k __ _ i — " O c ^^^^ss? —i ■ 5 UJ == 31 = C3 5 — i> — '"" 5 3D ^ 1 -< 1 1 - ~ 1 j 1 aiversity of California Southern Regional THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES '.-"V :' \ POEMS AND TALES. POEMS AND TALES, BY MISS TREFUSIS. IN TWO VOLUMES* VOL. II. LONDON: PRINTED FOR SAMUEL TIPPER, LEADENHALL STREET, BY T. BENSLEY, BOLT COURT. 1808. PR T4^3A17 CONTENTS. V s - PAGE Th e Labrador Camelion 1 -jt. Sir Hubert, a dramatic tale 5 The Sunflower and Lily 15 To a certain Author 17 The Beggar to the Boy 18 Edwy and the Owl 19 Have we not loved ! 2 1 Song 24 Mary, a simple song 20 To my own Picture 28 The Painter's Disappointment 29 Song 34 Loyal Song, for the Pimlico Volunteers 35 The Canary Bird 38 -7- -f Rosa, an elegy on Disappointment 42 Emmeline, a tale 60 Mad Song 64 Answer to a Letter more witty than delicate 69 Celestina to her Husband 72 The Leaf 74 To Mr. C— k— y 76 To Captain T 77 To the Rose-unique f 8 To R. W. Elliston, Esq 81 Birth-day of a Male Coquet 83 The Helleborus Albus 85 To his black Eyes 87 82433? VI CONTENTS. fAOE Five little Months '. 89 Valentine to W. Gifford, Esq 01 Charade 95 Valentine to a Lady 96 Valentine to John P. Esq 99 To the same 101 The Mountain-ash 102 Sonnet to Allan 1 04 To the same 106 To Allan's Violet 108 The Pimpernel 110 To Allan on her Garden 113 -To Allan's Dressing-glass 1 14 June and September 116 ToJ.C. Efq 119 Nardi 120 To Miss H 125 On Mrs. John Bates 126 To an early Friend 128 Answer to some flattering Lines from a Youth 129 To the same 13 1 To Dr. Reynolds 136 Rodolph, an historical tale 139 Sonnet lxxv. modernized from Spencer 144 lxxxii 1 46 xxviii 147 xlvi 148 X 149 Ivi 1 50 lxxviii 151 , xiii 152 CONTBNTS. Vll FADE The Scrutiny 153 Isabel's first Song 155 second Song 158 Song 161 On Stella's white Forehead 162 Continuation of an old Song 164 French Morality 167 Silvander to Lucy I/O From an old Man to a young Beauty 173 From Florian's Estelle 175 Galatee 178 Celestine 180 Estelle 18» .Estelle 184 Galatee 187 Estelle 189 POEMS AND TALES. THE LABRADOR CAMELION. TO MRS. ELLISTON. See how yon brilliant creature takes the dye? Of bright Aurora's gold and purple skies! See how a wat'ry cloud with chilling sway Spreads o'er its form the gloom which veils the day! Now shrinking from the blast with wild affright, The little trembler shuns returning light, Climbs the brown bark, and browner hues assumes, Till once again the face of Nature blooms ; Then once again he Nature's livery wears, While her green mantle is begemm'd with tears, vol. it. B 2 Imagination, erst, this creature framed, Admired it, blest it, and Camelion named; Of all it touches it receives the hue, Blazes in golden suns, or mourns in murky blue. On Labrador's wild shores a gem is seen, Which, bursting on the eye with ray serene, Assumes a varied hue in varied light, Though ever changing, in all changes bright: On this, sweet nymph, let us our talents try In the creative art of chiselry. What though our pliant fingers are untaught. Genius may give a form to fancy's thought ; And should we find our efforts all too faint, Let Strangford a praise him, or let Stroehling b paint, a Lord Strangford, the elegant translator of Camoens. b Mr. Stroehling, of Henrietta-street, Cavendish-square. Or bold De Wilde, c in colours warm and true, On canvass hold out character to view. MRS. ELLISTON S SUPPOSED ANSWER. The sweet Camelion is already mine, He takes all tints, in every tint must shine; His versatility all hearts have won : Your sweet Camelion is — my Elliston. If Stroehling now soft miniature refuses, And diplomatic Strangford jilts the muses ; c Mr. DeWilde, ofTavistock-row, Covent-garden; remarkable for the accuracy of his likenesses, and still more so for forcibly seizing the character of the countenance he paints. This spirited and energetic painter is but little known ; he came to England without a friend to take him by the hand, or a patron to recom- mend him to notice, and therefore still continues in obscurity! If fortune to De Wilde is still unkind, Not giving patronage, though giving mind; Less shall I now the general loss deplore, Since I their wondrous talents court no more ; One only artist can his picture draw Whose love's my blessing, and whose will's my law. What brilliant gem such brilliance can impart As charm'd my faculties, and thaw'd my heart, When bounteous Love, with his own seal, imprest One sacred image on this faithful breast ! STR HUBERT. A DRAMATIC TALE. Sir Hubert leaning against a tree in a meluncholy posture. Enter Lady Rosaline. LADY ROSALINE. Sir Hubert, why so pale, so wan? Flows from the heart yon trickling tear? Can sorrow waste the dauntless man Who acts no ill, who feels no fear? Thy glowing cheek once shamed the mom, Rivall'd the ruby-tinted rose. SIR HUBERT. Ab, Rosaline! a secret thorn Beside the blushing flowret grows. Where youth and health and rapture bloom, Oft treacherous Love triumphant reigns, Conducts his victim to the tomb, And lords it o'er his proud remains. LADY ROSALINE. Mistaken Hubert ! hope presides Where youth and health and rapture glow j 111 fare the maiden who derides Love's undissembled tale of woe ! Yet say, where dwells the favour' d fair, That Rosaline may plead thy cause, Picture thy virtues, thy despair, And bend her soul to pity's laws ? SIR HUBERT. Sir Hubert loves a princely dame, Hubert, the knight of low degree ! But never shall his humble flame, Exalted maid, aspire to thee ! Not deeply school'd in classic lore, Not proudly bred, or nobly born, The high-soul'd being I adore Would treat such humble love with scorn. Can she her palaces forego To share Sir Hubert's narrow cell ? Her polish'd mind descend so low As with unletter'd hinds to dwell ? O she would hate the selfish youth Who sunk her in the world's esteem; O she would doubt his soul's best truth, And curse love's short delusive dream ! LADY ROSALINE. What though no costly viands smoke On happy Hubert's humble board, Labour would appetite provoke; Content, rich seasonings afford. What though no minstrel's studied lays Should charm her fancy, soothe her ear, If one dear voice records her praise, What minstrel would she deign to hear ? Hubert, a wreath of blooming May Entwined amidst her floating hair By Love's fond fingers, would convey More bliss than all her jewels rare! More highly prized her simple plaid (Since such the garb her Hubert wore) Than either India's best brocade, Or all the gold Potosi bore. Then let this youth of low degree With candour own an honest love; And may his princely maid agree With him o'er Scottish wilds to rove. SIR HUBERT. Sir Hubert is the lowly knight ; The princely maid is — —Rosaline ! LADY ROSALINE. Ah, Hubert ! have I heard aright ? Alas! I never must be thine. Say, will the haughty earl bestow His sister's person with her heart ? Trust me, my gentle Hubert, no! And we — we must for ever part ! SIR HUBERT. O no! not part! my beauteous maidj Hubert no more will own his flame ; No more, by circumstance betray 'd, Urge thee to share an humble name. 10 And yet, my love, an humble heart Can be as pure, can prove as true, As much of social bliss impart, As fortune's highly-favour'd few. Love flies from courts in wilds to dwell, There the sweet visionary 'bides, Frequents the grot, the moss-grown cell, Midst tufted groves and woodlands hides. O wert thou mine ! how sweet to toil For thy dear sake the livelong day ! At night, returning with the spoil, Thy smiles my labours should repay. For thee I'd chase the bounding roe, For thee the mountain-kid ensnare, Search where gay Flora's nurselings grow, And twine them in thy nut-brown hair. 11 I'd seek the white-wing'd plover's nest, Pillage the bee of half his store, Or sailing on old Ocean's breast, His secret hoards for thee explore. Though poor, we could be happy still, Blythe as the wood-lark's merry song, Wild as the kid on yon brown hill, Roving our Scottish wilds among ! LADY ROSALINE. The mistress of Sir Hubert's col, Alas ! can ne'er be Rosaline. Yet greatly blest will be her lot Whose happy fate unites with thine! O my heart's Hubert ! all in vain Hast thou been tender, I been true : Stern Duty clanks her iron chain — Adieu, regretted youth, adieu! 12 SIR HUBERT. Adieu, adieu, O maid beloved ! — Hark! heard you not Earl Malcolm's voice?. When far thine Hubert is removed, Ne'er may he learn thine humble choice! Forget, forget me ! and be blest ! Waste not on me one tender sigh : If peace revisit thy dear breast, Hubert will be content to die. And then, perhaps, his happier shade May quit the blissful realms above, To hover round his darling maid, And fondly guard an earthly love. LADY ROSALINE. Bend not on me those speaking eyas, That suppliant look my pride disarms ; 13 There is a language in those sighs! Hubert, that plaintive language charms ! Self-love the lordling's face may flush, And arrogant pretensions speak ; But much I prize the timid blush Which mantles o'er the modest cheek. That hesitating voice, that tear, Too well, alas ! have play'd their part : O how inexplicably dear The offerings of an humble heart ! SIR HUBERT. Ye gods! and is this angel mine? Thus then I claim my promised bliss ! Enter Earl Malcolm. EARL MALCOLM. Debased, degenerate Rosaline ! Death only seals thy nuptial kiss- 14 Thus, base-born vassal ! thus he dies, Who woos and wins an high-born maid ! [Stabs Hubert. LADY ROSALINE. Low, low on earth my Hubert lies : I follow thee, loved, sairfted shade ! [Sinks beside him. EARL MALCOLM. Earl Malcolm loved Sir Hubert well, But more Earl Malcolm loved his fame : Ne'er should a vassal live to tell His triumph o'er a princely dame. Who calls the world's distinctions vain? Much they the general good ensure; And though the few may taste of pain , Tis hence the many are secure. 15 THE SUNFLOWER AND LILY. •TtlYf WORDS TO BANNISTER'S SONG IN " MY GRANDMOTHER. I. I have seen on a bright summer's day How Clytie has worshipp'd the sun; I have seen the false god veil each ray Till half his gay course he had run. Ah ! lack a day, &c. II. I have seen the pure Lily disclose Her sweets to the petulant bee* But from her he has rush'd to the rose, And buzz'd round each beautiful tree. Ah ! lack a day, &e. 16 in. Like the bee, still inconstant and vain, Man to many his vows will impart : Like the sun, a poor triumph to gain, He will torture the sensitive heart. JV. The whole world but one planet contains For the Clytie who loves and believes! The pure Lily desertion sustains, Yet blesses her bee, while she grieves! 17 TO A CERTAIN AUTHOR. I. Oft in the dusk a child appears Swell'd to the stalking spectre's size, Some bush a form terrific wears Of giant towering to the skies; But when Aurora gilds the plain They shrink to nothingness again. II. Thus shallow mortals give the bays To him, whose meaning few can scan; The more obscure, the more they praise Their great, their scientific man : Wrapt in the friendly shades of night, They think he towers above their sight ! VOL. II. C 18 THE BEGGAR TO THE BOY. I. While some, through ostentation, spare A trifle from their endless store, And some, to shun the earnest prayer, Afford a pittance to the poor; II. Yet thou, with nothing to bestow, Ah, geneious youth! far more hast given ; Those tears which for my miseries flow, Not lost on earth, shall rise to heaven ! III. And should (since e'en the noblest fall) Thy future life some follies stain, Those pitying tears shall wash out all, And life's pure page be white again. 19 EDWY AND THE OWL. A MAD SONG. I. Mare me a bed, close, close by the willow, Of turf be my couch, a stone be my pillow ; Over my head the green branches entwine, Impervious to Sol — gloomy Dis must be mine. Bring the snake, bring the toad, To adorn my abode : Let the bat beat the air with his dull leathern wing, Let the Owl perch aloof, and thus merrily sing, To-hoot! to-hoooooo! Love is a cheat, and a novice are you: Few prize the heart that's but tender and true! To-hoot! to-hoooooo! 20 II. Haste, Will-with-the-wisp, and be it your care To lure to my dwelling this changeable fair; The task will be easy, for many a maid By fiction's false glare is to ruin betray'd. And why should not she Feel the pangs which tear me ? Ah no! though I'm mad, still her beauties can warm, And what once I have cherish'd, I never can harm. To-hoot! to-hoooooo! She slighted a youth who was tender and true, For one who was worthless, false, wanton — but new! To-hoot ! to-hoooooo ! III. Satyrs and gnomes, let my rival be bound, With nettles and thistles his temples be crown'd; 21 Let wasps sting his body, yet still let him find No stings are so sharp as the stings of the mind. Then perhaps he will say, " May foul fiends rule the day, When I lured a vain girl from an innocent love, And left a poor youth keenest anguish to prove." To-hoot! to-hoooooo! O volatile maiden, the change you will rue, For Mopsus is worthless, but Edwy was true. To-hoot! to-hoooooo! 28 HAVE WE NOT LOVED ! SONG IN THE M. P. I. Why, why should I murmur, though death should o'ertake me ? Enough of life's anguish already I've proved: My peace, and my Ronald, both, both now forsake me, And sickness and sorrow contribute to shake me; Yet — have I not lived ? and have we not loved ? II. Alas! if indeed thy fond flame be declining, Which once was so tender, while yet it was new; Then, ne'er may I pass my lone hours in repining, But soon to the grave earthly passions resigning, Court its deep shades, and conceal me from view! 23 III. Whate'er may betide me, I still will remember That once my sweet Ronald each action approved ; If bleak northern winds love's fair myrtle dismember, It flourish'd in May, though it droops in December, And we — yes, my Ronald ! we've lived, and we've loved. 24 SONG. IN THE SAME. I. While madly gazing on that form divine, How keen the shaft which rankles in my breast ! What though I know thou never canst be mine, My heart would break to see another blest. II. All, all I ask, is but to love thee still, With innocence to hug my darling chain; For thy dear sake, encounter every ill, For thee, each curse, but infamy, sustain ! 2o III. Spare me, O spare an agonizing heart! This cherish'd love it kills me to forego: O all ye gods, if we indeed must part, May death, but not unkindness, give the blow! 26 MARY. A SIMPLE SONG. IN THE SAME. I. He is gone ! he is gone ! how bitter the tear Which furrow'd my cheek at our last sad adieu, When all sobbing, I cried, " Farewell to my dear I Remember your Mary! believe her sincere, Then slight, if you can, her who lives but for you! II. My Francis may meet with a face far more fair, With smiles more seductive, more artful than mine: On my brow love has graven the wrinkles of care; The blossoms of youth felt the blight of despair; Yet scorn me not, Francis, the fault sure was thine! 27 III. If the light foot of frolic is Mary's no more, If dimpling hilarity shrinks from her cheek, Thy smiles can the innocent vagrants restore : The cup of contentment would quickly run o'er, If the dark eye of Francis love's language should speak ! IV. Then let not the stranger thy fancy beguile, Though deckt in the treasures of beauty and youth : For the heart of thy Mary (though breaking the while From the lures of each wanton) shall yield thee a smile, By tenderness drawn from the fountains of truth ! 28 TO MY OWN PICTURE, TAKEN BY SHELLEY FOR JESSY. Haste, little image of an ardent friend, To Jessy haste, and all her steps attend ; For absent Ella should she heave the sigh, Let instant rapture gladden in thine eye ; But should the maid, with cold indifference, trace In thine, the lineaments of Ella's face, An equal coldness let thy features wear : Assume a frown— ah no! let fall a tear. 29 THE PAINTERS DISAPPOINTMENT. TO THEOPHILUS SWIFT, ESGl. WHO SAT FOR HIS PICTURE. Full often, in vain, I've attempted to draw The outlines uncouth of this limb of the law, But the comical, whimsical, quizzical man, Defies all my art, and deranges each plan. Well chosen, well sorted, my colours appear, My canvass stretch'd tight, and my pencils all near; Then I'll call forth my pow'rs! all your praises prepare, For not Fuseli's self shall with Ella compare ! See how in solemn state he sits, Stern censor of our modern wits ! A goose's feather stecp'd in gall I lis itching fingers shall enthral; 30 Ah ! then beware, ye foes — ye friends — The devil's at his fingers' ends! But behold how he changes ! then I must change too, For, alas! much unlike, is the picture I drew. A table, spread with green, Now in the midst is seen, And round it damsels fair; Mark, with what anxious faces They v/oo the trumps and aces! And shall not Swift be there ? Yes, yes, he comes, and with him brings A regiment of queens and kings! See him now in all his glory, See what fire is in his eye! Future times shall learn his story; Now my colours I'll apply.— SI But O — with a bound He hurls to the ground Cards, candlesticks, tables, and all ! My work's at a stand, The paint drops from my hand, And the ladies fly off with a squall ! Ah, tearful sight! lo, on his brow The threatening cloud appears! The doughty hero's angry now, And now — a nation fears! "Swords! pistols! blunderbusses! guns! Quick, boy, arrange in dread array!" The timid boy the office shuns; With tools so dangerous who would play? " Boxing, sir, is all the fashion." — " Come on," he cries, " I'm in a passion ! 3'2 Now for your eye! now for your ear! " But see, mild beauty drops a tear ! He wonders, he forgets his rage, And softer thoughts his soul engage. Sure woman was by Heaven design'd To meliorate man's rugged mind ! What though the solemn pedant may despise To study virtue's book, in beauty's eyes; What though the lordly savage may disdain Round his proud heart to wind love's graceful chain, Yet still the wisest, bravest, best, allow The moody monster melting into man, With fairy wreaths may deck his conq'ring brow; That wisdom's self may snatch a vagrant grace, When sweetly neighbour'd by a smiling face! Thus, when this world of wonders first began 33 To rise from chaos, woman was design'd To meliorate man's rugged mind ! — Hither haste, my good lad, and fresh implements bring, While I work up my colours, do you, my boy, sing; Sing softly, sing sweetly some elegant lay, For the good little man's in good-humour to-day; The milder affections his bosom possess, Nor should the world, would the world, wish they were less! This, this is the hour in which Ella would draw The outlines of Swift, that strange limb of the law: But be quick, my good lad, and my colours arrange, For this human camelion is subject to change 1 VOL. II. 34 SONG IN THE PASTORAL ROMANCE. I. Too keenly sensitive, the virgin feels Deep in her breast each shaft which satire aims At the loved youth ! while o'er each feature steals Th' indignant blush, which tenderly reveals How strong an interest in her heart he claims. II. The sweetest flattery, the most soothing lays, The eulogy which best her soul can move, Is that which speaks the favour'd shepherd's praise, Is that which crowns with never-dying bays The gallant object of her artless love. 37 So these blood-hounds awhile may exult o'er their prey. Till the breath of the Deity sweeps them away. CHORUS. V, Be George our commander for many a year, Our rudder may Pitt long continue to steer; On life's ocean Britannia then proudly shall ride, Free from anarchy's tempests, and faction's rough tide. CHORUS. VI. May each man who hears me, each brave volunteer, Raise his arm to protect, what his heart holds most dear; By defending our monarch, and guarding his throne, Our wealth and our wives shall continue our own. 38 THE CANARY BIRD. Mons. de St. P. bore a strong personal resemblance to an inva- luable friend of Miss D. W's. " May not the mind," said she, "correspond vviih the body? may not Pierro's be the counterpart of Marcian's?" — She was deceived ! he forgot his poor bird '. Dora found it starving ! Come, little wanton, come and see What favours are reserved for thee; Come, little wanton, come and prove All Dora's care, all Dora's love; Tell, when the favour'd youth returns, How for his absence Dora mourns, How for his loss she dropt a tear, How for his sake his bird was dear, Yet stay awhile — nor dare discover The maiden's feelings to the lover, 39 Till all her heart, exposed to view, Insures thee thy report be true. Warm'd by the tale his bird shall tell, Warm'd by the suns in Dora's eyes, The seed of hope may burst its shell, The plant may prematurely rise j And then the chilling blast may come, To nip the promissory bloom ! Should Pierro's form attract her gaze, Or should she to his words attend, O not for him each partial praise, 'Tis yielded to her absent friend ! The dear delusion cheats her sight, Her keen eye sparkles with delight ; In Pierro's form, in Pierro's face, Fond memory now delights to trace 40 Her Martian's port, her Marcian's mien, The soft sweet smile which rayed serene, The tender eloquence of eye, Mild as the glories of an evening sky ! But where, O Marcian, can she find One emanation of thy mind ? Anxious, at thy natal hour, Partial Fate propitious gave All the virtues in her pow'r, All that forms the good and brave ! Pierro was but a dissembler, Artful heaved his studied sigh ; For he left the little trembler, Left his feather'd friend to die ! But lo ! a gentle nymph appears ; 'Tis Pity ! Dora's form she wears : 41 The glistening tear-drop swells her eye, Her bosom pants with many a sigh, Her eager hand is stretch'd to save This half-claim'd victim of the grave. Pure child of virtue, mark his tale, For truth shall in his song prevail. THE CANARY BIRD S SONG. Ah ! trust not, fair Dora, in sighs, Poor proofs of the sensitive heart] Ah ! trust not in tear-swimming eyes, The ready attendants of art. 'Tis the nature of man to deceive, To appear what he never will prove; 'Tis the nature of youth to believe, And to trust — when it ventures to love ! 42 ROSA. AN ELEGY ON DISAPPOINTMENT. Written at the desire of a Lady, who wished to know what would be its effects on a delicate and liberal mind. Ah ! wherefore heaves this breast with fond alarms ? Why shed these clouded eyes the frequent tear? Why gaze I, joyless, on my Rosa's charms ? Are Rosa's beauties then no longer dear? Why do I seek the solitary gloom, With folded arms why wander o'er the plain ? Does glowing Nature now less sweetly bloom? No! — but for me she blooms, alas! in vain. Why droops this head, recumbent on my breast, Why, rose of health, dost thou forget to blow? Why from my pillow flies its wonted rest? Ah! cruel Morpheus shuns the couch of woe. 43 My breast's a chaos; there confusion reigns; In wild disorder vain phantasmas roll: Like some poor maniac, struggling with his chains, I'd burst thy galling fetters from my soul. But 'twill not be — for ah ! no outward grace Could boast the power this guarded heart to bind; 'Twas not the glories of that heavenly face ; ' No ! 'twas the glories of that heavenly mind. Must I then lose thee, my first, latest love, Lose thee, when flattering hopes confirm'd thee mine ? Though endless agonies this breast may prove, May endless blessings be the lot of thine ! Nor wonder, shepherds, if with folded arms, With head dejected, and with tearful eyes, Lost Edwin meditates his Rosa's charms, While on his faded cheek health's warm blush dies. 44 To Lycidas the dear one gives her heart, To Lycidas, the glory of the plain ; O Lycidas! could Edwin boast thine art, Still had he loved, but had not loved in vain. Fate smiled upon thy birth, and form'd to please, Kind Nature lavish'd all her stores on thee; She gave thee graces, elegance, and ease : A feeling heart was all she gave to me ! Yet no ! the muse disdain'd not to be near, While love and Phoebus strung poor Edwin's lyre, And some have said, " 'Tis pity that a tear Should quench the blazings of poetic fire." If soft persuasion melt not in the line, Ah! what avails the muse's proudest boast! Dear cruel maid, his soul was wrapt in thine, Whose all of happiness— of heaven, is lost! 35 LOYAL SONG, WRITTEN FOR THE PIMLICO VOLUNTEERS, On the Presentation of thtirjirst Colours, and sung at the Dinner by Mr. Hor.BES. I. Since traitors triumphantly wade in the blood Of the beauteous Maria, and Louis the good, On his sword, tho' the tears of the Briton should flow, They blunt not its edge, but give force to each blow. CHORUS. Heart of oak are our ships, hearts of oak be our men, To our King and Laws steady, We always are ready The foe we have conquer 'd— to conquer again! 36 II. How strong is the nerve which by virtue is braced ! How persuasive the tongue by pure loyalty graced 1 Bold Britons ne'er shrink in defence of their rights, Since their King, Peers, and People, one int'rest unites. CHORUS. III. The gallant enthusiast who dies for his King, The Virtues shall weep, and the Muses shall sing; Shall weep?— no! shall triumph! and claiming their own, On their white pinions bear him to heav'n's radiant throne ! CHORUS. IV. As plagues, fire, or famine, are sometimes sent fort!^ In mercy as trials, or scourges in wrath ; 45 Oft to mislead pale envy's curious eye, The wary Edwin woo'd some vulgar maid, And artful, heaved the well-dissembled sigh, Artful, the well-dissembled homage paid. Then, fondly hoping in one dear loved breast Some flattering spark of jealousy to raise, Gay Bertha's charms his studied song confest, His lyre, unwilling, vibrates to her praise. And if his Rosa deign'd to lend an ear, If she cculd smile when Bertha's praise he sung, 'Twas then his bosom heaved, then gush'd the tear, Then falt'ring accents trembled on his tongue' But if he saw the clouds of scorn arise, If Rosa question" d Bertha's powers to move, If lightnings flash'd, resentful, from her eyes, He hail'd the coming storm, and call'd it love. 46 For well he knew no jealousies could fire The temperate regions of the female heart, Unless the graceful god of chaste desire Asserted triumph o'er each cautious art. Ah! what avails hope's rosy-tinted dawn Bursting through shades of sorrow on the sight? Not long unclouded beams the smiling morn, And 6oon the sun of rapture sets in night. Our minds were surely fashion'd in one mould, Sweet sympathy pervaded either breast j But cruel destiny our loves contrould, Divided us, forbade us to be blest ! O if that sympathy could bliss insure, Years might roll on, and find our heaven the same; Midst age's wrinkles Love would laugh secure, And thousands gaze with envy on our flame. 47 Too charming thoughts, too charming wishes, fly! For what can wishes, thoughts, or hopes, avail ? If Rosa learns the value of a sigh, 'Tis — when another tells his honied tale. Should the keen blast of poverty invade The cot where Lycidas with her is blest, Shall Edwin coldly then refuse his aid, To soothe her sorrows, lull her cares to rest? Ah no ! the little Edwin had to give, His Rosa with her Lycidas should share, The coarse spare morsel would suffice to live, And love would bless the toil which eased her care. Fain would endear' d remembrance still pursue The early dawnings of an infant flame, Tell how the sweet encroacher hourly grew, And nuri'd by friendship, borrow'd friendship's name. 48 Tell what presumptuous hopes would sometimes warm This fondly-faithful, though mistaken breast, When tenderness gave soul to every charm, When all that angel face in smiles was drest. Twas friendship ; Edwin thought it something more, (Deluded youth, to dream that Rosa loved j) She whom the wisest, noblest, best, adore, Ah ! couldst thou hope to be by her approved ? Had she but analyzed her Edwin's mind, In truth's alembic all his virtues tried, Convinced how all his passions were refined, Perhaps — perhaps he had not been denied ! Say, Rosa, should the violet be loathed In modest, humble, unassuming dress? For though by partial nature poorly clothed, Yet are its odour-breathing treasures less? 49 Or, tell me, though the nightingale's brown wing No radiant colours to the sun displays, Yet, when with syren notes the woodlands ring, Shall man, fastidious, yield but partial praise ? Thus, though the smiling graces love to dwell With Lycidas, and every charm improve, Yet sure the muses prized his rival well, And sure the virtues frown'd not on my love! Once blushing Rosa listen'd to my lyre, Once hope's gay sun in dazzling splendour shone, And once those azure orbs confess'd a fire As warm — but not as lasting as mine own. Yes ! I have seen those eyes, divinely bright, Bend all their beamy beauties full on me, Till troubled, lost, in exquisite delight, I scarcely breathed, I scarcely seem'd to be! VOL. II. E 50 Yes! I have felt that hand, when clasp'd in mine, The soft return of genuine fondness give; Yes! I have heard — ah! thoughtless maid, 'twas thine Still to deceive — unwishing to deceive ! Thanks to the gods, that torture ne'er was mine, To yield me to a vulgar rival's claim ; To littleness th' aspiring hope resign, Which rose, which rested on a husband's name ! Thanks to the gods, the bitter smile of scorn No conscious blushes o'er thy cheek can spread, No conscious blushes, of repentance born, Shall tinge thy glowing charms with deeper red. Thanks to the gods, (though sharp the pangs I prove) While Rosa wounds my heart, she spares my pride; No vulgar Colin rivals Edwin's love, For Lycidas alone was he denied. 51 Ye powers ! and must that rapture ne'er be mine O'er that loved form with guardian care to bend, By those dear eyes each secret wish divine, And be at once the lover, husband, friend ? Those sacred titles must another claim ? His star of love yields but a glimmering light; Mine, like the sun — no! Edwin's chasten'd flame With purer radiance, mocks the queen of night. Restore me, Rosa, to my wonted rest, Restore the blissful hours that once I knew, Ere vulture -passion tore this tortured breast, Unknown to love, to sorrow, and to you ! Then, when Aurora rose in gay attire, With grateful heart I hail'd the new-born day; And when bright Phoebus sunk in liquid fire, Welcomed his regent with ray evening lay. 52 What candour, what benevolence, were thine, Sweet sensibilities, by virtue drest ! A common heart could boast no power o'er mine, 'Twas merit crown'd thee monarch of my breast! How lovely art thou, when deserved applause Spreads o'er that cheek the sweetly mantling flush ! A heavenly consciousness such tinctures cause; 'Tis meek-eyed modesty's bewitching blush. O far more touching than the laughing eye Is that mild blue, which melts into a tear; That breast most beauteous, where a whispering sigh Plays the kind traitor to each tender fear. Thy silvery voice how soft, when storied grief Each dulcet modulation tunes to woe ! Thy hand how white, when stretch'd to give relief, It trembles as it hastens to bestow ! 53 May those mild eyes, which oft for others stream, Ne'er shed a tear for sorrows of thine own, May that pure breast, whose virtues are my theme, For Edwin's miseries learn to heave alone ! For Edwin's miseries? no! whate'er his lot, . If thou art blest, he never will repine : Long, long hath been each sentiment forgot Which own'd a happiness that was not thine. And should he learn that sorrow sought to dwell In the white bosom of his mourning maid, Should her blue eye with frequent anguish swell, Her graceful tenderness be unrepaid ; All ! how would Edwin's ardent bosom bleed ! No selfish hopes would find admittance there : With Lycidas, against himself, he'd plead ; Her bliss, his first, his last, his only care. 54 Too fortunate, if but allow'd to prove The secondary means to bless the maid, He'd teach his rival to deserve her love, Then hide his sorrows in some distant shade. The Muse on his retirement should attend, And kindly meliorate his bosom's woe; While not a sigh should virtue's ear offend, But all in secret should his sorrows flow. Lost to the world, to the world's pleasures lost, To heaven alone he turns the tearful eye; On earth each early wish, each hope, was crost- 'Tis well ! misfortune teaches man to die. Perhaps did Rosa in his fondness share, Had beauteous Rosa been her Edwin's spouse, The creature only had received his prayer, The great Creator had not beard his vows. 55 So Heaven, in mercy, graciously decreed That all his earthly wishes should be vain, That his fond feeling heart should early bleed, To save his soul from sin's severer pain. Oft as with ribands I my crook array'd, Some reference to thee bore every dye, Brown as the ringlets of my smiling maid, White as her hand, or azure as her eye. O those dear trifles which th' enamour'd breast, Refined by sentiment, alone can know, Felt, only felt, and not to be exprest, Romantic soothers of love's graceful woe! Those walks, where oft together we have roved, With pensive step I fondly trace alone ; Each plant, each tree, my absent angel loved, With tender folly Edwin makes his own. 56 And oft the weak one seeks that sacred bow'r, Once rear'd by timid tenderness for thee, And there fond memory paints the happier hour When pity's tear-drop fell, and fell for me ! Was it not true that on my words she hung, Was it not true she smiled away each fear ? Alas! I listen'd when a syren sung, Alas ! I heard — when it was death to hear ! What, friendship only ! gives she nothing more : Delusive hopes, ah ! whither are ye flown? Poor youth! benighted travellers thus adore Th' insidious meteor which beguiles them on. What wild, wild transports my fond soul alarm, If aught that once was Rosa's I receive! Whate'er that hand had touch 'd, obtain'd a charm From that dear hand, which she alone could give. 57 Oft from the darling maid would Edwin steal Trifles, which common bosoms would despise j From her, from all, the theft he would conceal, And hang in secret o'er his valued prize. Bewilder'd youth ! 'twere wisdom to resign These sweet indulgences of hopeless love; Since Heaven permits not Rosa to be thine, These charming follies prudence must reprove. O cast away each riband, glove, and flow'r, Each paper where her hand some word had traced 3 Love's witcheries all ! beware their dangerous pow'r, From the heart's tablets be each charm effaced ! No ! Edwin guards with a religious care These sacred relics of a hopeless flame; Doting to death, and victim of despair, In his last moments calls on Rosa's name. 58 Amidst the pangs, the agonies of death, Ere the kind sisters set his spirit free, Edwin shall bless thee with his latest breath, And dying orisons pierce heaven for thee. And this his suit: " O all ye pow'rs above, Who look with kind compassion on my woes, Shed each dear blessing o'er my valued love, Then Edwin's wandering soul may taste repose ! Still be the lovely cause of all his pain, Through life, the lovely object of your care; And, heaven-protected, never sigh in vain, But be as greatly happy as she's fair!" Then, fondly to his faithful bosom prest, These sacred relics shall relieve his pain, And, when life's pulse no longer heaves his breast, Entomb' d with him these treasures shall remain. 59 Some spot will yield a shelter for his head, Some friendly hand will close his dj'ing eyes, Some weeping marble will enshrine the dead, And tell the world — " 'Tis here a mourner lies! ' Perhaps his Rosa, then, may heave a sigh, Perhaps his Rosa, then, may shed a tear, Perhaps his happy spirit, hovering nigh, His pitying Rosa's soft complaints may hear! 60 EMMELINE. A TALE. I. With the moon for her guide, With her dog by her side, Poor Emmeline wander' d and wept ; Eacli soft thought to renew, Each dear window to view, Where the loved, but false Frederick slept. II. The tear fell from her eye, Her soft breast heaved a sigh, Deep thunders roll'd round her in vain: 61 But she felt not the blast, Though it pierced as it past, And the skies pour'd down torrents of rain. III. The too credulous maid, By fond feeling betray 'd, Thought man's heart true as woman's might prove ; But she found to her cost, 'Twas soon gain'd, 'twas soon lost, That life's colours are woe-tinged by love. IV. A heart torn by despair Could yet proffer one prayer, And that prayer for the false one arose ; Such might innocence breathe, Such would angels receive, Such would purity freely disclose ! 62 V. Loud peals rent the sky, Red lightnings glanced by, Wild wars the rough elements waged; But she fear'd not their pow'r Till they struck one loved tow'r, And the flames with fierce violence raged. VI. Soon large volumes of smoke On the atmosphere broke, With a crash the east turret now falls ; On the beautiful boy, Her sole curse, her sole joy, In the loud voice of anguish she calls. vn. He hears her, and straight Seeks to fly from his fate; 63 At the door, with vain effort, he tried : One sole method remain'd, Swift the window he gain'd, She caught him! she saved him! she died! 64 MAD SONG. IN MY PASTORAL ROMANCE. I. Over the mountains he wanders afar, Over the woodlands, along the sea-shore ; By the light of the glow-worm we'll follow his car, When once he is caught, he shall wander no more. Rattle, rattle, rattle! Hark ! how they rush to battle ! Have courage, love, there's murder in thine eye: By looking on thee, myriads die.' — Heard ye not yon passing bell ? Slowly sad it tolls his knell ; 65 Nay, do not weep, Perhaps he does but sleep : Whistle, ye winds, his lullaby. II. Over the mountains he wanders afar, Over the woodlands, along the sea-shore ; By the light of the glow-worm we'll follow his car, When once he is caught, he shall wander no more. Come, gentle elves, and fairies light, Put on your gossamer robes to-night, Wove in the silken spider's loom; The king-cup bring, the cowslip pale, The snowy treasure of the vale, To strew ray lovely victor's tomb. Some mounted on the humming bee, Some riding on the thistle's down ; VOL. u. f m Come, little fairies, come and see The grass-green sod, and the grey stone. III. Look at these hare-bells, these were his eyes; Were they not blue, as the footstool of Jove ? That voice was not Zephyr's; no, no! 'twas his sighs; And these snowdrops, they were but the hands of my love j This velvet-leaved peony once was his lip, For, look ye, those tints and that softness it wears 3 Silly bee, wouldst thou venture such honey to sip ? Pr'ythee hence, lest I catch thee, and drown thee in tears. Fond tears, away ! Nor dare prophane my nuptial day. And see, he comes to claim his bride In all the pomps of martial pride ; 6? Lightly on the passing gale His banners dancing; Gayly o'er the shadowy vale His horses prancing: With clanking armour, nodding crest, With burnish'd helmet, 'broider'd vest, My hero looks, and speaks, and moves, Like the famed god of war; Yet not the god who mounts the deathful car. But the gay god whom smiling Venus loves. IV. Ah ! see what gloomy mists arise To veil him from my searching eyes, Wide spreading o'er the distant plain! And now they melt to air again. He's lost! he's lost ! my love is gone ' And poor Panthea wwps alone. 68 Over the mountains he wanders afar, Over the woodlands, along the sea-shore j By the blue-flaming meteor we'll follow his car, And when he is caught, he shall wander no more. With osier wisps his hands confine; Nay, maidens, nay, that task be mine : Then with gay laurels grace the victor's head; Poor foolish girl, that lovely victor's dead 1 This grass-green sod, and this grey stone, Are all my pom fort now he's gone! 69 ANSWER, In the name of, and by the desire of, a Lady, to a Letter more witty than delicate, from her Brother-in-law at Tunbridge. In the temple of Jove, once, a full congregation, Selected from all the smart bucks of the nation, To the king of Olympus addrest the fond prayer, And with clamorous voices besought him to hear. They said, that " whene'er by sweet follies assail'd, An awkward, a troublesome virtue prevail'dj Of wit the stern foe, and of humour the lash, That pleasure's rich cup from the lip she would dash, Each fond wish of the heart still with rigour controul, And restrain the gay sallies inspired by the bowl; 70 That her name it was Modesty ! that they all pray'd He would banish from earth this dull old-fashion'd maid." In anger the god, as a punishment, granted Jn part the curst boon they so anxiously wanted : To the waters of Tunbridge such qualities gave, That whenever man tasted the dangerous wave, He should lose those mild virtues which win on the fair, And adopt the coarse jest, the loose song, the bold stare. If to innocent beauty his vows he should proffer, Still the maid should be deaf to each libertine offer; That his wife (were he wived) his example should follow, And find at the Wells some terrestrial Apollo, Who with song, wit, and dance, might entice his fair spouse To weave a new garland for Benedict's brows ! 71 And who the apt scholar, dear Josey, could blame, Since the husband familiarized spousey to shame, With the double-entendre offends her chaste ear, And reproves the warm blush, which to virtue is dear? Since thou, hapless husband, hast tasted the water, The contagion may spread, and strange scenes follow a'ter! 72 CELESTINA to her HUSBAND, IN MY PASTORAL ROMANCE. Yoir ask your Celestina why The tear-drop fills her eye, When gazing on her Edmond's face, She fondly counts each animated grace?" Views on his cheek the rose's bloom, While all its rich perfume Breathes in his breath ? O 'tis that death Hath power to blight the promise of his years; Tis this sad thought which fills her eyes with tears! And must that cheek, now dimpled by a grace Caught from philanthropy, that generous breast, 7S The glories of that soul-illumined face, (Heaven's book, where every virtue stands confest) Those radiant eyes, the starry lamps of love, That plighted hand, become to worms a prey ? Far hence, ye powers, remove The horrors of that day ! And when on seraph wings h'15 spirit flies > On seraph wings may Celestina's rise! 74 THE LEAF. IN THE SAME. See yon fair Leaf, once summer's darling child, The vernal treasure of the trackless wild, All its gay glories past, Now high, now low, Awhile the sport of every chilling blast, Then buried in November's snow! Thus my poor heart once flourish'd fair, And calm indifference carest, That summer sunshine of the breast. Till, Felix, in thine angel form, Came cruel care, And with him came the wild, the wintry storm . Id Then, then by warring passions tost, Now high, now low, Chill'd by despondency's surrounding snow, By jealousies, or hopes tumultuous, crost : Bring, bring, kind death, thine adamantine chain, Bind me to earth, nor let me rise again! 76 TO MR. C— K— Y. Cubst be the verse, how smooth soe'er it glide, Which injures decency's ingenuous pride; The verse which meeting the meek virgin's eyes Bids the chaste blush of modest anger rise; But doubly curst the man, who loosely dares With coarse hint violate the maiden's ears, And smiling sees insulted feeling spread O'er her warm glowing cheek the deeper red. 77 TO CAPTAIN T. ON VIS PLEADING, IN VERSE, IN BEHALF OF MK. C — K Y. The Romish priest, for sins confest, (Ere absolution's given) Affirms a golden key's the best To ope the gates of heaven. When, pardon for past sin's obtain'd. For future sin9 he's freed; By pliant conscience unarraign'd, Though laws and morals bleed. He, bribed by gold, turns riot loose To desolate the land : But I, the lyre's sweet bribe refuse, Though swept by Phoebus' hand ! 78 TO THE ROSE-UNIQUE, GIVEN ME BY WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ. WHEN ON A VISIT AT DALESFORD. I. Rest, blooming flow'r, ah! rest thee on my heart; Secure it from a world's injurious scorn j Should calumny, erewhile, its venom dart, Ah! whisper, " Man to misery is born." II. That " India's saviour bow'd his meek, meek head,, Low at the culprit's bar, by malice rear'd;" That " those for whom the hero would have bled, Goaded by envy, stung the worth they fear'd ! " 79 III. Yes, I beheld him at the culprit's bar, I saw that head, (erewhile with laurels crown'd, With well-earn'd laurels, gather'd from afar) I saw it bend, dejected, to the ground. IV. And at the sight my heaving bosom rose, Fierce indignation kindled in mine eye. While burning blushes on my cheeks disclose My country's shame ! a nation's perfidy ! V. O glorious Hastings ! if thy godlike worth From foul detraction could not screen thy name, How shall the humbler harmless sons of earth Glide through existence with unspotted fame ? 80 VI. Should calumny on me its venom dart, Then haste, fair Rose, thy welcome aid afford ; O haste, and whisper to my panting heart The meek endurance of thine injured lord ! 81 TO R. W. ELLISTON, ESQ. So various are thy talents, such thy fame, That ages yet unborn shall quote thy name j Tell how in one capacious breast could meet The wit, the rake, the gentleman complete, The impassion'd lover, and the outlaw bold, The hero, such as heroes were of old, When parent gods their high descent would own, And hail th' achievements of an earthly son ! Tell how the voice Stentorian, which could shake Earth to her center, and make armies quake, Can melt in dulcet warblings to the heart, With chaste expression thrill through every part, VOL. II. G 82 With pity move, with tenderness inspire, Or fan with gentle sighs the lover's fire! Yes, future ages may these truths reveal; But we — we cannot speak ! we only feel ! 83 LILIA TO BRUNO. ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF A MALE COftUET. SONNET, IN THE HEART OF WOMAN. See ! see ! yon meteor shooting from the west, Brilliant, but baneful ! mark his devious course, With what impetuous, what resistless force He darts his desolations o'er earth's breast! Nor safer is the twittering swallow's nest, Than the lone eagle midst her rocky towers ! Yet came he not from heaven ? were not his powers Of dazzling mischiefs, each, high Heaven's behest ? Alas ! they were : yet for a better use 84 Intended; not to burn., to blight, to blast; But soothe, cheer, charm, and kindly warmth infuse. A moment blazing, he'll go out at last, And sulph'rous steams, alone, remain behind, To tell, he was the scourge, tho' wonder, of mankind I 85 FROM LILIA TO BRUNO, ON HIS BIRTH-DAY. SONNET, THE CHRISTMAS ROSE, OR HELLEBORUS ALBUS. December comes. Loud howls the storm around, The pattering hail, the drifting snows descend j Bleak Boreas, sweeping o'er the barren ground, Bids Nature sleep, and vegetation end. Yes, universal Nature sinks to rest; Yet in her parent-bosom still survives The sun-beam which impregnated her breast! Thus, midst each storm, the Helleborus thrives. So much of summer's radiance he retains, So much of winter's apathy he bears, 86 That while his father's fostering fires he feigns, He, like his mother, fattens upon tears : Proudly he scans the desolated plains, And lord of all, o'er all unpitying reigns ! 87 FROM LILIA TO BRUXO. SONNET, TO HIS BLACK EYES. Why are those eyes of murky hue, Why are they deckt with sunny light? One, speaks them veiling mischiefs new; The other blazons to the view A semblance of the fair and bright! And were they, then, not bright and fair? Beam'd they not spotless on the sight? Alas! they were the spells of night! The ignis-fatuus which leads And lures the lorn one o'er the meads 88 To the deep quagmire, where despair Shriekingly sinks ! while through the air Expiring groans re-echo, till the breath Of the forlorn deceived one — stops in death. 89 SONNET, FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. FIVE LITTLE MONTHS ! Imagination framed the creature Which never yet was form'd by nature ; Imagination still pursued This object of its fancied good; Many a real blessing fled, When fever d Fancy rear'd her head ; Many a worthy heart was scorn'd, While love was lent — but not return'd ! Yes, 'twas return'd! — 'twas, for a season; Till vanity o'er-master'd reason ! 90 Love's tints five little months could fade ! Truth shrinks from vanity's parade. Alas! thy sickly fancy died With novelty — and sated pride! 91 VALENTINE TO W. GIFFORD, ESQ. I. A pleasing form, a virtuous mind, A temper gracious, libera], kind, A friendship steady and sincere, A heart incapable of fear, Because incapable of wrong : Such was the youth who graced my song; Such was the guide I proudly chose When Valentine's sweet morn arose; The day, the year, are gone and past, Yet ever shall our friendship last; 92 Halton, farewell ! no longer thine, Fate gives another Valentine ; For tyrant custom has decreed Thou shalt not, to thyself, succeed. II. Where shall the little lorn one stray, Or who will point her dubious way? Her doubtful step may tread aside, Without her loved, accustom'd guide ; Banish'd the harbour of his breast, She knows not, seeks not, where to rest! Her shatter'd vessel scarce can 'bide The tossings of life's turbid tide j Then let her cast her eyes around, And anchor on the firmest ground, Implore some kind extended hand To lead her o'er life's fairy land, 93 And point the dangers which await A female's unprotected state. III. And who so competent to guide, Who o'er her conduct to preside, As he, whose quick discerning eye Each little weakness can descry ? As he whose noble candour proves The beauty of that truth he loves ? O G d ! though thy bitter page Announces all the critic's rage, The gall which makes vain folly smart Flows from thy judgment, not thine heart; For in thy meek, yet ardent, breast What gentler virtues stand confest ! What dignified humility, •, Join'd to the babe's simplicity! 94 IV. Since such thou art, I will not fear To choose the for th' ensuing year; The humblest vot'ry of the nine Claims a Parnassian Valentine! And if no talent she reveals, Her only boast is — that she feels ! O G d ! while the tender tear Bedews thy gentle Anna's bier, Darest thou aver no stone will tell The name of him who loved so well ? While judgment, taste, and feeling, live, Darest thou aver no friend will grieve, When nature's noblest works decay, And hisrh-soul'd G d sinks to clav? 95 CHARADE. Where Alpine heights majestic rise, My first pursues his winding way; And in my second often lies Fair verity, (as poets say;) My third distinguishes a youth With eyes all fire, and lips all truth. - 96 A VALENTINE. SENT IN THE NAME OF A GENTLEMAN TO A LADY WHO RIDICULED HIS APPEARANCE. You will wonder, my dearest, how Leonard should dare Throw his wit and his form at the feet of the fair j That wit, at whose nod fools and caitiffs all bend, That form, which love slights, but intenders the friend! Now, our kind mother Nature no step-mother proves, All her children she chastens, yet all of them loves; To some she gives beauty, to some she gives wealth, To some pride of birth, to some labour and health : On me though health, beauty, and riches, ne'er smiled, Yet this parent indulgent still gifted her child; Wit, genius, and wisdom, their treasures impart, They speak from my lips! virtue speaks in my heart! 97 And the world, my dear charmer, full often have said That the faults of my face were atoned by my head! Though defective my form, and imperfect my gait, Yet the line from my head to my heart is quite straight, The line which fair virtue from intellect drew ! The line — O that line which divides me from you! From you, the sweet daughter of fashion and whim, With beautiful bosom, and ancle so slim ; With bosom display' d, and with ancle protruded, With Nature's allurements too vainly obtruded. While I the enchantments of science conceal, And my soul's dearest charities shrink to reveal, Unless by the lash of kind satire I dare Call the man back to honour! to virtue the fair! Yet to virtue, my dearest, you never were wanting, Great favours refusing, frivolities granting! VOL. II. H 98 Then check these frivolities, seem what you are, And the world shall allow that you're good as you're fair! I have heard, and believe it, that opposites prove The sweetest incitements to friendship and love; If you then are noble, and wealthy, and pretty, Your Leonard is worthy, wise, learned, and witty j Your frolic and sweetness his moments shall cheer, His gentle philippics your conduct shall steer : Then take him, fair nymph, and let friendship's warm ray Greet the sun which enlivens our Valentine's day. 99 A VALENTINE, TO JOHN P. ESQ. I have loved and I've sorrow'd ; so never again Shall the fetters of Cupid my bosom enchain j No longer concentrated, feeling shall shed Less tears o'er my heart, and more balm on my head. Though cold to the witching illusions of love, Yet my heart still can throb, and my reason approve ; For I own your gay talents rough moments can smooth, That your wit can enliven, your friendship can soothe, Your virtues can int'rest, your sentiments charm, Your wisdom enlighten, your blandishments warm. That my life's shadowy paths some fair fiowrets may strew ! But fear me not, youth, if I ask them of youj 100 Another, more worthy, your heart may obtain ; 'Tis your friendship, alone, I am anxious to gain ; And, proud of that blessing, I will not repine That love and love's follies no longer are mine. The roses of youth may for me cease to blow, Since the Laurestine blossoms, though cover'd with 101 TO THE SAME. OX EXCHANGING SHADES. Since the roses are fled, and the lilies decay'd, Which once gaily blossom'd on Ella's smooth cheek, Instead of her picture, she gives but her shade j There, no faded tints can time's ravages speak. Alas, cruel time! that an outward decay Thy progress should register, proving it true; When the heart still expands to the breezes of May, And youth's fairy visions all float on the view! And there let them float ! they are harmless and pure, On the chaste wing of aether they sunward aspire ; These gossamer visions through life may endure, The affections survive, though the passions expire ! 102 THE MOUNTAIN-ASH. TO HENRY L. ESQ. O I have wept when I have seen The Mountain-ash with modest pride Bend to the blast it could not stem, Yield to the storm it could not 'bide. And I have pray'd no blighting dews Might nip this sweetly-budding shoot, And I have hoped no ruthless wind Might rend from earth its tender root. Thou, Henry, art the stately oak, Fit to encounter many a storm ; But int'resting fragility Endears another's shadowy form. 103 King of the forest! proudly reign O'er every less majestic tree ! All must admire the stately oak; But give the Mountain-ash to me! 104 SONNET, TO ALLAN. IN THE HEART OF WOMAN. Alas ! I am not covetous of praise, For many a youth erewhile my praises sung; And all unheeded each eulogium hung Upon my morn of life ! but now those lays Are grateful, which in th' evening of my days Tell of departed glories — since some beam Of past meridian excellence, may stream Across my Allan's path, and faintly prove That she, whose twilight sheds a cheering gleam, Jn life's fair noon might have deserved his love! 105 O my heart's lord ! it seems but in a dream Of fever'd fancy, I could ever move The towering eagle to forsake the skies, And with the mousing owl dispute a worthless prize ! 106 TO ALLAN, ON HEARING OF THE INSTABILITY OF HIS ATTACHMENTS. IN THE SAME. O thou ! for ever in my thought, For ever to my soul most dear, By fancy to my vision brought, Borne on a sigh, bath'd in a tear! Bath'd in a tear! — Ah, buth'd indeed! For though my heart-of-hearts was thine, Thy wavering passions claim'd the meed Of other incense, blent with mine ! Mine was a pure and holy flame, A sacred focus, which could give 107 One only object, one dear name — Here, to eternity, shall live ! But I — I have no right to chide j My only charter is to grieve ! My very chastenings are my pride, Tis mine to die — but thine to live ! 108 / SONNET TO A VIOLET GIVEN BY ALLAN. IN THE SAME. I prize thee, gentle sweet, for thine own worth, Thy modest worth, which shuns the garish day, Shrinks midst its foliage from Sol's ardent ray, And closely nestles to the parent earth. Yet more I prize thee, since my Allan's breath Increased thy fragrance, since my Allan's hand Erewhile bestow'd on thee endearments bland, Consigning thee to enviable death ! But most should I thine humble merits prize, Should they instruct my Allan to forbear 109 That vain parade of charms to vulgar eyes, Homage promiscuous to each fluttering fair. O may'st thou teach him to resemble thee, To bloom in shades, and bloom for only me ! 110 SONNET, TO ALLAN. THE PIMPERNEL. IN THE SAME. Dearest! since fate forbids me to be thine, No longer of the violet I sing, Though given by thee, meek child of joyous spring! Nor sing I more th' autumnal laurestine; Far is its hardy temperament from mine. I sink beneath the blast, beneath the feet Of the rude traveller! unwont to greet With smiles, the storm, which lays my glories low! Alas! if e'er, with pensive step and slow, HI I pace the barren moor, I there may find The Pimpernel ; fit image of her mind Whose very source of life from thee must flow ! When Phoebus smiles, she blossoms on the heath, But, when he sets in night, she — sinks in death! 112 SONNET, TO ALLAN, ON SEEING HEK GARDEN OVERGROWN WITH WEEDS. FROM THE SAME. Yes! once, life had its blessings ! then my pride, My solace was, to cultivate each sweet Kind Nature yielded — now, no longer meet Is it for me, the tardy spring to chide. For me ! to whose sad autumn is denied All that could cheer or charm ; since he is lost, Who only could have strewn life's path with flowers! No rose, no myrtle, blossoms in my bowers ; Rank weeds, the symbols of my grief, shall prove 113 How the soul's anguish can o'ertop its joys: Since thus my harass'd heart is tempest tost, What are to me Dione's gayest toys ? Far, from my sight, those envied spoils remove, Which crown the temples of successful love! vol. n. 114 SONNET, TO THE DRESSING-GLASS IK HIS WINDOW, FROM THE SAME. Ah, senseless mirror ! happier far thy lot Than mine; for thou each day shalt view Heaven's noblest work, and by reflection true Stamp, for awhile, his image on thy breast. Stamp for awhile! — and can that image fade? And can another, and another, blot From thy smooth surface, Nature's paragon ? Yes! — but the bosom of his faithful maid Reflects no semblance but of him alone. Her pure affection stands each hateful test 11a Of time, or cold neglect; while her sad eye Beams but on him — for him, her latest sigh ! With thee, a thousand successors he'll have; She — bears one image to her silent grave! 116 TO ALLAN. PROM THE SAME. I. Tis past! the conflict now is o'er ; No, Allan, no; I dare not love thee: And yet, each throbbing pulse betrays That thou, alone, hast power to move me. O say, while o'er my charm' d ear steals That melting voice, can I remember, Thou, Allan, art the glowing June, And I, the shiv'ring, shrunk September? II. When round that candid mouth the smile Of love ineffable is playing, Say, can one desultory thought Be, from that heaven of sweetness, straying ? H7 Or when that dark., expressive eye, Beams oa my face, can I remember, That thou'rt, alas ! the glowing June, And I, the shiv'ring, shrunk September ? III. Love at first sight long met my scorn, I thought his vot'ries were deceived; But, on one memorable morn, I saw thee, heard thee, and believed ! Then, when that soft hand past o'er mine, I felt — O, I too well remember ! If in thy breast glow'd lovely June, Mine seem'd not, shiv'ring, shrunk September? IV. Since, o'er my chesnut tresses, time Already scatters early snow, 118 Steals from my eyes their wonted fires, And furrows my once polish'd browj And since my bosom's lily fades, May its sad inmate still remember, The vivid fires of glowing June Befit not shiv'ring, shrunk September! V. Then Allan ! sweetest, dearest, best ! I must not — O I dare not love theej Though still each throbbing pulse betrays That thou, alone, hast pow'r to move me ! Farewell to youth, farewell to love, Farewell to thee! — since I remember Thou, Allan, art the glowing June, And I, the shiv'ring, shrunk September! 119 TO J. C. ESQ. WHOSE LIVELY CONVERSATION AND FRIENDLY ATTENTIONS CHEERED THE HOURS OP SICKNESS AND SORROW. When the weak frame is shatter'd by care, When the bosom is tortured by grief, How sickly the smile which we wear When friendship endeavours relief! That delicate friendship which leads From the subject of undisclosed woe, Nor seeks for the sad source which feeds The stream — sorrow forces to flow. Yet though sickly the smile, 'tis a ray Which dispels for a moment the gloom; It shines not through summer's long day, But it gleams on the night of the tomb ! 120 NARDI, OR THE INNOCENT CULPRIT. MAN. She left him! left the husband kind, Who loved her person, prized her mind, Whose every thought to her confined, Made her the world of Nardi. She left him! — a seducer gay Enticed her from his arms away, And madness mark'd the fatal day Which agonized poor Nardi ! Affection's and Affliction's child, The hapless maniac wander' d wild, 121 And madly laugh'd — but never smiled : Smiles had forsaken Nardi ! Drest in the flowers himself had made, I saw him through the streets parade, While many a pitying neighbour said, " Alas, alas, poor Nardi ! " WOMAN. Is this the being once so meek, Humble, and grateful ? on whose cheek The tear of thankfulness would speak To those who favour'd Nardi ? MAN. Yes, he has loved — and he has lost ! His heart by turns is fire and frost, Now sorrowing, and now tempest tost : Why died not wretched Nardi ? 122 WOMAN. To love ! to lose ! ye powers of heaven, Why weie those ardent feelings given By which the noblest hearts are riven ? Such was the heart of Nardi ! To love ! to lose ! to lose, yet love ! Can man, the inconstant, ever prove Such pangs as female bosoms move?— Ah, few can feel like Nardi ! MAN. I grant you, that we live to sense ; You, live to love and innocence, Sink slowly to your graves; from thence Aspire to heaven with Nardi. WOMAN. O I have loved, and I have lost ! My path to happiness was crost ; 123 But, calm I die, not tempest- tost ! Love's slave — but not like Nardi. I cannot stab, I cannot wound ! My health, but not my mind's unsound; Grief slowly kills — but madness found A quick relief for Nardi ! MAN. Though he could strike, though he could wound, His mind, but not his health unsound, Sure heavenly mercy will be found Extended to poor Nardi. And banish'd to some other clime For what was madness, more than crime, Yet ne'er, from pity's breast, shall time Obliterate poor Nardi. 124 WOMAN. Though wise and provident the laws Which thus assert the general cause, Yet soft compassion bids us pause, And drop a tear for Nardi. 125 TO MISS H. Many boast superior feature. Some, more symmetry of frame, Yet Heaven never form'd a creature Who could thus a world inflame. When that sunward eye is beaming, When those smiles in dimples play, Features sink to beauty's seeming, Simple symmetry's but clay. I have not, dear, an angel named thee, Though Heaven's own seal has stampt thy face, But sure the wondrous Pow'r who fram'd thee, Baptized thee by the name of Grace. 126 A SMALL TRIBUTE TO THE BEAUTY AND STERLING WORTH OF MRS. JOHN BATES. She, who when the means are small, Can make those means suffice for all; She, who when mother and when wife, Can slight the vanities of life, Lean, fondly, on her husband's breast, Forget, that of the good — she's best ! Forget, she's fairest of the fair, To make her babe her only care j O she is such as Heaven design'd To purify man's sensual mind ! When looking on her, rakes shall say, Her fragile form to earth extends, Her soft mild eye, begemm'd with tears, With trembling hope on Rodolph bends. U<2 IX. The enemy as.sail the door, Fierce Rodolph to her rescue flies; They fight! they bleed ! and now no more Th' assailant on his strength relies. X. See! conquest waits on love and truth, Th' exhausted foe fights wearily ; Already the triumphant youth Cries, "Cheerily, love, cheerily!" XI. When lo! a loud shrill voice exclaims, " Rodolph, what clouds of smoke arise! Thy native dome is wrapt in flames, Thy venerable mother dies." 143 XII. Awhile irresolute he stands, Then cries, " For ever, dear, adieu! Should Moina fall by hostile hands, Rodolph, sweet love, will follow too ! XIII. Now nature calls!" — no more he said, But rush'd his parent to redeem; Meanwhile a javelin pierced the maid, And Rodolph heard her dying scream, XIV. He hears! he turns! tears force their way, Still nature for the mother pleads; He saves her ! — then from hated day He turns, and for his Moina bleeds ! 144 EIGHT SONNETS, MODERNIZED FROM SPENCER. SONNET LXXV. Once on the sand Dione's name I traced, A rising wave soon wash'd that name away; Again I wrote ; again the wave effaced The signature of love from prying day. " Poor youth ! (she cried) all vainly hast thou strove To give a mortal immortality ! Soon, soon this object of romantic love, Alas, must sink into eternity!" No, my soul's joy! though vulgar beauties fade, Immortal honours wait Dione's name; 145 Her bard, her Damon, sings his angel maid, And future ages shall record her fame. Yes, they shall tell of happy Damon's truth, Dione's sweetness, sense, and blooming youth. VOL. II. 146 SONNET LXXXII. Power, wealth, and beauty, sweetness, sense, and worth, To thee, Dione, were the gifts of heav'n! But O! a meaner star at Damon's birth Shed its faint beams, — for only love was giv'n ! Thus, while I bless the influence which decreed So bright an object to my soul's fond vows, Still, still I tremble, lest her breast should bleed That such an humble love her fate allows. Still, still I tremble, lest the high-born fair Should blush to favour such a lowly flame ; Lest the loved angel should disdain to share Her Damon's fortunes, and her Damon's name. But, while by love inspired, he sings her worth, Th' enraptured hearer shall forget his birth. 147 SONNET XXVIII* See, on the bosom of my smiling maid With various sweets the laurel-branch reclines, The laurel which encircled Damon's head, Glows on her ivory breast, and brighter shines 1 All hail ! blest augury of growing love— Her poet's badge the proud Dione bears f Teach her, sweet laurel, teach the maid to prove A tender pity for her Damon's tears; And when her beamy eyes are fixt on thee, Bid her remember hapless Daphne's fate, A blooming virgin stiffening to a tree, Sad victim of her own relentless hate ! Then fly not, dearest, from thy Damon's armsj A son of Phoebus woos those haughty charms. 148 SONNET XLVI. 'Tis night, my love! the tempest roars, The hail descends, the lightning glares, Yon cloud th' incessant torrent pours, And Nature thus Heaven's will declares. Yes, Nature thus commands my stay, But stern Dione bids me fly; Her cruel mandate I obey, And go, though going be — to die ! Your wrath, kind elements, assuage, Hide, forked lightnings, hide your fire, Cease, boist'rous Boreas, cease to rage, Quick to your gloomy caves retire; Why on a hapless lover's head, Relentless storm, your fury shed ? 149 SONNET X. Torn, rack'd with anguish, since that fatal hour, When bright Dione wing'd thy cruel dart, Ah, vengeful love ! by what despotic pow'r Thus dost thou torture this perturbed heart? Alas! my lovely tyrant joys to see The hourly conquests of her victor eyesj Derides my sorrows, scorns thy power and thee, And proudly triumphs o'er her vanquish'd prize ! Bend, Cupid, bend this rebel to thy sway, Teach her to feel the passion she inspires, Bid her some vulgar conqueror obey, Or sorrowing consume in hopeless fires; That Damon, now the object of her scorn, May see her tears, and triumph in his turn. 150 SONNET LVI. True, she is fair, — but cruel and unkind As the fell tyger growling o'er his prey : O Love ! is this the image of that mind Whose winning sweetness smiled my peace away ? True, she is fair, — but pitiless and cold As the wild storm which sweeps the wint'ry plain : If chance some lonely tree its leaves unfold, Bleak blows the blast, and makes its promise vain! True, she is fair, — but hard and obstinate As the rough rock, which waves in vain assail, 'Gainst which some ship, of succour desolate, Wounds her tough sides, while human efforts fail. The storm, the tyger, and the rock, is she; And I, alas! the prey, the ship, the tree! 151 SONNET LXXVIII* Dione lost! from place to place I rove, As roves the fawn, the parent hind away; And missing thee, o'er valley, hill, and grove, Where oft we wander' d, pensively I stray. The tender herbage late thy footsteps wore, And late the fragrant bower conceal'd thy charms; But now the yielding verdure bends no more, No more the bower receives thee to its arms. Dione lost! ah, what for me remains? Sure sorrow's livery mourning autumn wears, Sure the kind heavens, in pity to my pains, Lament thine absence in continual tears. Cease, cease, ye skies, to weep Dione gone, For here the virgin 'bides, and this fond heart's her throne. 152 SONNET XIII. The laughing Amoret may fail to charm, The winning Melicerta cease to move, The tender Delia wake no fond alarm, Though versed in all the witcheries of love. But that proud port which high Dione bears Pourtrays a mind from earth-born passions free; And when her haughty head to heaven she rears, She seems to soar above mortality. For her what numbers waste in hopeless fires! Yet, Lycon, 'tis not pride exalts the fair ; Her purer thought from earth to heaven aspires, Love, and love's follies, are beneath her care. Since heaven itself to pity is inclined, Why, beauteous tyrant, why to all unkind ? 153 THE SCRUTINY. FROM ALItfA. TO ISIDORE, Who, when his flatteries raised a blush on her cheek, fixed Us eyes ou her face, to discover the meaning of that blush. IN THE COUSINS. I. Why that enquiring eye? that searching look, Piercing the sanctuary of my breast, Explores the sybil leaves of Nature's book : The sacrilegious Scrutiny's confest! II. Yes, thou wouldst know — but see, the leaves are tornj 'Tis Modesty who gives them to the wind: By rosy pudency far, far they're borne, Nor thou the dubious oracle canst find ! 154 III. 'Tis true, the mantling blush, quick-varying rose, Shedding its vermeil tinctures o'er my cheek, When thou, in honied language, didst disclose, What friendship would not, should not dare to speak. IV. And if I blush'd to hear the flattering tale, From maiden pride the pure suffusion sprung ; Still, still each tender eulogy must fail, Unless — but ah, be ever mute my tongue! V. Yet trust me, youth, I know and prize thy worth, Albeit, perhaps — restrain that asking eye. Dost thou not mark how scatter'd o'er the earth, Mocking thy search, the sybil fragments lie ? 155 ISABEL'S FIRST SONG IN THE MODERN PROTEUS. I. Weeks, months, have past since last we met, Weeks, months, have past, but past in vain; For while I studied to forget, Relentless fate renew'd my pain. O memory ! why wilt thou retrace Each early scene of tender woe ? Thy sombre tints can time efface, Or dry the tears love taught to flow ? II. Yet mellow'd are the tints of grief Which colour this dejected breast, 156 Since avocations yield relief, And books give temporary rest. Music and painting lend their aid This cherish'd anguish to remove; And oft the Muse, soul-soothing maid, Stands forth th' antagonist of love ! III. Alas ! before the myrtle bends The bay — and all my hopes are vain ! Love and the Muses still are friends, And Poesy's the nurse of pain. In vain to painting I apply, My pencil but one image frames; In vain on books would I rely, Books are but fuel to love's flames. 157 IV. All that in each the heart can move, Wise, moral, graceful, or refined, The subtle alchemy of love Transmutes to Henry's form or mind. To Heaven I bend for peace, for restj O not to me the boon is given ! Cruel ! thou earnest across my breast To steal my wand'ring thoughts from Heaven 158 ISABEL'S SECOND SONG, IN THE SAME. ISABEL. Is it of reason, or of will, That I, fond idiot ! love thee still ? And, doting on a treacherous face, Exchange a virtue for a grace ? FANNY. Giving the fiddle for the case ! ISABEL. Is it of man that heart to wound, Where only love and truth are found ? Give that pure bosom up to grief, Whose only fault was fond belief? FANNY. Who hung a friend to save a thief! 159 ISABEL. Is it of woman to believe The eye which sparkles to deceive, The rosy mouth, whose wanton smile Calls up each dimple, to beguile ? FANNY. Yet lifts no lame dog o'er the stile ! ISABEL. No ! reason, now, shall conquer will ! I must not, dare not love thee still ! Dark as thine eye thy soul appears ; Thou shalt not revel in my tears. FANNY. Thou'st caught the wrong sow by the ears! ISABEL. Some future object of thy wiles May pay in kind thy treacherous smiles; 160 Then, victim of a fond belief, Thine irksome hours shall waste in grief. FANNY. Since for the shade thou'st dropt the beef! 161 SONG IN THE COUSINS. I. Too keenly sensitive, the virgin feels Deep in her breast the shaft which satire aims At the loved youth ; while o'er each feature steals Th' indignant blush, which tenderly reveals How strong an interest in her heart he claims ! II. The sweetest flatteries, the most soothing lays, The eulogies which best her soul can move, Are those which speak her favour'd shepherd's praise; Are those which crown with never-with'ring bays The cherish'd object of her artless love! VOL. II. M 162 ON THAT WHITE FOREHEAD. TO STELLA. FROM THE SAME. I. On that white forehead's ample round, (Fair Candour's alabaster throne) In Nature's azure fillets bound, Sit placid sweetness, sense profound, And tenderness that's all thine own. II. Fearless of ill, we madly gaze On those blue eyes, so soft, so mild ! So lambent seems their temper' d blaze, Who could suspect such modest rays Were th' arrows of a wayward child ? 163 III. The snowy skin, the amber hair, The lip which with the coral vies, The towering stature, graceful air, These were the meshes of that snare Where treacherous love in ambush lies. IV. Yet vain those lips of vermeil hue, Encircling pearls so white, so small, Those eyes which rival heaven's own blue, That smile so tender and so true, Without the soul which speaks in all ! 164 CONTINUATION OF THE OLD SONG OF " Down in the North a Couple did dwell." I. O in my husband I sought a director, Whose wisdom should guide me when error pre- vail'd, O for my children I hoped a protector, But still in each duty my Robin has fail'd ! Full many a year I've been destined to say, " Come back again, Robin, sweet Robin, I pray ! Deserting these dear ones, you squander their chink, You neglect true affection, and live but to drink." 165 II. When the image of God, and by God blest with reason, Foregoes the proud honours to which he was born, In Hymen's dominions, say, is it high treason To seize on the reins — if to save him from scorn ? Nor should the world know Kate was destined to say, " Come back again, Robin, sweet Robin, I pray ! You injure your health, and you squander your chink j Man sinks to the brute, when he lives but to drink." III. Then haste, my sweet babes, to maternal protection j May a mother's endearments a father's supply ; What in judgment she wants, she makes up in affection, And if tears of regret sometimes swell in her eye, 166 May her children ne'er learn 'twas her hard fate to say, " Come back again, Robin, sweet Robin, I pray! You injure your health, and you squander your chink, You slight Heaven's best blessings, and live but to drink." 167 FRENCH MORALITY. ' voulez-vous etre heureux amant ? " Galatee. I. Would you be a happy lover ? Let no eye your bliss discover ; Let secresy your conduct guide, And silence o'er your lips preside : For well I know the heart's true key Is iron-visaged mystery. II. In vain they satirize Love's name, While secresy refines his flame j 168 Love is the virtue of the soul While under secresy's controul; For well I know the heart's sure key- Is iron-visaged mystery. III. Oft a single word destroys The promise of unnumber'd joys. Hide your jealousies from view, Lest they should tell your raptures too : For well I know the heart's best key Is iron-visaged mystery. IV. Only to your heart reveal The triumph honour would conceal ; 169 Let prudence o'er your steps preside; Love reaps the harvest of your pride ; And you will find the heart's sure key Js iron-visaged mystery. 170 TRANSLATION FROM ZELIE. SILVANDER TO LUCY, ON FINDING SHE HAD WEPT HERSELF BLIND WITH GRIEF FOR HIS ABSENCE. I. For thee, my Lucy, dear unhappy maid, This faithful heart a fonder int'rest knows; Whene'er to love soft Pity lends her aid, With what resistless energy he glows ! My gentle girl ! for ever by thy side These eyes shall lead thee, and this arm sustain ; How sweet the task to be thy constant guide, To bid misfortune wield its shafts in vain ! 171 II. On those dear sightless orbs my lips shall rest, When Hymen gives a sanction to our loves $ On those dear sightless orbs shall be exprest How every swift-wing'd hour progressive moves : A kiss shall tell thee that 'tis early dawn, A kiss shall tell thee that 'tis rising day, A kiss shall mark the progress of the morn, Bright Sol's meridian beam, and setting ray. III. Time's hasty strides no more Silvander fears, Since Lucy saw him in youth's glowing bloom ; The same gay image to her thought appears In age — e'en in the precincts of the tomb. 172 The same gay image living in her breast, In spite of nature, no decay shall prove; By tender memory's flattering seal imprest, His youth shall seem as lasting as her love! 173 FROM THE SAME. PROM A VERY OLD MAN TO A YOUNG BEAUTY, FROM WHOM HE REFUSED A KISS. I. Yes, I the offer'd boon oppose! Wouldst thou the latent reason seek ? The kiss of age would blight the rose Which blushes on youth's damask cheek. II. To youth I leave those rapt'rous joys Which only to life's spring belong} No sad regret my thought employs, Still grateful that I once was young. 174 III. Think not that age has chill'd my heart, Since thus the blessing I refuse ; Thou in the joy wouldst bear no part, Nor would I gain, if thou must lose. IV. Once I possest an heavenly fair, O then — not selfish was the kiss ! I had your youth, she had your air, And sweetly mutual was the bliss ! 175 FROM FLORIAN's ESTELLE. "ah si'l est dans votre village." I. If in your village 'bides a youth With form all grace, with soul all truth, Whose glance fond woman's pride disarms, Whose converse sweet, each bosom warms, Fond maids, that graceful youth resign, For I am his — and he is mine! II. And if his flute's melodious swell Entices Echo from her cell; 176 And if his voice, so smooth, so clear, From hst'ning beauty steals the tear, O 'tis my love! — fond maids, resign The blooming bard — for he is mine ! III. If, while he dares not silence break, His mild eyes eloquently speak ; If virgins may with safety hear His wit, unconscious of a fear; Yes, yes, 'tis he! — fond maids, resign The modest youth — for he is mine ! IV. When led by misery to his door, Should some sad mendicant implore 177 From his fair flock a lamb or two, If with the lamb he gives the ewe, Tis surely he ! that ray divine Marks mercy's agent — and he's mine! 173 FROM FL0RIA3T S GALATEE. " TOUT SE TAIT." I. Now babbling Echo slumbers in her cave, A tender calm the wide expanse pervades, Scarce light- wing'd Zephyr curls the trembling wave, Trims his gay plumes, and flutters in these shades j Exhausted Nature courts the arms of sleep : I only wake, and wake, alas ! to weep. II. Already from the east th' empurpled Morn (Sweet blushing harbinger of gladsome day) Lashes her steeds, and hastens to adorn With renovated charms the smiling May; 179 Wild bursts of rapture cut the yielding air, And hail that sun which lights me to despair! III. As bends the poplar to the northern blast, When wint'ry winds dismantle the fair grove, yhus I, in agonies too fierce to last, Bend to the storms of hapless, hopeless love ! No more, my Nisida, no more we'll part, One tomb can hold thy body and my heart. 180 FROM FLORIAN's CELESTINE, " PLAISIR D'AMOUR NE DURE au'UN MOMENT. I. Striving each secret pang to smother, For thee I every bliss resign, Friends, country, all that once was mine; Yet Silvia leaves me for another! How rapidly love's joys have past, A long eternity its torments last ! II. Didst thou not say thy love should alter But when yon stream no longer flows ? The stream no lessen'd current knows, 181 But Silvia's fickle flame could falter j How rapidly love's joys have past, A long eternity its torments last! 182 FROM FLORIAN'S ESTELLE. " JE VAIS DONC ftUITTER POUR JAMAIS.' I. Ah ! then for ever must I leave My soul's best love? my country dear? Henceforth I only live to grieve, To shed the fond regretting tear. Dear vale, where in our early youth We tasted pleasures pure and true, (Known but to innocence and truth) Receive my last, my sad adieu. ir. Ye meads, which oft I stript of flowers, To grace my Stella's floating hair; 183 Ye roses, torn from Flora's bowers, Though far less vermeil, far less fairj Ye calm smooth streams, which lingering staid Her lovely semblance to renew, Farewell ! — farewell, seducive maid ! Receive my last, my sad adieu. III. Ye fields, where oft in childish dreams "We sigh'd o'er love's maturer pains, No more the dawn of passion gleams, Love's fierce meridian swells our veins. Ye trees, where first I fondly traced The only name my heart e'er knew, (That name, by no cold doubt effaced) Receive my last, my sad adieu. 184 FROM FLORIAN'S ESTELLE. " NE MEPRISEZ PAS MON ENFANCE. I. Do not my infancy despise, The god whom all the world adore, Whose very tyranny ye prize, In whose soft smile dominion lies, Is but a child — he's nothing more' II. Yet he can make the proudest bend, Can bid the fierce his aid implore, 185 Can courage to the timid lend, At once youth's conqueror and friend: Yet he's a child — he's nothing more ! III. Its birth to him all nature owesj For at his animating breath The earth, the air, the ocean glows ; Though but a child, (like me) he shew9 He triumphs still o'er time and death ! IV. Though dearly are his favours bought, Clogg'd with a thousand anxious woesj Yet while hope rules the tender thought, His fetters seem with roses fraught, Though but a child (like me) he shews! 186 V. All glowing, oft, life's mornings rise, When fervid fires shall rule the day; Thus Stella made me early wise:— All! do not then my youth despise! Love's but a child — though great his sway ! 187 FROM FLORIAN S GALATEE. "en varn j'adkesse au ciel." I. Vainly to Heaven I pour the frequent prayer, Vainly to Heaven I heave the frequent sigh; Still froward fortune mocks the toils of care, And still love's sad suffusion dims my eye ! Still friendship, soother of the wretch's pain, But adds to my despair, but tighter binds my chain ! Yes ! I fulfil my destiny, My lot, alas! was misery; What now remains for cruel fate to give ? I cannot cease to love — nor cease to live! 188 II. Tis said the breast which sacred friendship fires Wears a strong shield, to ward off sorrow's dart \ No! — on that shrine, see, bleeding love expires! Ah, woe the while ! the victim was my heart. False promiser ! insidious ruin ! say, Where is that peace thy wiles have lured away ! Yes ! I fulfil my destiny, My lot, alas ! was misery 3 What now remains for cruel fate to give ? I would not cease to love — but cease to live! 189 FROM FLORIAN'S ESTELLE. " vous aui loin d'une amantb. I. Ye, who far from what ye love, Count your moments by your pains. Ye, who all the anguish prove Which rejected love sustains, Trust me, youths, your hapless fate Equals not my misery ; Ye have hearts with hope elate, Hope no more remains for me ! 190 II. I adored a faithful maid, I obtain'd her tender heart 5 Low the blooming nymph is laid, Death has thrown his iron dart. Happiness is like the rose, Which opes its bosom to the morn; One little day it sweetly blows, Then withers on the parent thorn. III. Yes, 'tis true, my love is dead; Youth and beauty could not save : Yet no bitter tear I shed, I but seek her lowly grave! — 191 Death the ties of fondness broke, Adelaide has ceased to live ! Sever'd from the friendly oak, Can the ivy long survive ? THE END. T.Bensley, Printer, Bolt Court, Fleet Street, London. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. i% URL7ILL JLOS ANGELES UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A A 000 079 069 1 ■