Whose foresight ne'er his work conceived. *Tis this, that human nature graces, This, gifted reason's destin'd aim. That in itself the spirit traces Whatever the hand shall fitly frame. Billets of the fir-wood take. Every billet dry and sound ; That flame on gathered flame awake, And vault with fire the fiimace round. Cast the copper in. Quick, due weight of tin, That the BelPs tenacious food, Rightly flow in ordered mood. What now within the earth's deep womb Our hands by help of fire prepare. Shall on yon turret mark our doom. And loudly to the world declare ! 27 There its aerial station keeping, Touch many an ear to latest time ; Shall mingle with the mourner's weeping, And tune to holy choirs its chime. All that to earth-bom sons below The changeful turns of fortune bring. The Bell from its metallic brow In warning sounds shall widely ring. Lo ! I see white bubbles spring : — Well ! — the molten masses flow. Haste, ashes of the salt-wort fling. Quickening the fusion deep below. Yet, from scoria free Must the mixture be, That from the metal, clean and clear, Its sound swell tuneful on the ear. Hark ! 'tis the birth-day's festive ringing ! It welcomes the beloved child, Who now life's earliest way beginning, In sleep's soft arm lies meek and mild. As yet in time's dark lap repose. Life's sunshine lot, and shadowy woes, While tenderest cares of mothers born Watch o'er her infant's golden morn. «8 The years like winged arrows fly : The stripling from the female hand Bursts into life all wild to roam ; And wandering far o'er sea and land, Returns a stranger home. There, in her bloom divinely fair. An image beaming from the sky, With blushing cheek and modest air A virgin charms his eye. A nameless longing melts his heart. Far from his comrades' revels rude, While tears involuntary start, He strays in pathless solitude, — There, blushing, seeks alone her trace ; And if a smile his suit approve. He seeks the prime of all the place. The fairest flow'r to deck his love. — Enchanting hope ! thou sweet desire ! Thou earliest love ! thou golden time ! Heav'n opens to thy glance of fire. The heart overflows with bliss sublime. Oh that it might eternal prove The vernal bloom of youthful love ! See ! the pipes are browning over ' This little rod I inly dip ; 29 If coated there with glassy cover, Let not the time of fusion slip* Now, companions ! — move, Now, the mixture prove. If each alike, in one design The brittle and the ductile join. For where strength with softness joins, Where force with tenderness combines, Firm the union, sweet the song. Thus, ere thou wed no more to part. Prove first if heart unite with heart : The dream is brief, repentance long. Sweet, 'mid the tresses of the bride. Blooms the virgin coronal. When merry bells ring far and wide Kind welcome to the festival. Ah, that life's fairest festive day Fades with the blossom of our May ! That when the veil and cestus fall. The sweet illusions vanish, all ! — The passion, — it flies. The love must endure : The blossom, — it dies. The frviit must mature. 30 Forth the husband must wend To the combat of life ; Plunge in turmoil and strife. Must plant, and must plan ; Gain get as he can. Hazard all, all importune, To woo and win fortune. Then streams, like a spring-flood, his wealth without measure. And his granaries groan with the weight of their treasure; And his farm-yards increase, and his mansion expands. Now the house-wife within Her course must begin; Nurse, mother, and wife Share the troubles of life : Discreetly severe Rule all in her sphere ; Give each maiden employ. Watch each troublesome boy. ^ With orderly care, Keep all in repair; And store without ceasing Her riches increasing : Fill her sweet-scented coffers ; and, restlessly twirling. Set each spindle a spinning, each wheel ever whirling ; 31 And in smooth polish'd ward-robes range row above row, Her woollen all radiant, her linen all snow ; And trim them, and pranck them, and fashion them ever, And rest — never. — The father now, with deep delight, From his proud seat's wide -seeing rooi\ Sums up the wealth that feasts his sight ; The branching columns that support The loaded bams ranged round the court ; Granaries that with corn o'er-flow, And harvests billowing to and fro : And deems, fond man ! that, propt on gain. Like pillars that the globe sustain. His house in glory shall withstand Misfortune's rough and ruthless hand. But — none — no mortal can detain Fate in adamantine chain. Mischance with hurried foot advances. 'Tis time. — Now, now begin the fusion : The crevice now yields promise fair. Yet, pause — nor hasten the conclusion, Till Heav'n has heard our pious pray'r. Push the stopper out. Saints ! watch the house about. 32 Smoking in the handle's bow, Shoot the waves that darkly glow. — Beneficent the fire, whose flame The pow'r of man can watch and tame ; When all, whatever he forms and makes, From Heav'n's kind gift perfection takes. But terrible this gift of Heav'n, When bursting forth, its fetters riv'n. This free-born child of nature free Issues in random liberty. Woe — woe — when loose, without controul. Gathering fresh force to feed their ire. On thro' the populous city roll, Sheeted flames of living fire ! The elements, unpitying, hate Whate'er the hands of man cre^e. From the clouds Blessings flow. Rain streams below : From the clouds. Here and there. Lightnings glare. Heard you yon turret moan from high ? Storm is nigh. Red as blood The Heav'n's suffusion; S3 Not that, daylight's glowing flood. What conflision ! Clouds of smoke The dark streets choke ; Flaring mounts up higher and higher, Through lengthen'd streets, the pillar'd fire, Borne before the wild wind's ire. The flame as from a furnace stream Sj Glows the ether, crack the beams ; Mothers wandering, children moaning, Cattle under ruins groaning ; Windows clattering, pillars crushing. All for safety wildly rushing. This way, that way, twisting, turning, Midnight like the noonday burning. Hand to hand, a lengthen'd chain. How they strain ! Fly the buckets ; flood and fountain Burst in liquid arches mounting : The howling tempest on its course Gives to the flames resistless force : The fire-flood through each granary streams, And blazes o'er the rafter'd beams ; And, as if the self-same hour Would earth and all its growth devour. To heav'n it rears its tow'ring flight, D 34 Giant high ! Hopelessly Beneath its godlike strength man bows the head : And, as his treasures sink and sunder, Beholds the ruins round him spread. In idle wonder — Consumed by flame. One waste the place : Nought but the storm there leaves a trace. In the wide casement's vacancy Dire horrors brood. And clouds that sweep aloft the sky Look on its solitude. One look — one last — On that earth-womb. His treasure's tomb : One lingering look — 'tis o'er — 'tis past — He grasps his staiF — the world has room The raging flame not all has reft, One heartfelt solace yet is left. He numbers those belov'd the most, — Of those, so lov'd, not one is lost. All prosp'rous seems beneath the earth, Full and kindly filPd the mould : 35 But will the day that views its birth, What crowns our toil and art behold ? If the fusion fail ! — If the mould prove frail ! — Ah ! haply, while Hope's sunbeams glow, Fate has already wrought the woe ! To the dark lap of holy earth We trust the unaccomplished deed : The sower fearless trusts his seed, In hope to gather in the birth At the blest time by heav'n decreed. And far more precious seed concealing, We mournful hide in earth's dark womb. In hope that God, the grave unsealing. Revive it, grac'd with brighter bloom. From the dome. Sad and slow. Tolls the Bell, The song of woe ; — Its sad, its solemn, strokes attend A wand'rer to his journey's end. Ah ! 'tis the dear one — 'tis the wife ! 'Tis the belov'd, the loving mother ! Who by the prince of darkness borne. From her fond husband's arms is torn, — D 2 36 Tom from each tender child away She bore him in her bloom of day, — Those who had grown upon her breast, By love — a mother's love — carest. Ah ! the household's gentle band Is loos'd for ever, — ever more ; She dwells within the shadowy land Whose fondness hung that household o'er* Now ceas'd her zealous occupation. None her kindness more shall prove ; O'er that wide waste, that orphan station, A stranger rules devoid of love. While the Bell is cooling, rest. Rest from toil and trouble free ; Each, as fits his fancy best. Sport like bird at liberty. Peeps a star in air. The man void of care At vesper chime from labor ceases : No hour the master's care releases. Quickly with unwearied paces The wand'rer in wild woods afar Seeks his household roof's embraces : Bleating, homeward draw the sheep : Herds and cows Sleek their hides, and broad their brows, 37 Come back lowing, Each his wonted manger knowing. Charg'd with grain In rocks the wain, Harvest laden : With gay leaves, On the sheaves, Garlands lie ; While to the dance the youthfiil mowers Briskly fly. Street and market hush their speaking ; The householders, when day decays, Gather around their blissful blaze ; And the town-gate closes creaking. Earth with clouds is darkened over ; Yet underneath his roof's safe cover. The peaceful burgher dreads not night, Which wakes the wicked with affright. While Law's keen eye ne'er rests its sight. Holy Order ! rich in blessing ; Heavenly daughter ! whose caressing To social bonds free man endears : Thou, whose base the city rears ; Thou, who from the wild and wood Call'st the unsocial savage brood, D 3 38 To roofs that bind the household tie, And sooth the soul with courtesy ! Hail, Thou that weav'st the dearest band, The union of a Father-land ! A thousand busy hands in motion Each to each its aid imparts. And in brotherly devotion Adds strength and grace to all the arts. Man and master, in their station. In Freedom's holy safeguard rest; And in joyful occupation Laugh to scorn the scorner's jest. Work ! — 'tis the burgher's exaltation, — A blessing rests on labor's head ; Honor the king who rules the nation. Honor the hand that earns its bread. Holy Peace! Concord sweet ! Remain, remain: O'er this region kindly reign. Never may that day arise When war's rough plund'rers shall assail ! And violate this peaceful vale : Never may those lovely skies. 39 Which roseate eve's soft colours faint Lovelily paint, View on the blissful village roof The battle-beacon flame aloof ! Break me the mould : its due employment Now done, no more its aid we need. Let heart and eye in full enjoyment, On the well-formed image feed. Swing, the hammer swing. Till the cover spring. When the earth the Bell releases. The mould may split in thousand pieces. The master breaks the mould in pieces. And timely frees the precious charge ; But woe — if, as the flame encreases. The glowing metal stream at large. Blind-raging with the roar of thunder. Forth from its riv'n cell it rushes; And as from hell-jaws burst asunder. Destruction with the fire-flood gushes. " Where senseless force misrules at pleasure. No form comes forth in rule and measure — When nations burst the social band, 111 fares it with the ravag'd land. D 4 40 Ah ! woe ! when in the city's slumber By stealth a spark of fire gains force : Woe ! when the mob's unfetter'd number Finds in itself its sole resource. Then — Uproar, to the bell-ropes springing. Spreads far and wide the dread alarm ; And where Peace hail'd its joyful ringing, Its signal bids the city arm. " Freedom ! Equality !" — all crying. The burgher arms for his defence ; Through streets, through halls, this, that way flying. Fell Murder's bands their work commence. Wild women, like hyaenas darting. Laughs mixed with groans, strange dread impart ; While thrills the nerve, while blood is starting, The woman rends the quivering heart. No sanctity the bosom shielding, No decency, restraint, or shame. The wicked, as the good are yielding. To crime impunity proclaim. 'Tis dire to rouse a lion sleeping, ' Terrific is the tiger's jaw ; But there's a woe surpasses weeping, — 'Tis savage man let loose from law : 41 Woe! — who to him, the blind, the cruel, Lends the blest gift from heav'n brought down It lights him not, but fires the fuel That turns to ashes land and town. Joy ! joy to me, kind heav'n has giv*n : Lo ! like a star of golden birth. The metal polish'd, smooth, and even. Comes from its coverture of earth. Lo ! round its beauteous crown Sunlike radiance thrown And the coat of arms' gay burnish Shall to my skill new honor furnish. Come all I come all ! Close your ranks, in order settle ; Baptize we now the hallow'd metal: " Concordia!" — Such her name we call. To harmony, to heartfelt union, It gathers in the blest communion. Be this henceforward its vocation ; For this I watch'd o'er its creation. That while our life goes lowly under. The Bell, *mid yon blue heav'n's expansion, Should soar, the neighbour of the thunder, And border on the starry mansion. 42 Its voice from yon aerial height Shall seem the music of the sphere, That rolling lauds its Maker's might, And leads along the crowned year : To solemn and eternal things Alone shall consecrate its chime, And hourly, as it swiftly swings. Overtake the flying wing of time : Shall lend to Fate its iron tongue, Heartless itself, nor form'd to feel, Shall follow life's mix'd scenes among. Each turn of Fortune's fickle wheel — And, as its echo on the gale Dies off, though long and loud the tone, Shall teach that all on earth shall fail, All pass away — save God alone. Now, with the rope's unweary'd might, From its dark womb weigh up the Bell, That it may gain th' aerial height, And in the realm of Echo dwell. Draw ! draw ! — it swings ; Hark ! hark ! it rings. Joy to this town, be heard around ! Peace unto all, the Bell's first sound ! 43 TO THE RAINBOW. Triumphant arch ! that filPst the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud philosophy To teach me what thou art : — Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, A midway station given, For happy spirits to alight Betwixt the earth and heaven. Can all that optics teach unfold Thy form to please me so, As when I dreamt of gems and gold Hid in thy radiant bow? When science from creation's face Enchantment's veil withdraws. What lovely visions yield their place To cold material laws ! 44 And yet, fair bow ! no fabling dreams. But words of the Most High, Have told why first thy robe of beams Was woven in the sky. When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou did'st shine, How came the world's grey fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign ! And when its yellow lustre smil'd O'er mountains yet untrod. Each mother held aloft her child To bless the bow of God. Methinks, thy jubilee to keep. The first-made anthem rang, On earth deliver'd from the deep, And the first poet sang. Nor ever shall the Muse's eye Unraptur'd greet thy beam : Theme of primeval prophecy ! Be still the poet's theme. 45 The earth to thee its incense yields, The lark thy welcome sings, When glittering in the freshened fields The snowy mushroom springs. How glorious is thy girdle cast O'er mountain, tower, and town ; Or mirror'd in the ocean vast, A thousand fathoms down ! As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem. As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. For faithful to its sacred page. Heaven still rebuilds thy span ; Nor lets the type grow pale with age. That first spoke peace to man. 46 THE LOT OF THOUSANDS. When hope lies dead within the heart, By secret sorrow long concealed, We shrink lest looks or words impart What may not be reveal'd. *Tis hard to smile when one could weep, To speak when one would silent be ; To wake when one would wish to sleep, And wake to agony. Yet such the lot for thousands cast. Who wander in this world of care. And bend beneath the bitter blast. To save them from despair. But nature waits her sons to greet. Where disappointment cannot come ; And time leads with unerring feet, The weary wanderer home. 47 Oh ! Pow'r Supreme, that fiU'st the whole Of wide creation's boundless space ! The Life of life, the Soul of soul. Where shall we find thy dwelling-place ? Is it in ether's boundless plains. Where radiant suns unnumber'd rise, To warm their planetary trains. And cheer with light far-distant skies ? Above, below, and all around, Existence rises at thy call. And, wrapt in mystery profound, TTiy works proclaim thee. Lord of all. On this small speck, our parent earth. How bounteously thy gifts are spread ! Rich blessings here receive their birth ' From Intellect by Science led. Exploring land, and air, and sea. Bringing far-distant objects nigh ; And in thy works adoring thee. Beneath thy own all-seeing eye. 48 , ADDRESS To THE EVENING PRIMROSE. The sun declines ; his parting ray Shall bear the cheerful light away, And on the landscape close: Then will I seek the lonely vale. Where sober ev'ning's primrose pale, To greet the night-star, blows. Soft, melancholy bloom ! to thee I turn with conscious sympathy ; Like thee, my hour is come : When lengthening shadows slowly fade. Till, lost in universal shade, They sink beneath the tomb. By thee I'll sit, and inly muse What are the charms in life we lose When time demands our breath : Alas I'the load of lingering age Has little that can hope engage, Or point the shaft of death. 49 No ! 'tis the pang alone to part From those we love, that rends the heart; That agony to save Some nameless pow'r hi nature strives; Our fading hope in death revives, And blossoms on the grave. 50 LINES, WRITTEN IN LADY LONSDALE'S ALBUM, AT LOWTHER CASTLE, OCT. 13. 1821. Sometimes in youthful years. When in some ancient ruin I have stood, Alone and musing, till with quiet tears I felt my cheeks bedew'd, A melancholy thought hath made me grieve For this our age, and humbled me in mind. That it should pass away and leave No monuments behind. Not for themselves alone Our fathers lived ; nor with a niggard hand Raised they the fabrics of enduring stone. Which yet adorn the land : Their piles, memorials of the mighty dead. Survive them still, majestic in decay ; But ours are like ourselves, I said. The creatures of a day. »1 With other feelings now, Lowther ! have I beheld thy stately walls, Thy pinnacles, and broad embattled brow, And hospitable halls. The sun those wide spread battlements shall crest, And silent years unharming shall go by, Till centuries in their course invest Thy towers with sanctity. But thou the while shalt bear. To after times, an old and honoured name, And to remote posterity declare. Thy founder's virtuous fame. Fair structure ! worthy the triumphant age Of glorious England's opulence and power, Peace be thy lasting heritage. And happiness thy dower ! E 2 5Q SONNET. Not love, nor war, nor the tumultuous swell Of civil conflicts, nor the wrecks of change. And duty struggling with afflictions strange, Not these alone inspire the tuneful shell ; But where untroubled peace and concord dwell. There also is the muse not loth to range. Watching the blue smoke of the elmy grange, Skyward ascending from the twilight dell. Meek aspirations please her lone endeavour, And sage content and placid melancholy ; She loves to gaze upon a crystal river, Diaphanous, because it travels slowly : Soft is the music that would please for ever. The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly. ds SONNET A VOLANT tribe of bards on earth are found, Who, while the flattering zephyrs round them play, On " coignes of vantage" hang then* nests of clay, Work cunningly devis'd, and seeming sound ; t But quickly from its airy hold unbound By its own weight, or washed, or blown away With silent imperceptible decay. If man must build, admit him to thy ground, O Truth ! — to work within the eternal ring. When the stars shine, or while day's purple eye Is gently closing with the flowers of spring ; When even the motion of an angeFs wing Would interrupt the intense tranquillity Of silent hills, and more than silent sky. E 3 54 TO MRS. FRY, THE REFORMER OF NEWGATE. Help, Master, help! — we sink — our toil is vain We perish — help ! — the faint disciples cried : The Saviour rose and looked upon the main, And lo ! the billows at his word subside. But who is she, mid dungeons, chains, and cells ? (Not yet th' Almighty Master's wonders cease;) Round her the storm of guilt and fury swells, And in His name she speaks till all is peace. 55 ST. CECILIA. Awake, thou lov*d strain ! oh, again let me hear thee ! Breathe o'er me again thy enchantment divine : 'Tis silence, — 'tis night, — no intruder is near me, To mock what for kingdoms I would not resign. Oh, pour o'er my heart all that soften'd emotion, No reason can know, and no language display ; Receive my still spirit's surrender'd devotion, And charm the dull sense of existence away. Ye musings of tenderness, melt and deceive me ! pity and love ! for your dreams I implore ; And Thou, who art love and art pity, receive me, Great Father of light ! whom I sigh to adore. Oh, welcome, ye forms in mild radiance descending. That whisper responsive, and smile as I gaze ! Before the far throne, lo, the seraphs are bending ; 1 hear their hosannas of rapture and praise. X 4 56 HOPE AND MEMORY. HOPE. Nay, sister, what hast thou to boast Of joy ? a poor reciter thou, Whose happiest thought is but the ghost Of some past pleasure vanished now. When better things may not be found. By sad reflecting, weary men, They on thy records look around. Their only friend, and only then. Then on delight for ever fled They cast a melancholy view. Where, as on pictures of the dead. The likeness makes the sorrow true. But could'st thou from thy page efface What brings regret, remorse, or shame, Nor all our wandering steps retrace. Then mortals might endure thy name. 57 MEMORY. And what art thou, vain Hope ? a cheat : For didst thou ever promise make. That either time did not defeat Or some intruding evil break ? Or say that chance has proved thee true, The expected joy shall be thy own ; No sooner comes the good in view, But Hope herself is lost and gone. Soon as the hop'd-for thing appears. That was with such delight pursued, Another aspect then it wears, And is no more the fancied good. So 'tis in dreams, men keenly chase A something lov'd, desir'd, caress'd ; They overtake, and then embrace That which they loathe, despise, detest. True, sister, true ! in every age Will men in thy delusions share ; And thou a lasting war wilt wage With Wisdom's joy and Reason's care. Who comes to thee ? the rash, the bold, The dreaming bard, the sighing youth : 58 For what ? for fame, for love, for gold, And they receive thy tales for truth. Emmas and Lauras at thy shrine Attend, and deem thy answers true ; And, calling Hope a power divine. Their Corydons and Damons view. And girls at school, and boys at taw, • Seduced by thy delusive skill. Think life is love, and love is law. And they may choose just whom they will. HOPE. Say is not mine the early hold On man ? whose heart I make my own And, long e'er thy dull tale be told, I bear him forth to worlds unknown. Before the mind can trust to thee. And slowly gain thy heavy store. It travels far and wide with me. My worlds and wonders to explore. Thou lend'st him help, to read, to spell. His progress slow, his efforts mean : I take him in my realms to dwell. To win a throne, to wed a queen. 59 How could he bear the pedant's frown, That frights the sad bewildered boy, Or hear such words as verb and noun, But for my tales of love and joy ? MEMORY. True, to thy fairy world he goes. And there his terms he idly keeps, Till Truth breaks in on his repose. And then for past neglect he weeps. What, if we grant the heart is thine Of rash and unreflecting youth. How is it in his life's decline. When truth is heard and only truth ? On me the quiet few rely. For Memory's store is certain gain ; For aid to thee the wretched fly. The poor resource of grief and pain. My friends like lawful traders deal With just accounts, with real views ; But thine as losing gamesters feel. Who stake the more the more they lose. 60 HOPE. And they are right, for thus employed They fall not to disease a prey; Thus every moment is enjoy 'd, And 'tis a cheerful game they play. And tell me not they lose at last ; Such loss is light, such care is vain, For if they hope till life be past. What hours for care or grief remain. You say the rash, the young, the bold, Are mine, and mine they are, 'tis true ; But, sister, art thou sure the old And grave are not my subjects too ? Struck by the palsy's powerful blow, By the hir'd hands of servants led. Cold, tottering, impotent, and slow. Borne to the board, and to the bed. Hear how the ancient trembler prays, Smit with the love of lingering here ! " Hold yet my thread, flow on my days, " Nor let the last sa(J morn appear I" 61 The sage physician feels my aid Most when he knows not what to do; I whisper then, " Be not afraid, " For I inspire thy patient too." MEMORY. Vain of thy victories, thus misled Thy power I own ; alas ! I fear, It is this syren song I dread Which wretches long and die to hear. No ears are stopt, no limbs are bound, Impatient to thy coast they fly, And soon as heard thy witching sound. They rest, they sleep, they dream, they die. A poet once — the tribe are thine. But yet I would my counsel give, — And said, " 'Tis naught ! the work decline : ■ " Thou once hast faiPd, this will not live." Deeply he sighed, and thou wert by, To fan the half extinguished fire : " Try once again," thou saidst, " oh ! try, " For now shall all the world admire." 62 HOPE. And how, I pray, can this be wrong ? The man has clear and certain gain ; For when the world condemns his song. He can condemn the world again. Inspired by me, in strains sublime Shall many a gifted genius write. For mine is that bewitching rhyme That shall the wondering world delight. MEMORY. Yes, thou hast numbers light and vain, And mayst, I grant, a poet boast ; I cannot show so large a train. But I have one, and he an host. HOPE. Still, I'm the nurse of young desire. The fairy promiser of bliss : I am the good that all require In passing through a world like this. 63 MEMORY. Say, rather, thou'rt the glow-worm light, That mocks us with a faint display Of idle beams, that please the sight. But never serve to show the way. HOPE. Alas ! but this will never end, 'Tis like a grave old aunt's relation : I would that reason might attend. And terminate our disputation. REASON. Obedient to your wish am I, And thus my sentiments disclose : Together you must live and die. Together must be friends or foes. For what is Hope, if Memory gives No aid, nor points her course aright ? She then a useless trifler lives. And spends her strength in idle flight. 64. And what from Memory's stores can rise That will for care and study pay ? Unless upon that store relies The Hope that heav'nward wings her way ? Be friends, and both to man be true ; O'er all their better views preside ; For Memory greatest good will do As Hope's director, strength, and guide. So shall ye both to mortals bring An equal good in Reason's scale; And Hope her sweetest song shall sing, When Memory tells her noblest tale. 65 ELEGY ON THE ABROGATION OF THE BIRTH-NIGHT BALL, AND CONSEQUENT FINAL SUBVERSION OF THE MINUET. BY A BEAU OF THE LAST CENTURY, Now cease the exulting strain ! And bid the warbling lyre complain. Heave the soft sigh, and drop the tuneftil tear. And mingle notes far other than of mirth, E'en with the song that greets the new-born year, Or hails the day that gave a monarch birth. That self-same sun, whose chariot wheels have roird. Thro' many a circling year, with glorious toil, Up to the axles in refulgent gold. And gems, and silk, and crape, and flowers, and foil; That self-same sun no longer dares Bequeath his honours to his heirs, And bid the dancing hours supply. As erst, with kindred pomp, his absence from the sky. For, ever at his lordly call Uprose the spangled night ! Leading, in gorgeous splendour bright, The minuet and the ball. 66 And balls each frolic hour may bring, That revels thro' the maddening spring, Shaking with hurried step the painted floor , But minuets are no more ! No more the well-taught feet shall tread The figure of the mazy zed ; The beau of other times shall mourn As gone, and never to return. The graceful bow, the curtsey low. The floating forms, that undulating glide, (Like anchored vessels on the swelling tide) That rise and sink, alternate, as they go, Now bent the knee, now lifted on the toe, The sidelong step that works its even way. The slow pas-grave, and slower balance — Still with fix'd gaze he eyes the imagined fair. And turns the corner with an easy air. Not so his partner — from her 'tangled train To free her captive foot she strives in vain : Her 'tangled train the struggling captive holds (Like great Atrides) in its fatal folds : The laws of gallantry his aid demand. The laws of etiquette withhold his hand. Such pains, such pleasures, now ahke are o'er, And beaux and etiquette shall soon exist no more. (>7 In their stead, behold advancing, Modern men and women dancing ! Step and dress alike express, Above, below, from head to toe, Male and female awkwardness. Without a hoop, without a ruffle. One eternal jig and shuffle ; Where's the air, and where's the gait, Where's the feather in the hat ? Where's the frizz'd toupee, and where. Oh, where's the powder for their hair ? Where are all their former graces ? And where three-quarters of their faces ? With half the forehead lost, and half the chin, We know not where they end, or where begin. Mark the pair whom favouring fortune At the envy'd top shall place — Humbly they the rest importune To vouchsafe a little space. Not the graceful arm to wave in. Or the silken robe expand ; All superfluous action saving, Idly drops the lifeless hand. F 2 68 Her down-cast eye, the modest beauty Sends, as doubtful of their skill, To see if feet perform their duty. And their endless task fulfil ; Footing, footing, footing, footing. Footing, footing, footing still. While the rest, in hedge-row state. All insensible to sound. With more than human patience wait. Like trees fast rooted in the ground : Not such as once, with sprightly motion. To distant music stirr'd their stumps. And tript, from Pelion to the ocean. Performing avenues and clumps ; What time old Jason's ship, the Argo, Orpheus fiddling at the helm, From Colchis bore her golden cargo. Dancing o'er the azure main. But why recm- to ancient story. Or balls of modern date ? Be mine to trace the minuet's fate. And weep its fallen glory : 69 To ask who rang the parting knell ? If Vestris came the solemn dirge to hear ? Genius of Valoiiy, didst thou hover near ? Shade of Lepicq ! and spirit of Gondel ! • I saw their angry forms arise, Where wreaths of smoke involve the skies, Above St. James's steeple : I Jieard them curse our heavy heel, The Irish step, the Highland reel. And all the United People. To the dense air the curse, adhesive, clung. Repeated since by many a modish tongue. In words that may be said, but never shall be sung. What cause untimely urged the minuet's fate ? Did war subvert the manners of the state ? Did savage nations give the barbarous law. The Gaul Cisalpine, or the Gonoquaw ? Its fall was destined to a peaceful land, A sportive pencil, and a courtly hand ; They left a name that time itself might spare To grinding organs and the dancing bear. • " Go to the d — ^1 and shake yourself," — the name of a favo- ite (Country dance. F 3 70 On Avon's banks, where sport and laugh Careless pleasure's sons and daughters, Where health the sick and aged quafF, From good king Bladud's healing waters ; While Genius sketched, and Humour grouped. Then it sickened, then it drooped, Saddened with laughter, wasted with a sneer, And the long minuet shortened its career. With cadence slow, and solemn pace, Th' indignant mourner quits the place. For ever quits — no more to roam From proud Augusta's regal dome. Ah ! not unhappy who securely rest Within the sacred precincts of a court ; Who then their timid steps shall dare arrest ? White wands shall guide them and gold sticks suppoit. In vain — these eyes, with tears of horror wet. Read its death-warrant in the Court Gazette. " No ball to-night," Lord Chamberlain proclaims, " No ball to-night shall grace thy roof, St. James I" " No ball !" the Globe, the Sun, the Stars repeat, The morning paper, and the evening sheet : Thro' all the land the tragic news has spread. And all the land has mourn'd the minuet dead. So, power completes, but satire sketch'd the plan. And Cecil ends what Bunbury began. 71 A RIDDLE. Twas in heaven pronounced, and 'twas muttered in hell, And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell : On the confines of earth 'twas permitted to rest, And tlie depths of the ocean its presence confest ; 'Twill be found in the sphere when 'tis riven asunder, Be seen in the Hghtning, and heard in the thunder* 'Twas allotted to man with his earUest breath. Attends at his birth, and awaits him in death. Presides o'er his happiness, honor, and health. Is the prop of his house, and the end of his wealth. In the heaps of the miser 'tis hoarded with care. But is sure to be lost on his prodigal heir. It begins every hope, every wish it must bound, With the husbandman toils, and with monarchs is crown'd. Without it the soldier, the seaman may roam^ But wo to the wretch who expels it from home ! In the whispers of conscience its voice will be found. Nor e'en in the whirlwind of passion be drown'd. 'Twill not soften the heart ; but though deaf be the ear, It will make it acutely and instantly hear. Yet in shade let it rest like a deHcate flower. Ah breathe on it softly — it dies in an hour.. F 4 72 A RIDDLE. Inscribed on many a learned page, In mystic characters and sage, Long time my Jlrst has stood ; And though its golden age be past, In wooden walls it yet may last. Till cloth'd with flesh and blood. My second is a glorious prize For all who love their wondering eyes With curious sights to pamper ; But 'tis a sight — which should they meet AlP improviso in the street, Ye gods ! how they would scamper ! My tmith a sort of wandering throne, To woman limited alone. The Salique law reversing ; But while th' imaginary queen Prepares to act this novel scene, Her royal part rehearsing, Overturning her presumptuous plan, Up climbs the old usurper — man, And she jogs after as she can. 73 THE CLEARING SHOWER. AUGUST 1817. The rising moon look'd clear and mild. In chasten'd tints of glowing eve. And bright the early morning smil*d ; It flatter'd only to deceive ! The clouds a closer tapestry weave, Still thickening towards the noon-tide hour ; One chance remains for hope to give, O may it be the clearing shower ! No : — fast the pattering rain-drops fall, On swelling Avon',: troubled tide ; To reach ere night their much-lov'd hall, Swift must the homeward travellers ride. To horse ! if weU or ill betide. If skies and fortune shine or lower. The hearts that fate could ne'er divide, Shall not be sever'd by a shower. 74 But here how chang'd the lovely scene, No more the laughing corn-fields wave ; Driven from their haunts of sunny green, The woodland's truant children save Their shuddering forms in hollow cave. The broad oaks which, in happier hour, Cool shade or friendly shelter gave. Dash from their roof a second shower. This pelting storm may be the last ; Ah no ! that clown who reads the sky. Shrinks from the hollow threatening blast, And raising a distrustful eye, Yields not one cheering prophecy. New signs of ill approach unheeded. That heavy cloud has travell'd by ; But oh ! another has succeeded ! See where beneath yon crowded shed. The melancholy reapers stand, With folded arms and silent dread, A sickle in each idle hand. Pity, kind Heaven ! the suffering band. Chase froward nature's frowns away, Bid active labour bless the land. And hail we this — the clearing day. 75 Our home once gain'd, though nature lowers, Swoln to dark floods the silver streams, And noxious blasts and barbarous showers, Banish all soft poetic themes ; With the brisk fire's benignant gleams, With kind salutes and warm embraces. That sunshine shall be ours which beams From loving hearts and happy faces. 76 Tis sweet the gifts surveying Of friends in absence dear, Tis sweet the sonnets playing. Which they have lov'd to hear ; To trace the known resemblance, And gaze on every part, Each token of remembrance Restores them to the heart. The magic of affection Shall trace her sacred ring, And charm away dejection, And Hope's enchantment bring ; Revive, in foulest weather. The calm domestic scene. And bring old friends together. Though oceans roar between. I 77 SONNET. When last we parted, thou wert young and fair, How beautiful let fond remembrance say ! Alas ! since then, old time has stol'n away Full thirty years, leaving my temples bare. — So has it perish'd like a thing of air, The dream of love and youth ! —now both are grey. Yet still remembering that delightful day, Tho' time with his cold touch has blanch'd my hair, Tho' I have suffered many years of pain, Since then ; tho* I did never think to live To hear that voice or see those eyes again, I can a sad, but cordial greeting give, And for thy welfare breathe as warm a pray'r, As when I lov'd thee young and fair ! 78 ON THE KING'S ILLNESS. Rest, rest, afflicted spirit, quickly pass Thy hour of bitter suffering ! Rest awaits thee, There, where, the load of weary life laid down. The peasant and the king repose together : There peaceful sleep, thy quiet grave bedew'd With tears of those who lov'd thee. — Not for thee, In the dark chambers of the nether world. Shall spectre kings rise from their burning thrones And point the vacant seat, and scoffing say. Art thou become like us ? Oh not for thee ; For thou hadst human feelings, and hast liv'd A man with men ; and kindly charities. Even such as warm the cottage hearth, were thine. And therefore falls the tear from eyes not used To gaze on kings with admiration fond. And thou hast knelt at meek religion's shrine With no mock homage, and hast own'd her rights Sacred in every breast ; and therefore rise. Affectionate, for thee, the orisons And mingled prayers, alike from vaulted domes. 79 Whence, the loud organ peals, and raftered roofs Of humbler worship. — Still remembering this, A nation's pity and a nation's love Linger beside thy couch, in this the day Of thy sad visitation, veiling faults Of erring judgment, and not will perverse. Yet, oh that thou hadst clos'd the wounds of war ! That had been praise to suit a higher strain. Farewell the years roU'd down the gulf of time ! Thy name has chronicled a long bright page Of England's story, and perhaps the babe Who opens, as thou closest thine, his eyes On this eventful world, when aged grown. Musing on times gone by, shall sigh and say. Shaking his thin grey hairs, whiten'd with grief, Our fathers' days were happy. Fare thee well ! My thread of life has even run with thine For many a lustre, and thy closing day I contemplate, not mindless of my own. Nor to its call reluctant. 80 TO MRS. , ON RETURNING A FINE HYACINTH PLANT AFTER THE BLOOM WAS OVER. Even as a cherished daughter leaves her home Blushing and breathing sweets ; her home, where, nurs'd With fond attendance every morn and eve. She grew and flourished, and put forth her charms In virgin purity ; and to that home From the polluted commerce of the world. Returns with faded charms, forlorn and sad. And soiPd and drooping locks — in such sad plight Send I your nurseling ; breathing now no more Ambrosial sweets, nor lifting her proud stem. Rich with enamell'd flowers, to meet the gaze Of raptur'd florist, but retum'd to he Low in the earth ; yet, when the genial Spring With new impulses thrills the swelling veins. The plant may bloom again — not so the maid. 81 TO THE LARK. Mount, child of Morning, mount and sing, And gaily beat thy fluttering wing, And sound thy shrill alarms : Bathed in the fountains of the dew Thy sense is keen, thy joys are new ; The wide world opens to thy view. And spreads its earliest charms. Far shower'd around, the hill, the plain Catch the glad impulse of thy strain, And fling their veil aside ; While warm with hope and rapturous joy Thy thrilling lay rings cheerily. Love swells its notes, and liberty, And youth's exulting pride. Thy little bosom knows no ill, No gloomy thought, no wayward will : 'Tis sunshine all, and ease. Like thy own plumes along the sky, Thy tranquil days glide smoothly by ; No track behind them as they fly Proclaims departed peace. 'Twas thus my earliest hopes aspired, 'Twas thus, with youthful ardour fired, I vainly thought to soar : To snatch from fate the dazzling prize, Beyond the beam of vulgar eyes. — Alas ! th' unbidden sigh will rise. Those days shall dawn no more ! How glorious rose life's morning star ! In bright procession round her car, How danced the heavenly train ! Truth beckon'd fi-om her radiant throne, And Fame held high her starry crown. While Hope and Love look'd smiling down. Nor bade my toils be vain. S3 Too soon the fond illusion past ; — Too gay, too bright, too pure to last. It melted from my gaze. And, narrowing with each coming year, Life's onward path grew dark and drear. While pride forbade the starting tear Would fall o'er happier days. Still o'er my soul, though changed and dead, One lingering, doubtful beam is shed ; One ray not yet withdrawn ; And still that twilight soft and dear, That tells of friends and former cheer, Half makes me fain to linger here, — Half hope a second dawn. Sing on ! sing on ! WTiat heart so cold, When such a tale of joy is told. But needs must sympathize ! As from some cherub of the sky I hail thy morning melody. — Oh ! could I mount with thee on high And share thy ecstasies ! G 2 84 SONG. JL HE features speak the warmest heart, But not for me its ardour glows ; In that soft blush I have no part, That mingles with her bosom's snows. In that dear drop I have no share, That trembles in her melting eye ; Nor is my love the tender care That bids her heave that anxious sigh. Not fancy's happiest hours create Visions of rapture as divine, As the dear bliss that must await Tlie man, whose soul is knit to thine* But oh ! farewell this treacherous theme, Which, tho' 'tis misery to forego, Yields but of joy one soothing dream, That grief like mine thou ne'er shalt know. I 85 STANZAS, SUGGESTED BY A CANZONE OF PETRARCH. Amor se vuvi cKi torni al giogo antico. — P. 2. C.2. ¥ Away, proud boy, away ! thou canst not harm ; Seize not thy unstrung bow, no - aim thv dart, Void is thy quiver, nerveless is thine arm, Vanished thy cruel empire o'er my heart : No more a mighty god Art thou, whose sov'reign nod To worlds can woes and terrors wild impart ; No more I bend and weep before thy throne, And sigh my soul away, unheeded and alone. Hence, tyrant urchin, hence ! and humbly lay At the cold foot of death thy broken bow ; Death's iron hand has borne thy torch away. Death ! mightier Death ! proud victor, binds thee low. A feeble child thou art, And aim'st a pointless dart. ^ Arm'd by despair, my bosom dares the blow ! — Thy baby archery I laugh to scorn — Away ! and leave me here, my liberty to mourn. G 3 S6 Or, if once more thou wouldst me of thy train, Seek thou my treasure in the earth laid low ; And if it be that thy unbounded reign O'er Heaven extends, and o'er th' abyss below, Burst thou the sacred tomb, That clasp'd in early bloom The form to which alone my soul could bow ! Wrest thou from death the prize he bore away. And in her charms resume thy universal sway. Hang on that brow the same sad pensive weight. Then wake the smile that might awake the dead. Bright as the glittering beam of orient light Breaks o'er a weeping sky when storms are fled ! And breathe those sounds again. Thrilling thro' every vein. Sounds that to thoughts of Heaven the fancy led, While the rapt soul hung fondly on each note, Which on the ear, when past, long sweetly seem'd to float. And those luxuriant locks with art controll'd, In glossy braids around her temples bind, Now in an envious net of twisted gold Be all their waving glories close confin'd ; 87 Now loose from every band, With sly and sportive hand Toss them in ringlets on the wanton wind, Then bind me, gazing, to thy car again, And I will kiss my bonds, and hug once more my chain. I I* Qt 4 88 A VOLUNTEER SONG. WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1803, BUT NEVER BEFORE PRINTED. Ye, who Britain's soldiers be, Freemen, children of the free, Who freely come at danger's call From shop and palace, cot and haU, And brace ye bravely up in warlike geer For all that ye hold dear ! Blest in your hands be sword and spear ! There is no banded Briton here On whom some fond mate hath not smiPd, Or hung in love some lisping child ; Or aged parent, grasping his last stay With locks of honoured gi'ey. Such men behold with steady pride The threatened tempest gathering wide, And Ust, with onward forms inclined, To sound of foemen on the wind. And bravely act, *mid the wild battle's roar, In scenes untried before. I S9 Let veterans boast, as well they may, Nerves steePd in many a bloody day ; The gen'rous heart, who takes his stand Upon his free alid native land, Doth with the first sound of the hostile drum A fearless man become. Come then, ye hosts that madly pour From wave-toss'd floats upon our shore ! If fell or gentle, false or true. Let those enquire who wish to sue : Nor fiend nor hero from a foreign strand Shall lord it in our land. Come then, ye hosts that madly pour From wave-toss'd floats upon our shore ! An adverse wind or breezeless main, Locked in their ports our tars detain. To waste their wistfiil spirits, vainly keen, Else here ye had not been. Yet, nevertheless, in strong array, Prepare ye for a well-fought day. Let banners wave, and trumpets sound. And closing cohorts darken round. And the fierce onset raise its mingled roar, New sound on England's shore ! h 90 Freemen, children of the free, Are brave alike on land or sea ; * And every rood of British ground, On which a hostile glave is found, Proves, under their firm tread and vig'rous stroke, A deck of royal oak. * It was then frequently said, that our seamen excelled our soldiers. 91 THE FOUNTAIN.* It was a well Of whitest marble, white as from the quarry ; And richly wrought with many a high relief^ Greek sculpture — in some earUer day perhaps A tomb, and honoured with a hero's ashes. The water from the rock fiU'd, overflowed it ; Then dash'd away, playing the prodigal, And soon was lost — stealing, unseen, unheard, Through the long grass, and round the twisted roots Of aged trees — discovering where it ran By the fresh verdure. Overcome with heat, I threw me down, admiring, as I lay, That shady nook, a singing-place for birds, That grove so intricate, so full of flowers, More than enough to please a maid a-Maying. The sun was down, a distant convent-bell Ringing the Angelas ; and now approached The hour for stir and village gossip there, The hour Rebekah came, when from the well * Near Mola di Gaeta, in the kingdom of Naples. 92 She drew with such alacrity to serve The stranger and his camels. Soon I heard Footsteps ; and, lo, descending by a path Trodden for ages, many a nymph appear'd, Appear'd and vanished, bearing on her head Her earthen pitcher. It call'd up the day Ulysses landed there ; and long I gaz'd, Like one awaking in a distant time. At length there came the loveliest of them all, Her little brother dancing down before her ; And ever as he spoke, which he did ever, Turning and looking up in warmth of heart And brotherly affection. Stopping there. She join'd her rosy hands, and, filling them With the pure element, gave him to drink ; And, while he quench'd his thirst, standing on tiptoe, Look'd down upon him with a sister's smile. Nor stirr'd till he had done — fix'd as a statue. Then hadst thou seen them as they stood, Caruyoa, Thou hadst endowed them with eternal youth ; And they had evermore liv'd undivided. Winning all hearts — of all thy works the fairest ! 93 SONNET, AVRITl'EN AT THE PIRiEUS, 1820. What though I hear th* Agaean billows roar, And eye the deep where Persia's navy rode. What have I left except my native shore ? What have I changed beyond my mere abode ? The fancied future, aspirations high Which reason scarce could quell, th' upbraiding shame Of sloth 'midst busy crowds, the weak desire Of that ideal fev'rish want, a name. No longer tantalize the mental eye. When nought gives food to such tormenting fire. Yet, still the mournftil memory of the past. Clouding my spirit, throws a deeper gloom Than e'en befits the scene, a nation's tomb, And that I feel thro' ev'ry clime must last. 94 SONNET, WRITTEN OFF CEFALLONIA, 1820. Once more, ye Pleiads of the Ionian deep. Welcome ! in misty distance, 'midst the roar Of warring waves and winds, that fiercely sweep The giant barriers of the Locrian shore f The struggling beams of infant light ye shed. Seem lovelier far, tho' timorously bright. Oh ! may they light the inevitable storm. And shine, e'er long, the morning star of Greece : Britannia ! shield young Freedom's shrinking form ; Protect in war, and educate in peace. Amidst the gloom which Othman's race has spread. The lengthen'd darkness of that wint'ry night, Welcome, ye Pleiads ! may your orient ray Become the sun of Greece, the dawn of Day ! 95 SONNET, ON LEAVING GREECE, 1820. Hellas ! farewell ! — with anxious gaze I view. Lovely in tears, and injured as thou art, Thy summits melting in the distant blue. Fade from my eyes, but linger in my heart. Submissive, silent victim ! dost thou feel The chains which gall thee ? or has lengthened grief Numb'd hate and shame alike with hope and zeal. And brought insensibility's rehef ? Awake ! adjur'd by ev'ry chief and sage Thou once could'st boast in many a meaner cause. And let the tame submission of an age. Like Nature's hush'd and scarcely rustling pause. Ere winds burst forth, foretell the approaching storm, When thou shalt grasp the spear, and raise thy prostrate form. 96 LINES, WRITTEN AT ATHENS IN 1 820. n,s 'wSre, wuAiKapia va ^eire ara arevh, Movaxoi, " The pledge of happier days." * ' Look at our glorious sky ! — ■ A dome for those who die ; Before we quail. Yon sun shall fail. Which lights that canopy. * " Auspicium melioris aevi," the motto of the new Anglo-Grecian order of St. Michael and St. George. 103 But, words for such as need 'em, Rappors for those who read 'em — Our foe, the Turk! Victory, our work ! On, for the Cross and Freedom ! H :t 104< THE SONG OF TRIUMPH OF THE GREEKS, OFF TJSNEDOS, AFTER THE NIGHT OF THE IOtH OF NOVEMBER, 1822. notaj'' icpifivovv ffcfivhv EWrjves Tore. (iEsCHYLl Persae.) The Monarchs of Europe, who prattle of peace. Shall cease, from this night, to calumniate Greece, The Moslems repent that they roused her to ire, And shrink, as their forefathers shrunk, from her fire. Did they deem their volcano of iron and oak Breathed thunder and lightning, or rattle and smoke ? That Leviathan floated in slumber like death. For our Galiongees * were her life and her breath. Tho' she spread, like the roc, her white wings to the wind,, Yet " the hares of the islands" would leave her behind Tho' she pour'd, like the Hydra, from sulphurous throats,, A hailstorm of iron, it touch'd not our boats. * Greek sailors. 105 Psynots, Spezzians, and Hydriotes, nursed on the waves, Beat Rumeirs* gardeners and Tripoli's slaves; Tkei/ are careless to lives w are ready to die^ And their hearts are benumb'd, while our pulses beat high. This Chesmef is Grecian — the eagle no more i Spreads imperial wings o'er Anadoli's shore ; But the daughter of freedom has answered our cry, And her parent — ? we gaze where yon bright streamers fly- Can those bosoms of Britain be cold to the glow. Which we feel now our country has struck the death blow? Ah ! no — from their mast see our banner unfurPd, With the flag that protected and rescued the world. Then scom'd be the tale which the Scythian has told. That Britannia alone would be selfish and cold ; Her Ionian beacon, no Pharos to save. But a death-Kght that hovers o'er Liberty's grave. * Bostangis (guards of the Sultan), literally gardeners, embarked in the scarcity of seamen. f Where the Turkish fleet, under JafFer Bey, was burnt by the Russians. 106 Oh ! blest be the mom*s breath, and that glow o'er the skies, Which heralds the day — Sun of glory, arise ! Tho' we shrunk, while enslaved, as in shame from thy light, No^ thy beams cannot glitter too gloriously bright On the wrecks of the Moslem which float down the tide. On Graecia's deliverance, and vengeance, and pride; — Yet, oh God of our fathers, ^Graecia is free, Be the blessing to us, but the glory to Thee ! 107 FROM A MS. DRAMA. CHORUS OF GREEK MATRONS. Time, the Damn of the Bay. — Scene, Cape Masticy in Scio. Hail ! once again, great fount of life, and light, Hail, holy symbol of a holier source ! Thou shinest forth unalterably bright, Thou risest still to run thy destined course ; Alone in beauty — all around is changed — No turrets brighten in thy kindling ray ; The vale o'er which our eyes delighted ranged, No longer gaily hails the Lord of day. p Tho' carnage taint the citron's vernal breath. He shines on Scio, now a nation's grave. Whose latest harvest was a crop of death, When Moslem sabres mowed her young and brave. In vain spring clothes the mastic's fragrant bough, Dances no more will sweep those orange bowers — Brave youths, and beauteous maids, where are ye now? These in the grave, and those in Stambol's towers. 108 Yon radiant sun, this green and bursting spring. Make us more deeply feel our country's woe — Oh ! may their Great Creator deign to bring Help to his flock, and lay the oppressor low. We murmur not — if 'tis thy will to chasten, Grant us but strength to bear a parent's rod — If we have borne sufficient sorrow, hasten To whelm our foes and thine. Almighty God ! SEMICHORUS. Hark ! the Turkish thunders roar Down the Anatolian shore. From a hundred brazen throats, Where the Capoudana floats ; Graecia's volley feebly rattles * — Save our country, God of battles \ Let the oppressor feel thine ire ; Speak in thunder, smite with fire. Grecians! think with rage and pride-— Tumbaz f lives and Lambro J died I * The guns of the Capoudana, or flag-ship, were of three times the calibre of the Greek. t The Greek admiral, son-in-law of Bobolina, the Artemisia of Psyra. % Lambro Cauziani, the Greek naval hero of 1790. 109 Rights .to gain, and wrongs to pay, Consecrate this awful day. Hark ! what wild and fearful yell, Broke from out that floating hell ; Hark ! that crash — 'twas Freedom spoke, Bursting Graecia's iron yoke. Kara*s* caick ploughs the water, Choaked with corses, red with slaughter. Burning fragments strew his path, — Can he scape the avenger's wrath ? Yes, the Moslems gain the strand, Bearing him who smote our land. Wrath and pride were on his brow ; Pain and grief are painted noiso. Costliest ftirs adorn'd his vest. Diamonds beam'd around his crest. — . Now he lies in mean attire, Drench'd in gore, and singed by fire. Turban'd Odas f round him swept, Scio's offspring vainly wept; Now, in turn, let Moslems weep, O'er their Pasha's death-like sleep. * The destroyer of Scio. \ Companies of Janizaries. no Aged Sciotes yet remain. Glad to greet that chief again. Now Kara Aly gasps for breath, Aged eyes devour his death ; Aged ears enraptured hear Groans that make even daemons fear. Scio lies in ruin low, Nothing now can work us woe ; Karats corse is at our feet, Life has nothing left so sweet. Moslems ! we alone remain, * Saved by age from slavery's chain ; Wither'd frames and hearts survive, Spared to see your chief arrive, — Female eyes can gaze on death When a tyrant gasps for breath; Female ears unmoved drink. Groans that make the daemons shrink. While the life-blood ebbs away. And Satan waits to claim his prey ; Snatch'd from life, and pride, and power. Thus we barb the parting hour. Be each Moslem fiend or man, Thus we brave his ataghan. — * Three hundred ultimately on the island, out of 160,000. I 111 Fate can deal no heavier blow, Than this circling waste of woe ; Earth will yield no sight so sweet, As the wretch beneath our feet. Nought to embitter life remained. When those dregs of grief were drain'd : Now, this draught of vengeance tasted, Life and thought alike are wasted ; Greece may triumph. Freedom smile — Can her touch revive our isle ? Mahmoud's gory throne be shaken — But can victory's paeans waken Livid limbs and glazing eye. Where our sons and fathers lie ? Can they burst each dongeon keep, Where our daughters vainly weep? Fatal ties — affection plighted, — Blossoms scarcely blown — and blighted. Note. — The striking connection between the crimes and the sufferings of Kara Bey, the first of the three Capitan Pachas, who have already perished in the righteous contest of Greece, is no way exaggerated. 112 TO A FRIEND, ON HIS WEDDING-DAY. ** Give me, to bless domestic life, With social ease, secure from strife, (Cries every fellow of a college) A wife, not overstocked with knowledge." This, ev'ry fool who loves to quote, What, parrot-like, he learns by rote. And ev'ry coxcomb, whose pretence To wisdom, marks his want of sense, And all good housewives skill'd in darning, Who rail with much contempt at laming; And all who place their greatest good in The composition of a pudding. Repeat, with such triumphant air, Such deep sagacity, you'd swear That knowledge, among womankind, Was deadliest poison to the mind ; A crime, which, (venial if conceaFd, Like theft at Sparta,) when reveaPd The guilty stamps with such disgrace, No culprit dares to show her face. 115 But tell me, you, who dared despise Such vulgar maxims, who, from eyes Which well might grace the loveliest fair, Turn'd not because bright sense beamed there ; Tell me, through all these thirteen years, Through varying scenes of hopes and fears, Could ignorance more faithful prove ? Could folly's self more warmly love ? Then long may this auspicious morn, At each still happier year's return. Tell, what thy sweet experience shows. That head and heart are friends, not foes. 114 THE LAST LEAF. Thou last pale relic from yon widow'd tree, Hovering awhile in air, as if to leave Thy native sprig reluctant, how I grieve, And heave the sigh of kindred sympathy, That thou art fall'n! — for I too whilom play'd Upon the topmost bough of youth's gay spring; Have sported blithe on summer's golden wing; And now I see my fleeting autumn fade. Yet, ** sear and yellow leaf," though thou and I Thus far resemble, and this frame, like thee, In the cold silent ground be doom'd to lie. Thou never more will climb thy parent tree; But I, through faith in my Redeemer, trust. That I shall rise again, ev'n from the dust. 115 ON READING WALTER SCOT'S « MARMION." Charm'd by the patriot muse of Flodden Field, My country's dearer claims the while forgot, I almost wish'd that Surry's host might yield. And (pardon England) long'd to be a Scot. For torpid is the heart that doth not feel. As he directs, the poet's powerful spell. When heaven-born genius fires his patriot zeal, And bids him sing so sweetly and so well. And highly too it crown'd my fond desire, In this long barren dearth of Southern song, To hear once more proud Ettrick's living lyre, Each glowing chord's harmonious swell prolong ; Whose strains sublime, like deepening thunders, roll The battle's stormy wave, and fill th' impassioned soul ! I 2 116 ON A GREY HAIR. Thou, whom the giddy mock, the gay deride, Protracted folly's scourge, and foe to pride, I'll meet thee, poor, pale omen of decay. With all the little wisdom that I may ; And hail thee, herald of the tranquil hour. Of calm sensations, and high reason's power. Of just ambition, to whose flight is given No sordid check, but still aspires to Heaven. Let others spurn thee, — I, without a dread, Welcome thy long-lov'd honors to my head ; I will, but, like a bee of vagrant wing. That trifled o'er the treasures of the spring. Research the garden with a nicer care, Extend a wider flight thro' fields of air. Or deeper probe the nectar'd flow'ret's bell. To bring the honied wisdom to my cell ; Laden with sweets, and treasuring up the store, I'll dread life's coming wintry storms no more. Yes, yes ! — thy monitory voice I hear. Low numbering all the evils in thy rear ; The wrinkled front, dim eye, and pallid cheek, Are but the preludes to the general wreck. 117 But can no other charm their loss supply ? And is there left no light t' illume the eye ? Yes, it shall kindle at a friend's return ; Tears shall suffuse it if a friend shall mourn ; 0*er earth its views benevolent be given, And faith shall fix its hallowed gaze on Heaven. Nor with a pencil dipt in sordid care, Shall time's deep furrow on my brow appear ; But there shall sit, as years successive roll. The calm unclouded sunshine of the soul : Wit's ready sallies we may well resign. The lip of truth and kindness shall be mine. And 'tis the meed of blameless life the while, To dress the placid features in a smile. Then age, dear honorable age ! I'll throw Youth's many mingled chaplet from my brow With meek propriety, and in its room, The decent coif, and sober stole assume ; Nor fear, tho' gayer charms may fade away, Aught that we lov'd in love can e'er decay. Of that fond tie that made us man and wife, Full half the bargain was the wane of life : Earth's feeble bonds with what is earthly sever. But they who truly love unite for ever. Rich in that love, in honor'd wisdom's store, I'll dread life's coming wintry storms no more. I 3 118 SONNET. I KNOW thee not, bright creature, ne'er shall know ; Thy course and mine lie far and far away ; Yet heaven this once has given me to survey Those charms that seldom may be seen below. We part as soon as met, but where I go Thy form shall ever be ; upon thy way Shall heaven, for thou art heaven's, its mildest ray Shed ever bright ; yet tho' disease and woe Thy cheek consume not. Time will have his prey, And I may meet and know thee not again. But what lives in the mind shall not decay. And thus shall mine thy form divine retain. In all the freshness of youth's dawning day, When thou may'st be no more, and earth laments in vain. 119 BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. TwAS night in Babylon, — yet many a beam Of lamps, far glittering from her domes on high, Shone, brightly mingling in Euphrates' stream, With the clear stars of that Chaldean sky. Whose azui'e knows no cloud : — each whispered sigh Of the soft night-breeze through her terrace-bowers Bore softer tones of joy and melody. O'er an illumin'd wilderness of flowers ; And the glad city's voice went up from all her towers. But prouder mirth was in the blazing hall, Where, midst adoring slaves, a gorgeous band ! High at the stately midnight-festival, Belshazzar sat enthroned ! — there luxury's hand Had shower'd around all treasures that expand Beneath the burning East ; — all gems that pour The sun-beams back ; — all sweets of many a land. Whose gales waft incense from their spicy shore ; But mortal pride look'd on, and still demanded more. I 4 120 With richer zest the banquet may be fraught, A loftier theme may wake th' exulting strain ! The lord of nations spoke, — and forth were brought The spoils of Salem's devastated fane : Thrice holy vessels ! — pure from earthly stain, And set apart, and sanctified to Him, Who deign'd within the oracle to reign, Reveal'd, yet shadow'd ; making noon-day dim, To that most glorious cloud between the cherubim. They came, and louder swelPd the voice of song, And pride flashed brighter from the kindling eye, And He who sleeps not, heard th' elated throng, In mirth that play'd with thunderbolts, defy The Rock of Zion ! — Fill the nectar high. High in the cups of consecrated gold ! And crown the bowl with garlands, ere they die, And bid the censers of the temple hold Offerings to BabePs gods, the mighty ones of old ! Peace ! is it but a phantom of the brain, Thus shadowed forth the senses to appal, Yon fearful vision ? — who shall gaze again To search its cause ? — along th' illumin'd wall, 121 Startling, yet rivetting the eyes of all. Darkly it moves, — a hand, a human hand. O'er the bright lamps of that resplendent hall, In silence tracing, as a mystic wand, Words all unknown, the tongue of some far distant land. There are pale cheeks around the regal board, And quivering limbs, and whispers deep and low. And fitful starts ! — the goblet, richly stored, Untasted foams, the song hath ceas'd to flow. The waving censer drops to earth, — and lo ! The king of men, the monarch, rob'd with might, Trembles before a shadow ! — say not so 1 The child of dust, with guilt's prophetic sight. Shrinks from the Dread Unknown, th' avenging Infinite. But haste ye ! — bring Chaldea's gifted seers. The men of prescience ! — haply to their eyes, Which track the fiiture through the rolling spheres. Yon mystic sign may speak in prophecies. They come, — the readers of the midnight skies. They that give voice to visions ! — but in vain i Still wrapt in clouds the awfiil secret lies : It hath no language midst the starry train ; There is no earthly voice heaven's mysteries to explain. 122 Then stood forth one, a child of other sires, And other inspiration ! — one of those, Who on the willows hung their captive lyres, And sat, and wept, where BabePs river flows. His eye was bright, and yet the deep repose Of his pale features half o'erawed the mind, And imaged forth a soul whose joys and woes Were of a loftier stamp than aught assigned To earth ; a being sea?d and sever'd from mankind. Yes ! — what was earth to him, whose spirit pass'd Time's utmost bounds ? — on whose unshrinking sight Ten thousand shapes of burning glory cast Their full resplendence ? — majesty and might Were in his dreams ; — for him the veil of light. Shrouding heaven's inmost sanctuary and throne. The curtain of th' Unutterably Bright, Was rais'd ! — to him, in awful splendor shown. Ancient of Days ! e'en Thou, mad'st Thy dread pre- sence known ! He spoke : — the shadows of the things to come, Pass'd o'er his soul : — " O king, elate in pride ! God hath sent forth the writing of thy doom. The One, the living God, by thee defied ; 123 He, in whose balance earthly lords are tried, Hath weigh'd, and found thee wanting. 'Tis decreed, The conqueror's hands thy kingdom shall divide. The stranger to thy throne of power succeed ; The days are full, they come, — the Persian and the Mede!" There fell a moment's thrilling silence round, A breathless pause ! the hush of hearts that beat, And limbs that quiver : — is there not a sound, A gathering cry, a tread of hurrying feet ? — 'Twas but some echo, in the crowded street. Of far-heard revelry, the shout, the song. The measur'd dance to music wildly sweet, That speeds the stars, their joyous course along, — Away ! nor let a dream disturb the festal throng ! Peace yet again ! — Hark ! steps in tumult flying. Steeds rushing on, as o'er a battle-field ! The shout of hosts exulting or defying. The press of multitudes that strive or yield ! And the loud startling clash of spear and shield. Sudden as earthquake's burst ! — and blent with these. The last wild shriek of those whose doom is seal'd In mirth's full tide ! — all rising on the breeze, As the long deepening roar of fast advancing seas ! 124 And nearer yet the trumpet's voice is swelling, Loud, shrill, and savage, drowning every cry ! And lo ! the spoiler in the regal dwelling. Death bursting on the halls of revelry ! Ere on their brows one fragile rose-leaf die, The sword hath rag'd thro' joys devoted train ; Ere one bright star be faded from the sky, Empire is lost, Belshazzar with the slain. And the dread lesson given, which proves all others vain. FalPn is the golden city ! in the dust, SpoiPd of her crown, dismantled of her state. She that hath made the strength of towers her trust. Weeps by her dead, supremely desolate ! She that beheld the nations at her gate. Thronging in homage, shall be call'd no more Lady of Kingdoms ! — who shall mourn her fate ? Her guilt is full, her march of triumph o'er ; What widow'd land shall now her widowhood deplore ? Sit thou in silence ! thou, that wert enlhron'd On many waters ! thou, whose augurs read The language of the planets, and disown'd The mighty name it blazons ! — veil thy head, 1^5 Daughter of Babylon ! the sword is red From thy destroyer's harvest, and the yoke Is on thee, O most proud ! — for thou hast said, " I am, and none besides." — Th' Eternal spoke, Thy glory was a spoil, thine idol-gods were broke. 126 SONNET. ON THE APENNINES. In the sun's eye I sate, nor deem'd his ray Too bright to gaze on, for the autumnal breeze, Though gently whispering thro' the yet green trees. Was cool and humid, and around me lay, Toss'd like the billows of some mighty bay, Etruria's Apennines, range over range. Swelling in long and wave-like interchange. Till far beyond, with glittering hamlets gay. Spread the green plains of vine-clad Lombardy; The lights and shadows of declining day Flung on the whole their vast variety, While mingling sounds, that fill'd the subject way. Rose through the clear still air, and seem'd to be Sweet as the scene, and breath'd all harmony. 127 > SONNET. AT LAKE THHASYMENUS. First of invaders, Hannibal, thy name ^ Is proud as chief may claim, or man bestow, ^ For thy historian is the conquered foe, And nature's works thy monuments of fame. The beautiful, the grand, thy deeds proclaim ; The mountain, lake, where Alps are clad in snow, Where Thrasymenus' hill-girt waters flow, Thine honours are like theirs for aye the same. But what was thy reward ? care, labour, war. Defeat, and exile, a self-hasten'd end — Enough ; — for not confin'd to life, but far Beyond, can minds like thine their vision send. And see, tho' none beside, the ascending star Of glory, which their memories shall attend. 1S8 THE GREENWICH PENSIONERS. WRIITEN AT GREENWICH. When evening listened to the dipping oar, Forgetting the loud city's ceaseless roar, By the green banks, where Thames, with conscious pride, Reflects that stately structure on his side, Within whose walls, as their long labours close. The wanderers of the ocean find repose. We passed in social ease the hours away. The passing visit of a summer's day. While some to range the breezy hill are gone, I linger on the river's marge alone, Mingled with groups of ancient sailors grey, And watching the last sunshine steal away. As thus I mus'd amidst the various train Of toil-worn wand'rers of the per'lous main, Two sailors — well I mark'd them (as the beam Of parting day yet lingered on the stream. 1^9 And the sun sunk behind the shady reach) — Hastened with tott'ring footsteps to the beach ! The one had lost a limb in Nile's dread fight ; Total eclipse had veil'd the other's sight For ever ! As I drew more anxious near, I stood intent, if they should speak, to hear ; But neither said a word ! — he who was blind, Stood, as to feel the comfortable wind That gently lifted his grey hair — his face Seem'd then of a faint smile to wear the trace. i " The other fix'd his gaze upon the light, Parting, and when the sun was vanished quite, Methought a starting tear that Heaven might bless, Unfelt, or felt with transient tenderness, Came to his aged eyes and touched his cheek ! And then, as meek and silent as before. Back hand in hand they went, and left the shore. As they departed through th' unheeding crowd, A caged bird sung from the casement loud. And then I heard alone that blind man say, " The music of the bird is sweet to-day !" I said, " O, heavenly Father ! none may know " The cause these have for silence or for woe !" K I 130 Here they appear heart-stricken, yet resigned Amidst th* unheeding tumult of mankind. There is a world — a pure unclouded clime, Where there is neither grief, nor death, nor time ! Nor loss of jfriends ! Perhaps, when yonder bell Beat slow, and bade the dying day fareweU ; Ere yet the glimmering landscape sunk to night. They thought upon that world of distant light ! And when the blind man lifting light his hair. Felt the faint wind, he rais'd a warmer prayer, Then sigh'd, as the blithe bird sung o'er his head, " No mom will shine to me, till I am dead ?" 131 HYMN ON THE SEASONS. Now, when the kindling Spring breathes Hfe and joy Through earth and air, perfuming field and bow'r ; While rings from every copse glad minstrelsy ; And sparkling myriads float round shrub and flow'r ; While, flashing brightness, runs the river by, Or darkling dimples with morn's transient show'r, (As shines thro' scattering clouds the azure sky, And laughs the golden sun in youthful pow'r ;) Now while all nature wakes, be my cheer'd eye Rais'd joyous with my heart, to Him that dwells on high. Father ador'd ! O, let me still behold In these thy bounties, but thyself benign ! Still let me trace, in this terrestrial mould, The faint impression of that world divine, Where all thy glory, wondrously unroU'd, Doth in the eyes of them for ever shine Whom sin and death no more in fetters hold : O, let my earth-ward thoughts, with low decline. No longer sink in languors dead and cold. But spring with eager love thy footstool to enfold ! K 2 L 182 Give me, when song and fragrance round me flow. When blossoms show'r above, and ev'ry spray Glitters with fost'ring dews ; when the bright bow With colours jocund marks the chequer'd day ; When the freed birds their winter cells forego; And the lone cuckoo to morn's glimmering ray Repeats his welcome strange ; when bleat and low. Mingle with labour's voice and childhood's lay ; O not alone with pleasure let me glow. But grateful join my song to all that hymn below ! Give me, when Summer's universal blush Spreads o'er the scene ; when the broad woods expand In screen umbrageous, and bank, and bush Are hung with roseate wreaths, by zephyr fann'd ; When panting heat lists to the cooling gush Of gelid springs, or marks the sportive band Of skimming swallows o'er the gray lake rush ; When sunny fruitage wooes each gath'ring hand, And all mature the year ; O, let the flush Of raptur'd joy be mine, nor aught its transports hush ! And when clear ev'ning's star, with trembling beam. Or sacred moonlight, thro' autumnal wood Its lustre pours ; when rock and valley gleam In shadowy distance, and no sounds intrude. 133 Save far-ofF village bells, or noiseless stream. Soothing the trance of heav*n-rapt solitude ; When paths, leaf-strewn, invite fond man to dream On the brief race of pleasure's insect brood ; Still of my musings lone be Thou the theme, Nor aught thy wisdom scorns, let me momentous deem. And when still Winter's breath the world congeals ; When darkened skies look mournful on the plain. Where gath'ring ice o*er rushy shallows steals ; When transient thaw descends in plashy rain. Or sudden hail the cold blue heav'n reveals ; When shiv'ring red-breasts join the household train. And the rough ass no more his scanty meals Finds 'mid the snow-spread waste, or desert lane ; E'en then w^hen nature's eye thy mercy seals, O, be mine fix'd on all that death-like sleep conceals I K 3 134 TIME AND FRIENDSHIP. IJnfelt, unseen, time steals away, So softly with our years. The dewy gem of op'ning day Not swifter disappears. In childhood's thoughtless, laughing hour, He gaily passes by, Like wild bees o'er the mountain flower. That plunder as they fly. Our budding joys, as if in scorn. He blasts with envious care. And bids remembrance leave her thorn To tell they blossom'd there ; Whilst e'en to beauty's fond alarms He plays a traitor's part, And mocks the smile, whose magic charms Had thought to win his heart. 135 Yet by the ruthless wand'rer's side One lonely fair-one stays, To all his steps the faithful guide, In sad or prosp'rous days. Where'er his hidden dart he throws To pierce th' unguarded breast, Her gentle hand the balm bestows To lull its pangs to rest. And when the wearied wing of time Eternity shall close, Friendship shall seek her native clime In Heaven to repose. K 4 136 WRITTEN UNDERNEATH THE DRAWING OF A FLYING CUPID. Trust not yon little winged boy, Tho' beauteous he appears, Each rosy smile he yields thee now Thou wilt repay with tears. Tho* bright with Heaven's celestial dyes, His fluttVing pinions play, Too oft upon those downy wings He wafts our peace away. The quiver, o'er his shoulders flung. Bears many a venom'd dart ; Ah ! who could think that one so young Could act a traitor's part ? From pleasure's brow the rose he steals , His tresses to adorn, And wooes the cherub joy to lend One leaf to hide its thorn. 137 So light his little sandalled feet Upon our portals tread, We heed not that the urchin's nigh, Until our heart is fled. And then how vainly do we sue And ask it back again ! Laughing, he holds it faster bound, And links each golden chain. Enthroned on fleeting clouds he casts A dimpled glance below. And, glorying in his triumphs there. Exulting mocks our woe. 138 ANNAN WATER. With rapture, Annan ! all exclaim, Thy banks how varied and how gay ! Why should a name, well known to fame, Unsung remain in modem lay ? So rich thy dale ! as, from old Rome, Th' invader's footsteps to induce: * So fair ! in future to become Your royal home, Q valiant Bruce I f Of time's decay, ah ! how partakes The mansion of your bright domain ; Surrounded with its smiling lakes, Which welcom'd Wallace and his train. * Burnswork, a grand conspicuous object, commanding a view of the whole of Annandale. Solway Frith is said to have been one of the stations of Agricola, where his entrenchments may still be dis- tinctly traced, on both sides, and on the top of the hill. ■j- Lochmaben Castle, which became occasionally a royal residence, is situated on an isthmus in the Castle Loch, and near the other lakes. Sir William Wallace came there in triumph after his incur- sion into the north of England. 139 While England's captive, that brave knight Scotland arous'd, ere your return : Tho' gone, his bands reclaimed your right, And burst our chains at Bannockburn. * Such contests crimsoned long thy wave. And other feuds succeeded those, Till blest events united have The Shamrock, Thistle, and the Rose. Lo, where huge Errick's awful rise Thy birth-place forms with sheltering wings, Embosom'd there, a village lies, Fam'd for its air and healing springs, f Peaceful 'midst woods, and meads, thy stream Glides gently to th' engulphing main ; Plaintive, thy deep-ton'd murmurs seem Of life's short span ofl to complain. J * The " Scots wha hae wi* Wallace bled" are said to have been mainly instrumental in gaining the decisive victory over Edward the Second, at Bannockburn, t The village of Moffat. % The course of the Annan is only thirty miles from its source to the sea. 140 To industry's choice, arts still lend. Thy aid to turn her active wheels ; Her works to cheer thy margin tend. Her impulse culture also feels. * Propitious sources ? whence arise Britain's vast trade on seas afloat ; Thence still in size thy sea-port swells, — Sails crowd thy strand near Bruce's moat, f And while thy sons with skill and care, From day to day renew their toil. May virtue their young minds prepare To prize and guard their native soil ! Resplendent stream ! tho' short thy course. Thy spirit rising to the sky. In clouds embodied, is the source Whence nursing showers thy rills supply. * The Annan, from its magnitude and rapidity, is particularly well adapted for manufacturing establishments. The village of Bridekirk, which was begun with the present century, has already near 400 industrious inhabitants. f The town of Annan has quadrupled its population within the last thirty years, and since that time, instead of two or three, has thirty or forty vessels belonging to its port. 141 Thus we, the children of a day, Who see thy beauteous vale improve, Will hope, when life has pass'd away. To view thy progress from above. 142 THE SAILOR'S DEPARTURE. O, FRESH blows the gale o'er the wide mantling ocean, And proudly the frigate repels the white foam ; And high beats my heart with tumultuous emotion, On leaving, for fortune, my dear native home. Perhaps, for the last time, my father has blest me, I see his white locks and the tears on his cheek : And my mother — ^how close to her bosom she pressed me ! And kiss'd me, and sobb'd, as her kind heart would break. I may roam thro' the wide world, and friendship may court me, And love on my heart its soft characters trace. But ne'er shall affection lend aught to support me So sacred — so pure as that parting embrace. Friends and protectors ! when dangers surround me. When pleasure, when wealth spread their lures for my fame, That moment's good angel shall hover around me. To chase every thought would dishonour your name. 143 THE SEASONS OF LIFE. I Long gone, for ever gone ! the joys of Spring ; And Summer's brighter objects, riper cares ; Now Autumn^ s lingering train are on the wing. For me the yellow leaf all nature wears ! Yet Hope, benignant power ! with cheering smile, Still bids me tune the lyre, and wake the muse ; Illumes the wintry prospect for a while, And dreams of springs, and summers past, renews. 144 TO MEMORY. Hail, Memory ! whose magic pow'r Can gild the present gloomy hour With the gay colours of the past, Can smooth the wrinkled brow of age, The pangs of absence can assuage, And bid love's fleeting transports last ! At dawn of life's tempestuous day, Ere reason had assum'd the sway. Ere passion's mingled storm arose. Thou deign'dst before mine infant eyes. As yet unskill'd the boon to prize, Thy golden treasures to disclose. At length, enrich'd, by thee I wove, (Soaring the vulgar throng above*) Fair garlands for the shrine of truth. O, may I long thy favour share Ere all-destroying time impair The generous gifts bestow'd in youth. * " Coetusque vulgares, et udam Spernit humum, fugiente penna." — Hor. 145 Yon gorgeous palace I solemn fane !* Yon floating castle on the main ! To whose providing owe we these ? Could art her lofty fabrics build, Should bounteous nature cease to yield Her marbles bright, her towering trees ? And what would fancy's powers avail If all thy treasured stores should fail, Sav'd in the dark eclipse of time ? Rich stores of action ! passion, thought ! Short joys, by long repentance bought ! And grov'ling vice, and worth sublime. Without thee, mute the living lyre ; Though touched by Phoebus' hallowed fire, Silent the tuneful poet's tongue; On thee, the brave for fame rely ; Unsung without thee, patriots die ; And god-like heroes bleed unsung. Even life itself to thee we owe, Thou canst the wond'rous charm bestow To stop the moments as they fly ; -" The gorgeous palaces. The solemn temples." Shakspfare. L 146 And but for thee, they fleet so fast, (Yet hardly present when they're past*) That man with every breath would die. 1817. O stay, and soothe my sorrows still, A motley life of good and ill Was mine, — is every mortal's fate ; But I have known long years of bliss, O, let me still remember this. Though widowed now, and desolate. 1819. Ah ! no, for me no balm hast thou, A widow*d, childless father now ! And grief my earthly — endless doom. Yet hope still lives beyond the grave ; God surely tries us but to save 1 They beckon me ; — I come ! I come ! * " Fugit hora ; hoc quod loquor hinc est." — Pebsius. " Le mement on je parle est d^ja loin de moi." — Botleau. 147 P^STUM. Though roseate odours float on every gale That sweeps, sad Paestum, o'er thy desart vale* ; Though each soft zephyr bear upon its wing The sweets and promise oF perennial spring, Like life's illusions o'er the captive sense Veiling in smiles the ruin they dispense ; Thy perfum'd breath a venom'd shaft conveys, And the lorn pilgrim at thy shrine betrays ! Yet joy'd the man on whose rapt vision first The prostrate glories of thy city burst f ; With kindred feeling traced thy classic plains. Thy tower-capt walls, — thy desecrated fanes. Whose massive columns from their deep repose In mingled symmetry and ruin rose. And as the wonders of the scene he view'd. Broke the long silence of thy solitude. * The roses of Paestum are celebrated as peculiarly fragrant, and blowing twice every year; yet, though the air is thus perfumed, it is destructive, as the malaria prevails. f The temples of Paestum, though in a situation so open to no- tice, remained unknown for centuries ; they were then, it is said, discovered by a painter. L 2 148 Lo I 'mid the desart, grateful to the eye, As a green spot in sandy Araby, Yon hallow'd porch, above each rival form. Bright in a sunbeam through the coming storm. Stands, like the ancient genius of the place, Evoking from the tomb, his Dorian race ! Beauteous in ruin, in decay sublime, A splendid trophy o'er the wreck of time ; Struggling with fate, — the glorious past recalls. And rob*d in majesty, like Caesar falls. — Seems still the whispering breeze to bear along The mournful melody of Grecian song, As when in solemn rite thy patriot band Sang of their fathers in a stranger land. And yet, *tis desolate ! no voice invokes. No victim bleeds, — no teeming incense smokes I Where be thy gods ? beneath the general gloom Sleep they too in the silence of the tomb ? — See, on yon moss-grown stone, with front serene. The unmov'd idol 'mid the changeful scene. As when he gave thy sons to be, of yore*. Lords of the dark-blue sea that laves thy shore ; His shrine, the shadow of that empty boast. Stands a lone beacon on thy desart coast ! * The largest of the temples was dedicated to Neptune, the tute- lary deity of ancient Posidonia : it is of Doric architecture. 149 So flits the pageant of life's troubled dream, So float man's works down time's oblivious stream ; But nature still the same through ages past, Blush'd in the rose, and thunder'd in the blast ; • And in her great unerring laws we trace The mighty mind that fills all time — all space. Prostrate the star on Bethlehem's Plain we hail, Which o'er the wreck of worlds, and through the Vale Of Death itself spreads its celestial ray, And breaks from darkness to eternal day. L 3 150 TO MRS. SIDDONS. Gifted of Heaven ! who hast, in days gone by. Moved every heart, delighted every eye. While age and youth, of high and low degree, In sympathy were joined, beholding thee. As in the drama's ever changing scene Thou heldst thy splendid state, our tragic queen ! No barriers there thy fair domain confin'd, Thy sovereign sway was o'er the human mind ; And, in the triumph of that witching hour, Thy lofty bearing well became thy power. Th* impassion'd changes of thy beauteous face. Thy stately form and high imperial grace ; Thine arms impetuous tost, thy robe's wide flow, And the dark tempest gather'd on thy brow, What time thy flashing eye and lip of scorn Down to the dust thy mimic foes have born ; Remorseful musings, sunk to deep dejection. The fix'd and yearning looks of strong affection ; 151 The action'd turmoil of a bosom rending, When pity, love, and honour are contending; — Who have beheld all this, right well I ween ! A lovely, grand, and wond*rous sight have seen. Thy varied accents, rapid, fitful, slow. Loud rage, and fear's snatched whisper, quick and low. The burst of stifled love, the wail of grief. And tones of high command, full, solemn, brief; The change of voice and emphasis that threw Light on obscurity, and brought to view Distinctions nice, when grave or comic mood *, Or mingled humours, terse and new, elude Common perception, as earth's smallest things To size and form the vesting hoarfrost brings. Which seem'd as if some secret voice, to clear The ravell'd meaning, whisper'd in thine ear, * Those who have been happy enough to hear Mrs. Siddons read, will readily acknowledge, that the discrimination and power with which she gave effect to the comic passages of Shakspeare, were nearly as remarkable and delightful as those which she displayed in passages of a grave or tragic character. It is to be regretted, that only those who have heard her read, are aware of the extent or variety of her genius, which has on the stage been confined almost entirely to tragedy ; partly, I believe, from a kind of bigotry on the side of the public, which inclines it to confine poet, painter, or actor to that department of their art in which they have first been acknowledged to excel, and partly from the cast of her features, and the majesty of her figure, being peculiarly suited to tragedy. T, 4 152 And thou had'st even with hini communion kept. Who hath so long in Stratford's chancel slept. Whose lines, where Nature's brightest traces shine, Alone were worthy deem'd of powers like thine; — They, who have heard all this, have proved full well Of soul-exciting sound the mightiest spell. But though time's lengthen'd shadows o'er thee glide. And pomp of regal state is cast aside, Think not the glory of thy course is spent ; There's moon-light radiance to thy evening lent. Which from the mental world can never fade. Till all who've seen thee in the grave are laid. Thy graceful form still moves in nightly dreams, And what thou wert to the wrapt sleeper seems : While feverish fancy oft doth fondly trace Within her curtain'd couch thy wonderous face. Yea; and to many a wight, bereft and lor?. In musing hours, though all to thee unknown. Soothing his earthly course of good and ill, With all thy potent charm thou actest still. And now in crowded room or rich saloon, Thy stately presence recogniz'd, how soon The glance of many an eye is on thee cast, In grateful memory of pleasures past ! 153 Pleas'd to behold thee with becoming grace Take, as befits thee well, an honoured place (Where, blest by many a heart, long may'st thou stand) Amongst the virtuous matrons of the land. 154 SONNET. Spirit of evil, with which earth is rife, Revenge, Revenge ! thee all abjure and blame, Yet, when their hour is come, invoke thy name. Base men for thee in secret bare the knife ; The brave partake the peril and the strife ; The weak, the sword more sure of justice claim ; The strong, when they have blasted power and fame, Give to their foe in scorn the curse of life — The keenest, bitterest vengeance — for these all Are only shapes thou tak'st to goad the mind, Turning the heart's pure, generous blood to gall ; And thus. Revenge, thou stalk'st through all the kind. Till mighty nations madden at thy call. And earth is waste, and seas incarnardin'd. 155 SONNET. The marks of death were on himj and he bore In every feature that sharp, clear, cold look, Which is not of this world ; his weak frame shook, Yet not with terror shook ; for oft before He had sought death amid the battle's roar ; Nor shrank he now, when in his chamber lone. Death, visible death, for three long moons had shewn His dart uprais'd, but struck not | still he wore His brow, though sad, undaunted ; for he knew This was his last great fight, whose promise high Was endless glory to the faithful few, Whose courage can endure to victory. — • And so he conquer'd, and a soldier true And gallant, as he liv'd, did G n die. 166 LIFE. The ministering spirits from above Descend with energy creative fraught, They breathe on nature with the breath of love, And lo ! she wakens into life and thought. Where all was dull and dark, inert and cold, Now power and motion, light and heat abound ; The heavens are bright with azure and with gold, . And green and rosy hues adorn the ground. With life the waters tremble, every hour New tints, new forms of loveliness appear ; The limpid dew breathes odour in the flower. And new-born music fills the vernal air. But not alone through matter's fairest forms And genial powers, does beauteous order reign, The lightning's flash, the blast of angry storms. And the tumultuous raging of the main, 157 Alike are engines of Eternal Will, For good and useful ends : that Will whose sway Has ever acted, and is acting still. Whilst planets, worlds, and systems all obey ; Without whose power creative, mortal things Were still and dead, — an inharmonious band, Silent as are the harp^s untuned strings. Without the touches of the minstrel's hand : But for whose power conserving, they would pass Back into chaos, stars on stars would fall ; Suns would be darkened, and the mighty mass Of nature rest beneath her funeral pall. A portion of the one Intelligence, Th* immortal mind of man its image bears. Vested with organs in the world of sense, Oppressed, but not subdued by human cares. A germ preparing in the winter's frost. To rise and bud and blossom in the spring ; A new-plum'd eagle by the tempest tost. And gaining from its fury strength of wing : 158 The child of trial, to mortality And all its changeful influences given, Yet dimly conscious of its destiny, And that its high inheritance is heaven : Feeling its life amidst the forms of death To be eternal, not a spark that flies But a pure portion of th' immortal breath. Kindling a flame where'er its essence lies : V Though clouded, still to feel that flame endure. By joy exalted or by pain refin'd, Till sense is lost in passion high and pure. And intellectual light absorbs the mind : Soon as it breathes to feel the mother's form Of orbed beauty thro' its organs thrill, To press the limbs of life with rapture warm. And drink with transport from a living rill : To view the skies with morning radiance bright. Majestic mingling with the ocean blue. Or bounded by green hills or mountains white, Or peopled plains of rich and varied hue : I 159 To feel pure pleasure at the wond'rous face Of nature ! but a higher joy to prove, In viewing living charms, expression, grace, Awakening sympathy, compelling love : The heavenly balm of mutual hope to taste. Soother of life, affection's bliss to share, Sweet as the stream amidst the desert waste, As the first blush of arctic day-light fair : f J The father's sacred name in joy to bless, ^ Whilst life's sweet op'ning blossoms round him rise. With virtue's odours, hues of happiness. Binding with flowery wreaths his civic ties : To mingle with its kindred, to descry The path of power, in public life to shine ; To gain the voice of popularity. The idol of to-day, the man divine : To govern others by an influence strong, As that high law which moves the murm'ring main, liaising and carrying all its waves along, Beneath the full-orb'd moon's meridian reign: 160 How quickly palsied the strong arm of power, The breath of praise how mutable, — to know, The thunder-storm dissolving in the shower. The winter's zephyr trembling on the snow : To view the mighty victims of the lust Of domination falFn — the statesman low As the poor peasant in ignoble dust : And those whose triumphs kept the world in awe. Who played with sceptres and disposed of thrones, Whose great achievements wondering millions sung, Dying without a trophy for their bones. Or in inglorious exile, not a tongue Daring, except in whisp'rings low to speak Of their high deeds : — To feel that glory's light Rising from arms and empire, when the weak Or lose their freedom in th' unequal fight. Or for their country and their laws expire, — Is, as the red volcano's wond'rous birth, Fair in the distance, — near, an awfiil fire. Which desolates the green and fertile earth : 161 To wake from low ambition's splendid dream, Its gauds, its pomps, its toys, to feel how vain, Like glitt'ring foam upon the turbid stream, Or Iris' tints upon the falling rain : To dwell upon utility alone, As the true source of honour, to aspire To something which posterity may own, A guiding lamp, not a consuming fire : To hail those pure and hallow'd sympathies, Which into future ages bear the mind, Th' eternal converse with the good and wise. The high abstracted love of human kind: To forests to retire, amidst the whole Of natural forms, whose generations rise In lovely change, in beauteous order roll. On land, in ocean, in the glitt'ring skies : To live in pure and happy solitude, ji; In adoration of th' Eternal Cause, And wonder of his works with love imbued Of inspiration gain'd from nature's laws : 162 To feel, as its decaying organs fade, That mortal burdens seem to pass away, And in the glimmering through its twilight shade. To hail the dawning of a glorious day ; So in the northern smnmer, morning beams Ere the last western purple leaves the skies ; So in th' autumnal night the moonshine gleams, Pointing to where the orient sunbeams rise: His soil*d and wearying earthly vest to tear. To give to nature all her borrowed powers. Dust to the earth, and moisture to the air. And balm to cheer the fainting herbs and flowers Then, as awak'ning from a dream of pain. Its pristine form of glory to assume, Untouched by Time, and free from mortal stain. The raptured seraph's everlasting bloom : To its first source of being to return. To bask in the eternal Fount of light, With hope amidst fruition still to burn In the unsated love of knowledge infinite. 163 THE DEVONSHIRE LANE. A Simile. In a Devonshire lane, as I trotted along, T'other day, much in want of a subject for song, Thinks I to myself, I have hit on a strain, — Sure marriage is much like a Devonshire lane. In the first place, 'tis long, and when once you are in it. It holds you as fast as the cage holds a linnet, For howe'er rough and dirty the road may be found, Drive forward you must, since there's no turning round. But tho' 'tis so long, it is not very wide, For two are the most that together can ride ; And ev'n then 'tis a chance but they get in a pother. And jostle and cross, and run foul of each other. Oft poverty greets them with mendicant looks. And care pushes by them o'erladen with crooks, And strife's grating wheels try between them to pass, Or stubbornness blocks up the way on her ass. M 2 164 Then the banks are so high, both to left hand and right, That they shut up the beauties around from the sight ; And hence you'll allow, 'tis an inference plain, That Marriage is just like a Devonshire lane. But, thinks I too, these banks within which we are pent. With bud, blossom, and berry are richly besprent ; And the conjugal fence which forbids us to roam. Looks lovely, when deck'd with the comforts of home. In the rock's gloomy crevice the bright holly grows. The ivy waves fresh o'er the withering rose. And the ever-green love of a virtuous wife. Smoothes the roughness of care, — cheers the winter of life. Then long be the journey and narrow the way ! I'll rejoice that I've seldom a turnpike to pay ; And, whate'er others think, be the last to complain, Tho' marriage is just like a Devonshire lane. Dawlish, Dec. 1811. 165 TO A CHILD. Whose imp art thou, with dimpled cheek, And curly pate and merry eye. And arm and shoulders round and sleek, And soft and fair ? thou urchin sly ! What boots it who, with sweet caresses. First call'd thee his, or squire or hind ? — For thou in every wight that passes. Dost now a friendly play-mate find. Thy downcast glances, grave but cunning. As fringed eye-lids rise and fall. Thy shyness, swiftly from me running, — 'Tis infantine coquetry all ! But far afield thou hast not flown. With mocks and threats half-lisp'd half-spoken, I feel thee pulling at my gown, Of right good- will thy simple token. M 3 166 And thou must laugh and wrestle too, A mimick warfare with me waging, To make, as wily lovers do. Thy after-kindness more engaging. The wilding rose, sweet as thyself. And new-cropt daisies are thy treasure, I'd gladly part with worldly pelf. To taste again thy youthful pleasure. But yet for all thy merry look. Thy frisks and wiles, the time is coming. When thou shalt sit in cheerless nook. The weary spell or horn book thumbing. Well ; let it be ! thro' weal and woe, Thou know'st not now thy future range ; Life is a motley shifting show. And thou a thing of hope and change. 167 EPISTLE TO EARL HARCOURT, ON HIS WISHING HER TO SPELL HEE NAME OF CATHERINE WITH A K And can his antiquarian eyes, My Anglo-Saxon C despise? And does Lord Harcourt, day by day, Regret th* extinct initial K ? And still, with ardour unabated, Labour to get it reinstated ? — I know, my Lord, your generous passion For ev*ry long-exploded fashion ; And own the Catherine you delight in. Looks irresistibly inviting. Appears to bear the stamp, and mark, Of English, used in Noah's Ark ; " But all that glitters is not gold," Nor all things obsolete, are old. Would you but take the pains to look In Doctor Johnson's quarto book, (As I did, wishing much to see Th' aforesaid letter's pedigree). Believe me, 't would a tale unfold. Would make your Norman blood run cold. M 4 168 My Lord, you'll find the K's no better Than an interpolated letter, — A wand'ring Greek, a franchis'd alien, Derived from Cadmus or Deucalion, And, why, or wherefore, none can tell, Inserted *twixt the J and L. The learned say, our English tongue On Gothic beams is built and hung ; Then why the solid fabric piece With motley ornaments from Greece ? Her lettered despots had no bowels For northern consonants and vowels ; The Norman and the Greek grammarian Deem'd us, and all our words, barbarian, Till those hard words, and harder blows. Had silenced all our haughty foes, And proud they were to kiss the sandals (Shoes we had none) of Goths and Vandals. So call we now the various race That gave the Roman eagle chace, Nurtur'd by all the storms that roll In thunder round the Arctic Pole, And from the bosom of the North, Like gelid rain-drops scattered forth — Dread Odm's desolating sons, Teutones, Cimbrians, Franks, and Huns ; — 169 But hold, 't would try Don Quixote's patience, To nomenclate this mob of nations : Whose names a poet's teeth might break. And only botanists could speak. They at a single glance would see us Rang'd in the system of Linnaeus ; Would organize the mingled mass, Assign their genus, order, class. And give, as trivial, and specific. Names harder still, and more terrific. But since our Saxon line we trace Up to this all-subduing race, Since flows their blood in British veins. Who led the universe in chains. And from their " sole dominion" hurl'd The giants of the ancient world. Their boasted languages confounding. And with such mortal gutturals wounding. That Greek and Latin fell or fled. And soon were numbered with the dead ; Befits it us, so much their betters, To spell our names with conquered letters ? And shall they rise and prate again. Like Falstaff*, from among the slain ? A licence quite of modern date Which no long customs consecrate ; 170 For since this K, of hateful sound, First set his foot on British ground, *Tis not, as antiquaries know, A dozen centuries ago. — That darling theme of English story. For learning fam^d, and martial glory, — Alfred, who quelPd th' usurping Dane, And burst, indignant, from his chain ; Who slaves redeemed, to reign o'er men. Changing the faulchion for the pen. And outlined, with a master's hand, Th' immortal charter of the land ; Alfred, -whom yet these realms obey, In all his kingdom own'd no K, From foreign arms, and letters free, Preserved his Cynjly dignity. And wrote it with a Saxon C. — This case in point from Alfred's laws Establishes my client's cause; Secures a verdict for defendant, K pays the costs, and there's an end on't. The suit had linger'd long, I grant, if Counsel had first been heard for plaintiff; Who might, to use a new expression. Have urg'd the plea of £//5-possession. 171 And put our better claims to flight, By pre-, I mean joroscriptive right. Since that which modern times explode, The world will deem the prior mode. — But grant this specious plea prevailing. And all my legal learning failing ; There yet remains so black a charge, Not only 'gainst the K's at large. But th' individual K in question. You'd tremble at the bare suggestion, Nor ever more a wish reveal So adverse to the public weal. Dear gentle Earl, you little know That wish might work a world of wOe ; The ears that are unborn would rise. In judgment 'gainst your lordship's eyes ; The ears that are unborn would rue Your letter patent to renew The dormant dignity of shrenso. The K restor'd, takes off th* attainder. And grants the title, with remainder In perpetuity devis'd. To Katherines lawfully baptiz'd. What has not Shakspeare said and sung. Of our pre-eminence of tongue ! \ 17^ His glowing pen has writ the name In characters of fire and flame ; Not flames that mingle as they rise Innocuous, with their kindred skies ; Some chemic, lady-like solution, Shewn at the Royal Institution ; But such, as still with ceaseless clamour, Dance round the anvil, and the hammer. See him the comic muse invoking, (The merry njmtiph with laughter choking) While he exhibits at her shrine The unhallow'd form of Katherine ; And there the Gorgon image plants, — Palladium of the termagants. He form'd it of the rudest ore That lay in his exhaustless store. Nor from the crackling furnace drew. Which still the breath of genius blew. Till (to preserve the bright allusion) The mass was in a state of fusion. Then cast it in a Grecian mould. Once modelled from a living scold ; When from her shelly prison burst That finished vixen, Kate the curst ! If practice e'er with precept tallies. Could Shakspeare set down aught in malice ? 173 From nature all his forms he drew, And held the mirror to her view ; And if an ugly wart arose, Or freckle upon nature's nose. He flattered not th' unsightly flaw, But marked and copied what he saw ; Strictly fulfilling all his duties Alike to blemishes and beauties : So that in Shakspeare's time 'tis plain, The Katherines were scolds in grain. No females louder, fiercer, worse : — Now contemplate the bright reverse ; And say amid the countless names. Borne by contemporary dames, — Exotics, fetch'd from distant nations. Or good old English appellations, — Names hunted out from ancient books. Or form'd on dairy-maids, and cooks. Genteel, familiar, or pedantic, Grecian, Roman, or romantic. Christian, Infidel, or Jew, Heroines, fabulous or true, Ruths, Rebeccas, Rachels, Sarahs, Charlottes, Harriets, Emmas, Claras, Auroras, Helens, Daphnes, Delias, Martias, Portias, and Cornelias, 174 Nannys, Fannys, Jennys, Hettys, Dollys, Mollys, Biddys, Bettys, Sacharissas, Melesinas, Dulcibellas, Celestinas, — Say, is there one more free from blame. One that enjoys a fairer fame, One more endowed with Christian graces, (Although I say it to our faces. And flattery we don't delight in,) Than Catherine, at this present writing? Where, then, can all the diiference be ? Where, but between the K, and C : Between the graceful curving line. We now prefix to atherine, Which seems to keep with mild police, Those rebel syllables in peace. Describing, in the line of duty. Both physical, and moral beauty. And that impracticable K Who led them all so much astray — Was never seen in black and white, A character more frill of spite ! That stubborn back, to bend unskilfril, So perpendicularly wilfril ! With angles, hideous to behold. Like the sharp elbows of a scold. 175 In attitude, when words shall fail, To fight their battles tooth and nail. — In page the first, youVe sagely told That " all that glitters is not gold ;" Fain would I quote one proverb more — " N'eveillez pas le chat qui dort." Here some will smile, as if suspicious That simile was injudicious ; Because in C A T they trace Alhance with the feline race. But we the name alone inherit, C has the letter, K the spirit, And woe betide the man who tries Whether or no the spirit dies ! Tho' dormant long, it yet survives. With its full complement of lives. The nature of the beast is still To scratch and claw, if not to kill ; For royal Cats, to low-born wrangling Will superadd the gift of strangling. Witness in modern times the fate Of that unhappy potentate, Who, from his palace near the pole. Where the chill waves of Neva roll. Was snatch'd, while yet alive and merry. And sent on board old Charon's ferry. 176 The Styx he traversed, execrating A Katherine of his own creating. — Peter the Third — illustrious peer ! Great autocrat of half the sphere ! (At least of all the Russias, he Was Emperor, Czar of Muscovy) — In evil hour, this simple Czar, Impelled by some malignant star, Bestow'd upon his new Czarina, The fatal name of Katerina ; And, as Monseigneur I'Archeveque Chose to baptize her a la Grecque, *Twas Katerina with a K : He rued it to his dying day : Nay died, as I observed before, The sooner on that very score — The Princess quickly learnt her cue, Improved upon the part of shrew. And as the plot began to thicken. She wrung his head off like a chicken. In short this despot of a wife Robb'd the poor man of crown and life ; And robbing Peter, paid not Paul ; But clear'd the stage of great and small, No corner of the throne would spare, To gratify her son and heir. 177 But liv'd till threescore years and ten, Still trampling on the rights of men. — Thy brief existence, hapless Peter ! Had doubtless longer been, and sweeter. But that thou wilfully disturb'dst The harmless name she brought from Zerbst. Nor was it even then too late, When crown'd and registered a Kate ; When all had trembling heard, and seen, The shriller voice, and fiercer mien — Had'st thou e'en then, without the measure, That Russian boors adopt at pleasure, On publishing a tedious ukase. To blab to all the world the true case. By virtue of the Imperial knout But whipt th* offending letter out — She, in the fairest page of fame, Might then have writ her faultless name. And thou retained thy life, and crown. Till time himself had mow'd them down. 178 THE ROBBER POLYDORE A BALLAD. O ! HOLY Mary, hear the blast ! The ehns 'twill overthrow, Where, hung in chains, a murderer's bones Are tossing to and fro. The robber Polydore is up, And listens to the moan ; He fears to sleep, for on the heath His cottage stands alone. A knock comes thund'ring to the door. The robber's heart leaps high. " Now open quick, dost thou not mind Thy comrade Gregory ?" — " Whoe'er thou art, with smother'd voice Strive not to cheat mine ear; My comrade Gregory is dead. His bones are hanging near." — 179 " Now ope thy door, nor parley more ; 'Tis true I*m Gregory ; And, if 'twere not for the gibbet rope. My voice were clear and free. The wind is high, the wind is loud. It bends the old elm tree ; The blast has toss'd my bones about, This night most wearily. " The elm was dropping on my hair. The shackles galled my feet ; To hang in chains is a bitter lair. And, oh ! a bed is sweet. IVe borne my lot for many a night. Nor yet disturbed thee here ; Then sure a pillow thou wilt give Unto thy old compeer ?" ** Tempt me no more,*' the robber cried. And struggled with his fear ; Were this a night to ope my door. Thy taunts should cost thee dear." — ** Ah ! comrade, you did not disown, Nor bid me brave the cold ; The door was open soon when I Brought murder'd Mansell's gold. , N 2 180 " When for a bribe you gave me up To the cruel gallows' tree, You made my bed with readiness, And stirr'd the fire for me. But I have sworn to visit thee, Then cease to bid me go f And ope, or soon thy bolts and bars Shall burst beneath my blow." Oh ! sick at heart grew Polydore, And wish'd the dawn of day ; That voice had quelPd his haughty heart, He knew not what to say. For now the one that stood without. For entrance crav'd no more. And when no voice in answer came. He struck, and burst the door. " Why shrink'st thou thus, good comrade, now With such a wilder'd gaze ? Dost fear my rusted shapkles' clank ? Dost fear my withered face ? But for the gallows* rope, that face Had ne'er thus startled thee, And the gallows' rope, was't not the fruit Of thy foul treachery ? k 181 " But come thou forth, we'll visit now The elm with the withered rind, For though thy door was barr'd to me, Yet I will be more kind. That is my home, the ravens there Are all my company, And they and I will both rejoice In such a guest as thee. " The tempest's loud, but clasp my arm Why, why dost thou delay ? That arm thou did'st not doubt to clasp, When my life was sold away." The stormy wind sung wild and loud Round trembling Polydore ; As by his dead companion led, He struggled o'er the moor. And soon they reach'd a wilderness. By human foot unpress'd, The wind grew cold, the heather sigh'd. As conscious of their guest : Soon did they on the dreary heath The withered elm-tree find. Where a halter, with a ready noose, Hung dancing to the wind. N 3 Then turning round, his ghastly face Was twisted with a smile, " Now living things are far remote. We'll rest us here awhile. Brothers we were, good Polydore, We robb'd in company ; Brothers we were, and we in death Shall also brothers be. " Behold the elm, behold the rope. Which I prepared before. Thou'rt pale ! — 'tis but a struggle, man. And soon that struggle's o'er. Tremble no more, but cheerful come. And like a brother be ; I'll hold the rope, and in my arms I'll help you up the tree." The eyes of Polydore grew dim. He rous'd himself to pray, But a heavy weight sat on his breast, And took all voice away. The rope is tied, then from his lips A cry of anguish broke. Too powerful for the bands of sleep. And Polydore awoke. b 183 All vanished now the cursed elm, His dead companion gone, With troubled joy he found himself In darkness and alone. But still the wind with hollow gusts Fought ravening on the moor. And check'd his transports, while it sliook The bolted cottage door. f N 4 181^ ON BURNING A PACKET OF LETTERS RECEIVED FROM A FRIEND AT AN EARLY PERIOD OF LIFE, WHOSE CORRESPONDENCE HAD LAPSED INTO SILENCE, AND WHOSE FRIENDSHIP INTO APATHY. Cold is the hand that gives thee to the flame. Sweet source of pleasure in my early years ! But, O ye friends ! to me impute no blame, I mark its quick destruction thro' my tears. Cold was the hand that at one cast destroyed Sweet friendship, which, upon that crackling scroll. Depicted was ; even where, with skill employed. Her pen had traced the kindness of her soul. * Ah ! why the proof of former joy preserve ! A present grief 'twere folly to retain ; Years to encrease the change would only serve. And every change would add severer pain. 185 INSCRIPTION FOR A RETIRED SEAT IN A FRIEND's SHRUBBERY. Ye who love the shady bow*r, Ye who fear the sultry hour ; Ye who peace delight to meet. Come to my sequestered seat. Ye whose bosoms pant with fears. Ye who wish to hide your tears ; Ye who pine with secret love, Seek my quiet whispering grove ! If meditation suit thee best. Come with me contented rest. For here each flower and rising tree Declares the present Deity. 186 ON A SPRIG OF HEATH. Flower of the waste ! the heath-fowl shuns For thee the brake and tangled wood, — To thy protecting shade she runs, Thy tender buds supply her food ; Her young forsake her downy plumes To rest upon thy opening blooms. Flower of the desert tho' thou art ! The deer that range the mountain free. The graceful doe, the stately hart, Their food of shelter seek from thee ; The bee thy earliest blossom greets, And draws from thee her choicest sweets. Gem of the heath ! whose modest bloom Sheds beauty o'er the lonely moor ; Tho' thou dispense no rich perfiime, Nor yet with splendid tints allure, Both valour's crest and beauty's bower. Oft hast thou deck'd, a favourite flower. 187 Flower of the wild ! whose purple glow Adorns the dusky mountain's side. Not the gay hues of Iris* bow. Nor garden's artful, varied pride, With all its wealth of sweets could cheer, Like thee, the hardy mountaineer. Flower of his heart ! thy fragrance mild. Of peace and freedom seems to breathe ; To pluck thy blossoms in the wild. And deck his bonnet with the wreath. Where dwelt of old his rustic sires. Is all his simple wish requires. Flower of his dear-lov'd native land ! Alas, when distant, far more dear ! When he from some cold foreign strand. Looks homeward thro' the blinding tear. How must his aching heart deplore. That home and thee he sees no more I 188 FOTHRINGAY. Hail, falling shades ! hail, stillest evening hour ! Sacred to verse, and thou sublimest power, Imagination ! thou, while slumber light Lays me to rest upon the lap of night, Draw near my couch — and bear my soul away From earth's dull shades to scenes of brighter day ; Lead her to each lone vale, and hallow'd mount ; To each enchanted oak and mystic fount ; But chiefly lead her to the Choral Hall Of old Oceanus — and, at thy call. Bid soft Autona at my will prepare. And tell of deeds that mark'd her borders fair. The song prevail'd — and, deck'd with varied flower Of reed and lily — from her watery bow'r Autona rose ; and, turning her dark head To shade and meadow, pensive thus she said : " Hail, Fothringay ! tho' faded now thy bow'rs. Thy princes vanished, gone thy stately tow'rs ; Borne on the breeze from yon lone bank thy sigh Murmurs of glory past. — To poet's eye 189 Fair in thy mourning weeds. Amid the vale, I hail thee queen, and would record thy tale. Lo ! on that mound in days of feudal pride Thy tow'ring castle frowned above the tide. Flung wide her gates, where troops of vassals met With awe, the brow of high Plantaganet. But ah ! what chiefs in sable crest appear ! What great achievement marks yon warrior's bier ! 'Tis York's — from Agincourt's victorious plain. They bear the fallen hero o'er the main. Thro' all the land his blooming laurels shed, And to thy bosom give the mighty dead. When from thy lap the vengeful Richard sprung, A boding sound in all my borders rung ; It spoke a tale of blood — fair Nevile's woe, York's murd'rous hand — and Edward's future foe. " In darkest night for ever veil the scene When thy cold walls receiv'd the captive Queen. For this hath ruin torn thee from the ground. Spread her wild bramble and her thistle round. Burst on thy princely tower with whelming tide, Nor left one vestige to relate thy pride. " I saw her on that bank in sorrow tear The golden circlet from her graceful hair ; 190 While thus she spoke, — * Hence shall the scorner see That all my royal state consists in thee !' Hence, bauble, hence to pow'r ! nor bind that head That bows degraded o*er this humble bed. Fair stream ! my prison's guard, yet still and slow In seeming rev'rence of the captive's woe ; Were but mankind as gentle as thy flood. As deep then- friendship, and as clear their good ! Could'st thou convey me to the sounding tide, This hand should spread the sail — the steerage guide ; The lovely bark my Gallia's shore would gain, And England's Queen confess my pow'r to reign. But vain the wish ! — To me no more is giv'n Of joy or hope, — but that which rests in heav'n." She sighs — and lo ! thro' yonder portal come Nobles and Judges to pronounce her doom. She pleads indignant — " Bring ye, subjects, laws Unjustly here to try a Monarch's cause ? Your's is nor law nor truth, resolv'd on wrong, Death clouds your brow, and rancour arms your tongue." She ceas'd. — At Howard's name her sorrows flow. How lov'd his mem'ry, how deplor'd his woe ! See the last sun to Mary's eye descend. And night her curtain o'er the scene extend ! 191 Her watchful train in speechless anguish weep, The captive's eyes alone are clos'd in sleep. See the last morning break — with mournful state, Forth comes the royal captive to her fate. Death cannot move her soul — the sighing breath Of pitying bosoms gives the sting of death. Be calm," she said, " for Stuart soon shall be Above the sphere of mortal majesty ; Her little triumphs and her wrongs be o'er, Weep no more, faithful Melville ! weep no more !" ReHgion's hope her last sad words express ; Scotland admonish — ruthless England bless : But oh ! — the pause that foUow'd — and the groan Struck every nerve, and froze the blood to stone ! Trembling I hid my brow beneath the wave. And sank in terror to my inmost cave. Farewell — I mark with hate that murd'rous hour. And glide in silent grief to ocean's bow'r ! 192 THE LAMENT. Sweet lake ! while shades are closing round, I love to haunt thy tranquil shore, And mournful tread the hallowed ground Which Emma's form shall grace no more. There's not a rock thy waters lave But brings her to my fancjr's eye ; There's not a ripple on thy wave But murmurs of departed joy. Beneath yon birch's shadowy screen. Oft have we watch'd the fading day, Or slowly, o'er yon twilight green. In pensive bliss, have mused our way. And is she gone ? — and do I live To hover round our favourite spot, In vain o'er blighted hopes to grieve. And joys that will not be forgot. 193 Sweet lake ! this brain where memory glows, This heart which throbs in anguish now, Oh, that at length they might repose As cold, as motionless as thou ! 194 SONNET TO Whether thy locks in natural beauty stray, Clustering like woodbind wild, or haply bound, Like ivy wreath thy polish'd brows around ; Whether within thine eyes' blue mirror play Mirth's arrowy beams or love's more soften'd ray ; Whether to the gay viol's pleasant sound Thou minglest in the dance's airy round, Thy light feet twinkling like the darts of day ; Or whether o'er the graceful harp thy frame, More graceful yet, with eyes up-rais'd thou bendest. And with its tones thy own, far sweeter, blendest ; Still thou art loveliest, varying, yet the same. Still o'er my soul thine absolute sway extendest, And from all other loves my heart defendest. 195 SONNET. I've seen my day before its noon decline, And dark is still the future, nor, alas ! Can Hope, with all the magic of her glass. Irradiate the deep gloom which fate malign Has gathered round ; — yet will I not repine ; For tho' the courage, that can do and dare, Be brightest glory, unsubdued to bear. That calmer, better virtue may be mine ; — For this is of the mind ; — to slay, be slain. Asks but a moment's energies, and Fame First wakens and then keeps alive the flame; But Patience must itself, itself sustain. And must itself reward, nor hope to find The praise or the compassion of mankind. o 2 196 SONNET. There is a virtue, which to Fortune's height Follows us not, but in the vale below, Where dwell the ills of life, disease and woe. Holds on its steady course, serenely bright : So some lone star, whose softly beaming light We mark not in the blaze of solar day, Comes forth with pure and ever constant ray, That makes ev'n beautifiil the gloom of night. Thou art that star so lovely and so lone. That virtue of distress — Fidelity ! And thou, when every joy and hope are flown, Cling'st to the relics of humanity. Making with all its sorrows life still dear, And death, with all its terrors, void of fear. 197 THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. Where are the tamers of the deep, The gallant and the brave ? Heaven's angry whirlwinds o*er them sweep, Cold ocean is their grave. Was it, their sun of glory waned Amid the cloudy fight. When through the mists of battle rained A shower of deathly light ? Arose they from the strife of blood On victory's eagle pinion. Waving in death above the flood The banner of dominion ? I would not mock their fate with sorrow, Let woman melt in tears. Fame's gorgeous purple I would borrow To shroud their glorious biers, o 3 198 No ; on their dark and dismal hour No star of conquest rose ; Vain was their boast of strength and power, The tempests were their foes. Haughty they rode the passive deep, And bade the waves give place ; They called the wild winds from their sleep, To waft them on their race. They saw not from the deep arise The spirit of the storm, And mingle with the darkening skies His dim and scowling form. But God to him strange might had given To wreak his wrath on man ; By rushing blasts the skies were riven, The waves their war began. Where are the tamers of the deep. The gallant and the brave ? Go ask the wild winds where they sleep. Search ocean for their grave. 199 Was heard on Denmark's wintry shore The drear distress-gun moaning ? 'Twas night, amid the tempest's roar That dying men were groaning. And Ocean, hke a conqueror proud, In triumph rolled to land, And with his gallant spoils bestrewed The waste and silent sand. There are, who sweetly sleep at home With calm and careless breast, And those they love in slumber come To cheer their couch of rest. Oh, wake them not, from those to part. Who in their dreams survive ! To-morrow to the bleeding heart. For aye, they cease to live ! o 4 ^00 A PORTRAIT. Yes, — whilst my sight is yet allowed to rest On those dear features, (which it calms my breast To look upon, and, as I watch them, give The purest bliss that mortals may receive,) Let me preserve their image for a space. And from the life a faint resemblance trace. Oh ! if the likeness were correctly made, And if my colours were not such as fade, Through time's long year the Portrait would be prais'd, And future ages profit, as they gaz'd. Lovely is youth, — but, robb'd of vermil hue. Age may be lovely, and enchant the view. When the soul brightens, and th' immortal ray Is seen more clearly through the shrine's decay ; When the mild aspect, cloudless and serene. Reveals in silence what the life has been — Untroubled as the awful close draws near. Still fondly turn'd to all remaining here ; Still breathing peace, and tenderness, and love, lUum'd with nearer radiance from above. 201 Such, such 'tis mine to witness day by day, And more than filial reverence to pay. For, if I owe her life, and ev'ry flow'r That ere I gathered since my natal hour. And (more than life, or happiness, or fame,) The fear of God, since I could lisp his name : If no conflicting ties divide my heart. And chance, nor change, have forc'd us yet apart ; If for the other each too oft has fear*d. And mutual woes and peril have endear'd ; Now that her spirit undisturb'd remains By sharpened trials and increasing pains, I view the mother and the saint in one. And pay beyond the homage of a son. Ye who approach her threshold, cast aside The world, and all the littleness of pride ; Come not to pass an hour, and then away Back to the giddy follies of the day ; — With reverent step and heav'n-directed eye. Clad in the robes of meek humility. As to a temple's hallow'd courts, repair. And come the lesson, as the scene, to share ; Gaze on the ruin'd frame, and pallid cheek, Prophetic symptoms, that too plainly speak ! 20^ Those limbs that fail her as she faulters by ; Pangs, that from nature will extort a sigh ; See her from social intercourse removed, Forbid to catch the friendly voice she lov'd ; Then mark the look composed, the tranquil air, Unfeign'd contentment still enthroned there ! The cheerful beams, that, never quench'd, adorn That cheek, and gladden those who thought to mourn ; Benignant smiles for all around that shine, Unbounded love, and charity divine ! This is Religion — not unreal dreams. Enthusiast raptures and seraphic gleams ; But Faith's calm triumph — Reason's steady sway, Not the brief lightning, but the perfect day. Mark we the close of years without offence ? Of more than this, and more than innocence, — A life of deeds — a long, unblemished course Of gen'rous action, and of moral force. Her have I seen assaiPd by deepest woe, O'erwhelming desolation's sudden blow ; How much she felt, the body's ills display ; From that dread hour began the slow decay. Yet she, who quiver'd at another's pain. Her own with stoic firmness could sustain ; 203 Stood unsubdued — but meekly kiss'd the rod, And took with patience all that came from God ; And curb'd her grief, when sorrow's cup ran o'er, Lest those who saw her weep, should weep the more. Her have I seen when Death was at her side, And Hope no longer to our prayers replied, Nor then celestial visions blest her sight. Or angels waiting for the spirit's flight ; Awe she confest — but awe devoid of fear. In death, as Ufe, who knew her Maker near. — Yet she, whose claim (if any may) will prove Sure of the joys that crown the just above. Humbly preferr'd no title of her own. And on redeeming grace repos'd alone. In acts of prayer life's ebbing moments past, Or acts of love, benignant to the last ; Nor one forgot, nor fail'd to recommend Each poor dependant — name each valued friend ; And, most resign'd to summons all but given. Still human, griev'd to leave us, though for heav'n. Nor hers alone the virtues that require Some stroke of fate to rouse their latent fire ; Great for an hour, heroic for a scene. Inert through aU the common life between. 204 But such as each diurnal task perform, Pleas'd in the calm, imshaken by the storm. In her had Nature bounteously combin'd The tend'rest bosom with the strongest mind ; Sense that seem*d instinct, so direct it caught The just conclusion, oft refus'd to thought ; Simplicity of heart, that never knew What meant the baubles which the world pursue ; All these, by not a taint of self alloyed, All these were hers — for others all employed. To seek the haunts of poverty and pain. Teach want to thrive, and grief to smile again ; To guide young footsteps to the right, and win The old in error from the ways of sin ; To ease the burthens of the human race. Mend ev'ry heart, and gladden ev'ry face, She liv'd and breath'd, — not from the world estrang'd. But mov'd amongst it, guileless and unchanged ; Still lov'd to view the picture's brighter side ; The first to cherish, and the last to chide. For this around the time-struck ruin wait Admiring crowds, the lowly and the great ; Thither for this, the young, the good, repair. And watch around with unremitted care ; 205 For this the orphans of the village bring Unbidden gifts, the earliest wreath of spring, Homage, that scarce encircles youth, or power. In court of kings, or beauty's vernal bower. Thus cheer'd, yet thus forbid to labour more, Wanting herself the aid she gave before ; When feeble mortals peevishly complain. Regret past pleasures, and survive in vain ; She, like the silver lamp, that, night and day, Before some altar sheds its hallow'd ray. Serenely shines, in pure effulgence bright. With pious lustre, and attractive light; Dispels the black'ning shades that gather round. And guides the wanderer to the sacred ground. — Servant of God ! thy task is nearly done ! And soon, too soon, thy wages will be won. Yet how shall I contend with grief alone ? How bear this cheerless earth when thou art gone ? Dear being ! 'tis thyself would still bestow Whatever of comfort the bereft may know ! For when, (how else shall I employ the hours ?) Of thee I think, thy virtues, and thy powers, Shall I despair ? thou did'st not : — or repine ? Did ever murmur spring from lips of thine ? 206 Yes — I will strive — though, at the thought, my heart Sickens, and nature trembles at her part I will not wholly lose thee, but believe, That, from on high, thy care I still receive ; And, as I wander through the^silent glade. Trace the sequestered brook, or seek the shade, Through day's long hours ; or in the night profound, When stillness breathes a sacred calm around ; Discourse with thee in spirit, though disjoined, And catch the influence of angelic mind. The force of virtue lasts beyond the grave. Still shalt thou watch, console me, guide, and save ! Lead me from ill, and keep my steadfast eye, Fill'd with the prospect of futurity ; Where, soon or later, if I teach my feet Thy steps to follow — we again shall meet.* * Since the above was put into the editor's hands, the amiable and excellent original of the Portrait has been removed to that higher state of existence, for which she was so well prepared. ^07 DE LA CHARITE' POUR LES PAUVRES PRISONNIERS, DIEPPE. Yes, 'tis a year since last that plaintive cry, " Pity the prisoners," touch'd my wand'ring ear : And now again their hat is lower'd from high. And the same famish'd, sharpened features peer Through the stern bars. — Can the revolving year, With its rich interchange of joys, have brought Health to my body, transport to my thought. Whilst man hath left his fellow-creatures here? France ! I have trod thy vine-clad hills, and eyed Milan's cathedral, the blue Glacier's wall, Como's fair lake in all its summer's pride ; Baronial Heidelberg, Schaffhausen's fall; Till lost in ecstasy, my spirit flew Forth with the breeze, exulting o'er the view, And, as that breeze along a bank of flowers Gathers their odours, with a silent awe Incorporating them into my powers, I mingled with the mighty things I saw, 208 Bold forms, sweet tints, soft Nature's whisper'd tone. And made the feelings of the Alps my own : Just as the lake, beneath the mountain's brow, Reflects the charms that on its borders glow, Receives them to its breast, and seems to blend Their nature in its own, as friend to friend. And I at will have seen and mused on man, His varied character and social plan, — The prudent Dutchman, the more simple Swiss, Till, home returning, the familiar kiss Of loving lips received me. Out, alas ! On human mercy ! whilst my hours have flown Lovely as sunbeams through the prism glass. Your bondaged months have dragged theirweight alone. Poor barr'd and pittanced thralls ! to you the same How bright the day, or rich the harvest came ! Oh, how can guilty souls presume to meet Him, who redeemed them, on his judgment-seat. Who taught them but one daily prayer to Heaven, *' As we forgive, so may we be forgiven !" Bankrupts and beggars ! how can they forget The retribution of his awful threat. On fierce exactors of a fellow-servant's debt ? Away ! no kneeling mockery to your Lord ! When ye but ask*d him, he forgave you all; 209 Ev*n you, whose patience will not once afford A doit's forbearance at a brother's call. Yourselves have judg'd yourselves, and wrath defied, By every drop of comfort you denied ; And heap'd consuming horrors on your head In ev*ry tear your withering victims shed ; Those tears which baffled avarice can spurn. Then, reckless, to life's breathing world return To feast with Pharisees, the sunbeam share. Weep o'er a play, nor tremble at a prayer. Grasping the pound of flesh revenge makes dear, Age after age, man pens his equal here. He owed you monies, therefore, whilst the blood Boils at his heart, and children cry for food ; Whilst strong his energies, erect his form. His feelings fresh about him, — like a storm. You, the rich tyrant, fasten'd on your prey, Carried him from his plunder'd home away ; And to this living sepulchre consign'd, A fading body, and a writhing mind. Here, left in hateful solitude to die, By the slow poison of much misery. — Pity the prisoners ! Yes; tho' thrown aside, Like serpents that dar'd cross the path of pride, p -210 And darken, with your wretched looks, the day Of purse-swol'n neighbours, whom want could not pay; And though ye lose, withdrawn from public sight, The throng'd world's sympathy, your humble right, Yet do your cruel sorrows justice find. Among the human portion of mankind, — The glorious few, who, true to virtue's cause. Would mend their country's by religion's laws; They who have made the better part their choice, And pass'd protected through life's furnace flame, Nor need, like me, the suiTrer's pleading voice, To wake their nature to a sense of shame; Who, amidst fashion's taint and pleasure's lure, Have fought the thankless battles of the poor ; Wrench'd from the worldly hand its iron rod. And best have serv'd, by most resembling God. Whilst me, yet loit'ring on a foreign strand, Life's labyrinth-thread deceives, and seems but sand. Which from my feeble fingers slips away, Like the delusion of a vacant dream. Or mountain music of some shallow stream. That, pleas'd in list'ning its own worthless sound, Cools no parch'd lip, revives no thirsty ground. In those brief hours of light which yet remain. If yet, oh, teach me not to live in vain ! Teach me, Great Master ! to redeem the time, And heavenward teach my sacred thoughts to climb. Then shall I, from sin's slavish thraldom free. Love all thy Gospel loves, and humbly honour Thee. ¥ p 2 ^12 SONG. Yes, thou mayst walk in silk attire, If thou'lt consent to be his bride, Whose wealth can satiate each desire That ministers to pride. If thou'lt forswear thy plighted love, And leave his aching heart to break. With whom, in Teviot's evening grove, Thou vow'dst life's lot to take. To whom thy stainless, youthful heart. Pledged its affections earliest glow, And bade thy faltering lips impart Bliss he no more can know. When life to thee, as then to him, Beam'd in its freshest, lovehest hue. In rapture's cup, love to the brim Rose bright, — but how untrue ! 218 Nay, nay, the friendly hand I scorn, Thy love was mine, I'll ne'er take less ; If chang'd aiFection can't be borne, There's refuge from distress. The damask couch — the fretted roof — May sooth thy rest — may please thine eye ; A lowlier dome — a ruder woof — • He seeks, who seeks to die. p 3 214 EVENING. How lovely, Evening, is thy parting smile f The twilight softness of thy glowing sky May well the poet's pensive dream beguile. And kindle rapture in his languid eye. There is a quiet magic in the sigh Of thy cool breezes, and thy twinkling dews, The insect's hum, the birds' wild melody, Thy. few faint stars, and all the varying hues That o'er thy pallid cheek their maiden blush suffuse I love the setting sun's last glance of light, When vernal clouds have wept themselves away: Flowers are more fragrant, and their tints more bright; More blithe the nightingale's reviving lay : The drops fall sparkling from the leafy spray. As fitful breezes toss the straggling brier ; And the far hill flings back the level ray ; So pure the liquid air, that cot and spire. Distinct in distance, gleam with evening's golden fire. Q15 The poet's glances, wheresoe'er they roll, A paradise of living splendor make ; And in the magic mirror of his soul. Earth's simple beauties lovelier forms awake ; As in the green depth of some limpid lake. Unruffled by the west wind's vesper sighs. Tree, hill, and cloud, a softened brilliance take, Till all the landscape in reflection lies A fairy world of light, enshrin'd in purer skies. But spring hath sights which melt upon the mind With an o'erpow'ring beauty: early flow'rs That children in their evening rambles find; The soft, half-open'd foliage, wet with show'rs ; Luxuriant shoots, that o'er the twilight bow'rs Wave wildly : dappled skies, and sparkling rills. And spring hath music for our love-sick hours: Wild notes of forest warblers ; and the hills. All silent as they seem, a mingled murmur fills. The ploughman's careless whistle, the low bleat Of youngling flocks, the drowsy-tinkling bell, The bark of village watch-dogs, as they greet The homeward shepherd, on the breezes swell, p 4 216 While evening darkens o'er the misty dell. O then I love to wander, all unseen, Walks lengthen'd as the lengthening light may tell, And muse, with many a roving thought between, And quiet to the soul from nature's quiet glean. In all the calmness of a cloudless eve, How gently dies a long, long summer day ! O'er yon broad wood, as loth to take its leave. It sheds, at parting, its most lovely ray; And golden lights o'er all the landscape play — And languid zephyrs waft their rich perfume Where the wide lattice gives them open way. And breathe a freshness round the twilight room, From jasmine, clematis, and yellow-blossom'd broom. There is a home-felt stillness in the hour. When heaven's bright azure takes a deeper shade, And fragrance sleeps in every closing flower. Then, ere the amber glow is all decay'd. The volume or the work aside is laid; And the pleas'd mother views, with glist'ning eye. The little games by happy childhood play'd, Her fair-hair'd girls all breathless running by, With cries of mimic fear and laugh of ecstacy. ^217 When the far clock hath toird the hour of rest. They, side by side, before their mother kneel, And pray their gentle slumbers may be blest. And their pure spirits dew-like influence feel Of grace and goodness. Oh ! what raptures steal Upon a parent's soul at childhood's prayer ! That innocence might all her sorrows heal : The lifted hands, the feature's placid air. The hymn so sweetly lisp'd, have all enchantment there. And then the good-night kiss : and they repose In dreamless rest, or dreams of happiness : And the warm cheek with livelier colour glows, As, half unconsciously, with fond caress. The wearied infants to each other press, And fall asleep together. Happy sleep ! The sage might envy thee, the saint might bless : O ! could'st thou in thy own true Lethe steep The sunk and haggard eyes that wake, and wake to weep ! Come, walk with me, where, o'er the dewy lawn, The fir-tree wafts its incense, and the gale Breathes freshly from the waters ; for the dawn Of moon-light brightens o'er the winding dale; And while the startled owlets shriek and wail, One flood of splendor bathes the distant hill, The corn-field bosom'd in the wood, the vale With river mists overshadow' d, hush'd and still, Save where in murmurs dies the rushing of the mill. Soon shalt thou hear, fair moon, a blither greeting Than poet's invocation, or the cry Of owlet : — Shout and laugh in chorus meeting. Where youths and maids their harvest labour ply. And the slow wain, with dewy sheaves pil'd high. And grating wheels, rolls homeward : the shrill song Of infant gleaner swells the revelry ; And aye, with dying fall the notes among. Will echo's airy tones the melody prolong. In the deep stillness of the moonlight grove. Where trembling leaves a chequered shadow made. Of yore the fairy-people lov'd to rove ; And soft as that dim light and mellow shade. Aerial music whisper'd from the glade : And fays, beneath the drooping violet. In filmy robes of gossamer array'd, And moth-wing scarf, and fern-seed coronet. To list a tale of love their elfin warriors met. 219 Roll on ! thou pure and lovely orb ! roll on, In silent beauty through the cloudless sky ; Most lovely when the twihght flush is gone. And thou in brightness art alone on high. Thou art the poet's vi^orship, and his eye More wildly flashes in thy hallow'd ray : To thee the lover, fancy-sick, will sigh ; And thy pale beams through ivied casement play, Where patient maiden's cheek in vigils wastes away. The mourner loves thee ; for thy quiet light Sheds beauty o'er grey tower and waving tree, Yet beauty which becomes the solemn night ; While day, in mockery, throws o'er all we see, Gay smiles, which win no smile fjrom misery. — The mourner loves thee ; and, in frenzied tone, Her overflowing passion breathes to thee, Thrill'd with thy loveHness, when all is gone That gave affection birth, and yet the heart yearns on. How sweetly, by the margin of the lake. From cottage windows peeps the taper's light ! The trembling waters its reflection break. As the breeze stoops to kiss them in its flight. 220 The glow-worm, lamp of little fairy sprite, On beds of moss is shining in the dew ; And stars are twinkling from the depths of night. In Evening's lingering glimmer pale and few. But flashing thick and bright along the darker blue. In the green covert of some leafy bay, Stretched languidly along my rocking boat, I love to gaze my inmost soul away. And watch the silent stars in ether float : And oft, when distant flute's faint echo smote On my hush'd senses, — list'ning with a sigh — Oh ! I have lov'd to fancy that the note Had wander'd from the music of the sky. And woo'd the poet's creed of spheral melody. 'Tis sweet to mark the wither'd foliage float, Down the cold stream of autumn's evening gale. While the last ling'ring swallow's feeble note. Seems sadly for the waning year to wail. The huntsman's bugle echoes down the vale, To call the stragglers of the weary chase ; From barn far distant sounds the sullen flail ; And the chill'd wand'rer turns with livelier pace. O'er heath or dreary moor his homeward path to trace. mi But dearer far the spirit-stirring sight, When the white waves with all their voices roar, , And the red sun goes down with fitful light, Along " a wild and breaker-beaten shore." The gale of evening freshens more and more ; And boats, like specks upon the sparkling tide, Run landward ; gulls on flapping pinions soar ; And petrels on the rolling billows ride. Sure sign of gathering storm by sailor's eye espied. The light-house, like a horizontal star. Peeps through the tempest o'er the rocky coast ; And signal-bells sound strangely, faint and far. Amid the howl of winds and waters lost. Light bounds the bark, all buffeted and tost; Waves roar and hiss around her stooping prow ; The din, the darkness but by lightening crost. Yards strain'd, mast quivering, as the hoarse gusts blow. Thrill the tumultuous blood with rapture's breathless glow. Such tale, on winter evening long and drear. By the red ember's deep and fitful ray, The cottage matron tells, with many a fear For sailor-boy on shipboard far .away; And tatter'd children leave their noisy play. To hear, and nestle by the beldame's side ; And aye she shakes her tresses thin and grey, At her own ghostly legends terrified ; Then hastily will rise, nor farther question bide. More swiftly, months of learned exile roll ! Restore " the wintry paradise of home," The bower of bliss, the Eden of the soul. More sweet than luxury's most gorgeous dome, More sweet than groves where youth and beauty roam. To breathe the stillness of the star-light air. Come, tranquil evenings, peaceful pleasures, come, Where heart with heart its sympathies may share. And loving and belov'd, repose in rapture there ! A sister's arm around thee fondly wreath'd, The listless sofa, hour of deep'ning gloom, * The hopes, the fears, the girlish secrets, breath'd In tones that whisper round the silent room, — The laughing tell-tale eye, and conscious bloom, — These all are pleasant : — pleasant is our glee. When brighter lights the social hearth illume, And all intently busied seem to be. Yet idlesse is it all in that fair company. 223 O'er the blank landscape let the curtains fall. And wake the yule-logs to a livelier blaze, While to the lares of our sober hall Accustomed rites the white-arm'd priestess pays : The azure flame from silver censer plays Innocuous round the base of hissing urn ; The snow-white cups the graceful hand arrays ; And each the fragrant essence sips in turn. And views with social smile that little altar burn. Then labour's idle semblance wastes an hour, And o'er the table is the work-box spread ; And fairy fingers trace the mimic flower. Or knot, or twist, or wind the golden thread : The silken twine, through many a labyrinth led. Some trifle weaves, which beauty gives away ; And soon, that beauteous form for ever fled, The shght memorial of a happier day. To grief a melancholy pleasure may convey. And ever and anon soft voices talk, Of all that busies or dehghts the fair ; The tended green-house, or the morning walk. Or volume chosen solitude to share ; 224 And sparkling glances, playful smiles, are there, And all the enchantment of the Paphian zone : Then breathes the harp a wild and plaintive air, And feeling blends her soul-dissolving tone. That melts among the chords, then sweetly thrills alone. Not undelightful is the thoughtful game. Where martial queens the mimic fray command ; When puzzled ladies blush for very shame. With furrow'd forehead and suspended hand. Observant children round the table stand ; Or read, with pleasure's half-believing smile, The old fantastic lore of fairy-land. Or tales that might a graver age beguile, Aladdin's lamp of power, or Crusoe's lonely isle. And who hath seen, and ever will forget, The girlish glow of innocent delight, When round the hearth the graver few are met, And some young sister bursts upon their sight, The ball-room's newest, brightest, star to night ? While playful glances to the mirror roam. She chides the moments for their ling'ring flight ; Then bears fond wishes from her quiet home. For all that beauty asks in pleasure's whirling dome. ^25 Sweet is the cadence of the graceful dance, When music melts with full melodious fall. And fairy forms of mirth and beauty glance, Along the mazes of the glittering hall : Then swifter notes and sprightlier measures call ; And lovely is the ringlet's airy flow. The eyes that sparkle with delight on all, The livelier throbbing of the breast of snow, The small hand gently pressed, the cheek's responsive glow. Not thus the solitary evenings pass, To one far off in academic shade ; But slowly gazing o'er the mingled mass Of dusty learning on his table laid. He sighs for mountain rill, or forest glade, Or well-known faces round the social fire ; * For never here romantic Naiad stray'd, Or wood-nymph echoing mock'd the poet's lyre, But bleak and dreary plains all dreary thoughts inspire. Yet pleasure flies not from the antique cell, Where dimly burns the taper's hermit flame ; For there the spirits of the mighty dwell. Dreams that to Scio's sightless poet came, 8 2^6 And music breathed by Mincio's reedy stream : When the slant casement woos the evening air, To waft its freshness on the fever'd frame, From the far chapel swells the voice of prayer, And breezes, as they rise, the pealing anthem bear. And when the silver moon-beams softly smile, O'er arch and window rich with fretted stone. And deeper shadows mark the chequered pile, By turret or illumin'd buttress thrown, — To tread the echoing cloister all alone. Through grated portal watch the waving trees. To listen to the river's feeble moan. And muse o'er idle numbers, wild as these. Are pleasures that endear the bower of learned ease. SUNSET MEDITATION, UNDER THE APPREHENSION OF APPRO ACHING BLINDNESS.* In tremulous vision, falsely near. The forms of nature as phantoms appear. With the wonted colours of earth and sky, When o'er them wanders my fixless eye. O, let not one image from memory fade. That might dimly gleam the coming shade ; Be the parthig aspect deeply imprest, . Like a mother's glance ere she sank to rest ! Shall I see those infant leaves, which now So lightly feather each waving bough. That scarce the descending orb they veil, — Shall I behold them wax sere and pale ? Or must I, when Autumn's rustling breeze. Strews the frost-ting'd foliage round the trees. Mournfully fancy the oak's ruddy brown. And the mountain-ash, drooping wanly down ? * Some of the prognostics of that species of blindness occasioned by a failure of the optic nerve are described in the commencing lines. 2 2 228 And, when in this cottage-porch reclin'd. Where the woodbine's tendrils sport in the wind, Still clinging with all their early love. To the arch o'er which they climb'd above, — Will the picture sav'd from oblivion's stream, Resemble the trace of a vivid dream. And the scenes I never again can view. Be imag'd in fragments of heighten'd hue ? Shall I only then from its temper'd glow. The hour of the Western glories know ? While memory's pencil may fondly seek. To repaint each amber and crimson streak. And truly combine to the mental gaze, The changeful tints of the cloud-wrapt blaze : All, all that could wring from the scorner's breast, A prayer to Creation's God — confest ! Let gratitude's source unfailing be found, 'Midst the desert of darkness spreading around ! Tho' withdrawn, be the blessings ne'er forgot Which have shed their balm o'er my varied lot : Not even the floweret of briefest day, Which I've watch'd, dew-gemm'd in the morning ray, Till the beams that open'd each blooming leaf, Seem'd to cheer a bosom clouded with grief. 229 But doubly endear'd and ne'er to decline, The power to console me, my friend, is thine ! If thoughts that dwell in the deep heart's core Must be exchanged by the eye no more ; If this were the last confiding token Of all that thy look of love hath spoken ; — By the tender touch and the quivering tone, I should know the heart to be still my own. Q 3 230 ON TIME. ADOKESSED TO A LADY ON HER 84TH BIRTH-DAY. Time sooth, since Time has been, has still sustained The varied murmurs of each wayward mood, Of tedious pace, of hasty flight arraigned. His loss lamented and his influence woo'd. * How is it, favoured Lady, that on thee This blighting power no rugged mark has shed ? But traces still, with fairest courtesy. His gentle progress o'er thy silver'd head ? No vain regrets to thy remembrance cling. No ill-spent hours thy tranquil mind appal. Nor would'st thou wish to check his rapid wing. Or transient joys of scenes long past recal. Then tell the gay who bask in youthful prime. Time honours thee, for thou hast honoured Time. 231 LOVE. Yes, Love has his changes, but be not too ready, To number his faults or dishonour his sway ; Abuse him you may, as the billow unsteady. But what are his changes ? say. Moralist, say. At first, I confess, full of whims and vagaries. All wing and all fire, a wild boy and no more ; But pass a few years — then observe how he varies ; His freaks disappear, and his follies are o'er. And who would now blame him ?. so altered a creature More sweet is his smile, more contented his air ; More happy his mien, tho* more sober each feature. And look at his form ! see, no pinions are there. We journey thro' life, and the hill now ascending, New changes in life must too surely appear ; Inverted his torch, and on earth his eyes bending. He moves a lone mourner, and follows a bier. Q 4^ 28^ Then cold to the world, from its pleasures retiring, He conies like a pilgrim to memory's shrine ; And whisp'ring new hopes, and, new visions inspiring. The child is now chang'd to a seraph divine. 233 A CHARACTER. Ask you, " What charms first chained my heart, " And held me from the world apart, " Made young ambition's turmoil cease, " And blest me in the haunts of peace ?" 'Twas not th' unfolding of the rose, That in the cheeks' fresh vermeil glows ; Not health, whose fragrant lip exhales The breath it stole from morning gales ; Not the smooth front, as spotless fair. As chaste as Guido's angel air ; Nor the blue eye, that brighter far And steadier than Eve's herald star, That passes lonely o'er the deep When ocean rests in summer sleep : It was not these that chain'd my heart. And held me from the world apart : — 'Twas the pure soul that glow'd within, 'Twas innocence that thought no sin. ^4 'Twas fancy, whose keen glance unsated Beamed on a world herself created, And like the sun that pours alone The beauteous light it looks upon, Embellish'd every form it view'd, And its own charm in all pursu'd. 'Twas more than these : 'twas fearless youth, Whose guardian was celestial truth ; 'Twas instinct, that like lightning caught The slow result of patient thought ; 'Twas quick sensation, that convey 'd The answer that the lip dela/d : 'Twas the first thought that spoke the soul, Nor sought reflection's slow controul : 'Twas force with gentleness combin'd. Mildness of heart with strength of mind, And virtue, to itself severe. That gave to woe — to sin — a tear. These were the charms that chain'd my heart, And held me from the world apart. And yet I knew not at that hour. The influence of that gentle pow'r : I deem'd not that the future day Would still some latent grace display, 2S5 Some virtue more and more reveal That youth and beauty half conceal : That when affliction's keenest dart Pierc'd with domestic wound my heart, That gentle spirit would sustain My soul its firmness to regain, Teach me to bear the trial grief, And in submission find relief. Such were the charms that chained my heart, That held me fi-om the world apart. And brighter now than in their bloom. With Hesper light my Eve illume. 2S6 UENNUYEE. Oh ! is it dreaming folly That thus my mind deludes ? Or listless melancholy Unbidden that intrudes ? Why sinks this soul of pleasure That once could tower away, And revel without measure In realms of brightest day ? 'Tis gaiety, that wasted Leaves me and sickening flies : 'Tis pensiveness has hasted To bid my heart be wise ; 'Tis indolence unsteady That claims a right to grieve. Because no joy is ready Its languors to deceive. 'Tis rain and sullen weather, That chill me and annoy; — 237 'Tis — oh, *tis all together That thus my bliss destroy ! At noon the lark was singing ; Yon lake with sunshine warm ; Look, how those clouds are bringing Their odious heaps of storm. Alas ! what vain delusion Can all these follies name — Oh, rise my cheek's confusion ! Oh, sink my heart with shame ! That heart each joy possessing, That toils itself to tease ; And turns from every blessing, Fantastic with its ease. Ye heirs of want and sorrow, Oh, rise upon my view ! And let my fancy borrow Reproof and awe from you. Oh, let me wake and hasten To haunts of real pain, And into silence chasten The follies I disdain. 238 THE MERRY HEART. I WOULD not from the wise require The lumber of their learned lore ; Nor would I from the rich desire A single counter of their store. For I have ease and I have health, And I have spirits, light as air, And more than wisdom, more than wealth, A merry heart, that laughs at care. Like other mortals of my kind I've struggled for dame Fortune's favour. And sometimes have been half inclined To rate her for her ill-behaviour. But life was short — I thought it folly To lose its moments in despair ; So slipp'd aside from melancholy. With merry heart, that laugh'd at care. And once, 'tis true, two 'witching eyes Surpriz'd me in a luckless season. 239 Turn'd all my mirth to lonely sighs, And quite subdued my better reason. Yet *twas but love could make me grieve, And love 's, you know, a reason fair, And much improved, as I believe. The merry heart, that laugh'd at care. So now, from idle wishes clear, I make the good I may not find ; Adown the stream I gently steer, And shift my sail with every wind. And half by nature, half by reason. Can still with pliant art prepare. The mind, attun'd to every season. The merry heart, that laughs at care. Yet, wrap me in your sweetest dream, Ye social feelings of the mind. Give, sometimes give, your sunny gleam. And let the rest good humour find. Yes, let me hail and welcome give To every joy my lot may share, And pleas'd and pleasing let me live With merry heart, that laughs at care. 240 THE MOTHER'S REMONSTRANCE. JlIast thou well my counsels weigh'd, Shew me not that gay cockade ; — I have watch'd thy tender years, With a mother's hopes and fears ; I should yield thee up with tears. Thou would'st only live for fame, Thou would'st win a hero's name, — But thou know'st not what I know ; I have seen the realms of woe, Where the soldier's laurels grow. — Can'st thou thirst and famine bear. Yet march on with cheerful air ? Can'st thou stand the autumn's rain. On a cold and marshy plain. When thy gallant heart is vain ? When thy comrades round thee fall. When 'tis death and tumult all, Can'st thou then untroubled stand, With thy reason at command. To save thy shatter'd band ? 241 Can'st thou die, as soldiers die, Give to love thy last sad sigh, Then, 'mid dead and dying cast. Feel thy dreams of glory past. Yet contented breathe thy last ? — 'Twas thus thy father fell. — I could ne'er the story tell — But I see his image now. With the death-blood on his brow ; I survived, I know not how. — 'Twas for thee that life was dear, — But my words thou wilt not hear ; And the fire, ev'n while I speak, Mantles higher on thy cheek, To reproach my fondness weak. — Oh ! on th* embattled field. May the God of Battles shield Thee, the vsoldier's widow's son ! — — Return with laurels won — Or his righteous will be done. — 24^ LINES WRITTEN ON THE FIELD OF gUATRE BRAS, 1821, So bright the sun puts forth his glorious beams, So fair the field beneath his lustre gleams, So soft the south wind wanders o'er the corn, While on its wing a thousand scents are borne, So bright and fair, so peaceful and serene. So soft and calm, and undisturbed the scene. It seems as if no storm had ever rose. Or e'er could rise, to break its sweet repose. But on this lovely spot when last I stood, What was that field ? — a theatre of blood ! The war-fiend here unfiirPd his baleful wing. Here mock*d at pain, and smiPd at suffering : Yelling with joy as each new victim bled. Gloated his eye on hecatombs of dead ; Steep'd his foul pinions in a sea of gore. And, drench'd with slaughter, still demanded more. Yes, for the blue of yonder cloudless sky. Above us hung a sulphurous canopy ; 243 For murmuring rill, and carol of the bird, Were whizzing shot and roaring cannon heard ; — Bristled the bay'net, gleamed the deadly glaive, Where thickest now the golden harvests wave ; — Where tender harebells wave in azure bloom, l^^hr ^ Floated the pennon with the warrior's plume ; For rural echoes, or the wild bees' hum, Bray'd the hoarse trumpet, roll'd the hollow drum ; And where yon meadow's turf most verdant is. There fell the fiercest of our enemies. They fell indeed ! — but with them what a host. Of conqu'rors, comrades, brothers, friends, was lost ! What tears bedew'd the bodies of the brave. As sanguine hands consigned them to the grave ; What sobs burst forth as voices join'd in prayer, Which but an hour before had joined the battle there ; liAj^yt^ What manly bosoms heav'd with sorrow's sigh. Which but an hour before throbb'd high in victory ! Alas ! among the most deplored of those. Who, wrapp'd in shrouds of glory, here repose, Here^ on this field, their valour nobly won, ' Lies low in earth the gallant Barrington ! R 2 / 244 Oh ! that my feeble hand could justly trace His manly virtues, and his youthful grace; — Oh ! that my feeble pen could trace his eye, Where sat enshrin'd, the soul of bravery ; Or shew his sword uplifted in the fight, Dashing through foremost ranks with meteor light. — Enough — surrounded by a heap of slain, He sunk triumphant on the gory plain ; Sudden the silver cord of life was riven. And the freed spirit sprang at once to Heaven ! 245 ON A SLEEPING BOY. Sleep — and while slumber weighs thine eyelids down, May no foul phantom o'er thy pillow frown ; But brightest visions deck thy tranquil bed, And angels wings o'ercanopy thy head. Sleep on, sweet boy ! may no dark dream arise To mar thy rosy rest — thou babe of Paradise ! See where the glowing hands are closely prest. As when from pray'r he softly sunk to rest; Mark how with half-clos'd lips and cherub smile. He looks, as still he pray'd, and slept the while ; Yet, yet they seem as if they whispered praise For all the blessings of his halcyon days. Bid, Oh, Almighty Father, God and Friend ! Religion's glories on his steps attend ; To shine through all the dreary storms of life, A splendid beacon in this world of strife ; And when to Thee recall'd, he sinks in death. May pray'r and praise still bless his parting breath ! R 3 c^''lA.JL-<. 246 ON MEMORY. WRITTEN AT AIX-LA-CHAPELLE. No ! this is not the land of Memory, It is not the home where she dwells, Though her wandering, wayward votary Is ever the thrall of her spells ; Far oiFwere the fetters woven which bind Still closer and closer the exile's mind ! Yet this land was the boast of minstrelsy, Of the song of the Troubadour, Whence Charlemagne led his chivalry To the fields which were fought of yore ; Still the eye of Fancy may see them glance, Gilded banner, and quivering lance ! But Memory from Fancy turns away. She has wealth of her own to guard ; And whisperings come to her ear, which say Sweeter things than the song of the bard : They are solemn and low, and none can hear The whispers which come to Memory's ear. 247 They tell of the dews which brighten'd the way By our earliest footsteps pressed. They tell of the visions, hopeful and gay, Which were bom, and which died in the breast; They recall the accents which sweetly spake To the soul, when the soul was first awake. In Memory's land springs never a flower, Nor the lowliest daisy blooms ; Ne'er a robin chirps from its russet bower. But to call from their silent tombs The thoughts and things which Time's pitiless sway Has long since swept fi*om the world away ! In Memory's land waves never a leaf. There never a summer-breeze blows, But some long smother'd thought of joy or grief Starts up from its solemn repose : . And forms are living and visible there Which vanished long since fi-om our earthly sphere. I would not escape from Memory's land For all that the eye can view. For there's dearer dust in Memory's land Than the ore of rich Peru. I clasp the fetter by Memory twin'd The wanderer's heart and soul to bind. R 4. 248 LINES SUGGESTED BY A PORTRAIT OF THE UNFORTUNATE gUEEN OF FRANCE, TAKEN ON THE LAST EXAMINA- TION PREVIOUS TO EXECUTION. And this was she ! the peerless and the bright, The false world's darling ! she who did possess, (And held awhile in Europe's dazzled sight,) Glorious in majesty and loveliness, The Heaven-lent pow'r to ruin or to bless ! Yes, — this was she ! — But mark ye, I beseech, Who love the world, — mark this mute wretchedness. And grave it on your hearts, for it doth reach To regions unexplored by eloquence of speech ! Nature gave loveliness, and fate gave pow'r, And millions lavish'd incense. — Poets hung Their amaranth garlands o'er the royal bow'r ; For Gallia's lily ev'ry lyre was strung. Pride of all eyes, and theme of ev'ry tongue : — 249 Love, awe, and wonder, were her ministers ; Life, and its hours, upon her fiat hung ; She held in poise a nation's hopes and fears — Dominion, beauty, pomp, and the world's shout, were her's ! Gracious and mighty 1 Yet there came an hour Of desolation ; and away it swept. In one rude whirlwind, empire, pomp, and pow'r I O'er the fair brow the hoary winter crept Of sorrow, not of time. — Those eyes have wept Till grief had done with tears, and calm and cold, Tired with its own excess, in stupor slept, s Or gazed in frozen wonder to behold The black and hideous page of destiny unroU'd. Yet trace these faded lines ! For they impart A tale, may do your careless bosoms good ! Muse o'er the fragments of a mighty heart. Broken by sorrow, — ye, whose jocund mood. Insatiate feeds on pleasure's tempting food ; Look here ! — It will not harm ye, tho' your thought Leave its gay flight to melt in pity's flood ! To each light heart, home be the lesson brought. With what enduring bliss the world's fair smile is fraught ! 250 And is this all ? No ; — ye may learn beside, That all which fate can threaten may be borne ; To see life's blessings, one by one, subside. Its wild extremes from tenderness to scorn, But as the changes of an April morn ! For still she was a Queen ! — and majesty Survived, tho' she, deserted and forlorn. Save Heav*n, had ne'er a friend to lift her eye ; But Heav'n returned the glance, and taught her how to die ! 251 ORPHEUS TO EURYDICE. Sole partner of my heart ! remov'd from all, Here on the lonely shore to thee I call ; The waves which raise their voices to the sky, Bear on the sound, and cannot drown my cry ; The rocks still echo to thy well-known name. And Heaven and earth shall listen to the same. My strains wake not with morn, nor die with day, But lonely night still hears the mourner play; And if my wearied hand forsake the strain, The breeze takes up the mournful lay again. Immortal as my soul, the song shall be, Tho' lasting only as my love for thee. How to my heart did all creation speak ! But now my visions fade, my dreams are weak — My thought, my fancy, once so bright, are fled. And Heaven's own beauties die now thou art dead. And when, overcome by solitude, I fly To crowds, and strive to banish agony. 252 Their smiles send back my sorrow to my heart, And, doubly chilPd, for loneliest haunts I part ; There, bending underneath my load, I groan. Stretched on the ground, unpitied and alone. 'Twas yesternight that I laid down to weep, But conquer'd by my sorrow, sunk to sleep. When by my side thy form came hov'ring near, And utter'd accents which I rush'd to hear ; Curse on my joy ! — for waking reason gave Sorrow to me, and to thyself the grave. From that high rock where I with thee have stood. And with poetic rapture mark'd the flood. Watching the waves as they leap'd up the shore, Retreating only to advance the more. And whisper'd each emotion in that ear, Patient alike my joys and griefs to hear, I thought that I perceiv'd upon the wave Thy form, which then a cry for succour gave ; Downwards I dash'd upon the sea to clasp Eurydice, but ocean mock'd my grasp. And spurn'd me, senseless, to the rocky shore. Not kind enough to bid me live no more. How gladly would I turn Ixion's wheel. And court the thirst that Tantalus must feel, 253 Could I but know thee near ; — it cannot be — I must gain Paradise to gain Eurydice. O that the Gods would yield a milder doom To those who give themselves an early tomb ! Orpheus must yet live on, if life it is, When death is thine, remembrance only his. 254 • LINES WRITTEN IN THE AUTUMN OF 1818. Summer still lingers, though its glories fade, Still soft and fragrant are the gales that blow ; The yellow foliage now adorns the glade, And paler skies succeed the summer's glow. The drooping flowers fade, and all around Their scattered blossoms wither and decay ; But still bright verdure decorates the ground. And the sun sheds a soft and silver ray. So gently pass we on to wintry days. Through all the changes that the scene deform ; And still, O still the Being let us praise Who sent the sunshine, and who sends the storm ! And so, when dreams of happiness are fled. Vanished like summer suns and nature's bloom. O'er the sad heart some ling'ring joys are shed. To cheer the way that leads us to the tomb. ^5 THE SHIPS RETURN. Thou com'st, fair bark, in gallant pride Thy swan-white sails exulting spread ; Nor I the graceful triumph chide, For silent are the tears I shed. Ere while, when thou wert distant far, Wandering on ocean's pathless waste, I haiPd thee as my pilot star. By thee my devious course was traced. To thee, as to a hallow'd shrine, My sighs, my prajr'rs were all addressed ; Thy pride, thy honour seem'd but mine, And in thy safety was my rest. But now, though trophies deck thy brow, A mournful wreck alone I see ; For he who warm'd each ardent vow, No more a welcome asks of me. 256 He should have liv'd ! — for fortune ow'd The kind redress, withheld too long, Whilst he life's dark and dreary road Had still beguil'd with hope's sweet song. He should have liv'd ! — in suif'ring school'd, But ne'er with fancied wrongs oppress'd ; For nature still o'er sorrow rul'd, And peace his guileless soul possess'd. Unskill'd in caution's rigid lore, He scorn'd suspicion's gloomy sway ; Deceiv'd, he trusted as before, And dreams illum'd each passmg day. And still in Albion's happy isle, His little fairy home was plac'd ; Domestic love, — affection's smile, Were all the jojrs he sigh'd to taste. How blest, to strive with toil no more, To live for social cares alone. To soothe the ills that others bore. As none had ever sooth'd his own ! «57 How fair the scene by fancy cast, Rich with affection's balmy breath, Ah dream ! the loveliest, as the last. That gilded the dark hour of death. Even on his wandering soul it smiled. When flitting shades around him pressed, A transient gleam of joy beguiled His pangs — one moment he was bless'd. He saw the partner of his days, Hail'd each loved friend with antient claim, And with a tender lingering gaze. Responded to the father's name. And then he would a blessing breathe, A pledge of Christian faith impart. And with a dower of love bequeath, The latest counsels of his heart. But then he saw the phantoms fade, He gaz'd on strangers, rude and cold. His last fond look was hope betray 'd. His parting sigh, a wish untold. — 258 ADDITIONAL LINES TO RETALIATION. Here Johnson reclines, in this grave, den, or pit, The bugbear of folly, — the tyrant of wit. As an ox over-driven, attacks in the streets, And goars without mercy each creature he meets. So this bellowing critic toss'd every day All his friends who had something or nothing to say. Then he pitched and he roU'd with a turbulent motion. Like a first-rate, just after a storm on the ocean. And if prudently silent, his censures to balk, He exclaimed in a fury, — " Sir, why don't you talk ?" If you said black was black, his answer was, " No, sir,' And thundering arguments followed the blow, sir ; For tho' lies he disclaimed from the days of his youth, Still the Doctor loved victory better than truth. But peace to his shade ! if his powerful mind Would sometimes break loose in expressions unkind, At others, in streams, deep, majestic, and strong. Full tides of morality flow d from his tongue ; Religion in him found a zealous defender, And he never attempted to garble or mend her; In his presence profaneness presum'd not to dwell, And sedition and treason shrunk back to their cell. ^59 ADDRESS TO A STEAM-VESSEL. - WRITTEN FOR THIS COLLECTION. Freighted with passengers of every sort, A motley throng, thou leav'st the busy port. Thy long and ample deck, where scatter'd lie. Baskets, and cloaks, and shawls of scarlet dye; Where dogs and children through the crowd are straying, And, on his bench apart, the fiddler playing. While matron dames to tresseFd seats repair, — Seems, on the gleamy waves, a floating fair. Its dark form on the sky's pale azure cast. Towers from this clust'ring group thy piUar'd mast. The dense smoke issuing from its narrow vent Is to the air in curly volumes sent, Which, coiling and uncoiling on the wind. Trails like a writhing serpent far behind. Beneath, as each merg'd wheel its motion plies, On either side the white-churn'd waters rise. And, newly parted from the noisy fray, Track with light ridgy foam thy recent way, Then far diverged, in many a welted Une Of lustre, on the distant surface shine. s 2 260 Thou hold'st thy course in independent pride ; No leave ask'st thou of either wind or tide. To whatever point the breeze, inconstant, veer, Still doth thy careless helmsman onward steer; As if the stroke of some magician's wand Had lent thee power the ocean to command. What is this power which thus within thee lurks, And, all unseen, like a mask'd giant works ? Ev'n that which gentle dames, at morning's tea, From silver urn ascending, daily see With tressy wreathings playing in the air. Like the loos'd ringlets of a lady's hair ; Or rising from the enamell'd cup beneath. With the soft fragrance of an infant's breath : That which within the peasant's humble cot Comes from th' uncover'd mouth of sav'ry pot. As his kind mate prepares his noonday fare, Which cur, and cat, and rosy urchins share : That which, all silver'd with the moon's pale beam, Precedes the mighty Geyser's up-cast stream, What time, with bellowing din exploded forth. It decks the midnight of the frozen north. Whilst travellers from their skin-spread couches rise To gaze upon the sight with wond'ring eyes. Thou hast to those " in populous city pent'* Glimpses of wild and beauteous nature lent ; S6l A bright remembrance ne'er to be destroyed, Which proves to them a treasure, long enjoyed, And for this scope to beings erst confined, I fain would hail thee with a grateful mind. They who had nought of verdant freshness seen But suburb orchards choked with colworts green. Now, seated at their ease may glide along, Lochlomond*s fair and fairy isles among ; Where bushy promontories fondly peep. At their own beauty in the nether deep. O'er drooping birch and berried row'n that lave Their vagrant branches in the glassy wave : They, who on higher objects scarce have counted Than church's spire with gilded vane surmounted. May view, within their near, distinctive ken. The rocky summits of the lofty Ben ; Or see his purpled shoulders darkly lower Through the dim drapery of a summer shower. Where, spread in broad and fair expanse, the Clyde Mingles his waters with the briny tide. Along the lesser Cumra's rocky shore. With moss and crusted lichens flecker'd o'er, Ev'n he, who hath but warr'd with thieving cat. Or from his cupboard chaced a hungry rat, The city cobbler, — scares the wild sea-mew In its mid-flight with loud and shrill halloo ; S3 ' . ^ 262 Or valiantly with fearful threatening shakes His lank and greasy head at Kitty wakes. (2) The eyes that have no fairer outline seen Than chimneyed walls with slated roofs between, Which hard and harshly edge the smokey sky, May Aron's softly-vision'd peaks descry, Coping with graceful state her steepy sides, 0*er which the cloud's broad shadow swiftly glides, And interlacing slopes that gently merge Into the pearly mist of ocean's verge. Eyes which admir'd that work of sordid skill. The storied structure of a cotton-mill. May, wond'ring, now behold the unnumber'd host Of marshall'd pillars on fair Ireland's coast. Phalanx on phalanx rang'd with sidelong bend. Or broken ranks that to the main descend. Like Pharaoh's army, on the Red-sea shore. Which deep and deeper went to rise no more. Yet, ne'er thel ess, whate'er we owe to thee. Rover at will on river, lake, and sea. As profit's bait or pleasure's lure engage. Thou offspring of that philosophic sage. (z) The common or vulgar name of a water-bird frequenting th coast. 263 Watt, who ill heraldry of science ranks With those to whom men owe high meed of thanks, And shall not be forgotten, ev'n when Fame Graves on her annals Davy's splendid name I — Dearer to fancy, to the eye more fair Are the light skiffs, that to the breezy air, Unfurl their swelling sails of snowy hue Upon the moving lap of ocean blue : As the proud swan on summer lake displays. With plumage bright'ning in the morning rays. Her fair pavilion of erected wings, — They change, and veer, and turn like living things. So fairly rigg'd, with shrouding, sails and mast, To brave with manly skill the winter blast Of every clime, — in vessels rigg*d like these Did great Columbus cross the western seas. And to the stinted thoughts of man reveaFd What yet the course of ages had concealed. In such as these, on high adventure bent. Round the vast world Magellan's comrades went. To such as these are hardy seamen found As with the ties of kindred feeling bound, Boasting, as cans of cheering grog they sip. The varied fortunes of " our gallant ship." s 4 ^64 The offspring these of bold sagacious man Ere yet the reign of letter'd lore began. In very truth, compar'd to these thou art A daily laborer, a mechanic swart, In working weeds array'd of homely grey. Opposed to gentle nymph or lady gay, To whose free robes the graceful right is given To play and dally with the winds of heaven. Beholding thee, the great of other days And modern men with all their alter'd ways. Across my mind with hasty transit gleam, Like fleeting shadows of a fev'rish dream : Fitful I gaze with adverse humours teased, Half sad, half proud, half angry, and half pleased. ^65 DEVON'S POLY-OLBION. THE FIRST SONG. (A FRAGMENT. First of Devon's thousand streams — (Beside whose banks no poet dreams, Since to her praise old Drayton framed His pastoral reed, yet scarcely named — ) — Silver Axe — who, though her course She fetches from a distant source, And Dorset's Downs, as on she glides. From fruitful Somerset divides. Yet justly I Devonian name her, And for that nobler province claim her (No less than Exe, or western Tamar,) Amongst whose nymphs she's always number'd. And christens sea-port, burgh, and hundred. From London cares and London follies. To Devon's verdant oaks and hollies ^66 As, year by year, the dog-star leads me. And with sweet thoughts of childhood feeds me (Those best and purest thoughts that ever, Through life's long intermittent fever, Like health-restoring cordials enter. And in the inmost bosom center — ) — Thee first, sweet nymph, my eyes salute — Thee last, when autumn's faded fruit. Falling in lap of sad November, Bids me the waning months remember, And leave the country's tranquil joys For city crowds and wrangling noise. Hail, modest streamlet ! — on whose bank No willows grow, nor osiers dank. Whose waters form no stagnant pool, But ever sparkling, pure, and cool. Their snaky channel keep, between Soft swelling hills of tender green. That freshens still as they descend In gradual slope of graceful bend. And in the living emerald end — — On whose soft turf supinely laid Beneath the spreading beechen shade, 267 I trace, in Fancy's waking dream, The current of thine infant stream. Then crowd upon my mental gaze, {a) Dim visions of the elder days ; Shrouded in black Cistercian cowl. They pass hke spectres o'er my soul. On each pale cheek and furrow'd brow, Impressed the wretched exile's woe. » » * * But pious Adeliza, there. Fair Devon's Countess — rich as fair. And, more than fair or rich, devout. Beheld them on their homeward rout, With liberal hand reliev'd their woes — And Ford's majestic abbey rose. (a) The foundation of Ford Abbey by the Countess Adeliza, (niece of the Conqueror) took place a. d. 1158; and the occasion is thus related ; Richard de Brioniis, Baron of Oakhampton, (the Countess's brother) having, a few years previously, founded a Monastery of the Cistercian Order, at Brightly, near Oakhampton, filled it with a deputation of monks from Waverley Abbey, in Surry, who, after a short residence, finding the place uninhabitable, from the wretched state of the country in its neighbourhood, and their first patron being dead, set off on their return to Waverley ; but being met by the Countess on their passage through' the parish of Thorncombe (where she then happened to be) she, out of compas- sion and piety, persuaded them there to remain, and assigned them her manor of Thorncombe for their support, and her own mansion- house at Ford for their residence. ^68 Age after age since then has roll'd, 0*er generations dead and cold, From sire to son twice ten times told, — Yet flows, and will flow on for ever, The current of that peaceful river. While priest and monk have pass'd away. And sable cowl, and amice grey, — And 'broider'd cope with jewels' shine, High rood, and consecrated shrine. In dust the holy relics lie — The hands that rifled them hard by — The mitred abbot dispossest, The leveller with his ribald jest, The wily lawyer, by whose craft, Was temper'd the destructive shaft. That kept its destined aim conceal'd. Behind Religion's frowning shield, The work of Reformation ended. And in one common ruin blended. All holy and all hallow'd things, Altai's and thrones, and priests and kings. The solemn pageant pass'd away, Where next, sweet river, wilt thou stray ? To Wycroft's bridge, and mouldering wall, Which faintly marks the embattled hall. 269 By lordly Cobham once possest, And trod by high and princely guest, (b) — In Thorncombe's aisle you still may trace, The features of a gentle face, Of knight's degree, and Cobham's race — Glorious in brass — and at his side, The image of his lady-bride. And charactered in letters fair, 'Cfioma^ BtODlt, ^npgfite, engraven there. — No more remains — the when, the where, The how, he liv'd, and fought, and died. Or who the lady at his side, The brass has long forgot to tell — Nor can the keen explorer spell, (With all his pains,) one smallest trace Of the short, pious prayer for grace. That ends the monumental scroll — " The Lord have mercy on his soul." Yet to the heart it teaches more. Than tomes of theologic lore ; (6) In 1426, a licence was granted to Humphrey Duke of Gloucester and others, to castellate the mansion of Wycroft, (then belonging to the Brook family, afterwards Lords Cobham,) and enclose a park of 800 acres. 270 A proverb, or grave homily, Of most sententious brevity, On mortal durability. — Such wisdom is in crumbled bones ! Such are the sermons preached by stones ! Let but a few short lustres pass — The tablet of recording brass (Rais'd for eternity,) may shew No more than he who sleeps below, — Nay — ev'n his feeble fleshly form, 'Spite of corruption and the worm, Outlasts, within its bed of earth. The pompous verse that boasts its worth. So hard the pious task, to save One plank from Time's o'erwhelming wave- But would we trace his earlier stream, " 'Tis all a cloud — 'tis all a dream". — The Diuid walk'd yon stone-girt round,- The Roman rear'd yon grassy mound, — This for defence — (a chosen site) — That for observance, day or night. Of hallow'd, or unhallow'd rite. Clear as the sun — nay, all agree, — Ev'n so, sage dreamer, let it be. 271 Why then, wear life's brief candle out. In proving that which none can doubt ? — Why with such shrewd suspicion eye Yon grey-beard swain who passes by, As if a word his tongue might say, Would pufF your theory away ? — Well may. you dread that rustic smile — " He minds the bigging" of the pile, (c) Yet may we trust without a crime, The legends of the olden time, And still pursue, by croft and mill, Deep vale and gently-sloping hill, (Sweet Axe !) the mazes of thy rill. To plains which (long ere Ford was known, Or Newenham*s sister abbey shone, (d) Transcendant from the Holy Rood,) Blush'd, crimson-deep, with Danish blood, (e) (c) See "The Antiquary." (d) Newenham Abbey, near Axminster, was founded in the reign of Henry III., for monks of the Cistercian Order, by Reginald de Mohun and his brother. (e) The battle here alluded to was fought near Axminster, in the year 937, between Athelstan (accompanied by his brother Edward) and the Danes, aided (it is said) by the Kings of Ireland and Scot- 272 — Lo ! from the bosom of the deep, The sea-king's swift ascending sweep, — From Seaton's cliffs they wind their way, (Old Moridunum's doubted bay,) (/) The boding raven in their van. To meet renowned Athelstan. — Nor Erin's lonely harp, that day. Nor Scotia's royal lion, may Be absent from the bloody fray. Dream they of conquest or of spoil, (Fit guerdon of the warrior's toil) ? Do they for fame or plunder burn ? — Ah ! destin'd never to return ! For noble Athelstan is there, And Edward, with the yellow hair. The dangers of the field to share — And with their standard follow free, The flower of England's chivalry. — 'Tis done — and on the battle plain. Five kings, and eight stout earls lie slain, ■ land. The slaughter is described as prodigious, — five kings and eight earls being said to have fallen on the side of the invaders, and to have been buried in the cemetery at Axminster. (/) The site of Moridunum has long been a subject of dispute among the antiquaries, though most concur in fixing it at or near Seaton. 273 Nor stone is rais'd, nor mound, to tell They bravely fought, or nobly fell. But these who for their country bled. For them their country's tears are shed. Shrin'd in their parent soil they sleep — There holy priests their vigils keep — And altars burn, and pray'rs arise In swelling anthems to the skies From fuU-ton'd choirs, for their repose. — Such honours grateful England owes ; And such be ever duly paid To her lov'd patriot's peaceful shade. * Leave we the clouds of ancient story, For scenes of later-parted glory. When scarce a river flows unsung, Or murm'ring brook but hath its tongue To praise whatever of great or good. Beside its sacred banks hath stood, Shall Marlborough's native current keep f Its channel to the ocean-deep, * In gratitude for this victory, Athelstan gave the church of Axminster to seven priests, who were to pray for the souls of as many knights or earls (followers of the English King) who perished in the conflict. f Ash, in the parish of Marburg, now a farm-house, was, for many generations, the chief seat of the family of Drake, whose arms T 274 Unhonour'd by one tunefiil voice That may his mighty ghost rejoice ? — No — through the dazzling radiance shed By conquest round his laureli'd head, Let him in dim perspective see The tender scenes of infancy Reflected by the Muse's art — Then feel the welcome tear-drop start, Richer than all the jewels set In his bright princely coronet. — Dismantled now the courts and void, The goodly fabric half destroyed, And at the hospitable hearth. Once echoing to the festive mirth Of knights and squires assembled round The board their morning's sport had crown'd. Unmindful of the waste of years. The good-wife plies her household cares, Or marks the embers as they burn. To greet the farmer's late return. Yet still you may distinguish, o'er Yon desecrated chapel's door. (argent, a wyvern (or winged dragon) with wings displayed, gules,) are still visible over the door of the chapel. John Churchill, the great Duke of Marlborough, was born here in 1650, his mother being then on a visit to her father. Sir John Drake, the proprietor of the mansion. 27.5 Couchant, the coil'd and winged snake That figures forth the name of Drake — — With daring crest and scaly hide — Such as Sir Bernard's ill-starr'd pride * (In pomp of heraldry) denied To a far greater Drake, whose fame Out-shone the herald's loftiest claim — Not as the Maiden Queen, in scorn Of ancestry, would have it borne By her great captain — wise as brave — (When for his proud device she gave The ship that bore him o'er the wave) — On 'scutcheon downward hung, and fast Suspended to the boastful mast. * " There fell out a contest between Sir Bernard and the immortal Sir Francis Drake, chiefly occasioned by Sir Francis his assuming Sir Bernard's coat of arms, not being able to make out his descent from the family; (a matter, in those days, when the court of honour was in more honour, not so easily digested). The feud hereupon increased to that degree, that Sir Bernard, being a person of high spirit, gave Sir Francis a box on the ear, and that within the verge of the court. For which offence he incurred her Majesty's displeasure, and, most probably, it proved the occasion of the Queen bestowing upon Sir Francis Drake a new coat of ever- lasting honour to himself and his posterity ; — and, what is more, for his crest, a ship on a globe under ruff, held by a cahle-rope, with a hand out of the clouds; in the rigging whereof is hung up by the A sufficient to & 3 fill J SHEETS. PAGES. llOi 1768 221 ;i636 442 7072 In giving a book arrangement to such a mass of matter as is com- prised in 52 Numbers of the Literary Gazette, very considerable space must be allotted for head lines, titles, division of parts, chap- ters, &c. This has been purposely omitted, or the results of the last three columns would have been higher. The Reader may therefore the more fully rely on the foregoing moderate calculation, which clearly shows that the Six Volumes of the Literary' Gazette, if printed in the ordinary Book mode, would expand to the amazing extent of ONE HUNDRED VOLUMES ! ! ! The price of a Volume of Literary Gazette is £ 1 12 16 8vo. Volumes, at only 10*. 6rf. each 8 8 Original cost of the Six Volumes of Literary Gazette, already published ^ 9 12 100 Volumes, Demy 8vo. at 10*. 6rf. ^^ ^P. ^ Published, in Weekly Numbers, by W. A. Scripps, 362, (Exeter 'Change), Strand, London, and to be had of all Booksellers, Newsmen, and Postmasters, throughout the Kingdom; Price 8rf., or 1*. stamped for Country Circulation, by Post. ^f^ Subscribers, who desire to begin with the New Year, will please to give their Orders early, to prevent Disappointment, as only a limited Addition will be made to supply such Demand, unless a larger Amount is previously ascertained. A few Volumes, for the Years 1819, 1820, 1821, and 1822, may be had. Price 1/. 16*. each ; and most of the Quarterly Parts for 1817 and 1818, Price 9*. sewed. CONTENTS roR THE FIRST QUARTER OF 1823. REVIEWS — with copious IlluBtrations, so as to enable every Reader to form a judgment: — Of Mrs. Colston's Tour in France, &c. — The Liberal, No. II. — Blunt's Vestiges of Ancient Manners in Italy, &c. — The Innkeeper's Album — Las Cases' Private Life of Napoleon at St. Helena; third and fourth Volumes of the same — Moore's Loves of the Angels — Miss Hawkins* Anecdotes — Caledonian Society's Horticultural Tour — Piatt's Self-Inter- preting Testament — D'lsraeli's Curiosities of Literature — The Republic of Ants — Peveril of the Peak — Thomson's Select Melodies of Scotland — The Pharmaceutical Guide — Italian Treatise on the Diseases of Birds — Lock- hart's Spanish Ballads,with an original View of early Troubadour Literature — Surgeon Abernethy (privately circulated) on the Disinterment of Dead Bodies for Anatomical Purposes — Tales of my Father and my Friends — Strangeway's Sketch of the Mosquito Shore and Kingdom of the Cacique M'Gregor — Arago's Voyage round the World, with Freycinet, illustrated by a Wood Cut — Expedition to Dongola, by an American — Benger's Me- moirs of Queen Mary — Miss H. M. Williams's Poems — Sir A. Edmon- stone's Journey to the Oases of Upper Egypt, with an Epitome of all the latest Egyptian Researches — Nigel, a Play — New Spanish Magazine — Mad. Campan's Private Life of Marie-Antoinette — Foscolo*s Essays on Petrarch — Collet's Relics of Literature — Mazois' Account of a Primitive Monument at Esse (from the French) — Hornor's Prospectus of London, from the Top of St. Paul's — The Harmonicon, a new Musical Periodical — Author of Junius discovered Bouterwek's History of Spanish and Por- tuguese Literature, by Miss Ross — Ipsiboe, a Romance, par M. D'Arlin- court — Son of Erin, a Tragedy — Sir W. Gell's Journey in the Morea, with a ludicrous Print of a Greek Doctor — James's Account of the American (Government) Expedition to the Rocky Mountains — Valperga, a Novel; Sequel to a MS. of H. Kirke White— Elmes' Life of Sir C. Wren— Cicero de Republica by Mai — Love, a Poem — Beckmann's History of Ancient Inven- tions, abridged, &c. — A Parisian Review of Life in London — The Trials of Margaret Lyndsay — Brenton's Naval History of Great Britain — The Fudge Family in England — German Popular Stories — Mawe's Linnajan System of Conchology — Julian, a Tragedy — Keid's Travels in Ireland — Bowring's Specimens of the Russian Poets — Knowles's Discourses for the Use of Families — Rassela Principe d' Abyssinia, Italian Translation — Analysis of the Automaton Chess Player — Barry Cornwall's Flood of Thessaly — Sco- resby's Voyage to the Coast of East Greenland — Ada Reis, a Novel — Ame- rican Geography, History, &c. 2d. Weekly Head, ORIGINAL CORRESPONDENCE.— On Pope's Obliga- tions to Madame Dacier in his Iliad, by a distinguished Scholar and emi- nent Author — Letter from Astrachan, with an interesting Description of the Russian Route to Chiwa and Bucharia, through an almost unknown Country. — Professor Baettiger, of Dresden, on newly-formed Mineral Waters — on the British Schools of Anatomy, and the Disinterment of the Dead, by many Correspondents. 3d. ARTS AND SCIENCES.— Professor Hausteen's Scientific Tour in Siberia and Kamtschatka — Inquiry into some curious Philosophical Exhibitions at Paris — Mr. Chompollion's Extraordinary Discoveries in Egyptian Litera- ture and Antiquities — Letters from Naples, with Accounts of the late re- markable Eruptions of Vesuvius ; and from Rome in the Carnival, and Vol- cano in Java — Lectures at the Royal Institution, especially Dr. Roget's, on the Structure and Economy of Animals, with Cuvier's Classification — Dr. Crotch's Lectures on Music — Account of new Percussion Lock — Per- fumes a Preventive against Mouldiness — Scientific and Literary Travels in various Parts of the World — Reports of Captain Parry's Expedition — Particular Description, &c. of Pompey's Pillar, and Baron Von Zach's Observations thereon — Recent and authentic Instance of extraordinary animal Vitality in a Cerambyx — Official Account of the Aerolite which fell last September near La Baflfe — Russian Polar Expeditions — Mr. Vaux's Plan for the Prevention of Fire. 4th. Proceedings of Learned Societies, &c. at Home and Abroad — the Univer- sities — Hertford College, &c. &c. — Literary Intelligence — Disposition of the late King's Library, with original Copy of the Royal Letter — Literary Anecdotes, of a curious kind, from Barbier, the Librarian of the French King — Metropolitan Literary Institution — M. Von Hammer's Account of the Library of the Seraglio, &c. — Account of a famous Dutch Improvisator — The Literary Fund Society — Proceedings and Literary Intelligence ge- nerally. 5th. FINE ARTS. — Description of Three remarkable Foreigners, now in Lon- don as Models — Mr. Sass's Letter on the same — Sir John Leicester's Gallery — Illustrations of Moore's Loves of the Angels — Ward's Views of Pictu- resque Buildings in France — Aglio's Views in Switzerland — Works of Ca- nova in Outline, by Moses — Admired French Pictures, by Ducis — Captain Batty's Welsh Scenery — Royal Academy — Un an a Rome, by Thomas — British Institution, and List of Pictures sold, &c. &c. — Criticisms on Cooke's Exhibition of Drawings and Engravings, Soho Square — Description of Medallion Wafers — Account of the great Voyage Pittoresque en Sicile, with a Print of the Crater of Etna — Exposure of the Frauds in producing ancient Portraits of Shakspeare, &c.— Exhibition at the British Institution- Lithographic Portrait of the King: — Westall's Illustrations of Crabbe's Poems — Lazarus, by Hay don — Project for establishing a British Academy at Rome, and Correspondence — Front's Lithographies— Day's Casts and Ancient Pictures — Von Os's Flower Pieces — The Chapeau de Paille — The Augustin Gallery — Mrs. Pearson's Claude — French Critique on Sir T. Lawrence and the Literary Gazette. 6th. ORIGINAL POETRY.— Sta. Valerie, Song for Maid Marian, Cupid riding a Peacock, and Atalanta, and many others, by L. E. L. — Epitaph on an Old Soldier, by Mr. Bowles — Spirits of Heaven — The .Jealous Fair — What is Love ? — The Two Coats, a Tale — Greek Song of Liberty, by a Modern Greek Poet — Sonnet of Alfieri, &c. — Greek Invocation Song by Barry Cornwall — Poem by Dr. Edmund Cartwright — Poem on the Genius of Burns, by Montgomery, &c. &c. &c. by eminent and popular Writers. 7th. BIOGRAPHY.— Life of Dr. Hutton— Life and Death of Louisa Brach- man, the German Sappho — of J. P. Kemble — and Incidental Memoirs. 8th. SKETCHES OF SOCIETY.— Letters from Paris weekly, containing the Chit-Chat, Literary News, Dramatic Movements, Anecdotes, &c. &c. of that Capital — Recollections of Wilkes and his Contemporaries — La Lhauda, a Tale — Account of the little Republic of Andorre in the Pyrenees — Ludi- crous Picture of the Scotch Court of Session, &c. &c. 9th. Dramatic Criticism regularly on the London Theatres; and, in conclusion, several pages weekly devoted to Varieties in Literature, Science, original Anecdote, Jeux d'Esprit, Meteorological Table, &c. &c. which are not of sufficient importance to be arranged under separate titles, but form alto- gether a mass of curious and entertaining reading, and complete the general record which, through its great circulation, extensive correspondence, and ample means of procuring the best co-operation, the Literary Gazette preserves of the new works, scientific inventions, arts, and improvements of the period. 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