,QJ 
 
 
 . 
 
 ^® 
 
 
 1* 
 
 i 
 j 
 
 5 i 
 
 i i 
 
 ^ako 
 
 
 r 
 
 (^^ 
 
 1^9 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
 
 ■ ^^ 
 
 4^ 
 
 s .-:5V 
 
 i 
 
 
 -^^^HP^^^^H 
 
 ^S^mSowI
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 POEMS 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 THOMAS KING, Esq. 
 
 HEU MISERANDE PUER !- 
 
 MANIBUS DATE LILIA PLENIS, 
 
 PURPUREOS SPARGAM FLORES. 
 
 VIRGIL, Lib. 6, 882. 
 
 BASINGSTOKE: 
 
 PRINTED BY ROBERT COTTLE, 
 MDCCCXLIX.
 
 
 SONNET 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF MY DEAR FRIEND, 
 
 THOMAS KING, Esq. 
 — — 
 
 Oh Thou ! unseen, but ever acting Pow'r ! 
 
 Who hold'st the balance of the universe ! 
 
 How do Thy judgments scatter and disperse 
 The vain illusions of man's fading hour ? 
 With lib'ral hand Thy bounties Thou didst pour 
 
 On him, for whom our tears untimely flow ; 
 A mind all paths of knowledge to explore, 
 
 A heart to sympathize with all below. 
 Young, gentle, truthful, brilliant, yet sincere. 
 
 How form'd t' adorn and benefit mankind ! 
 Yet didst Thou call him from this earthly sphere. 
 
 The flow'rs scarce open'd of that heart and 
 mind. 
 Oh teach our souls to bend to Thy decree, 
 In steadfast faith, that now his spirit rests with 
 Thee. 
 
 T. B. 
 
 B 
 
 865184
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 SONNETS. PAGE. 
 
 Ox Painters : — Claude, 1 
 
 Rembrandt, 2 
 
 RaflTaelle, 3 
 
 On a View from Clevedon, Somersetshire, 4 
 
 Love, 5 
 
 Death, 6 
 
 Evening Contemplation, 7 
 
 Suggested by a Picture in which the Deity was repre- 
 sented, 8 
 
 On the Growth of Nations, 9 
 
 Poverty, 10 
 
 On Nature, 11 
 
 Equality impossible, 12 
 
 Virtue and Hope, 13 
 
 Regret, springing from Retrospection, 14 
 
 On Moderation, 1 ij 
 
 On Liberty, 10 
 
 On a Picture of Sir Joshua, entitled the contemplative 
 
 Youth, 17 
 
 On a Grave, 1^ 
 
 Fame, 19
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 TRANSLATIONS. page. 
 
 XIII. Satire of Juvenal imitated, addressed to Calvinus, 
 
 immoderately grieved at being cheated of a considerable 
 
 Sum of Money 23 
 
 Horace, Epode 2. Soliloquy of the Usurer Alphius on 
 
 a Country Life, 39 
 
 Horace, Ode 9, Book 2. Reproving immoderate Grief 
 
 for the Loss of a Son, 43 
 
 Horace, Ode 13, Lib. 3, 46 
 
 Hope, (from Schiller,) 48 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 To T B , Esq 53 
 
 The Mountain, Vale, and Sea, 56 
 
 Meditations at the Lake of Lucerne, 67 
 
 SONGS. 
 
 Lines on Hope, 79 
 
 A Calm at Sea. (From Giiethe,) 80 
 
 Song, 81 
 
 The Flower Gii-l's Song 83 
 
 Song 85 
 
 The Blind Boy's Song. Set to Music by Miss Kate 
 
 Loder, 86 
 
 Song of the jVIorning, 88 
 
 Fragment, 93
 
 SONNETS.
 
 SONNETS ON PAINTERS. 
 
 CLAUDE. 
 
 The waters glisten in the setting sun, 
 
 And rippling wash the marble turret-stair 
 Of that proud dome, which in its bosom fair 
 
 Reposes mirror'd. Now the hour's begun 
 
 Of man's repose. When pensive thoughts have birth. 
 He may retire within his lonely bark, 
 Or joyous mingle with that throng, whence, hark ! 
 
 The sounds of railleiy spring and lively mirth ; 
 
 Or now the maiden's song, sounds tun'd as well 
 To that fair scene, as the soft airs which play 
 
 With evening's locks ; or as yon skies that tell. 
 In dying fires, the glories of the day. 
 
 Such placid scenes reflect Claude's thoughtful mind. 
 
 His calm contentment, and his taste refin'd.
 
 REMBRANDT. 
 
 Amid the deepea'd shade, but one hght gleams. 
 
 Yet oft that hght sheds sweetest poesy. 
 
 And oft an undefined mystery 
 Over the painter's skill. "What pleasant dreams 
 Engross the mind, fixed, on we know not what ! 
 
 The doubtful gloom ? The single ray of light ? 
 
 The harmony enchanting to the sight ? 
 What beauty from this union is begot ! 
 How strange that genius should adorn the man 
 
 Disgrac'd by foidest vice. One gloomy scene, 
 A miser's avarice and woe, we scan 
 
 In Rembrandt's life, as dark as e'er has been. 
 His ill used sister's love, the passions' might 
 Dispels, and, in his death, there gleams one speck of 
 light.
 
 RAFFAELLE, 
 
 Seraphic sweetness beams upon that face, 
 
 Which bends with fondest gaze of tend'rest love 
 Upon her child, who, harmless as the dove. 
 Still smiles at her caress. What heav'nly grace 
 In both ! In ev'ry feature we may trace 
 Unearthly dignity, as mercy mild. 
 The Holy Mother, and the Holy Child. 
 Sweet was thy temper, Raffaelle, as thy face. 
 And thine imagination on pure wings. 
 Soared far above, (in its own element,) 
 Our humbler flight ; yet not astonishment. 
 From thy pure genius, but love rather springs. 
 In grace and beauty thou excell'st the rest. 
 And of all painters, we do love thee best.
 
 ON A VIEW FROM CLEVEDON, 
 SOMERSETSHIRE. 
 
 When, standing on fair Clevedon's rock, I gaze 
 On vales, where fields, woods, cots, and spires, 
 
 beneath. 
 Shew beauty unsurpassed ; (perchance some wreath 
 Of smoke just breaks the scene ;) a thin blue haze 
 Melts distant downs to sky. The setting rays 
 Blazon yon restless sea, its foam-girt isles. 
 And far-off mountain shore. Oh ! it beguiles 
 The dullest heart. That landscape must amaze. 
 Enchant ! but when, with thoughtlessness of youth, 
 I felt a wish, that 'twere my happy lot. 
 To end my days in yonder peaceful cot. 
 The sad conviction came, alas ! the truth ! 
 That tears of grief must wet the sweetest dell. 
 E'en there must folly, vice, and mis'ry dwell.
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Love is the parent of the infant child ; 
 
 Love hangs him at his anxious mother's breast ; 
 
 'Tis Love that guides, corrects him for the best ; 
 'Tis Love first hsps his mother's nam.e. Beguiled 
 By wondrous tales, and songs of poesie, 
 'Tis Love that stores his op'ning memory ; 
 Love weaves the lasting link 'twixt boy and boy ; 
 Love leads the youth to fix with steady joy 
 On one pursuit, — which marks his after life. 
 
 Love weds him to the heart of some soft maid ; 
 Love toils t' enrich his children and his wife ; 
 
 Love soothes his age, nor dies when he is laid 
 Beneath the ground ; but hopes for joys above. 
 Thus all our nobler feehngs spring from love !
 
 DEATH. 
 
 Each day that dawns, — each year that comes, must 
 die. 
 
 We print our footsteps on the sand to-day ; 
 
 To-morrow's tide shall wash them all away. 
 All must submit to thee, stem death ! But why 
 
 Strik'st thou, at first, the virtuous and the best, — 
 
 The dearest friend that lean'd upon our breast ? 
 Religion bids us smile at thee, — and yet. 
 When we behold thy victim's features set. 
 In form unchangeable, and shudd'ring kneel 
 
 To clasp the icy hand, firm bound in sleep, — 
 To kiss the paUid cheek, that cannot feel 
 
 The warmest kiss, — then nature needs must weep : 
 All, all shall yield their Uves to him who gave. 
 But tears become hope's blossoms ghst'ning on the 
 
 grave.
 
 EVENING CONTEMPLATION. 
 
 I LOVE, alone, at ev'ning's placid hour, 
 To lie, in idle thought, on some hill-side, 
 And gaze o'er fields and trees that far and wide. 
 Repose beneath the tv/ilight's gloom, the dow'r 
 Of the departed sun, saddening the sky. 
 In them, my mind reads imperceptibly. 
 What, from its tablets, age can ne'er erase. 
 The hopes, the joys, the tears, of by-gone days. 
 Then onward looks to my last resting place. 
 
 When, like the sun, I shall no more be seen. 
 Then, memory, which time will soon efface. 
 
 Will shed a tear for him who once had been ; 
 And as night hastes the ling'ring light to blot, 
 I sleep, like all the dead, remember'd not.
 
 8 
 
 SONNET, 
 
 SUGGKSTED BY A PICTURE IN WHICH THE DEITY 
 WAS REPRESENTED. 
 
 I GAZED with wonder at the painter's skill ; 
 
 T'excel its majesty, art must despair ; 
 
 'Twas more than man that he had painted there ; 
 But tho' sublime, his genius could not fill 
 The panting soul, which upward soar'd thro' space 
 Uncurb'd and visionary, there did trace 
 What art can never reach, or words e'er tell. 
 Not e'en that poet's muse which did dispel 
 His sunless gloom with joys of heav'nly light ; 
 
 As the bright rainbow glimmers o'er the storm, 
 'Tis stamp'd upon the mind by him. — Delight 
 
 Throbs thro' the soul with glowing ecstacy. 
 When it does muse on Him, boundless in form, 
 
 In time, in love, in all subUmity.
 
 ON THE GROWTH OF NATIONS. 
 
 As years glide by, the oak spreads wider still, 
 Its branching arms, advancing thro' each stage 
 Of beauty, till decaying fast from age. 
 No sap can flow thro' its clogg'd veins to fill 
 The leafless branches, with a hidden store, 
 And so it rots. And mighty rivers pour, 
 Their vast expanse upon the ocean's breast. 
 Which once were purling streams, their margin drest 
 With tangled shrubs and flow'rs : and thus we dive. 
 Thro' wisdom's depths, who once but sipp'd, — thus 
 find, 
 The larger pearl. Thus growing nations strive 
 
 For growing trade and wealth, and thus their mind, 
 Should form them constitutions that expand. 
 To meet the growth of an advancing land.
 
 10 
 
 POVERTY. 
 
 Sad Poverty ! neglected, and despis'd. 
 
 Thy rags iU clothe thee. Feeble from the strife 
 
 Of misery and want, thou would'st that life, 
 (Sweet gift ! by all but thee, so dearly prized) 
 
 Might pass away. Alas ! thou long'st in vain ! 
 
 Thy years shall end with time. Till then thy pain, 
 Must rack thee still ; thy bitter tears must flow, 
 Unpitied pain, unsoothed, uncared-for woe ! 
 But, no, thou hast thy joys. How sweet the voice. 
 
 To thee, most sweet, of hope above the skies : 
 And, sent from heaven, thou only canst rejoice. 
 
 When with her noiseless step and winning grace, 
 Kind charity, with words of comfort tries. 
 
 To raise a smile upon thy tear-worn face.
 
 11 
 
 ON NATURE. 
 
 All Nature's works pour music on the mind ; 
 "As vibrates the wild harp a trembhng strain. 
 
 Now hush'd awhile, — and swelling now again ; 
 As breath'd o'er by the soft or ruder wind ; 
 So Nature moves the soul with joy or fear. 
 Not some endeared spots ; (as home is dear,) 
 Alone delight ; though these a deeper sense 
 Of joy awake. Her stem magnificence 
 And smiling peace, in scenes ne'er viewed before 
 
 Are everj'where attuned to the mind. 
 And in our varied moods, still charm us more. 
 
 Than aught that genius or that art can find. 
 Of beauty or of grace. 'Tis God above. 
 We see in Nature's works, and seeing, love.
 
 12 
 
 EQUALITY IMPOSSIBLE. 
 
 Nature loves not equality. The sun 
 Beams from itself a self-existent light. 
 Whilst the calm glist'ning watchers of the night 
 Reflect his rays, when his bright course is run. 
 Nor wish for his proud brilliancy. The earth 
 Pregnant with beaut}% pangless, here gives birth 
 To fruits and flow'rs, whilst there her barren womb 
 Displays a wilderness — the sandy tomb 
 Of vegetation's powers. And thus the mind 
 
 Varies in each man as his outward form. 
 Oh ! none but madmen think that they can find 
 
 Equality. Life were an endless storm 
 Of passion's strife, — if all might equal be ; 
 But order springs from inequality.
 
 13 
 
 VIRTUE AND HOPE. 
 
 Two lovely forms, with grace and beauty clad, 
 
 Wliisper to all mankind, their gentle voice ; 
 
 Thro' savage isles untill'd, where men rejoice 
 In wild pursuits ; where wisdom, scorn'd and sad, 
 Lives, wishing better days ; 'mid cities' cUn, 
 Where arts can thrive, where each man strives to win 
 The bubbles of ambition, wealth and fame : 
 The thirst of avarice, — the pride of shame. 
 Ye heav'n-sprung sisters, twins, (whose bosoms sigh 
 
 For men !) each neck each other's arm entwines. 
 Calm Virtue rests on Hope ; could Virtue die, 
 
 Hope too must fade ; and whensoe'er she pines, 
 Scorn'd or defam'd, Hope, pensive points above. 
 And dries her tears with thoughts of coming love.
 
 14 
 
 REGRET, SPRINGING FROM 
 RETROSPECTION. 
 
 How deeply are we mov'd by scenes of youth ! 
 
 'Tis not alone recalling happy days, 
 
 When, blithe and gay, we walk'd in virtue's ways. 
 When first we heard and lov'd the voice of truth ; 
 'Tis not each well-known haunt alone that warms 
 Our souls, as fancy sees therein the forms 
 So lov'd, — perhaps estranged now ! or dead ! 
 'Tis not the cares of life ; hopes blighted ! fled ! 
 Th' ingratitude, the heartlessness of man ; — 
 
 Not these alone could wring the aching heart. 
 And force such bitter tears ; but as we scan 
 
 Our by-gone days, time's scomed-at warnings dart 
 Upon our minds, which see (too late ! 'tis seen !) 
 "VMiat now we are, — what now we might have been.
 
 15 
 
 ON MODERATION. 
 
 With gentle voice, which most, alas ! despise. 
 
 Meek Moderation speaks, and would beguile. 
 
 To scenes of truth and peace ; but tho' her smile 
 Of favour, wisdom does most highly prize, 
 Man scorns her cautious counsels, whilst his pride, 
 
 (The pigmy child of ignorance,) alarm'd. 
 If any should oppose, wiU straight deride. 
 
 Perchance, some nobler mind. By folly charm'd 
 We live. The oak, impartial, spreads around, 
 
 With equal growth, its antlers broad, whilst bends, 
 From nature's hand, the wiUow from the ground 
 
 To droop upon the stream. Minds varied so. 
 By form, or use, will strive for varied ends. 
 
 If each man think aright, oh ! who but God can 
 know. »
 
 16 
 
 ON LIBERTY. 
 
 The sky-girt sea, whose waters ceaseless flow. 
 Shall never pass the shore : nor when it laves 
 The beach with ripplings soft ; nor when its waves 
 
 Dash into idle spray. The winds that blow 
 
 With varied breath, o'er hills that pierce the sky, 
 
 Obey their maker's will. Infinity 
 
 Surpasses reason's powers, that shrink to find 
 
 The little grasp of proud man's tiny mind. 
 
 Thus Liberty is not denied to men 
 
 Restrained, — for boundless, it would soon destroy 
 
 A blessing, and create a curse. 'Tis then 
 We feel true freedom's calm, enduring joy. 
 
 When bound to truth, by love's still strength'ning 
 chains. 
 
 We to those laws adhere which God himself ordains.
 
 17 
 
 ON A PICTURE OF SIR JOSHUA, 
 
 ENTITLED THE CONTEMPLATIVE YOUTH. 
 
 He sat alone, in visionary thought. 
 
 And heeded not the scene that sun-lit smiled 
 In beauty at his feet, save when beguiled 
 (As she pursued her way,) his Reason sought 
 To cull the flowers of thought, and thus endued, 
 Herself with sweets : th' uprais'd face beamed with 
 
 light. 
 Lit by the glowing mind ; his eye, tho' bright. 
 Was fix'd on nought, perchance some golden cloud 
 Upon the western sky ; the lips too smiled. 
 Just slightly mov'd, but with expression sad : 
 For now he trac'd the days that passed had 
 In sorrow and in joy ; thus sweetly wiled 
 Tlie time ; thus, gazing, oft I'd wish to brood 
 In contemplation's calm, that loveth sohtude.
 
 18 
 
 ON A GRAVE. 
 
 I linger'd long on that so hallow'd spot. 
 
 And thought on life, soon, oh ! how soon 'tis fled ! 
 
 How soon the hving slumbers with the dead ; 
 How soon his greatness is remember' d not ! 
 Himself forgott'n ! The tinsell'd crowns of fame. 
 And (of all objects that most loved,) a name ! 
 The name of statesman, or philosopher. 
 Patriot, hero, poet, warrior. 
 
 To me how worthless did they seem, how vain ! 
 What, though around your sculp tur'd tomb may crowd. 
 Strangers, and hymn your fame in praises loud, 
 
 Honouring the spot where you in dust are lain : — 
 As sweet, ay, sweeter would have been your rest. 
 If buried 'neath the sod, by fame unblest.
 
 19 
 
 FAME. 
 
 The star that shines upon the dark'ning west, 
 
 When twilight hlends with grey the golden sky. 
 
 Obscures all other stars in brilliancy 
 That cluster'd, or alone, adorn night's vest. 
 So some great men have pass'd a happier life. 
 Not marr'd with envy, or ambition's strife ; 
 Nor won the laurels of a deathless name. 
 Lost in some loftier mind's more brilliant fame. 
 Thus rustic streams that humbly flow, perchance 
 
 Through lovelier vales, bedeck'd with flow'rets gay ; 
 Or down the grass-clad rocks in prattling dance. 
 
 Join some proud river's flood that rolls its way. 
 Heedless of lesser streams to greet the sea. 
 Whose waves are emblems of eternity.
 
 TE AN SLAT IONS.
 
 XIII. SATIRE OF JUVENAL IMITATED, 
 
 ADDRESSED TO CALVINUS, IMMODERATELY GRIEVED 
 
 AT BEING CHEATED OF A CONSIDERABLE SUM 
 
 OF MONEY. 
 
 Crime hath a gnawing tooth ; villains are stung 
 By conscience, tho' false judgments should he wrung 
 From grasping judges, hought with paltry bribes. 
 The world still scorns the wretch, with with'ring gibes 
 Who dares defraud an unsuspecting friend ! 
 Besides to you this loss does not portend. 
 Grim poverty ; your's is a well stor'd purse. 
 Nor has dame fortune treated you ought worse 
 Than others ; such crimes happen every day. 
 Then moderate your grief ; hear wisdom say,
 
 24 
 
 " Excessive grief is folly ;" — for, I'm sure, 
 
 You storm with passion ; you can scarce endure 
 
 The smallest accident. " That he should dare 
 
 " Deny the sum confided to his care !" 
 
 What ! you are more than sixty, and surprised 
 
 At knavery ? Why is experience prized ? 
 
 You have not pluck'd her fruits. Philosophy 
 
 Should triumph over fortune's vagary. 
 
 True wisdom bids us fret not at the hit. 
 
 But take at once to harness and submit. 
 
 No day is sacred to the thieving mob : 
 
 All days and nights are one to them ; they'll rob. 
 
 Where fortune smiles ; they'll pick the money up, 
 
 Where steel has murder'd, or the poison'd cup. 
 
 (Curst avarice which nothing satiates !) 
 
 Good men are scarce ; Thebes boasts her seven gates ; 
 
 The fruitful Nile through seven outlets runs ; 
 
 But honesty scarce numbers seven sons ! 
 
 And this the iron age } Nay, nay. The earth 
 
 Has not to metals base enough, giv'n birth ; 
 
 But yet we talk of honour much ; and swear 
 
 By heaven's thrones, as loudly, as declare
 
 25 
 
 The well-fed parasites, that none can plead, 
 Like eloquent Fcesidius. 
 
 But, indeed, 
 You want the coral and the hells again. 
 My simple grey-hair'd friend. What ! you complain 
 That men, their wealth, by knavery should supply ; 
 We laugh to hear you talk of perjuiy : 
 Nor fane, nor blood-stain'd altar hath a god — 
 Such holy thoughts were held when men first trod 
 Our earth ; ere Saturn fled his traitor son : 
 Whilst little Juno scarce had strength to run. 
 And Jupiter lay hid in Ida's caves, 
 A playful urchin. Then there were no slaves 
 To bear the nectar cups. The gods then din'd 
 At home, for heav'n was young and unrefin'd. 
 No Vulcan first drank all that he could get : 
 Then wip'd, from off his arms, the soot-grain'd sweat. 
 Few gods sufficed : but Atlas scarce can bear 
 Their number now ! (and each one weighs his share.) 
 No trident, then, rul'd o'er the mighty deep. 
 No Proserpine was borne away to weep
 
 26 
 
 In Pluto's realms. The merry shades fared well ; 
 There were no rocks, no wheels, no kings in hell. 
 Dishonesty surpris'd that simple age. 
 Want of respect to elders kindled rage. 
 For which hung noblest youths ; ('tis not a jest,) 
 Tho' with more strawberries and acorns blest. 
 Young folks submitted to well-bearded men ; 
 Age needed not its silv'ry honours then. 
 
 But if a friend should now-a-days retain, 
 A large deposit ; if he once regain 
 His loan, 'tis thought prodigious honesty. 
 Which augurs might hand down in history : 
 For which a lamb should bleed as for a crime ; 
 An honest man's an object, strange, sublime. 
 As fabled Centaurs : you as well might wish. 
 To see a plough- share turn up living fish ; 
 Bees hang on temples, like a bunch of grapes ; 
 Mules foal ; or clouds drop stones of hideous shapes ; 
 Or rivers, winding soft thro' mead and lea. 
 Pour streams of milk into the wond'ring sea.
 
 27 
 
 Well ! you have lost a hundred pounds, you say, 
 What if two thousand had been borne away 
 As quietly from your next neighbour's chest ? 
 The thief knows well your proof, — he strikes his breast, 
 When you call gods to witness ; — he denies ; 
 No third eye saw him, and we all despise 
 In such a case, the watchers of the skies. 
 He blushes not, — with stormy voice he swears, 
 " By Phoebus' rays ; by Jove's dread bolt that tears 
 " The skies ; by Mars' fierce sword ; Apollo's dart ; 
 " Diana's quiver : ay, with confident heart 
 " By thy dread trident, Neptune, do I swear, 
 " Protest by great Minerva's spear : declare, 
 " By all the fiery thunderbolts of Jove 
 " I'd sooner — (tho' I feel a father's love,) 
 " My son were dead, than cheat, — I'd sooner far 
 " Dine on his head well hash'd in vinegar," 
 
 Some think that all things have one parent — 
 Chance ; 
 That o'er this world nought else has governance : —
 
 28 
 
 That days and seasons, move at nature's nod, 
 And therefore, fearless, swear by any god. 
 
 Some dread, lest punishment should follow crime, — 
 Tliese fear the gods ; but at the very time, 
 They swear aloud, they whisper in their heart, — 
 " Let light, for ever, from mine eyes depart, 
 " So I may keep the stolen money still ; 
 " Let slow decline consume, or sores that thrill, 
 " With pain ; or crippled hmbs, destroy my health, — 
 " I find an antidote to all, — in wealth. 
 " A Ladas would be mad, could he refuse 
 " The joys of wealth, because he does not choose 
 " To writhe beneath a gouty hand or toe ; 
 " The fading olive-crown dispels not woe — 
 " Tho' all he conquer'd in th' Olyirunc race, 
 " He could not live on empty fame's embrace. 
 " Heav'n's vengeance comes but slow, however 
 
 great, 
 " If all are punish'd, I may safely wait 
 " Till vengeance has been wreak'd on heavier crimes ; 
 " Besides heav'n overlooks men's faults sometimes.
 
 29 
 
 " And why not mine ? Crimeleads,tho'godsmay frown, 
 " Some to a cross, perhaps ; some to a crown." 
 
 'Tis thus the voice of conscience is destroy'd ! 
 The impious rogue, by such deceits up-buoyed, 
 "Will drag his victim to the judgment seat, 
 (The impudence of crime can co\mterfeit 
 The confidence of truth,) and play the slave 
 Catullus draws. Ay, you, young man ! may rave. 
 With Stentor's voice, at your unlucky stars. 
 Or shout aloud like Homer's wounded Mars. 
 Hear'st thou not, Jove ? Why utter'st not thy voice, 
 Wlien brass and stone would speak ? We give thee 
 
 choice 
 Of pious frankincense and sacrifice ; 
 But if thou thus neglect the blackest vice. 
 To us, tho' priests proclaim that thou'rt divine, 
 BathyUus' statue is as good as thine. 
 
 Hear now the consolations I can give, 
 Deriv'd from common sense — I do not live 
 By Cynics' or by Stoicks' pedant rule, 
 Who differ but in dress — I were a fool
 
 30 
 
 To envy Epicurus' humble lot, 
 
 Pleas'd with his garden and his wat'ring pot. 
 
 Your's is a very simple case indeed ; 
 
 Unskill'd apprentices, you knov^r, can bleed : 
 
 So if you show that you've been injured more 
 
 Than ever mortal has been wrong'd before, 
 
 I'll bid you tear your hair, and beat your breast. 
 
 Bewail all night, and take no soothing rest ; 
 
 Close all your windows, and tell him that sends. 
 
 The loss of gold wounds deeper than of friends. 
 
 In such a case 'tis honest real grief; 
 
 The robe is truly rent ; to bring relief 
 
 Gush floods of tears : whilst, by the funeral bier. 
 
 We strain in vain to squeeze out one poor tear. 
 
 Go to each court of law : hear men complain 
 
 Of contracts broken. The defendants feign. 
 
 That some one must have forg'd their hand, they think, 
 
 Nay ! positively swear ; they do not shrink. 
 
 Though honest men of pure unsullied fame. 
 
 Beheld them solemnly affix their name. 
 
 And heard the deeds, at least, read ten times o'er. 
 
 Then saw them placed in chests with iron door.
 
 31 
 
 Why, then, should you, be exempted from the lot 
 Of all men ? as, if some white hen begot 
 And hatch'd you — lucky dog ! — whUst my black egg 
 Was laid, that I should mourn, and starve, and beg. 
 
 But look around, — with thoughtful eye survey, 
 Tlie hideous crimes committed day by day : 
 See the hired murderer and the midnight thief 
 O'erwhelm an honest house with hopeless grief; 
 Th' incendiary see, with noiseless pain. 
 Place the dread fire and light the sulphurous train ; 
 The sacrilegious feet, that silent tread 
 The temple's pavement, and yet feel no dread. 
 To filch the cups rever'd for many an age, 
 And burst thro' all the feelings that engage 
 Our common love, — a nation's ofiering, 
 Perchance the mould'ring diadem of a king. 
 But if no spoil so glorious they can spy, 
 Tliey'll scrape the gold from brave Alcides' thigh. 
 Take Neptune's silver eyes, and nose, and chin. 
 And flay poor Castor of his golden skin. 
 These tremble not, — how should they, who for pelf, 
 Have melted down the Thunderer himself.
 
 32 
 
 See the base traffickers in poisonous arts. 
 Vile parricides, the hated of all hearts, 
 Sew'd in a sack and plung'd into the sea 
 To rise no more ; and for fit company, 
 A hapless monkey ruthlessly is pent 
 In the same bag : the ape is innocent. 
 
 What are these crimes to those that Gallus tries 
 From break of day till night ? Would you be wise 
 In deepest knowledge of the human heart ? 
 Then pass two days in court, and you'll depart 
 With full conviction, on a careful view. 
 That many live more wretched far than you. 
 
 Why wond'rest thou at crime in prosp'rous Rome ? 
 The peasant's goitre, in his snow-clad home. 
 The tow'ring Alps, awakes not our surprise ; 
 We wonder not at Germans' soft blue eyes. 
 Or golden hair, with scented oil o'erspread. 
 And horn-like curls depending round their head. 
 We wonder not, a mother's breast to see 
 Plumper than her plump babe, in Meroe.
 
 33 
 
 But nature made them so. The dwarfs of Thrace, 
 Will sound their war-note — rush to arms apace. 
 To meet the coming crowd of fierce claw'd cranes. 
 Each pigmy fights for life, each flight disdains, 
 But if o'ercome, alas ! they're made to fly, 
 Clench'd in the victor's talons, thro' the sky. 
 How would you shake your sides at such a sight ; 
 Yet it affords nor wonder nor delight 
 To those who dwell where these proud heroes die ; 
 Though not a pigmy's more than one foot high. 
 
 " What ! then," (you cry) " shall these vile thieves 
 go free ? 
 " No, no, we'll nail them to the accursed tree ; 
 •' On him, its bitterest curse let vengeance pour." 
 Well then ! the wretch that robb'd you is no more ; 
 Do you regain your loss ? "But then to see 
 " His life-blood trickling down in agony. 
 " Oh 'twere a sight with genuine pleasure rife ; 
 " Revenge is sweeter e'en than cherished life." 
 Sweeter ? to thoughtless idiots, brutish minds, 
 To him whose silly mind occasion finds.
 
 34 
 
 In ministries of love for maddest ire, 
 
 Whose bosom ever feeds a hellish fire. 
 
 But no revenge inspired Chrysippus' mind ; 
 
 The gentle soul of Thales could not find 
 
 Its charms, — nor he its dire allurements felt, — 
 
 That mighty sage, who by Hymettus dwelt. 
 
 The glorious Socrates ; tho' basely chain'd. 
 
 The venerable man would have disdain'd 
 
 To give his direst foe the poison'd drink, 
 
 From which his own high virtue scorn'd to shrink. 
 
 Thrice blest the man who learns, in early youth. 
 To list to wisdom and to search for truth ! 
 Philosophy from vice will purge his heart. 
 And virtue all her principles impart. 
 True to her precepts, soon revenge he'll find. 
 The paltry pleasure of a paltry mind ; 
 And thus, my friend, I prove what I assert. 
 Revenge is strongest in weak woman's heart. 
 
 The punishment of vice is not deferr'd : 
 The voice of conscience cannot be unheard.
 
 35 
 
 It falls incessant on the guilty breast ; 
 That inward voice that none can soothe to rest. 
 The utmost tortures of the law are slight. 
 The hideous torments of hell's blackest night. 
 Less terrible to them, who night and day, 
 Tho' struggling long can never drive away 
 That sleepless witness of their inmost heart ; 
 A troubl'd conscience stings till life itself depart. 
 
 A Spartan once to Delphi's fane repaired 
 To seek the oracle, (for he had dared. 
 Some neighbour's large deposits to forswear,) 
 And heard the priestess with dread voice declare, 
 " You shall God's vengeance follow thro' all time, 
 " For doubting whether he would punish crime." 
 Fear quenched dishonesty ; he paid the loan. 
 The truth of the wise oracle was shewn. 
 For his whole house, (old and of high degree) 
 All perished, like himself, most fearfully : 
 For whosoe'er but meditates a crime 
 Is guilty, tho' he do it not, — what time 
 He executes, he murders his own peace, 
 Despair shall seize his heart, nor ever cease
 
 36 
 
 To gnaw within. His crime has giv'n it hirth : 
 
 He feels it mid the scenes of festive mirth ; 
 
 It poisons all his food : his fever'd mind 
 
 Destroys his taste, his health : he cannot find 
 
 Pleasure in aught : the mellow Alban wine 
 
 He sips, and rich Falernian as 'twere brine ; 
 
 At night his troubled feelings banish rest. 
 
 He turns and turns again, and if opprest 
 
 With some few moments' sleep, 'tis restless sleep, 
 
 Disturb'd by guilty starts and moanings deep, — 
 
 For temples with their shrines profan'd, will shine 
 
 On his dull eye with radiance divine ; 
 
 Nay more, thy image stalks before his eyes, 
 
 With measur'd step, of more than mortal size. 
 
 Till horror lead liim to divulge his crime ; 
 
 Oft is he torn with agony, what time 
 
 The heavens thunder and the skies shoot fire — 
 
 He sees in these, the ministers of ire. 
 
 To punish those by horrors without pause. 
 
 Who set at nought th' Almighty's righteous laws ; 
 
 And if, unscath'd, they see the storm decay. 
 
 To them the smiling dawn of freshen'd day
 
 37 
 
 Comes not the harbinger of peace — still more 
 
 They fear the next black tempest's threat' ning roar ! 
 
 When pain and restless fever banish sleep, 
 
 They feel the hands of th' incens'd gods, and weep 
 
 With childish dread ; they know 'twere worse than 
 
 vain 
 To hope by vows offended Heav'n to gain. 
 What hopes have they their troublous fears t'allay ? 
 Far more their victims merit life than they. 
 
 The wicked are inconstant, save to crime ; 
 They feel their guilt, but only at a time. 
 When 'tis too late — and restless rush along 
 Impetuously, (nor care for right or wrong) 
 To blacker deeds, from which they once had turn'd 
 With virtuous recoil ; so soon they've learn'd 
 To practise arts, the progeny of hell. 
 When man once strays from virtue, who can tell. 
 How far he'll wander from her peaceful way ? 
 Shame once subdued, virtue will soon decay. 
 Breathes there, or now, or in the by-gone time. 
 The man whose limit was a single crime ?
 
 38 
 
 The thief who robb'd you will be hung at last. 
 
 Or banish'd else to desolate rocks, or cast 
 
 To loathsome caves : then let your joy be great : 
 
 A villain will have met a righteous fate, 
 
 And you gain'd wisdom ; for from this you'U find. 
 
 That Providence is neither deaf nor blind.
 
 39 
 
 HORACE, Epode 2. 
 
 SOLILOQUY OF THE USURER ALPHIUS ON 
 A COUNTRY LIFE. 
 
 Thrice blest is he, who, far from busy strife, 
 
 Enjoys, hke men of old, a country life ; 
 
 Whose oxen plow the lands his father till'd. 
 
 His thoughts with gains and sordid loans unfill'd ; 
 
 Who ne'er is rous'd by trumpets' clanging blast, 
 
 Nor at the angry ocean stands aghast ; 
 
 Who shuns the courts of law, and scorns to wait 
 
 At some more pow'rful Roman's haughty gate : 
 
 But who delights the vine's strong shoots to wed 
 
 To lofty poplars, and invite to spread ; 
 
 Or prunes the useless limbs, and those retains 
 
 Whose happier nature may repay his pains ;
 
 40 
 
 Or, in the less'ning vales that stretch below, 
 Watches the herds and lists their distant low ; 
 Stores the press'd honey long in jars to keep, 
 Or clips the thick wool from the sickly sheep : 
 Or, at the time, when Autumn lifts his head, 
 Crown'dwithbrightgrain,withripen'dfruitso'erspread, 
 How sweet, from trees, to pluck the mellow pear 
 Which his own hand had grafted, or to bear 
 The grape, whose colour may with purple vie. 
 As gifts to thee, Priapus ! by whose eye 
 Our gardens are protected, and to thee, 
 Sylvanus, who defend'st each boundary. 
 Sometimes, beneath a venerable oak, 
 He loves to he, unscath'd by woodman's stroke ; 
 Sometimes in rustic ease his hours to pass. 
 Musing in silence on the matted grass. 
 Meanwhile he hears the bubbhng fountains spring. 
 And in the woods, the birds complaining sing. 
 The dripping waters gush in gurgling streams. 
 And gentle slumbers bring and doubtful dreams. 
 But, when Jove, thunder-armed, prepares the snow 
 Of winter, when the chilling tempests blow ;
 
 41 
 
 With many a hound he drives the savage hoar. 
 Where toils await him, to escape no more ; 
 Or, on light stakes, he spreads the network snare. 
 To catch the gluttonous thrush or tim'rous hare 
 Or stranger crane, that comes from foreign soil. 
 Oh ! these delights are blest, happy the toil. 
 Amid such scenes who could one thought retain 
 Of the sad cares that crowd the lover's brain ? 
 His gentle wife, too, weU performs her part. 
 And gives to home and children all her heart. 
 Like Sabine dame, by summer suns embrown' d, 
 Tho' to a poor Apulian husband bound, 
 With well- dried logs, the sacred hearth she trims 
 Against her love's return, with wearied hmbs : 
 The well-fed ewes in wicker pens retains. 
 And of their milk the swelling udders drains ; 
 From the sweet cask she draws the new-made wine. 
 And imbought viands spreads whereon to dine. 
 Not Locrian oysters more real pleasure give. 
 Nor choicest turbot, nor the fish that live 
 In eastern seas, which, when sharp winter pours 
 His angr}' storms, are driv'n to visit ours ;
 
 42 
 
 Nor bird of Afric, nor Ionian pullet, 
 
 Slides more deliciously adown the gullet. 
 
 Than ohves gather'd from the loaded bough ; 
 
 Or dainty sorrel, that dehghts to grow 
 
 In grassy meads, or mallows that bestows. 
 
 To sickness, health, to weariness, repose. 
 
 Or lamb, at Terminus's altar slain. 
 
 Or kid, by rav'nous wolf, once seiz'd in vain. 
 
 What pure enjoyment, 'mid such feasts, they know. 
 
 Watching their flocks from pasture winding slow. 
 
 Or wearied oxen, dragging slow along. 
 
 On languid neck the upturn'd plough. A throng 
 
 Of servants gather round the Lares bright, 
 
 And mark a home of comfort and delight. 
 
 Thus, Alphius speaks, the grasping usurer, 
 
 And seems awhile to eagerly prefer 
 
 A country life : and, straight resolv'd to win 
 
 So blest a lot, calls all his monies in 
 
 Upon the Ides. The calends come ; once more 
 
 The usurer seeks to lend out all his store.
 
 43 
 
 HORACE, Ode 9. Book 2. 
 
 REPROVING IMMODERATE GRIEF FOR THE LOSS 
 OF A SON, 
 
 " Non semper imbres nubibus hispidos, &c." 
 
 Not always does the rain descend. 
 
 Upon the rugged lea ; 
 Not always ruthless storms, my friend ! 
 
 Flash on the Ceispian sea. 
 
 Nor does Armenia's shore retain. 
 For years, unchanging snow ; 
 
 Nor always Gargan's oak sustain 
 The tempest's angry blow.
 
 44 
 
 Winter, of leaves the ash bereaves. 
 
 Ere long to bud again ; 
 But thou, thy sorrow wilt not leave, 
 
 Nor cease thy moiu'nful strain. 
 
 For Mystes, from thee torn by death, 
 
 Unending flow thy tears ; 
 When Vesper gleams thro' evening's breath. 
 
 Or morning's hglit appears. 
 
 The aged Nestor wept not thus. 
 
 But gaily smil'd again, 
 Tho' his lov'd son, Antilochus, 
 
 Was so untimely slain. 
 
 Not thus, did Priam yield to grief. 
 
 Not thus, his sisters pine ; 
 When Troilus fell, unhappy chief! 
 
 A son, as lov'd as thine. 
 
 At length, from soften'd sorrow cease ; 
 
 Thy wailings for thy boy 
 Are vain, and, for thy country's peace, 
 
 Tliy nobler powers employ.
 
 Caesar's new trophies let us sing, 
 
 Niphates, clad with snow, 
 And Median streams subdued to fling 
 
 Far humbler billows now. 
 
 And how, within more bounded plains 
 
 The stern Geloni roam. 
 For now, victorious Csesar gains 
 
 Their once extended home.
 
 46 
 
 HORA.CE, Ode 13, Lib. 3. 
 
 1. 
 
 Clearer than glass, Blandusian fount ! 
 
 Worthy of flow'rs, and sweetest wine, 
 Soon as to-morrow's sun shall mount, 
 
 A tender kidling shall be thine, 
 
 2. 
 
 Whose branching head, for love or fight. 
 Had destin'd him, alas ! in vain. 
 
 This gentle kid, the flock's delight, 
 
 Thy coohng stream with blood shall stain. 
 
 3. 
 
 The blazing dog-star warms thee not ; 
 
 Beneath his rage, as cool as now 
 Thou glid'st for flocks that haunt this spot, 
 
 And oxen wearied with the plough.
 
 47 
 
 4. 
 
 O fount ! illustrious shalt thou rank, 
 
 Now, that thine oak hath been my theme, 
 
 Plae'd on the rocks, time-worn and dank, 
 Down which descends thy prattling stream.
 
 48 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 (from SCHILLER.) 
 
 1. 
 
 Man ever speaks, and dreams, with livelier joy. 
 
 Of many future happy days, 
 Still strives to gather some fair golden toy ; 
 
 Still following though through toilsome ways, 
 Be he or young or bent with palsied age, 
 StiU happier times to come his hopes engage. 
 
 2. 
 
 A child is born : Hope welcomes him with smiles ; 
 
 The gladsome boy she hovers round ; 
 Inspires the man with her enchanting wiles ; 
 
 And hves when age sleeps 'neath the ground. 
 Yes ! when he leaves this world, where trouble's wave 
 Keeps rolling, Hope stands planted on his grave.
 
 49 
 
 3. 
 
 Hope is no phantom — a mere poet's thought. 
 
 The offspring of an idiot's brain : 
 It speaks within the heart ; its music nought 
 
 Can silence, but it speaks and speaks again. 
 Surely that inward voice canwo^ deceive. 
 Nor in the heart such webs of falsehood weave.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
 
 To T B . Esq. 
 
 The drowsy hours on listless wing pass by. 
 
 When wearied with our daily toil, we lie 
 
 Upon a downy couch. The restless mind 
 
 StiU flits from thought to thought, but cannot find 
 
 Whereon to stay, as bees oft hover round 
 
 Th' inviting blossoms, with their buzzing sound, 
 
 But will not rest on one, — losing the sweet. 
 
 They else would have enjoy'd. 'Tis thus we cheat 
 
 Ourselves of happiness. Deep settled thought 
 
 Is the mind's truest bhss. Methinks there's nought 
 
 Imparts a nobler joy, than thus to muse. 
 
 Forgetful of our cares, awhile to lose 
 
 The fears of sorrow in the hopes of peace. 
 
 Of deep and lasting calm which may not cease —
 
 54 
 
 Or to explore the hidden laws of life, 
 
 And search for truth, nor hinder'd by the strife 
 
 Of prejudice, — nor blindfold bigotry — 
 
 Or by the hand of science led, to see 
 
 Deep into nature's laws, awhile to trace 
 
 Their goodness, and their wisdom, and their grace. 
 
 Or picture some past age, — when Athens stood. 
 
 Majestic Athens, glorious, great, and good. 
 
 In all her beauty, — or, majestic Rome, 
 
 The mistress of the world, — the lofty home 
 
 Of patriot's love and stern patrician's pride ; — 
 
 Or track the lives of those who have not died. 
 
 But hve for ever, in the fields of fame. 
 
 Winning by noble deeds a deathless name. — 
 
 But mine unnerved mind would not attend 
 
 To thoughts like these, but mus'd on that kind friend. 
 
 Who first induc'd mine unskill'd hand to write 
 
 In worthless sonnets. 
 
 How all spots unite 
 In feeling with the mind, — how all our hearts 
 Are tun'd to nature's chord, — in distant parts.
 
 55 
 
 As yet unseen, as those which love endears. 
 
 The fields and home of by-gone happy years. 
 
 I then methought (to wile the hours away. 
 
 For his kind view alone,) I would essay 
 
 To sketch three simple scenes — of mount, and vale. 
 
 And sea, — and if they shall unhaply fail 
 
 To raise one pleasing thought, — nor e'en amuse 
 
 One listless minute, — thou wilt yet excuse 
 
 The would-be poet's rashness, thus to dare 
 
 A critic's judgment, — for to me they were 
 
 The passing pleasures of an idle hour, 
 
 Which th' unstrained mind did gather hke a flower.
 
 56 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN, VALE, AND SEA. 
 
 Who does not love the mountain's narrow pass, — 
 The steep ascent, — the stem o'er-hanging mass, — 
 The deep ravine, — the yawning precipice, — 
 The cataract, — whose waters never cease 
 To rush with roaring fury down the steep ? 
 Or the calm mountain lake, that seems to sleep 
 In deep repose, blue as the sky above, 
 Amidst its giant barriers ? Oh ! I love. 
 Forgetful of the world, to pass thro' scenes 
 Like these, for there a spirit dwells that weans 
 Our thoughts from all the vain and bustUng strife 
 Of our too proud, and sadly thoughtless life ; 
 And raises us to dwell on things sublime ; 
 To view the littleness of man and time.
 
 57 
 
 When weigli'd witli God, and still expanding space. 
 Whose end not e'en eternity can trace. 
 
 Still more delights us our dear native Isle, 
 Tho' on her bosom, no huge snow-clad pile 
 Of sullen rocks, with stern majestic form. 
 Is rear'd to brave the fury of the storm. 
 And e'en to scorn the with'ring hand of time, — 
 These are the glories of a foreign clime. 
 But nature here, with a more winning grace. 
 Displays her gentlest charms, — with smiling face. 
 She beams forth varied joys, that never cease ; 
 Her's are not robes of grandeur, but of peace ; 
 Her grassy meads, each with its grazhig herd. 
 And tanghng hedge, where sings the timid bird. 
 With varied note, pouring a blithsome sound 
 Upon the breeze, which blossoms scatter'd round. 
 Enrich with fragrance wild ; whilst softly come. 
 In placid murmurings, the gentle hum 
 Of buzzing insects, and the tinkling bell. 
 Which calls the grazing flock. The fields too tell 
 Of plenteous fruit, waving with yellow corn. 
 And while the beauteous landscape they adorn.
 
 58 
 
 Delight the heart as heav'n-bestow'd rewards 
 
 Of industry and toil. The stream affords 
 
 Its modest waters to refresh the scene. 
 
 With slender banks of richly growing green. 
 
 Where bloom the cowslip, and such simple flow'rs. 
 
 As th' untill'd field, in wild luxuriance, pours 
 
 To glad the eye. The streamlet, winding on. 
 
 Seems now behind some gentle hillock gone, — 
 
 Now gleams once more remote, — is lost again. 
 
 Save where the tangling brushwood, or the plain. 
 
 And stunted willows, bending, mark its way. 
 
 The peaceful distance blends her misty grey 
 
 With th' arching blue, and is all wooded o'er. 
 
 Save where some fields, robb'd of their fruitful store. 
 
 Display a russet-brown amid the green. 
 
 Or where some wreathing smoke relieves the scene. 
 
 Losing its vapours in the sun-lit air. 
 
 A rural village stands ensconced there 
 
 Amid the clustering trees, the thatch-roof'd cot. 
 
 The humble home of toil, whose pitied lot. 
 
 When bless'd with sweet content and ruddy health, 
 
 Has more real bliss than envied lazy wealth.
 
 59 
 
 These modest homes, with whitcn'd sides, crept o'er 
 
 Ry jasmine's slender plants, which Uve to pour 
 
 Their fragrance on the air, enrich the view. 
 
 In unison with all. The spreading yew 
 
 And dark funereal cypresses (trees made 
 
 To cherish sorrow and to cast their shade 
 
 Upon the grassy couches of the dead) 
 
 Point out the spot that forms the peaceful hed 
 
 Of those we see no more : soundly they rest. 
 
 In wakeless sleep, upon their mother's breast. 
 
 Within the precincts of that h allow' d ground 
 
 Points upward the tall spire, whence oft the sound 
 
 Of mingled bells is heard : it points above 
 
 To bid us live in piety and love. 
 
 To make the mourner hope (that hope, how sweet) 
 
 That those now parted once again shall meet. 
 
 Dear native land ! where beauty spreads new wiles 
 Of endless charm, — where bounteous plenty smiles. 
 Far nobler scenes than words can ever tell 
 Are thine, of deep repose and joy, — where dwell, 
 United in a bond of harmony. 
 The watchful guardians of society, —
 
 60 
 
 Freedom of thought and ■will, — and Justice stem 
 
 In her uprightness. Here may statesmen learn 
 
 The true philosophy of government, — 
 
 Here learn the principles that will prevent 
 
 The growth of anarchy, — for here they'll find, 
 
 How liberty, tho' boundless in the mind, 
 
 Is held with chains when it infringes right, — 
 
 (For boundless liberty were but a blight, 
 
 Destroying buds of happiness,) — and yet, 
 
 Some crafty men, who willingly forget 
 
 The counsellings of truth, would bid thee try 
 
 To gain for all thy sons, equality. 
 
 As if alone the source of joy. Oh ! spurn 
 
 Such idle thoughts, and with true wisdom leara. 
 
 That he alone true happiness can find. 
 
 Who rests in truth, and whose well-order'd mind, 
 
 In virtue moves, — who zealously performs 
 
 The duties of his state, whose bosom warms 
 
 Tow'rds all his fellow-men with earnest love ; 
 
 Proof of a greater warmth tow'rds God above. 
 
 But let us change the pleasing scene once more. 
 And take our stand upon the shingled shore.
 
 61 
 
 And watch the toiUng waves, that ceaseless break 
 With gentle murmur on the beach, and make. 
 As far as eye can see, a slender belt 
 Of white- wreathed foam. — Oh ! surely none have felt 
 The joy of nature's most stupendous scene, — 
 (More peaceful than the valley's smihng green, — 
 More vast than untrod mountain's chain, — sublime 
 As heav'n's encircling sky, and yet sometime. 
 As calm,) — who have not gaz'd upon the sea 
 Thro' all its varied moods. — 
 
 How noiselessly. 
 The waves flow onward, till they reach the shore. 
 Then die with murmurs, that they flow no more. — 
 While o'er the vast and sky-bound sea we gaze. 
 The sun beams forth his brightest noontide rays 
 Upon the distant waters, to the sight. 
 As one unrufii'd blaze of brilliant light, — 
 Scatter'd, as these approach the shore to lave. 
 Like silver lihes spanghng the blue wave. 
 
 The eye soon heeds not the resplendent view. 
 But travels far beyond th' horizon's blue.
 
 62 
 
 And paints a lonely scene of sky and sea, 
 Where nought disturbs the still serenity, — 
 No vessel proudly sailing on the deep, — 
 Not e'en one ripple, — all the waves asleep, — 
 No ruffling breath upon the ocean's breast. 
 But all one vast intensity of rest. 
 
 The mind bethinks too of far distant lands. 
 Where burning suns emblazon glowing sands. 
 Too distant spots, alas ! where those, endear'd 
 By ties of warmest love, (who oft have cheer'd 
 Our homes with mirth, or dried affliction's tear. 
 Or rais'd weak hope when overthrown by fear. 
 Our joy and solace 'mid the world's cold strife !) 
 Waste the long years of their sad exil'd life. 
 And, musing thus, my mind did paint awhile 
 An idle fancy, which will wake the smile 
 Of sober reason, — for methought the sea. 
 Which binds our distant shores, to them, to me, 
 (And fancy whisper'd e'en to Heaven above) 
 Is but an emblem of our mutual love.
 
 63 
 
 But hours have pass'd away, — the wearied sun 
 Has reach'd the farthest west, — his course is run. 
 And hasting down the shghtly-clouded sky. 
 His orb, enlarg'd, beams fainter briUiancy 
 With hght of crimson hue, — the cloud collects 
 His scattered rays, — which the moist sand reflects 
 With gorgeous colouring of a deeper tone ; 
 Th' encroaching waves, forced by the tide, press on 
 To reach the pebbl'd bound'ry, and creep o'er 
 Tlie glowing sand, and break upon the shore. 
 These, for awhile, tho' indistinct, retain 
 The fading light. There does not now remain 
 One ling'ring trace of all that glorious scene, 
 Forgott'n in night, as tho' it had not been ! 
 
 How vast the change when angry winds arise. 
 And toss the sluggish sea, which first defies 
 Their power, as if it lov'd to be at rest. 
 With some calm ripple only on its breast, 
 TUl wearied with their rage, it 'gins to toil. 
 And swelling, heaves huge rushing waves that boil 
 With white and wreathing foam. The low'ring sky 
 Deepens the dark'ning gloom. How horribly
 
 64 
 
 They rage ! The winds still lash the anger'd sea, 
 
 That roughens at each breath, now hoist' rously 
 
 Its billows rush impetuous on their way. 
 
 With proud and arching necks, casting their spray 
 
 To heav'n itself and on and onwards still, 
 
 Resistless dash, with proud imperious will, 
 
 Roaring with fury, raging more and more. 
 
 Then burst with thunders on the trembling shore. 
 
 Amid a tow'ring mist of scatter'd spray. 
 
 With which the rushing winds delight to play. 
 
 Till lost in air, — but still with louder roar. 
 
 The storm gains force, the din increases more. 
 
 The billows answer to the tempest's nod. 
 
 And dash themselves to heav'n. — Oh God ! Oh God ! 
 
 Who rul'st with sov'reign sway o'er earth and sea 
 
 Omnipotent ! Oh ! look now graciously 
 
 Upon the threat'ning storm, turn it to peace. 
 
 At thy command the angry winds will cease. 
 
 The foaming billows sink and noiseless sleep 
 
 In gentle rest upon the wearied deep — 
 
 No widow's heart will break with grief and pain. 
 
 And the poor sailor see his home again.
 
 65 
 
 No houseless orphan charity will seek. 
 The father comes to kiss its dimpled cheek, 
 And dance his happy child upon his knee. 
 And tell him all the wonders of the sea : 
 And they'll rememher thy preserving voice. 
 For heartfelt songs (which angels will rejoice 
 To swell with a seraphic harmony) 
 Will rise with grateful thanks, the melody 
 Of gratitude. 
 
 He bids the tempest cease. 
 The winds obey, the waters are at peace. 
 
 The mom awakes upon a calm, once more 
 We stroll along the " many pebbl'd" shore. 
 And Ust the waves that murmur as they flow. 
 And feel the breezes as they softly blow, 
 Forgetful of the past ! Oh ! who would think 
 Standing on the unruffl'd ocean's brink. 
 Of tempest and of storm. No trace is seen 
 Of its past rage around, had there not been. 
 Beneath the time-worn cliffs, which stand on high. 
 With rugged shapes against the sun-lit sky,
 
 66 
 
 Long lines of sea- weed, far as eye can reach, 
 Strew'd carelessly along the smoothen'd beach. 
 Left by the less'ning waters, when the tide. 
 And wearied winds, now hasting to subside. 
 Gave them to break on their accustom'd shore. 
 And fann'd them gently till they toil'd no more.
 
 G7 
 
 MEDITATIONS AT THE LAKE OF LUCERNE. 
 
 On Lucerne's Lake, at twilight eve. 
 The hour when fancy loves to weave 
 Its ghtt'ring web as thin as air. 
 The hour of solemn vesper prayer, 
 When all men's toils and labours close, — 
 When nature droops in sweet repose ; 
 When flocks are penn'd within the field. 
 And drowsy mists steal o'er the weald ; 
 When birds in clusters seek their nest. 
 And sleep broods o'er the water's breast ; 
 At such an hour, when parting day 
 (Tho' brilhant still) hastes on her way 
 To tinge some distant sky, where greet 
 Her sight the lark with warblings sweet ;
 
 68 
 
 At such an houi', when dark'ning shades 
 
 Deepen the east as day-light fades ; 
 
 And slowly spread to herald night ; 
 
 At such an hour 'neath sombre light. 
 
 The fading relic of the day. 
 
 On Lucerne's Lake, I pensive lay 
 
 In a small skiff, and watch'd the shade 
 
 It cast, as tho' it had been laid 
 
 On pools of glass : how still the air 
 
 (As when o'er desert sands, where death 
 
 Holds sway, not e'en one gentle breath 
 
 Revives the wand'rer ere he die) 
 
 So hush'd in silence earth and sky. 
 
 Thou heav'nly lake, by mountain slopes 
 Enclosed ! thou far excell'st the hopes 
 Of poet's dream ! tho' exquisite 
 Thy bounded view forbids to flit 
 From thought to thought, as oft the mind 
 Will roam thro' distant scenes to find 
 Some resting spot : not so with thee. 
 Thy mountain walls alone we see.
 
 69 
 
 The heav'n above and thy clear breast 
 Calm as the sky's unruffled rest. 
 
 'Twas where stem Uri's branching bay 
 Beneath its mountain guardian lay, 
 (That mighty bulwark, whose vast shade 
 Sunless its northern neighbours made,) 
 I lay alone that lovely night. 
 The western lake was ting'd with light. 
 Reflected from the peaks, which sought 
 To scale the sky, and, tow'ring, caught 
 The last few rays of parting day, 
 Whilst tipt with gold, their image lay 
 Beneath upon the water's face. 
 Where fainter still the eye could trace 
 Each rugged line and rent, and view 
 The sky's fair dappl'd image too. 
 In contrast with the darken' d side. 
 That cast its shadows far and wide. 
 Whilst Buoch's lake held till the last 
 The Ung'ring traces of the past. 
 A hght on Uri's bay now gleams. 
 The silv'ry hght of the pale moon beams ;
 
 70 
 
 On mountain lakes, — when not a sigh 
 Disturbs — yet on the twilit sky 
 She ghmmer'd not — 'twas on the shade 
 Whence gaudy hght with proud parade 
 Had pass'd away ; all ling'ring glade 
 Had vanish'd ; it was only there 
 She seemed to soothe with holy light 
 The sadden'd waters of the night. 
 As hope from heav'n descends methought 
 To cheer the heart when peace is sought. 
 But sought in vain, she comes unseen 
 By those who live in fortune's sheen, 
 To gleam upon the troubl'd breast 
 And whisper to the weary rest. 
 
 The shadows deepen'd more and more 
 Upon the day-forsaken shore ; 
 No trace remain'd of day-light loom. 
 But all is one uncertain gloom 
 Of blended shade, but Uri gleam'd 
 More brightly as more brightly beam'd 
 The queen of night. How pure her beams 
 That silver nature's face ! But dreams
 
 71 
 
 Of fairy land stole thro' my mind. 
 The recent hght of day, combin'd 
 With the dark lake on which I lay. 
 Made fancy wend her winding way 
 To where the moonbeams softly fell. 
 There sail'd upon a floating shell 
 Of glitt'ring pearl that skimm'd along 
 The lake, with mystic flow, a throng 
 Of lovely forms that flash' d with hght 
 Each graceful turn : the gladden'd night 
 With more than natural lustre beam'd 
 Along their course : the water gleam'd 
 With lustre undefin'd, which glow'd 
 As nearer came the mystic load 
 To where enraptur'd with delight 
 I lay, and watch'd the elphin sight. 
 Now on my ear a dubious swell 
 Of some unearthly music fell ; 
 Now hushed ; now heard again, to greet 
 The Ust'ning senses ; sounds as sweet 
 As dying notes of sweetest flute. 
 Nor were their syren voices mute ;
 
 72 
 
 A chorus rises of such strains 
 
 As upon Bethlehem's sacred plains 
 
 The shepherds heard. Oh how they fill'd 
 
 My 'raptur'd ear with joy ! and thrill'd 
 
 The mind, whilst tears (I knew not why) 
 
 Dimm'd with their mist my strained eye, 
 
 Methought in my wild ectasy. 
 
 That I at once would gladly die. 
 
 Could I but follow in their train 
 
 (And ne'er revisit earth again,) 
 
 To visionary homes above, 
 
 (Wrapt in an atmosphere of love) 
 
 And smiling fields of endless peace. 
 
 Where joys arise that never cease. 
 
 The strains were hush'd, the sullen plash 
 Of oars arous'd me and the dash 
 Of passing boats told I had dream'd 
 WhUst yet awake ; the mind then teem'd 
 With recollections of the past. 
 Recalling deeds that bind us fast 
 With chords of love to that sweet lake. 
 Not, lovely Uri, for the sake
 
 73 
 
 Of beauty's charms alone, we love 
 
 Thy mountain's brows, that tow'r above 
 
 To cleave the sky, and, topt with snow. 
 
 Are mirror'd in thy glass below ; 
 
 Now grac'd with richest green, now drest 
 
 With foliage thick, whilst now their breast 
 
 Rugged and bare sublimely frowns, 
 
 Nor here and there thy scatter'd towns. 
 
 That seem to float upon thy face, 
 
 (So slender are the hanks we trace,) 
 
 Telling of sweet simplicity ; 
 
 Nor where some mountain bathes in thee 
 
 Bankless and steep ; whilst varied tone 
 
 Of shade dehghts ; not these alone 
 
 Call forth our love : there is yet more 
 
 To tell, — thine is a classic shore. 
 
 We love the lands of Greece and Rome, 
 
 Which boyhood learns were long the home 
 
 Of patriot-love, and warrior- skUl, 
 
 But thou, sweet lake ! art dearer still. 
 
 They steraly struggl'd to obtain 
 
 That noblest meed, — that greatest gain
 
 74 
 
 A nation's struggles e'er can win 
 (Withheld alone by blackest sin) 
 Sweet Liberty ; a glorious aim. 
 Yet they, successful but in name, 
 In dire contentions vainly tost. 
 The purer spirit of freedom lost. 
 But may it never be forgot. 
 Thy shore, oh Uri ! was the spot 
 Where genuine liberty unfurl'd 
 Her first proud standard to the world. 
 Uri ! the deeds thy children wrought. 
 The best of human blessings bought. 
 Their peerless actions to all time, 
 (Their acts and objects all sublime) 
 Shall to our hearts endear thee more 
 Than other lands : thy lovely shore 
 Bears in each chapel and each cross 
 Deep-grav'n memorials of the loss 
 Of friends, of home, of life, despis'd. 
 That liberty so dearly priz'd, — 
 So worshipp'd by the good and great,- 
 Might make thy land her chosen seat.
 
 75 
 
 Sacred as these august remains. 
 Each humble peasant heart retains 
 The warm remembrance of the love 
 Of those, who could so nobly prove 
 Their yearnings for their country's good. 
 But should the spot where Griitli stood. 
 Be left without one doubtful trace ; 
 And should (to heighten Swiss disgrace) 
 The Tillen Platte (that sacred spot 
 Where Tell leap'd shoreward) be forgot. 
 Should every church and cross decay. 
 Should peasants' hearts (far be the day) 
 Their father's mighty deeds forget. 
 From thirst of wealth, or power ; yet, yet. 
 Thou hast, fair lake ! a lasting name 
 By history given to deathless fame. 
 And thy proud rocks shall ever be 
 Firm monuments of liberty.
 
 SONGS
 
 LINES ON HOPE. 
 
 Like drops of summer's dew, 
 
 That flit away, alas ! 
 Which every evening does renew 
 
 To spangle on the grass. 
 
 And then away to pass, 
 
 Soft Hope, each morning gleams 
 Thro' all our ling'ring years. 
 
 And flatters us with idle dreams 
 To soothe some saddening fears. 
 Or kiss away our tears.
 
 80 
 
 A CALM AT SEA, 
 
 (from GOETHE.) 
 
 Over the calm reposing sea, 
 Now silence reigns profound, 
 
 The anxious sailor but beholds 
 One smooth expanse around. 
 
 Fearfully stiU, as death is still. 
 Not a breath from any side ; 
 
 Not e'en one rippling of a wave 
 Moves on the surface wide.
 
 81 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Lament not thus, oh ! maiden fair. 
 But let thine heart find peace. 
 
 And braid once more thy flowing hair. 
 And let those tear-drops cease. 
 
 " And would ye have me smile again. 
 And join the festive throng. 
 
 And would ye bid me dance again. 
 And sing the cheerful song ? 
 
 " Since sorrow is my only lot. 
 
 Tears are my only joy. 
 For death within that thatch-roof'd cot 
 
 Did all my hopes destroy.
 
 82 
 
 " I'll weep beside his grassy grave. 
 At ev'ning's mournful grey. 
 
 And tears my fading cheek shall lave. 
 Throughout the ling'ring day."
 
 83 
 
 THE FLOWER GIRL's SONG. 
 
 My flow'rets gay ! too soon to die I 
 
 Ne'er more the fresh'ning rain 
 Shall add new sweetness to your bloom. 
 
 Nor shall ye ope again 
 
 The hp. 
 The spangling dew to sip. 
 
 Nor scent 
 
 The breeze in modest play 
 Which scentless came and fragrant went. 
 
 From ye, my flow'rets gay. 
 
 Perchance some beauty will be dcck'd 
 With your soft velvet bloom,
 
 84 
 
 Perchance ye'll strew a bridal path. 
 Perchance adorn a tomb. 
 
 Buy, buy. 
 Sweet ladies, flow'rets buy. 
 
 No pearl 
 Has scent like these, then buy. 
 
 For I'm a friendless orphan girl. 
 But you can hope supply.
 
 85 
 
 SONG. 
 
 When silent ev'ning 'gins to gleam 
 
 With calm reposing fading light, 
 The mind attuned, loves to dream, 
 
 On thoughts of sadness ; yet dehght. 
 
 She then unheeded journeys back. 
 Thro' gladsome years long past away. 
 
 As dark'ning skies retain the track. 
 The golden footsteps of the day. 
 
 The misty future too has hght. 
 
 Which streams from hope's bewitching eyes ; 
 (As stars will stud the coming night,) 
 
 Tho' full of idle phantasies.
 
 86 
 
 THE BLIND BOY's SONG. 
 
 SET TO MUSIC BY MISS KATE LODER. 
 
 I FEEL with delight 
 
 The warmth of the sun. 
 Which tells that the night 
 Its chill course has run, 
 But I see not his brilhant rays, tho' I'm told. 
 They beam thro' the air in gay colours of gold. 
 
 As when music greets 
 
 The soft hst'ning ear, 
 As when honied sweets 
 Perfume the stiU air, 
 So hght surely gladdens those eyes that can see. 
 But, alas ! I am blind, it gladdens not me.
 
 87 
 
 Oh how I'd rejoice. 
 
 To see those I love. 
 Whose well cndear'd voice. 
 Oft tells that above. 
 There are regions of joy, and vision, and light. 
 When we shall have pass'd the grave's gloomy 
 night.
 
 88 
 
 SONG ON THE MORNING. 
 
 How joyous ! the new waking morn, 
 
 When the mist 'gins to rise. 
 
 Unveiling the skies. 
 The mist of the rosy-cheeked dawn. 
 
 When the lark 'gins to sing. 
 
 On gentle flutt'ring wing. 
 How joyous the dew spangl'd mom. 
 
 Then trippingly hastens the breeze 
 
 Over streamlet- washed vale. 
 
 O'er field, hill, and dale. 
 Breathing softly on flowers and trees, 
 
 The plough-driving boy. 
 
 Loud whistling for joy. 
 At the merry and clear morning breeze.
 
 89 
 
 All nature refresh'cl hails the morn, 
 
 And with one mingling voice. 
 
 Yea all things rejoice. 
 When the day is of dark night born ; 
 
 For then, mirth comes again. 
 
 And joys in the train 
 Of the dancing and light-hearted morn.
 
 FRAGMENT.
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 Why wish to live ? for life is misery 
 Gilded by art, adorn'd by painter's skill, 
 Enricb'd by poet's song, by scholar's lore, 
 Enliven'd, now with mirth, with music's charms, 
 But sorrow stiU : years past mispent, forgot : 
 The years to come as idle as the past. 
 The friend ungrateful, and the lov'd ones gone. 
 Who thinks of me amid these silent rocks .'' 
 Why should I wish to hve ? they'll soon forget — 
 (As I too have forgotten,) the dearest friend ! 
 Why love the world ? the world cares not for me ; 
 None care but for themselves : none search for truth 
 With wing untiring, as the spotless dove 
 Flew o'er the shoreless deep to pluck the branch : 
 Yet are truth's depths quite inexhaustible, 
 Vast as the works of God. — * * * *
 
 BASINGSTOKE : PRINTED BV ROBERT COTTLE,
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-50m-7,'54 (5990 ) 444
 
 JPE 
 
 hS39 
 
 K592A17 
 
 1SU9 
 
 Aing - 
 
 Poems 
 
 PR 
 hS39 
 k5^2A17 
 18ii9 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIOrjAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 370 559 7
 
 
 ,t^i 
 
 ^ 
 
 '^■^. 
 
 M^^