naiipfi.N'i't,- < i'l , 

 
 POEMS, 
 
 ON A 
 
 VARIETY OF SUBJECTS; 
 
 ET 
 
 THE MISS WATKINS^ 
 
 OF STOKE-LANE, SOMERSETSHIRE. 
 
 BATH ; 
 
 PRINTED BY MEYLER AND SON, 
 ABBEY CHURCU-YARD, 
 
 ASTD SOLD BY G, EOBINSO;;, 25, PATERNOSTER-ROW, 
 LONDON. 
 
 1812.
 
 5-737 
 
 W 3-i 6? o 
 
 PJREFACE. 
 
 IN submitting to the public the 
 following trifling productions, the Writers 
 are not actuated by the love of fame, and 
 had not other motives suggested their pub- 
 lication, it is probable, they would, like 
 many others, have been committed to the 
 flames. Several of the pieces were written 
 at a very early period of life, before any of 
 the rules of composition were understood, or 
 even a slight acquaintance with the works of 
 Authors, elucidated the properties of style; 
 consequently possess inaccuracies, which 
 greater cultivation and a more mature judg- 
 ment might have avoided; and as all in 
 this Collection were composed, either during 
 A 2
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 the languor of sickness, or by way of relaxa- 
 tion, in the very few leisure hours unappro- 
 priated to more severe, but necessary avoca- 
 tions, and were written under almost every 
 disadvantage, without any friendly monitor 
 to point out defects, or to amend faults, it is 
 hoped that the spirit of candour, generally 
 so favourable towards a first performance, will 
 pardon, what the microscopic eye of criti- 
 cism must condemn. 
 
 Stoke-Lane, June 8, 1812.
 
 %\$t of ig>ul6.3cti6ei:^. 
 
 A. 
 
 Atlee, Mrs. Wandsworth ftwo copies. J 
 
 B. 
 
 Bath and Wells, Lord Bishop of 
 Beadoii, Mrs. Palace, Wells. 
 Biddulph, R. Middleton, Esq. M.P. 
 Biddulph, John, Esq. Champion Hill. 
 Biddulph, Mrs. Ledbury, Herefordshire fttvo copies) 
 Biddulph, Mrs. John, Champion Hill. 
 Biddulph, Miss, Ledbury (two copies, J 
 Bishop, Rev. John, D.D. Mells, Somerset. 
 Bowen, Rev. John, Portland-place, Bath. 
 Bennet, Rev. H. Vicar of Martock, Somerset (tico copies.) 
 Bennet, John, Esq. Laleston, near Bridgend. 
 Bennett, Mrs. ditto. 
 
 Bassett, Rev. Mr. Vicar of St. Mary's, Swansea (two copies.) 
 Bassett, Mrs. Neath. 
 Bassett, Miss, Cardiff. 
 
 Broadrib, Dr. Newton St. Loe, Somerset (three copies,) 
 Bowdler, Thomas, Esq. Rheidings, near Swansea. 
 Bowdler, Mrs. Bath. 
 
 Bodenham, 3Iiss, Rotherwas, Herefordshire. 
 
 b
 
 YI. SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Burge, Miss, Bristol. 
 
 Billingsley, Mrs. Ashwick-Grove, Somerset. 
 
 Billifigsley, Miss, ditto. 
 
 Briokenden, Rev. F. H. Worcester College, Oxford. 
 
 Bunn, — Esq. Frome, Somerset. 
 
 Bunn, Mrs. ditto. 
 
 Baynton, Miss, Bristol. 
 
 C. 
 
 Clive, Hon. Mrs. Whitfield, Herefordshire. 
 
 Chappell, Mrs. Worle, Somerset fsiv copies. J 
 
 Collins, Rev. John, Jun. Rector of Ilston, near Swansea. 
 
 Collins, Miss, Oxwich, near Swansea. 
 
 Conner, Miss, Portland-square, Bristol. 
 
 Conner, Miss Mary ftivu copies. J 
 
 Conrcr, Miss Anne 
 
 Conner, D. Jim. Esq. 
 
 Cooke, Miss, Queen-square, Bath. 
 
 Cooke, Miss Frances 
 
 Cooke, 3liss, Prestwood, Staffordshire. 
 
 Castle, Mrs. M. Jun. Clifton. 
 
 Coucher, Mrs. Edward, Warminster. 
 
 Cowell, Mrs. — Berkshire. 
 
 D. 
 
 Dinwoody, Mrs. Llanwenarth Cottage, near Abergaveniij, 
 
 Davis, John, Esq. Oak Hill, Somerset. 
 
 Davis, Mrs. ditto. 
 
 Davis, Mrs. John, Fisherton House. 
 
 Desprey, Mrs. Southwell-street, Bristol.
 
 SUBSCRIBERS. \iU 
 
 E. 
 
 Eveleigh, Miss, King-square, Bristol. 
 Evans, Rev. John, Oak Hill, Somerset. 
 Evans, Henry, Esq. Worcester Colleg-e, Oxford. 
 Evans, Mr. T. Bath. 
 Evans, Mr. H, ditto. 
 
 F. 
 
 Freeman, Rev. John, Donnington, Herefordshire. 
 
 Foley, — Esq. Ledbury, Herefordshire. 
 
 Fowle, William, Esq. Chute Lodge. 
 
 Fowle, Mrs. ditto. 
 
 Frovvd, Joseph, Esq. Frome, Somerset. 
 
 G. 
 
 Gloucester, Lord Bishop of (two copies.) 
 
 Griffith, Rev. John, D.D. Warminster, Wilts. 
 
 Griffith, Richard, M.D. Cardiff. 
 
 Gordon, Mrs. A. Henwich, near W^orcester. 
 
 Gordon, Mrs. Duhvich Hill, near London. 
 
 Gordon, Miss. 
 
 Gofflon, Michael, Esq. 
 
 Gordon, Charles, Esq. 
 
 Green, Mrs. Knightsbridge. 
 
 Gane, Mrs. Kilver-street, Shepton-Mallet. 
 
 Gane, Mr. Bristol. 
 
 H. 
 
 Hippesley, Lady, Stone Easton House, Somerset. 
 
 Hippesley, Stuart Cox, Esq. 
 
 Hill, Rev. Mr. Hemington, Somerset.
 
 Vm. SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Hill, Miss, Bagborough. 
 
 Hungerford, Rev. Wm. D.D. West Lydfoid, 
 
 Hyatt, William, Esq. Shepton-Mallet. 
 
 Hopkins, Samuel, Esq. Blanavon House, near Abergavenny, 
 
 Hopkins, Miss. 
 
 Horner, Col. Mells Park, Somerset. 
 
 Horner, Mrs. 
 
 Hibbert, Rev. James, Sutton Mandeville 
 
 Hibbert, Mrs. George, Clapliani, Surrey ftico copies.) 
 
 Herbert, Miss, Abergavenny, 
 
 Hereford, Mrs. Sufton, Herefordshire. 
 
 Hughes, Mrs. Swansea. 
 
 Hynam, Mrs. Gloucestershire. 
 
 HoUier, Henry, Esq. Adam's Down, near Cardiff. 
 
 .1. 
 
 Jolliffe, Thomas S. Esq. Ammerdown, Somerset. 
 
 Jolliffe, Miss. 
 
 Johnson, James, Esq. Worcester College, Oxford. 
 
 Johnson, Mrs. Hereford. 
 
 Jenkins, William, Esq. Shepton-Mallet. 
 
 James, Mrs. Swansea. 
 
 Jillard, William Peard, Esq. Oak Hill, Somerset, 
 
 K. 
 
 Kiddell, Miss, King-square, Bristol. 
 Kiddellj George, Esq. Duke-street. 
 
 L. 
 
 Lewis, Wyndham, Esq. Llanishan House, near Cardii 
 Llewellyn, Mrs. Coidriglan, near Cardiff,
 
 SUBSCRIBERS. IX. 
 
 Llewellyn, Mrs. Monmouth. 
 Laiigdon, Mrs. Swansea. 
 Lily, Mrs. New Court, Herefordsliire. 
 Leman, Miss F. G. Worle, Somerset. 
 Lady A 
 
 M. 
 
 Meiice, Richard, Esq. Worcester. 
 
 Mold, Charles, Mr. Barton, Staffordshire. 
 
 Miller, Mr. Surgeon, I'rome, Somerset. 
 
 Middleton, Mr. Frome. 
 
 Moresby, Mr. John, Frome, 
 
 Maxon, Mr. F. T. Loudon. 
 
 Meyler, iMr. Bath. 
 
 N. 
 Napleton, Mrs. Herefordshire ftwo copies. J 
 
 P. 
 
 Phillipps, li. Fsq. Longworth, Herefordshire ^two copie.t.J 
 
 Phillipps, Mrs. ftwo copies. J 
 
 Phillipps, Miss. 
 
 Phillipps, Miss Lucy Penelope. 
 
 Phillipps, Master Robert, Biddulph. 
 
 Philli[tps, Rev. John, Eaton. 
 
 Phillipps, Mrs. John. 
 
 Price, Rev. John, Vicar of Worle, Somerset ftwo copies.) 
 
 Price, Mrs. Poppet Hill, near Swansea. 
 
 Prichard, Rowland, Esq. Swansea. 
 
 Prichard, Rowland, Jan. Esq. Neath. 
 
 Parsons, Rev. John, Worcester College, Oxford.
 
 re^ SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Parsons, 3Ir. John, Swansea. 
 
 Parsons, JMiss, Swansea. 
 
 Pateshall, Mrs. Alansnioor, Herefordshire. 
 
 Perkins, Richard, Esq. Oak Hill, Somerset. 
 
 Perkins, Mrs. 
 
 Protheroe, Mrs. P. Berkeley-square, Clifton. 
 
 Palmer, Mrs. Greenham. 
 
 Palmer, Miss, ditto. 
 
 Parry, Miss, Castle-street, Abergavenny. 
 
 R. 
 
 Rohy, — Esq. Swansea. 
 
 Rohy, Miss 
 
 S. 
 Speiii'er, Rig-lit Hon. Earl ftico copies. J 
 Spencer, Right Hon. Dowager Countess f'two copies./ 
 Sheppard, Sir T. Rart. Thornton Hall, Bucks, (-^IS vopws.J 
 Sheppard, Lady, Thornton Hall (four copies.) 
 Sheppard, Miss, ditto (two copies.] 
 
 Sheppard, C. Esq. Crakemarsh, Staffordshire fln-o copies.) 
 Skurray, Rev. Erancis, B. D. Lullington. 
 Saunders, Rev. George, Tarrant Rushton, Dorsetshire^ 
 Saunders, Miss, King-square, Bristol. 
 Saunders, Miss, Elizabeth, ditto. 
 Seward, Mrs. Ledbury, Herefordshire. 
 Smith, Mrs, Clifton. 
 Smith, Miss, Durrington House, Wilts. 
 Sampson, Miss, D( xonshire ftwo copies. J 
 Swnyne, Mrs. Fisherlon House. 
 Salmon, Rev. Thomas Abraham, B. D. Rodney Stoke.
 
 SUBSCRIBERS. XI. 
 
 Salmon, Miss, Hallatrow. 
 Sely, John, Esq. Bridgewater. 
 Self, Miss Melina, Newbury, Berks. 
 Spencer, Miss, Oak Hill, Somerset. 
 
 T. 
 
 Thyn»e, Lord George, (ten copies. J 
 
 Townsend, Rev. John, M.A. Glastoiibnry. 
 
 Thring, Rev. John Gale Dalton, M.A. AlfoicL 
 
 Talbot, Rev. Thomas, Sutton Maudeviile. 
 
 Turner, Rev. John Fovant, Wilts. 
 
 Turberville, Mrs. Ewenny Abbey, near Bridgend f2 copusj 
 
 Thomas, Thos. Edward, Esq, Kilvrough, near Swansea. 
 
 V. 
 
 Vaughan, Colonel, Swansea. 
 
 Vaughan, Mrs. Redland Court, Gloucestershire. 
 
 W. 
 
 White, Rev. William, Teffont Evias. 
 
 Woodcock, Rev, Frans. Prebendary of Moreton, Herefords'b- 
 
 Woodcock, Mrs. ditto. 
 
 Williams, Rev, John, M,A. Marston Magna, DorsetsTiire. 
 
 Williams, John, Esq, Llandaff, Glamor^-anshire [2 copies J 
 
 W illiams, Miss, Swansea, 
 
 Woodyatt, — M.D. Worcester. 
 
 Woodyatt, Lieutenant, R, N. 
 
 ■\Voodyatt, Miss, 
 
 Wood, John, Esq, Roath Court, near Cardiff. 
 
 ^\ood, John, Jun. Es(i. Cardiff",
 
 Xll. SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 White, Mis. Beaufort Buildings, Clifton, 
 
 White, Miss, Montague-square, London ftivo copies J 
 
 White, Edward, Esq. Oak Hill, Somerset. 
 
 Weslfaling, Mrs. Kudshall, Herefordshire. 
 
 Williams, Thomas, Es([. Wandsworth, 
 
 Webb, Esq, Ledbury. 
 
 Watkins, Edward, Esq. Abergavenny. 
 
 AVatkins, JNliss. 
 
 Watkins, Miss, Virginia. 
 
 Watkins, Rev. G. Nowell, M.A. Highway House, Hants. 
 
 Watkins, Mrs. Charles, Stoke Newington. 
 
 Watkins, Miss, Llydiadiway, 
 
 Watkins, Capt. Wm. Nowell, tSth regiment. 
 
 Watkins, Lieutenant, H. T. 
 
 V, atkins, Mr. T. V.H. M.S. Victory. 
 
 Watkins, Mr. C. F.H. M.S. Hotspur. 
 
 V. 
 Yeatraan, Rev. John, East Brent, Someiset ftxco copies. J
 
 POEMS, &c. 
 
 ALBER'l' AND CLARA. 
 
 SAD are the scenes which War displays ! 
 
 Sad trophies, lawless Power, are thine ! 
 in widows' tears ye steep the bays, 
 
 Destined ihe hero's brow to twine. 
 
 Oft, at the silent hour of nij^ht. 
 
 When Nature wooes the gentle sleep. 
 Will Clara, by the moon's faint light, 
 Wander o'er Albert's grave to weep, 
 B
 
 8 
 
 Pale are the wan and sickly gleams, 
 That through the yew's dark foliage break 
 
 But paler than those waning beams, 
 Is faithful Clara's faded (.-heek. 
 
 A lily now the mourner takes, 
 
 And then the jessamine's fragrant flower . 
 And soon a garland fair she makes 
 To deck her Albert's sinijtle bower. 
 
 fo weave the laurel next slir tiirs. 
 
 But, oh ! she tries to weave iu vain • 
 K'er bosom heaves convulsive sighs — 
 
 \ouiia" Albert in the fight was sl^in ; 
 
 Oji foreign shores hi biavtiy di< d. 
 
 His native country's cause to aid ; 
 J'.i d« ath he felt a warrior's pridt-, 
 
 {'or victory gracfd his shining blad'- 
 
 The soidit r ht aid ihe shout and smiled. 
 Proudly his arnr he waved on hi^ih ; 
 
 C.otiqui st the scnsf of [ciin beguili d, 
 Dul Clara ciaiuud ih( parting si^'-h.
 
 9 
 
 By grief the husband's heart was torn. 
 
 To think his Clara thus was left, 
 In anguish o'er his fate to mourn, 
 
 Of every hope in life bereft. 
 
 And,. oh ! how soon 'neath sorrow's power 
 Does youth resign its roseate bloorn ; 
 
 I'air Chira, like a drooping flower, 
 
 Now lowly bends o'er Albert's tomb. H.W. 
 
 E '1
 
 in 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 THF battle's o'er, tlie fi<;lit is doiii', 
 The lauvel wreath the victors claim ; 
 
 I'lom dawn of «li\v till setting' sun 
 
 They fought to gain the niet;d of fuijic. 
 
 But, soft ! on yon f^nsani'-nin'd pliuii. 
 
 Full many a hero met his doom : 
 f lis king' and country to sustain, 
 
 The warriors found an early tonit). 
 
 j^nd shall not trophies o'er them wave, 
 
 And gratitude her tribute give ; 
 Tes, honour's hand shall deck the brave, 
 
 And record bid their memory live. H. W
 
 11 
 
 TilE ROSE or HOPE. 
 
 THE rose of Hope but just began 
 In youth's -^lad bower to bloom ; 
 
 "VVhttj the cold blast of Poverty 
 CoDsigii'd it to the tomb. 
 
 \\ irh joy I saw in beauty's pride, 
 1 he plant 1 long had reard ; 
 
 Mark'd with delight the infant bud. 
 Affection had endear' d. 
 
 Gaily the blooming flow ret smiled. 
 And fragrance breathed around ; 
 
 But soon, too soon, its laded leaves 
 Lay scatter'd on the ground. 
 
 The genial sun-beam's fast'ning rays 
 
 Again its charms renew ; 
 And now, a transient April shower 
 
 The petals bathe in dtw.
 
 12 
 
 Rut oh ! the storms more keenly blow, 
 
 The tempets loudly rave ; 
 In vain each effort I essay, 
 
 .Aly rherish'd flower to save. 
 
 The tender blossom cannot bloom 
 
 Beneath the rupfged sky, 
 Which clouds the cheerless day of woe, 
 
 And l)ids each pleasure die. 
 
 Sweet Hope may spnn:^ inidst cliecjuer'd sccjips. 
 
 Alternate joy and giief ; 
 But if despair the soul benumb, 
 
 jVo more she yields relief. 
 
 Her fragile texture cannot bear 
 
 Adversity's rxidt^ a^ales; ; 
 But withers in the cheerless b.f a?f. 
 
 Which misery ass.uls. JK U
 
 13 
 
 1 've seen the Springs ^^c. 
 
 rVE seen the Spring its bud unfold. 
 And into full perfection blow ; 
 
 I've niark'd the blast, untimely cold. 
 That withering laid its beauty low, 
 
 I've seen the Summer smile serene. 
 In leaves and flowers profusely gay; 
 
 Nor dream'd that 'neath so fair a scene 
 I iirk'd swift, though unperceived decayv 
 
 Jve seen the Autumn's ruddy hue, 
 
 With rapture mark'd its deep'ning die; 
 
 lint soon the Wintry tempest blew. 
 And clouds deform'd the alter'd sky. 
 
 So have 1 seen Life's lovely day, 
 
 Though bright the sun of joy arose, 
 
 K'. stern Misfortune's iron sway, 
 (onsign'd to vsorrow ere its close.
 
 14 
 
 .So o'er the priiiifc and steady hoiir. 
 
 The (aim mrridian of our days, 
 Thr daik'ninc: storms of fate will lour. 
 
 If Hope withdiaw her rhr ering rays. 
 
 But if the enrhaiitress deig'n to smilf. 
 Transient the tear that dews the eye ; 
 
 in vain the storms of life assail, 
 
 She points to scenes heyond the sky, H.W
 
 15 
 SONNET, 
 
 ON THE RETURN OF SPRING. 
 
 OIVCE more I've pass' d the Winter wild, 
 OiK-e more 1 hail the blooming Spring ; 
 
 But ah ! no more its zephyrs mild 
 Blithe, rosy health to me shall bring. 
 
 t 
 !ri vain I court the breezy dawn, 
 
 In vain I woo the evening gale; 
 
 I wander o'er the dewy lawn ; 
 
 But still my languid cheek is pale. 
 
 No more 1 feei the spirits gay. 
 
 Which joyous health alone bestows ; 
 
 I meet the pleasure-breathing May, 
 But not for me her fragrance blows. 
 
 Alas ! the glowing bloom of Spring is vain, 
 
 To me it yields no kind release from pain. 
 
 il. \\
 
 16 
 THE SHIPWRECK 
 
 THE sun was set, the nifrht was chnv. 
 The moon her chasten'd lustre shed : 
 
 If tinged with light the village spire, 
 And played on ocean's wat'ry Ix d. 
 
 When Anna sought the pebbled sho^'. 
 
 With hurried step and aspect wild, 
 Tn hopes the shallop to descry. 
 
 That bore her only niuch-lov'd child, 
 
 For all tliat day the western wind 
 
 Had kept each vessel from the strand : 
 
 The swelling billows mounted hii^^h, 
 And far the sea-gull flew to land. 
 
 But as the evening closed, the breeze 
 Sighed plaintive through the hollow ca*<- 
 
 The moon a silver radian(e i ast, 
 
 And beam'd upon the tionhbd wa\<-.
 
 17 
 
 Long time she paced the lonely beach, 
 Long time she watch'd the foaming tide; 
 
 For o'er the whitening waves afar, 
 She sees a vessel swiftly glide. 
 
 Hope sang " 'Tis Edward's sail you view, 
 " The breeze shall waft him safe to shore 
 
 ** He'll bless again thy longing sight, 
 *' And leave his native land no more." 
 
 But now the moon denies her light. 
 The black'ning tempest gathers fast ; 
 
 In torrents falls the pelting rain, 
 
 And dismal roars the midnight blast. 
 
 Fair Anna braves the awful storm, 
 Unmindful of the warning heaven ; 
 
 Her anxious eye pursues the bark. 
 Against the rocks with fuvy driven. 
 
 Tremendous crash'd the shallop's side. 
 The rocky mast now meets the wave .; 
 
 One fearful shriek the heart appals, 
 And ocean proves the sailors' grave.,
 
 JS 
 
 The lightning's blue and quivering ihitnr 
 PJay'd on the wreck ajid opening tlet p. 
 
 And gave to view the deathful scene. 
 As o'er the deck the billows sweep,, 
 
 111 vain, \\hh haste the boat's unmoor d. 
 In \aiii, e;ifh prompt assiNtai.rc oiy; n ; 
 
 -\h ! who can pierce lh( veil of late. 
 Or read the dark dtciees ut he.vt n ? 
 
 \o tness-niau lived the tale to U),^ 
 Of dangers past by tempests tost. 
 
 Or pensive mourn the friends he loved, 
 lu kiiidrtd, home, and tonn(ry U.sl. 
 
 'V'lV'. Am, a V, aridcrs on llu b'-ach, 
 
 A lid now slif climbs the dark rock's InAT 
 
 111 r check was jiab-, her ii< ceni vilti, 
 iler look — tiitrlook O) saddtot W('( . 
 
 1 In storm liad ceased, its rage was y-M-i, 
 'llit iihOiiing dawu'd s( rcnc ai:d bri^lif,, 
 
 I'hi; dew ining trembling on tlie bla'^-. 
 ^ud i;listcu'd i;j the wrient 'i 'In,
 
 Ail nature iiiuiU'd, the birds lesotind. 
 
 And oainl'd blithe their matin lay ; 
 riie rustic left his rushy couch, 
 
 And hail'd the glad return of day. 
 
 But Anna, with unequal steps, 
 
 Still paced the fateful shore along ; 
 Still sought her darling Edward's form, 
 
 'J'he ghastly floating corps among. 
 
 And see upon the swelling surge, 
 
 Which rolls to wretched Anna's feet. 
 
 That form, so much beloved, is borne, 
 A mother's auxious eye to meet. 
 
 Frantic she rushed to clasp the clay. 
 
 His angel face once more to view ; 
 But pale the cheek affection warm'd. 
 
 And closed the eyes to feeling true. 
 
 A shudd'ring horror seized her frame, 
 " Her eye a trembling lustre fired ;" 
 
 She sunk on Edward's palid corpse, 
 
 And sighing forth his name — expired. H,TV
 
 20 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 OH ! when shall wars wild rage be o'er, 
 "When shall the din of battle cease, 
 
 The warrior greet his native laud. 
 And Eiigland hail returning' peace ? 
 
 Mid scenes, where erst the vine tree waved 
 Its yiareful foliai^'e free and wild ; 
 
 Wiiere thick the s:olden oranfre hunsr, 
 And iiuitful olives gaily smiled ; 
 
 J!»liull rapine stalk, and fell revenge, 
 Drenching wilh blood the purple plaifi. 
 
 While Pity weeps and Clorv nionrns 
 liiitaunia's youth, niitiniely slain ? 
 
 \'( t not tor them the tear should flow, 
 
 They bravely died in Imnour's cause, 
 Reliyidirs sacrtd shrine in iruard, 
 And Albion's librrtv and law>i.
 
 21 
 
 Then let the sculptured marble rise, 
 The laurell'd wreath their tomb adorn. 
 
 And bards their deathless fame record, 
 To rouse the hero vet unborn. H.W
 
 ^Q, 
 
 The Shores of Glamorgan. 
 
 TO tlie shores of Glamorg-ctn will fancy oft roam. 
 And give back to my mind all the comforts of home , 
 AN ill paint the briirht season when Hope's cheering 
 ray [-ay. 
 
 Bade the present scene smile, and iht: future look 
 
 When all Nature cnuid charm, and the light heart woulU 
 
 bound 
 To the measure of Joy : yet in Mirth's giddy round, 
 'Twas the swt-ets of Affection that gladden'd the 
 
 breast, 
 And the soft -V'^ice uf Friendship gave Pleasure its zestc 
 
 jNow, how changed is the prospeft ! no longer I vievr 
 The cliff's lofty summit, the ocean's mild blue; 
 The spirits of youth too, are hastening away, 
 And health scorns a bosom once bless'd by her sway.
 
 23 
 
 Bat though destined by fate from these objects to part ;> 
 To relinquish the scenes long endear'd to my heart ; 
 While remembrance survives they shall claim the fond 
 
 tear, 
 And thy shwes — oh ! Glamorgan, for ever be dear. 
 
 H. W^
 
 u 
 
 ELEGY. 
 
 EVEN thoxi, lov'd Hope, fair Daughter of the Skv, 
 No more I hail an iniuate of my breast ; 
 
 To thee IK) more for comfort can 1 fly, 
 
 Nor canst thou lull this aching heart to rest, 
 
 Nu, not thy fairest promises can eharm. 
 
 The gay delusion now alas ! is o'er ; 
 No hmger can thy joys my bosom ^varm, 
 
 And yet 1 sorrow to resign thy power. 
 
 Soft was thy power, and gentle was thy sway. 
 By each endearing art, eluding cure, 
 
 The rugged path of life to render gay, 
 
 And steel the bosom to that (iend Despair. 
 
 But oh ! sweet Maid, tliy promises were vain ! 
 
 Vor me no more shall Pieasure's roses bloom : 
 If thou wouldst free this mournful heart from pain, 
 
 Recal the clay-cold tenants of the tomb.
 
 25 
 
 Ci'ive back a Parent to his orphan Child, 
 Restore the tranquil joys of early youth ; 
 
 The Friend intelligent, Instructor mild, 
 
 Who led my steps to Mercy and lair Truth, 
 
 Yet not to earth would 1 recal again 
 
 The sainted form of him whom now I mourn ; 
 
 Not to these scenes of sorrow and of pain 
 
 Would I, meek spirit ! have thee now return. 
 
 No, rather would I ask that I may soon 
 Be snatch'd in mercy, to that pure abode, 
 
 Where I may join thee, and in concert tune 
 Prai.scs in heaven to the eternal God, H. W 
 
 { 2
 
 26" 
 
 CON RAD K. 
 
 iON moon, whose silvery oeams now jiiwv 
 Upon the water'i treiublirig- wave ; 
 
 Chequers, perchonoe the fore;st way, 
 Aadlig)its on Conrade's lon'ily grav«,> 
 
 On yonder western shores he ft!l, 
 
 His grave by .sti3ii;,njrs' bands 'a-'>a mndf 
 
 A simple stone ahmfc to tfU 
 
 V^liere Conrade'.s cold rtuialns vcre laid. 
 
 No parent lives to weep his doriii. 
 For him no sistiTs' tears shall tlo\v. 
 
 Yet iGuiid th(/ liero's early tomb 
 
 Shf.ll trophit;i wave and laurels gni\*. 
 
 And still the widows' heart .shall mouMi. 
 
 Ai;d still the orjdian shall deph-vc 
 The hour (hat saw brave Cor.rad; !; r.iU'^ 
 
 Vol- ever from his native sh<';f , ki
 
 57 
 
 TO THE WOODBINK 
 
 FLOWER of the wild, I love to see 
 
 'f hee deck the ruiii'd tower. 
 Or clasping- round the tall oak tree» 
 Or sporting- o'tir the hedge-row free, 
 F'jrm man}- u simple bower. 
 
 Thy clust'ring blossoms blushing gav. 
 
 Adorn the lonely vale, 
 V/here scarce is seen the sun's bright nij, 
 J hy waving wreaths luxuriant plaj-. 
 
 And scent the evening gale. 
 
 Then round my lattice window twine- 
 
 A nd shed thy sweet perfume ; 
 Witb thee, the myrtle I'll combiaej 
 The clematis, and purple vine, 
 <7ei^niuin's glowing bloom.
 
 28 
 
 But ihouii^h these flourish free and fau. 
 
 Beneath a southern sky, 
 Thej- still require my constant care 
 To shield them from the mountain air. 
 
 Or soon tbey droop and die. 
 
 Whilst thou unshelier'd canst endure 
 
 The \A'inter's chilling' snoMS ; 
 Thy infant buds nnfnld secure. 
 Though no warm ray of spiing- alh;rc 
 Thy petals to unclose. 
 
 i'iieii form at will thy waving bowrr, 
 
 V.y cottage si ill be near; 
 Jor dear to me thy fragrant flower 
 \\ hen wet with morning's early shower, 
 
 {.\r e\eniii:i"v bahnv tiar. U ^^
 
 29 
 HETROSPECTION 
 
 OH ! could my muse, in happy lays, 
 Recount the joys of former days, 
 AVhen Hope, with fiatt' ring pencil drew 
 Brig-ht scenes, and I believed them true. 
 Remembrance then might linger here* 
 Nor from my bosom draw one tear, 
 
 I fondly thought each future hour 
 Would own her fascinating power, 
 That o'er my prospect slill would play 
 The lustre of her gladd'iiing ray; 
 Nor dream'd, alas ! that 1 should be 
 The victim sad of Misery. 
 
 Oh ! biissfid days of artless youth. 
 When all is innocence and truth. 
 When Fancy throws with magic art. 
 Her sweet delusions o'er the heart ; 
 V.'iij'^ are ye sped so swift away ? 
 Why not prolong awhile your s(ay '
 
 In v;iiii 1 call ! your reign is o'ei', 
 .Departed joys return no more ; 
 .\o more t ucli sorrow to beguile. 
 On me shall beam a father's smile; 
 No more when sickness bows my head. 
 His soothing voice shall comfort shed. 
 
 Re still, my soul-— no more complain. 
 
 In realms of bliss yell meet again ; 
 
 ]\o longer sorrow o'er his bier. 
 
 No longer drop Regret's fond tear ; ' 
 
 His spotless soul has wing'd its fliglit 
 
 To mansions in the eternal Jieidita H W
 
 5.1 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 OFT, at the close of eve, I bend my way 
 
 Viith pensive steps to gain the rocky steep, 
 And as I watch the sun's declining ray 
 
 Sink in the bosom of the peaceful deep ; 
 While softly dies the summer breeze away, 
 I fondly muse upon the past, and say, 
 So calm, so tranquil, were the hours of youth ; 
 
 As fair the prospect, and as smooth the way, 
 Hope sang delusive in -the guise of truth. 
 
 And my sad bosom own'd the syren's sway : 
 But soon, alas ! the flatt'rer fled a-breast. 
 Adversity's dark frown had robbed of rest. 
 Left me to stem the tide of life alone, 
 lly woes unheeded, and unheard my moam, 
 
 H, W
 
 32 
 
 THE EVENING HOUR. 
 
 MrCFI flo I love, at eveniiis's placid hour, 
 To rliml) the summit of the woorlv steep. 
 
 And restinsT near yon castle's ivied tower, 
 Gaze on the glories of the tranquil deep. 
 
 Now, on tlie mountain's airy hosom rest, 
 
 The sun's last beams in parting radiance hri^lit. 
 
 Clouds of resplendent hue adorn the west, 
 And ocean's wave reflects the varied liirht. 
 
 Tlie billow as it rolls to kiss the shore. 
 
 Scarce v.ith its !!n;ruiiir «aki s tn- lisfriii'io: e;ir 
 
 f.ab'iU! is still, and thriiu2,h the val no ni 'le 
 Resounds the milk-maid's diny. shriiiv cha;-. 
 
 Yet still upon the s'ale is hear'l to float, 
 3i<li.iw"{! ])y distaiii e ere the n-ck it p.:i!i): 
 
 The soil mn bird of nicht's fum-real u'-.tc, 
 Or Fhilouuhrs sad coniplaiuiii^^ strain.
 
 33 
 
 And oh ! how sweet when Cynthia's summer beam 
 Gives to the shadowy landscape paler day ; 
 
 When throiig^h the ruin'd wall is seen to gleam 
 The chasten'd lustre of her silv'ry ray. 
 
 Long could I sit and watch this fairy scene, 
 And Fancy forms aerial round me sniil'd ; 
 
 Picture the times of bliss, that once have been 
 When Joy's bright promise fleeting cares beguiled. 
 
 But wand'ring Memory, dear deluder, cease, 
 Those transient gleams of happiness are fled ; 
 
 Yet, o'er my closing years may halcyon peace 
 Wave her white wings, and gentle influence shed. 
 
 Then, though the ardent sun of life decline. 
 And clouds obsc«re the horizon of my day; 
 
 One sober hour of twilight shall be mine, 
 And o'er ray path one s*ar «:erene!y play. 
 
 H. W.
 
 ON HEARIMG 
 
 HCfMS DELIGHTFUL MUilC IN A ROOltl BENE it Ih 
 
 THE strains of music ineol my far. 
 Breaking the slillness of the iiii^hf ; 
 
 I Iiear a sound so soft and clear. 
 As fills the soul with calm delight. 
 
 Now the cotes gently die away^ 
 Now rise in grateful solemn swell ; 
 
 So sweetly sad, so wihl the lay. 
 It seems the work of fairy spell. 
 
 But oh ! tl)(^ melting tonei now cease. 
 The sounds are hush'd that pleased befoiT 
 
 So ranisird from my soul its peace, 
 \ dream of youth thai charais uo Miuie I 
 
 11 W
 
 
 LINES, 
 
 THE APPROACH OF SPPTXO, 
 
 I'lIE Spiini^ !s approaching-, the snow- drops appear, 
 Thev raise their meek heads to salute the young year ; 
 The hawthorns are budding, and soon shall each scene 
 8e deck'd in a mantle of Nature's soft green. 
 
 i'he warblers rejoice, and already the groveiu 
 Resound with the songs of their innocent loves ; 
 llie dark clouds of Winter are all pass'd away, 
 -And the vallies shall smile in the verdure of May. 
 
 But say, may no storm loudly raging he nigh ? 
 No whirlwind deform the fair face of the sky ? 
 Perchance, when bright Flora exults in her rtign, 
 IJje ten-'pcst may rage, and htv blossoms be vain..
 
 56* 
 
 So the emblems of Hope, and the dawiiin^jf?! of Joj 
 Ere brouj»'ht to perfection, misfortunes destroy ; 
 But the Seasons still roll, and Spring' shall return, 
 And man, though dejected, shall soon cease to mourn. 
 
 H. W.
 
 o7 
 
 LINES, 
 Co f nenb^tjiji. 
 
 oil ! Friendship, nrt thou but a name, 
 A sound to sootlie the child of Joy ? 
 
 A phantom that attends on fame, 
 A bubble — to the great a toy. 
 
 Hast thou no substance ? a mere shade 
 That flits athwart the youthful breast. 
 
 Cheating the heart in Truth's fair guise. 
 And spotless robe by Fancy drest. 
 
 Yet did thy lovely influence shed 
 
 Pleasure and joy on youth's glad hours; 
 
 Brighten'd the present with thy rays. 
 
 And deck'd the future scene with flowers^.
 
 38 
 
 What, though the flowers droop, the bloom 
 
 Fade swift a? vanishes the dew ; 
 Yet still the rose its sweet perfume 
 
 Retains and pleases us anew. 
 
 So does the season chtrm when youth' 
 Deliijhted hun^r on fueiulshi])\s iiarae ; 
 
 And as she mourns these days of truth, 
 
 Meaiory a peasive tear wui d^nn, H.\f, 
 
 «*,;»■ .lp«^«* >=•.*■ ,^ :
 
 39 
 
 AGNES RUTHYN 
 
 AT the foot of yon mountain o'er-shadowed with trees, 
 \V hose dark branches wave with the whispering' breeze. 
 
 Lived Agnes, the village dehght ; 
 No maiden was fairer, no maiden more gay, 
 Than Agnes, who carol'd the long summer day. 
 Or listen'd to hear the okl harper's soft lay, 
 
 Ai it broke the still silence of night. 
 
 When far to the west, roils the briglit orb of day. 
 And long on the waters its radiant beams play, 
 
 Ere sinking they fade from the view ; 
 And the mild star of evening rising serene. 
 Shines full on the valley disclosing each scene. 
 The steple, the cot.'age, t!ie grove, and the green, 
 
 Anay'd in her silvery hue, 
 
 D
 
 40 
 
 Then beneath the soft light the woodlands among, 
 Would Agnes oft join iu the dance or the song> 
 
 With a heart free from grief and from care >. 
 O'er her bosom, so traaquil, no passion had sway, 
 Each prospect was gilded with Hope's sunny ray, 
 But soon to the morning so bright of Life's day. 
 
 Succeeded the night of despair. 
 
 For Agnes, alas ! was now destined to prove 
 The anguish of Doubt, and the tormeuls of Love 
 
 Her bosom with Sorrow was torn ; 
 Alonzo had wooed her, and sought as his bridt 
 The maid of Glamorgan, of Hiithyu the piide ; 
 He intreated, and Agnes no longer denied 
 
 To repair to tke church the next mora. 
 
 Four months, wing'd with pleasure, flew swiftly awav 
 When Alonzo declared that the next dawn of day 
 
 Must see him to England repair ; 
 In vain Agnes attempted her sorrows to speuk, 
 As drying the tears from her now pallid cheek 
 He swore to return ere the end of the week. 
 
 And free the loved maiden from tar*?
 
 41 
 
 The morning arose — Agnes saw him depart 
 
 With a feehng of woe that struck sad on her hearty 
 
 Though he promised her still to return ; 
 But Alonzo was false, and fair Agnes betray'd, 
 In England he had wedded a far richer muid, 
 Yet the lovely Elvira in jewels array'd, 
 
 Was destin'd unheeded to mourn. 
 
 Hast thou seen the fair lily the valley adorn, 
 
 Or the rose softly blushing, with pride meet the morn. 
 
 And expand its glad petals to day ? 
 Hast thua mark'd it at eve despoil'd of its bloom, 
 Its glory, its brightness, its fragrant perfume, 
 Bend low to the tempest surcharged with its doom, 
 
 And hasten to silent decay ? 
 
 So droop'd the meek Agnes, so quickly decay'd 
 The blush from the cheek of the erst smiling maid, 
 
 Beneath the harsh pressure of care ; 
 The tear of regret trickled silent and slow, 
 Till sudden exclaiming — " To England I'll go, 
 *' My father, I'll see my Alonzo, and know 
 
 *' If Agnes is doom'd to despair. 
 D 2
 
 4<2 
 
 " Then haste to thf beach, and thp vessel «eourt-, 
 " No knijj'er this heart its sad v.oes can endurt' — 
 
 " Oh! haste ere the day-li^ht decline ;'' [main 
 
 Tiie strand soon they reach, and their 1)ark i)!on::;]!s the 
 Dnt, alas ! hapless damsel ! thy voya2:e is vain, 
 Contentment nor peace no more tliou'lt regain, 
 
 Alonzo can never be thine ! 
 
 Now the palse of poor Ag'ncs beats [jinguid and sIoa. 
 And now o'er her cheek is difl'iised the warm j^Iow 
 
 f)!' Hope, who can smile and betiay; 
 For see the g-reen vallicjs of Enuland in view, 
 I'.ach flowret is gemm'fl with the morn's cailv dt w. 
 The grey rocks are tiiijifd with tin- s;;ii\ nimsun hu' . 
 
 And the ocean reflects the bright ray. 
 
 I)ut can Nature delight the cold l)osom rf d'n [ '-. 
 To the vi< tini of Woe can her charms yi-dd reliet. 
 
 Or (base sad Despair frojo the br( ast ? 
 fan the blush of the dawn, or tlie mild close ofdav, 
 The murmuring brook gliding softlv awav, 
 Or the blackbird who sings from the thorn's whitened 'ip:;i'r 
 
 Calm the pangs of the Wretched to rest -^
 
 bJ 
 
 Ah no ! for alas! when the heart throbs with pain, 
 Each prospect is cheerless, each objt^ct is vain, 
 
 The deep raiii-ling thorn to remove ; 
 It broods o'er its sorrows in silence profound, 
 The g-lanre of the dim tearless eye seeks the g-round, 
 .Not Friendship's soft balm can alleviate tlie wound 
 
 Inflicted by treacherous Love. 
 
 In search of Alonzo, ah ! why didst thou roam ? 
 "NVhy rjnit, hapless maiden, thy sweet smiling- home ? 
 
 That home will no more meet thy view ; 
 For horrors await thee, thy heart sinks dismay'd 
 Deserted, abandon'd, deceived, and betray'd ; 
 Ah ! where are the joys which false Hope had povtray'<l 
 
 Or the scenes of delight that she drew ? 
 
 Dut secure thou reposest, and silent and cold 
 
 The earth has received thee, the slow bell has toll'd 
 
 And the green sward has cover'd thy breast ; 
 The winds howl around thee, unheeded ihey rave, 
 The willow and dark cypress over thee wave. 
 And the rose-bud and lily shall bloom on the grave 
 
 Where Misfortune and Ajmes find rest. H-W,
 
 44 
 
 BLUE EYED ELLEN. 
 
 A BALLAD, 
 
 HARK ! from yon embattled tower. 
 The clock slow strikes the passing hour: 
 While all around the ruins grey, 
 The spectre drear is seen to stray. 
 
 And now the tones of wild despair 
 Are borne upon the trembling- air. 
 And sadly through the lonely grove 
 Resound the plaints of hapless Lovp. 
 
 Thy spirit, Bertrand, ne'er shall rest^ 
 For thou, the Orphan's soul opprest ; 
 Thy treachery caused fair Ellen's woe, 
 And bade the tear of Sorrow flow.
 
 45 
 
 In vain the haughty chieftain strove 
 To win the blue-eyed maiden's love ; 
 Her gentle bosom throbb'd with fear 
 Whene'er she saw Lord Bertrand near>, 
 
 For Raymond, brave and gallant youth. 
 To her had plighted vows of truth ; 
 The down-cast eye, the glowing cheek. 
 Love's eloquence expressive speak. 
 
 Their bosoms own'd a mutual flame, 
 The same their joys, their griefs the samcy 
 And soon before the sacred shrine 
 Their hands in holy bands they joino 
 
 In Bertrand's dark and gloomy soul. 
 The stormy passions spurn controul— * 
 A stranger to compassion's glow. 
 His breast ne'er felt another's woBo 
 
 His hall was fill'd with bandit bold. 
 Who braved the storms of winter cold ; 
 As o'er the heath they rode afar. 
 To wage with every Baron, war.
 
 4G 
 
 Lord Raymond's castle soon they gain. 
 That proud repell'd the roaring main ; 
 Its inmates sleep in sweet repose. 
 Unconscious of their coming woes. 
 
 " Onward," said Bertrand, " onward haste, 
 " And lay those towering turrets waste ; 
 " Ere yon bright orb that cheers the gloom 
 *' Shall set, Lord Raymond meets his doom." 
 
 The morning dawn'd, the blushing sky 
 
 Beheld the scene of niiu dire ; 
 The blazing flames now mount on high, 
 
 And now in clouds of smoke expire. 
 
 Lord Raymond bears his fainting bridc 
 To yonder hillock's grassy side; 
 Behind him close the murderer hies, 
 And soon the hapless victim dies. 
 
 Rut, hark ! 1 hear the cloister bell 
 FJing on the gale its solemn swell ; 
 It is the hour of dark midnight. 
 When ghosts the murderer afright.
 
 47 
 
 It strikes on Berf rand's g'uilty souf. 
 In vain he courts the flowing' bowi, 
 In vain to scenes of riot flies, 
 The shade of Raymond meets his eyes. 
 
 He hears the plaintive sounds of woe. 
 He sees the lovely Ellen low ; 
 He feels no joy, he knows no rest, 
 Despair invades his gloomy breast. 
 
 He seeks the lonely forest way, 
 And hides him from the light of day : 
 But solitude brings no relief, 
 No balm to conscience or to grief. 
 
 Ah ! wretched man ! and hast thou dared 
 To meet thy Maker unprepared ? 
 Dared to uplift the impious knife, 
 And rashly to resign thy life ? 
 
 Around thy dark unhallow'd tomb 
 IVo bud of Spring shall ever bloom ; 
 Aftection's tears shall ne'er be shed 
 Upon thy low and silent bed»
 
 4S 
 
 IS'O friend shall stroll by Cynthia's ray. 
 To where thy mouldering relics lay ; 
 The villag'e maids shall shun with fear 
 The spot where stalks the spectre drear^ 
 
 But o'er the sod where Ellen's laid, 
 Roses shall form a fragrant shade. 
 And myrtle branches intertwine 
 To guard from harm the lowly shrine. 
 
 Oft straying hand in hand are seen 
 The lovers on the dewy green ; 
 But uttering dismal shrieks of woe. 
 Lord Bertrand's spirit wanders slow. 
 
 Around yon castle's ruin'd wall, 
 
 ^Vhile thick the shades of evening fall, 
 
 Till morning smiles with orient ray, 
 
 Chasinsf the clouds of aijrht away. H.V,
 
 49 
 Address to the Primroiie. 
 
 HAIL modest flowret, Spring's meek child ! 
 Again thou deck'st the cheerless wild ; 
 Through melting snows thy bnds appear. 
 Sweet pledges of the dawning year. 
 
 When throHgh the leafless grove T stray, 
 I love to greet thee on my way ; 
 For thou dost tell the winter gone. 
 And lead'st a smiling season on. 
 
 No grace of form in thee is found. 
 Thou shed'st no rich perfume around. 
 And sickly, wan, and pale to view, 
 Thy petals boast no varied hue. 
 
 Yet more delight thy flower bestows, 
 Than ere did June's deep blushing rose . 
 And grateful to the feeling heart. 
 The hopes thy modest buds impartn
 
 50 
 
 For oh ! they give to Fancy's eye 
 The balmy gale, the cloudless sky, 
 The whit'ning thorn, the valley green-— 
 jSature reviving, gay, serene. 
 
 From hopes like these, more pleasure flo\v.> 
 Than all the pride of Summer knows ; 
 Nor can mild Autumn's lovelier scene 
 Such joys inspire as Spring's bright green. 
 
 For though more dear her auburn vest, 
 
 A pensive sadness fills the breast. 
 
 To think those beauteous tints must fade, 
 
 And winter soon that scene pervade. HA\
 
 51 
 
 LINES, 
 
 WRITTEN IN A THUNDER-STOrxM 
 
 ALMIGHTY God ! thy voice Is heard 
 Tremendous ia the thunders roar ; 
 
 The lightning's flash at thy dread word. 
 And black'niug clouds in torrents pom. 
 
 To (liee our suppliant cries ascend, 
 To thee we breathe the fervent prayer 
 
 Oh ! bid the awful tempest end, 
 And deig-u a guilty woild to spare. 
 
 Thanks, gracious God ! the storm is o'er, 
 Once more we view the bright'ning heaven ; 
 
 J he vivid lightnings glare no more, 
 Obedient to the mandate given.
 
 52- 
 
 Through earth is heard the high behest» 
 
 And waning elements obey ; 
 The rushing winds are calm'd to rest, 
 
 The thunder dies remote away. 
 
 Then let the sacred prayer arise, 
 
 Like incense to the Almighty's throne, 
 
 And hymns of praise salute the skies 
 
 In gratitude for mercy shewn. ILW,
 
 5a 
 
 TO ADVERSITY. 
 
 DARK Nymph retire, I woo thee not ; 
 
 Thy stern frown awes my tremblirxg soul. 
 For many a weary day I've been 
 
 The victim of thy sad control. 
 
 'Tv/as thine to chill the radiant glow, 
 ^Vhich youth dift'uses o'er tiie breast ; 
 
 To bid the tear of Misery flow, 
 
 And rob my sleepless nights of rest. 
 
 ^Twas thine to pale my cheek with care, 
 To bid the sweets of Friendship cease j 
 
 For who the poor man's griefs will share. 
 And banish Pleasure, Joy, and Peace ? 
 
 But though my pensive days have beec 
 Devoted to thy ruthless sway, 
 
 i see the cheering morning break 
 Prelusive to the bri-;:hter day.
 
 54 
 
 JVIark'st thou yon tomb r beneath its shade 
 Secure the child of Woe may rest ; 
 
 There treach'ro-us friends no more shall wound. 
 Or Sorrow rend the aching breast. 
 
 Then welcome stern Adversity, 
 
 Thou canst not daunt the stedfast mind ; 
 Vain are thy frowns, thy terrors vai;i 
 
 To him who bows to heaven resi^^n'd. 
 
 n. W
 
 DO 
 
 SONG. 
 
 SWEET is the glowing dawn of day. 
 When first the sun with genial ray. 
 Draws from the earth the humid dews. 
 That forming clouds of various hues. 
 As lightly o'er his orb they fly, 
 With fairest colours paint the sky. 
 
 And sweet the bright meridian hour, 
 Which, though it fade the drooping Aow't^, 
 Ripens the fields of yellow grain 
 That scatter plenty o'er the plain. 
 And Life, and Health, and Joy bestow 
 On ev'ry creature here below. 
 
 And sweet is modest twilight grey, 
 When soft resounds the Shepherd's lay. 
 When scarcely seems the evening breeze 
 To fan the aspen's quivering leaves, 
 And as they roll upon the shore. 
 The peaceful waves forget to roan 
 E
 
 56 
 
 But sweeter far to me doth seem 
 The hour when Cynthia's mellow beam 
 Mild shining throug'h the gloom of night 
 Arrays each scene in softer light. 
 When not a sound disturbs the grove. 
 Save Philomel's soft note of love. 
 
 In that still hour to earth may bend 
 
 The sainted spirit of a friend, 
 
 A father's shade may hover near. 
 
 May mark, his daughter's mournful tear, 
 
 Speak peace into her pensive breast, 
 
 And bid her sorrows sink to rest. II.^^"
 
 Co ^W '^ 5^6inipp^> 
 
 ON HER 
 
 LEAVING LONGWORTH, APRIL, 1811, 
 
 AT Longv.orth we soe every beauty combine ; 
 Each scene to delight us, sweet mansion ! is thine ; 
 Thy woods are majestic, and fair are thy bowers. 
 Thy meadows are fertile enamelled with flowers. 
 
 The banks of thy rivers are pleasant and gay, 
 And thy distant hills seem in clouds melting away ; 
 Thy orohards with blossoms luxuriantly glow, 
 And loaded with fragrance thy soft zephyrs blow. 
 
 But thy vallies so smiling, thy prospects so fair, 
 Shall cease to delight u.s, if Marian's not there ; 
 For Nature may bloom and the gay Season charm, 
 But ?\veetoes3 and sense can alone the heart warm. 
 
 H. W 
 
 E 'J
 
 58 
 
 LINES TO THE MEMORV 
 
 OF A 
 
 Sobrip anb 5lniinblc ioung latin. 
 
 WHO DIED DECEMBER 1, 1810. 
 
 SWEET blossom, early doom'd to fall beiuaih 
 
 The chilling- blasts of sickness and of pain ; 
 
 Lovely were thy days, thougli short, for oh ! 
 
 How fair the promise of thy dawning worth ; 
 
 Still to my memory does thy form appear 
 
 In all the loved simplicity of youth ; 
 
 A\'hcii 1 beheld thine eye sparkling with joy. 
 
 Or mildly beaming through the shining dew, 
 
 "With which another's woe embalm'd it. 
 
 How would the colour vary on thy check, 
 
 With every changing feeling of the heart ; 
 
 Tso artifice was thine, the cherub Trutli 
 
 Dw(:lt on thy rosy lips, and utterance gav? 
 
 To what tliy soul iir'-j)ired. Beauty too v. as tliiii!*,
 
 59 
 
 And sense and judgment far above thy years ; 
 
 Bat now thou art mouldering in the silent dust. 
 
 And thy loved parents mourn in speechless agony; 
 
 Their cherish'd comfort lost, and yet thou art not lost, 
 
 For thou hast left a world fruitful in wickedness 
 
 And woe, unstain'd by guilt and innocent 
 
 Of wrong, to soar in holy purity 
 
 To those bright regions where the good are bless'd 
 
 To endless ages. 
 
 There shall thy parents meet again their child. 
 
 And oh ! transporting thought, to part no more. 
 
 H. W.
 
 60 
 On the Approach of the Winter 
 
 now changed, alas ! the late gay scenej 
 How cheerless look the trees ; 
 
 No more we see their foliage green 
 Wave with the western breeze, 
 
 Aud sadly sighs the Wiut'ry air. 
 
 Where Summer beauty bloom'd so fair. 
 
 Their leafy honours all are flown. 
 And faded strew the ground ; 
 
 The branches bare remain alone 
 To mourn the ruin round. 
 
 The drooping red-breast there can find 
 
 iVo shelter from the warring wind. 
 
 With me these solemn scenrs accord. 
 The howling blast, the driving snow, 
 
 A pensive pleasure can afl'ord. 
 
 To one who feels the storms of Woe ; 
 
 The tempest soon must sink to peace, 
 
 But when, oh ! when shall borrow cease ? 
 
 H. ^^
 
 61 
 
 THE 
 
 Ddi0t)ti^ of HSencbokncc. 
 
 IF o'er the bosom Health preside. 
 And Friendship bless the humble cot. 
 
 What that Renown or Fortune yields. 
 Can aught improve the happy lot. 
 
 Can Fame give Peace or Fortune joy. 
 
 Like that which cheers the tranquil breast 
 
 Of him who soothes the widow's woe, 
 And bids the orphan's sorrows rest. 
 
 For him the blushing morning glows. 
 For him the ev'ning smiles serene ; 
 
 Peace spreads her halcyon pinions wide. 
 And meek Contentment gilds the scene. 
 
 If through the grove he pensive strays. 
 Or round the grassy hillock wind ; 
 
 Nature a thousand charms displays 
 To gratify the feeling mind.
 
 62 
 
 And when the clieerful circle meet 
 At night around the bhizing liearth ; 
 
 While h)ud the wiiit'ry tempest sweep, 
 'Tis Innocence inspires their mirtli. 
 
 Oh i let not then the honest heart 
 Stoop 1o base Flattery's abject shrine; 
 
 And in exchange for pomp and wealtli. 
 The freedom of the soul resign. 
 
 Thougli Vice be deck'd in glitt(,'ring hues, 
 
 And Virtue unadorn'd appear ; 
 "i'lie path of this is strew'd with flowers, 
 
 And that bedew'd with many a te;ir. 
 
 For God has taught on vice, tliat Woe, 
 
 And Pain and Misery attend ; 
 Wl)ile those who Duty's paths pursue, 
 
 Shall make mankind and heaven their friend. 
 
 Shall feel that inward peace of mind 
 Which far transcends Ambition's joys. 
 
 Which dreads no storm, no power A^ars, 
 
 IVor e'en Oppression stern annoys. II. W
 
 63 
 
 LINES, 
 €0 f ncnt3.3f)ip. 
 
 I.OYED source divine of ev'ry joy, 
 
 That cheers Affliction's gloom ; v 
 
 That gives to worth her best employ, 
 And ends but in the tomb ! 
 
 Still let me own thy gentle sway, 
 
 8UlI joy thy path to tread. 
 Till mortal spirits haste away. 
 
 And join me with the dead! 
 
 And then will Friendship drop a tear. 
 
 And heave a pensive sigh ; 
 Call Mem'ry's aid to mark the year — 
 
 My flight was wing'd on high. J. P.W.
 
 6-4 
 
 TO HOPE. 
 
 VrELCO.ME sweet Hope! resume thy gentle sway 
 To banish Sorrow's pangs and give relief. 
 
 O'er the chill bosom throw thy mildest ray, 
 And with a magic charm dispel pale Grief. 
 
 "When bitter anguish throbs in ev'ry vein. 
 And all of life is cheerless ami unblessed ; 
 
 Let thy soft voice resume her v/onted reign, 
 To give the troubled soul one gleam of rest. 
 
 That little gbam shall light Misfortune's way. 
 Chase darkness thence, and bid Religion"? pnw's 
 
 Point to that time, that bright eternal day 
 
 V.'hen .Sorrow sleeps, and Joy gilds every hour, 
 
 J. p, \y
 
 65 
 
 TO RELIGION. 
 
 RELIGION, fiieiul of man ! 'tis thy lov'd pow'r 
 
 That cheers the heart by sorrow dire distress'd ; 
 €;i]ins with mild opiates ev'ry stormy hour. 
 
 And o'er affliction sheds the balm of rest. 
 'Tis thine to bid the gentle virtues bloom. 
 
 To cherish worth, and ev'ry vice control ; 
 To chase from Misery's child oppressive gloom, 
 
 Aiid cherk each wrong emotion of the soul. 
 
 J. P. W,
 
 66 
 ELEGY 
 
 PAUSE, reader, pause — here sliecl one genuine tear, 
 
 Atid give departed worth a sigh sincere ; 
 
 Then o'er the spot to Clial sorrow denr, 
 
 Strew vernal flow'rs, the eailicst of the year ; 
 
 For round that spot t]u: moral virtues Iwiue, 
 
 Celestial Hope and Charit}^ divine ; 
 
 In vain was tried each healing art to save 
 
 A parent summon'd to the silent grove ; 
 
 Though doom'd to feel Misfortune's cheerless sway. 
 
 Tlis faith slill pointed to a l)righter day; 
 
 For Hope on airy wing would soar on high 
 
 To paint the joys of Immortality ; 
 
 And Charity's fair image sat enshrined. 
 
 To guide the dictates of his gen'rous mind ; 
 
 To pardon those who injured him the most. 
 
 Although the comfort of his life he lost ; 
 
 Prone to forgive those who no j)ardon sought ; 
 
 ^■'ay v.hat, ye sceptics, what such virtue wrought ; 
 
 What but Religion calms the ruilled breast, 
 
 liids discord cease and ev'ry sorrow rest ;
 
 67 
 
 Each milder virtue which had pow'r to please. 
 
 Dwelt in his breast with unatFected ease j 
 
 No more, lamented shade, thy social powers 
 
 Shall cheer Aliliction's dark and lingering' hours; 
 
 No more from thee Religion shall impart, 
 
 Its sacred precepts to the human heart ; 
 
 No more from thee shall mortals It-am to feel — 
 
 To mitigate the woes they cannot heal, 
 
 To dry the falling tear from Sorrow's eye, 
 
 And bid Religion check each murm'ring sigh ; 
 
 Alas ! no more thy spirit shall descend 
 
 To rouse the feeling christian and the friend ; 
 
 No sculptured marble shall transnat thy name, 
 
 Or tell ihe noble stock from wlience thou came;*- 
 
 Flt.'d are the honors — gone the once proud state 
 
 Thy fathers knew, with ev'ry good elate; 
 
 No gaudy trophy waving o'er tliy head 
 
 Sliall tfll the passing stranger thou art dt- ad ; 
 
 Vet rouiKl thy grave one sin}ple wreath shall bloom 
 
 To bid thy im mory live beyond the tomb. 
 
 J. P. w. 
 
 * Bi'ini; a i-.oetical lic;-iise it is hoped tiic urainm^.ticfil iiiao 
 ciirucy of tliis, and siinilar passages, ^vlll l>.j c.\ru>ed, as llie 
 author rniild lint have app!ic(i the rcguLir U'r;ninunoi) "f lur 
 vtib Millioiif di-jti-ovlni; t!jv nu-tre.
 
 68 
 
 TO THE NIGHTIXGAL 
 
 BY tenderness form''cl to feel Pity and Love, 
 
 "We grieve for the fate of the lont -widowM dovi \ 
 
 And oft as I hear the sad Nightingale pour 
 
 Her sorrows at eve, near the close vrovea IjowV, 
 
 1 ^igll to reflect that the pressure of woe 
 
 Should occasion those notes from sui Ii ciuses to f!(/iv 
 
 And would gladly resign the joy tltfy impart 
 
 Could silence yield comfort or pcacf t(»tlif heart ; 
 
 Tlie sad nol< s of Sorrow by being sn|i])n ■ -^M. 
 
 Ne"er, alas! will restore fo tiie bosoni lis rrsi : 
 
 Sweetest bird, then renew thy tl.'qr.f nl sjiaiii. 
 
 And I to the soft lay will listen again ; 
 
 The faint tones of Sorrow as fro'n tht;' t'lfv iV)\\\ 
 
 May lull, if not banish, the fetlii;:;- of Woe : 
 
 But, oil ! say will Sorrow by bting expr(^-.'.i. 
 
 Restore to the mourner the bltssing of rest ; 
 
 If so, sweetest bird, then with tliee I'll comjihiin. 
 
 That peace, envied peace, in my bosom luay riicn, 
 
 J. r. w
 
 69 
 ON A FALLEN LEAF. 
 
 SHE yon fallen leaf, an emblem sad 
 
 Of Life's uncertain stage ; 
 It bloom'd, it wither'd, and it fell. 
 
 The prototype of age. 
 
 And such the fate of Beauty's charms, 
 
 They bloom a short lived day. 
 Till Winter comes with rude alarms. 
 
 And sweeps each trace away. 
 
 Then let not Beauty boast its pow'r. 
 
 Alas ! 'twill soon decay ; 
 Let wisdom mark each passing hour. 
 
 Fair Virtue gild each dav, .L P.'W
 
 70 
 SONNET. 
 
 AS o'er the bosom of the peaceful deep. 
 
 Yon vessel calmly glides with spreaditis;' sail>i ; 
 
 As shines the " day-star" on the rocky steep, 
 Or gently blow Aurora's fav'iiug gales ; 
 
 As bright, yet soft, shone forth, my morn of lilt. 
 Smiling I hail'd the harbinger of day ; 
 
 My lieartwas tranc^uil, for no worldly strife 
 Had chased its comfort or its hopes away ; 
 
 But, ah ! too soon bright Sol witlidrew his rays, 
 A dark'ning cloud burst o'er my aching head ; 
 
 Sickness and sorrow now consume my days, 
 And all the comfort of my life is fled; 
 
 Remembrance dews my pallid cheek with tears. 
 When Fancy paints the bliss of former ycins. 
 
 J. P. W.
 
 71 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 AT eve I seek the steep and rocky shore. 
 And sadly listen to the Ocean's roar ; 
 Watch with fix'd eye the raving billows rise. 
 And view the Sun's last tints steal o'er the skies ; 
 
 Then gaze around, for though the silent gloom 
 For Grief and Contemplation leaves me room. 
 Yet here at least I free may weep, and pour 
 My sorrows to the wind at Cynthia's hour : 
 
 Slow does she rise, and veil'd beneath a cloud. 
 Like that my hopes and wishes did enshroud ; 
 But her pale light a soften'd charm doth throw, 
 And with a temper'd lustre mildly glow : 
 
 Oh ! may my heart receive the gentle beam. 
 And Hope's mild ray o'er all my sorrows gleam. 
 
 J. P. W.
 
 72 
 THE TINTS OF AUTUMN. 
 
 I'VE seen the tints of Autumn die, 
 And felt the Winter's bitter blast; 
 
 And oft the change has caused a sigh, 
 That charms so sweet, so soon had passed. 
 
 But does not Youth as quickly fade 
 
 When crush'd 'neath Sorrow's baneful sway, 
 
 As flies the sun from yonder glade 
 Where erst I watch'd its bright beams play ? 
 
 Those beams like transient meteoi-s shone 
 Athwart the dark and clouded sky ; 
 
 But now the treacherous light is flown. 
 And shrill is heard the sea-gull's cry. 
 
 That cry portends a tempest near. 
 And see the angry billows sweep ; 
 
 The wind is cold, the view is drear. 
 And blackly frowns the labouring deep.
 
 73 
 
 Yon brig now tost by many a wave 
 
 Ere morn may reach some friendly shore j 
 
 Its crew escaped the watery grave. 
 Will think of perils past no more. 
 
 Not so the heart by Mis'ry torn, 
 Can bid its woes and sorrows cease ; 
 
 Nor can the smiling Summer morn 
 
 Impart to Grief one ray of peace. J. P.W*
 
 74 
 POOR MARY. 
 
 AH ! see the poor Wanderer who begs at yon door. 
 
 How sickly and wan she appears ; 
 Nor will Pleasure or Hope ever visit her more, 
 
 For Sorrow augments with her years. 
 
 Yet in Life's early morn with Content was she hless'd, 
 
 Her smile then was cheerful and gay. 
 But Affliction soon robb'd her poor bosom of rest. 
 
 And follows her still with its sway. 
 
 For the husband she lov'd, and the child that was dear. 
 
 Together the tempest would brave ; 
 Loudly whistled the wind, no assistance was near. 
 
 They sank in the merciless wave. 
 
 Since that time has poor Mary with anguish oppress'd. 
 
 In vain sought a balm for her woes ; 
 And deep rankles the thorn of Despair in that breast 
 
 AVhich once was the seat of Repose.
 
 75 
 
 See, she smiles, but alas ! 'tis the smile of Despair, 
 
 That yields no relief to the mind ; 
 For the breast of the Maniac so wearied with care. 
 
 No respite from sorrow can find. 
 
 Many years are gone by since the ill-fated morn. 
 
 She bade her loved Henry adieu ; 
 And swift o'er the waves was the light vessel borne. 
 
 Which wafted him far from her view. 
 
 Soon the sound of the waves to her ill-boding mind. 
 
 Prophetic of death seem'd to say — 
 *' Mourn those objects so loved,who have left thee behind, 
 
 " For this is their funeral lay." 
 
 Then quickly she paced o'er the rough pebbled shore. 
 
 Unmindful of time as it flew ; 
 Not appall'd by the sound of the thunder's loud roar— 
 
 The keen Winter blast which now blew. 
 
 All that night did she wander the rude cliffs among. 
 
 And mutter a low plaintive moan ; 
 And the breeze while it swept her loose garments alongf. 
 
 Re-echoed each heart-rending groan.
 
 76 
 
 Her loved Henry's pale corse at the first da^vn of day 
 
 She saw oil the now crowded shore ; 
 Then despairing she rush'd to embrace the cold clay, 
 
 No art could reanimate more. 
 
 Soon her boy's alter'd form met the glance of her eye. 
 
 And Reason was hiirl'd from her throne ; 
 •'Save, oh! save him," she cried, "for if he too must die, 
 
 " Poor Mary will wander alone." 
 
 -i •' 
 
 And as low in one grave their loved relics were laid. 
 
 Poor Mary repeated her moan, 
 Crying "Egbert, my child, if with me thou hadst stay'd 
 
 " I need not thus wander alone." 
 
 And at eve as she wanders alone to the beach. 
 
 Her bosom uncovered and bare ; 
 She will quicken her pace if the sea-gull's loud screech 
 
 Foretells that a tempest is nr ar. 
 
 For then does her niem'ry recur to the night, 
 
 The star of her happiness set ; 
 And wild Fancy deceitful gives back to her sight 
 
 The forms ever mourn'd with resrret.
 
 77 
 
 Then will Henry's pale ghost seem to beckon her near, 
 
 And point to the billowy main ; 
 And poor Mary expecting his accents to hear. 
 
 Pursue the wild phantom in vain. 
 
 And then weary, dejected and slow will she roam. 
 
 Her visage-o'er clouded with care ; 
 While all sullen around her, the white billows foam. 
 
 And dim is the moon's paly glare. 
 
 Oft at night when the billows dash awful and grand. 
 
 And man sinks to silent repose. 
 Poor Mary! she paces the wave-beaten strand, 
 
 Nor heeds the cold wind as it blows. 
 
 She regards not the wind, nor the fast pelting rain. 
 Nor the thunders which sullenly roll ; 
 
 For Despair, which has blunted the keen sense of pain, 
 Has numb'd each warm pulse of her soul. 
 
 It has numb'd by its pressure the vital spring there. 
 The stream that moves heavy and slow ; 
 
 For the Maniac's cold bosom so wearied with care 
 Is dead to Affliction's soft glow.
 
 73 
 
 Then view the poor Wanderer who begs at yon door. 
 Her pale cheek, how furrow'd with care. 
 
 For the sun-beam of Hope can re-visit no more 
 The heart tliat is chill'd by Despair. 
 
 Perchance ere the Autumn its brown leaves shall shed. 
 
 Poor Mary's low plaint may be o'er ; 
 In the g-vave she may rest with the mouldering dead. 
 
 Her heart then will sorrow no more. 
 
 And the maids of the hamlet shall strew o'er her grave 
 
 The lily and primrose so pale ; 
 The yew its dark branches shall mournfully wave. 
 
 And sigh as it bends to the gale. 
 
 For under that tree does her loved Henry res<. 
 
 The child of her heart find repose ; 
 
 And there too, will poor Mary's now care-stricken breast 
 
 Be eased of the weight of its woes. 
 
 J. P. W«
 
 79 
 
 i^cnrp'^ ComB, 
 
 '' POOR MARY." 
 
 NOW lighted by the moon's pale beam. 
 O'er Henry's grave fresh flow'rs I'll strew; 
 
 For though the rays but faintly gleam. 
 Still to the spot is memory true. 
 
 Lowly I bend to thy meek shrine. 
 
 And pluck the weeds that near thee grow. 
 
 And o'er thy head a garland twine 
 
 Of the first flow'rs the Spring doth know. 
 
 But, ah ! how little do these flow'rs 
 Thy Mary's grief or sorrow tell ; 
 
 Or shew the many lingering hours 
 Her tears for thee in secret fell.
 
 80 
 
 'Tis at this still and silent hour. 
 Like a pale ghost thy grave I seek ; 
 
 And on the sod my tears I pour, 
 And to the wind my sorrows speak, 
 
 Methinks the turf more geeen appears. 
 And fresher too each flow'ret springs— 
 
 When water'd by the briny tears. 
 Remembrance from thy 3Iary wrings. 
 
 J. P. W
 
 81 
 
 THE OCEAN 
 
 I LOVE to see the occan lave. 
 And kiss the rudely pebbled shore ; 
 
 I love to listen to the wave 
 
 When the high br£akers loudly roar. 
 
 I love to see the dashing foam 
 
 Its show'rs of snow around me throw ; 
 
 And o'er the strand I love to roam 
 By the soft moon beam's gentle glow. 
 
 I love to see her mildly play 
 
 Upon the surface of the deep, 
 "When shoots her gleam o'er yonder spray 
 
 Which skirts the castle's rocky steep. 
 
 J love to watch her shadows glide 
 
 From 'neath yon wood of waving pine ; 
 
 Then high upon the mountain ride, 
 And on the valley faintly shine.
 
 82 
 
 1 love to fancy that her sphere 
 Contains the souls of th-ose I love, 
 
 And that their spirits hov-'ring near 
 May g^uide me to the realms above. 
 
 J. P. W.
 
 83 
 TO GRIER 
 
 WHY baneful Grief dost thou intrude ? 
 
 Life's early morn why deck ^vith care ? 
 Can no soft voice thy steps delude. 
 
 Must all thy subjects feel despair ? 
 
 Ah ! no, sweet Hope shall whisper rest. 
 And tell of comforts yet to come, 
 
 Shall lure the halcyon from her nest. 
 
 And give to Peace her long sought home. 
 
 J. P- W,
 
 84 
 
 THE SOURCE OF SORROW 
 
 ASK you why tears bedew my eye 
 
 When Cambria's much loved shores I view. 
 
 Or why my heart breathes forth a sigh 
 As if it lab'ring sorrows knew ? 
 
 Ask you why pallid grows my cheek, 
 And why with sadness so profound ; 
 
 My fault' ring accents seem to speak 
 A rankling deep and bleeding wound r 
 
 Ask you why thus I pensive roam, 
 And wind the lofty mountain's side 
 
 To view the billows whitening foam. 
 Or watch the slow retiring tide ? 
 
 It is because this lovely scene, 
 The tow'ring cliff and ocean blue. 
 
 Re-call the days that once have been. 
 When fair wing'd Hope around me flew.
 
 86 
 
 It is because I now review 
 
 The sunny hours that gleam'd erewhile, 
 When young eyed Health and Peace I knew. 
 And gaily beam'd a Father's smile. 
 
 It is because the parent earth 
 
 Now cradles on her matron breast ; 
 
 The form of him who gave me birth. 
 And bade each transient sorrow rest. 
 
 J. P. W. 
 
 <^^<^>^>^^>^'>^<^'^><^<^>^wr>
 
 86 
 
 THE REVERSE. 
 
 THE morn of Youth and Pleasure smiled. 
 Like yonder lovely blooming child 
 Now sporting on the daisied lawn. 
 In infant Reason's early dawn. 
 But soon the skies began to low'r. 
 And the rude tempest loudly pour ; 
 The scene was changed, no longer bright- 
 Day settled into darkest night. 
 The moon arose, but cold and drear. 
 The changing leaves spoke Autumn near ; 
 The heart was chiil'd, and Pleasure's beam 
 By Grief obscured, could cast no gleam 
 To light the traveller on his way, 
 And brighten midnight into day; 
 The torrent roar'd, the wind blew high. 
 The keen blast show'd the Winter nigh. 
 My heart grew chill, and ev'ry grac« 
 Was lost in Winter's cold embrace ;
 
 87 
 
 The scene was changed, no longer gay 
 The smile of Chilflhood pass'd away. 
 My heart was cold, I smiled at Grief, 
 Nor sought from Sympathy relief ; 
 Hid Sorrow deep within my breast. 
 And to the World appear'd at rest. 
 But ah ! the thorn had rankled deep. 
 Though Malice could not see me weep ; 
 Its venom'd shaft 1 strove to hide. 
 And for a shield I call'd on Piide. 
 My hopes were crush'd, and faint and slow 
 The pulse of Life was seen to flow ; 
 A torpid trance o'erhung my frame. 
 And Life was but a quiv'ring flame. 
 But the cold Earth, ah ! I could weep. 
 Refused to let my spirit sleep. 
 Which ling' ring in this house of clay 
 Now wastes by slow, but sure decay. 
 But wastes to shine with brighter ray. 
 For night again shall yield to day. 
 
 J. P. W. 
 
 6
 
 88 
 
 TO HOPE. 
 
 FAIR fluttering Hope awhile deceived, 
 
 And told a flattering tale ; 
 While all she promised I believed, 
 
 And thought she ne'er would fail. 
 
 But soon the Syren fled a-breast. 
 
 Misfortune mark'd its own ; 
 Long, long I sought my treasured guest. 
 
 But found the false one flown. 
 
 Indignant then I said — " No more 
 " My heart shall own thy sway ; 
 
 " Though angry tempests loudly roar, 
 *' I'll not prolong tliy stay." 
 
 And is it thus, fair Hope, I part 
 
 From thee so long my guest ? 
 Whose rharnis were twined around my heart. 
 
 And cherish' d in my breast.
 
 89 
 
 Forbid it, Heav'n, for still is dear 
 
 The mild and bending form 
 Of Hope, which dries the oozing tear, 
 
 And stills the raging storm. 
 
 With radiant smile she soars above 
 
 The sum of earthly woes ; 
 Her voice proclaims Almighty love, 
 
 And yields the wish'd repose. 
 
 Propitious pow'r that heard my pray'r, 
 
 Accept this votive lay. 
 For thou hast chased the fiend Despair, 
 And broke its potent sway. 
 
 Then smiling Hope around my heart 
 
 Thy choicest blossoms twine ; 
 And let us meet no more to part. 
 
 Till life I pleased resign, J. P. W. 
 
 g2
 
 90 
 THE HALCYON. 
 
 A LITTLE Bird, that I possess. 
 Was often tempted to transgress ; 
 She spread her wing, and oft would try 
 How far from me her form could fly. 
 
 I sought her first where Pleasure reigns. 
 Amongst the tangled woods and plains. 
 But there my bird no nest could gain. 
 So flitted round the raging main. 
 
 I sought her then along the shore, 
 Where foaming billows loudly roar ; 
 My Bird was frighted, and soon fled 
 To seek a less tempestuous bed. 
 
 The rocks I scan'd with roving eye. 
 To see if my poor Bird was nigh ; 
 But when she touch'd the highest peak. 
 She found at home she still luust seek.
 
 91 
 
 She wing'd her flight to Beauty's shrine. 
 Who smiled, and look'd, and talk'd divine ; 
 But in her heart no room was spare. 
 In which my Bird could nestle there. 
 
 I cast a timid glance where Love 
 In chains long held Miranda's dove. 
 But fancied not my Bird would rest 
 Within a love-tormented breast. 
 
 I gaily enter'd Friendship's bow'rs. 
 Where roses bloom'd 'midst vernal show'rs ; 
 But there my Bird no nest could find. 
 For Friendship vanish'd into wind. 
 
 I sought her in the Poet's breast. 
 Whom Joy and Grief by turns oppress'd ; 
 But there, e'en there, she could not stay. 
 Pale Want had chased her form away. 
 
 I took a peep, in hopes to find 
 Her seated in the Hero's mind ; 
 But War, rude War, with loud alarms. 
 Had forced her from his clasping arms.
 
 92 
 
 She flutter'd round the Stateman's head. 
 But scared by wild Ambition, fled ; 
 With him her form 'could never rest, 
 Or find a caha sequester'd nest. 
 
 Within the reg'ions of Despair 
 1 sought my Bird, she was not there ; 
 Alarra'd slieshun'd the wretched cell 
 Where forms like her's could never dwell, 
 
 I sought her at Religion's shrine, 
 And there I found this Ijiid of mine ; 
 Then gently wooed her to a heart, 
 from which she ne'er again shall part. 
 
 The winds may rave, the skies may low'r. 
 And man exert his tyrant pow'r, 
 They cannot move the Halcyon's nest 
 AVheu built on firm Religion's breast. 
 
 J. P. W.
 
 93 
 THE VILLAGE MAID. 
 
 COME with me ye tender few. 
 To view the spot where low is laid 
 
 She who no guile or treach'ry knew. 
 For artless was my Village Maid. 
 
 The blushing rose which scents the air, 
 Now as it charms the raptured sight. 
 
 Recalls the image of my fair. 
 
 And yields my soul a sad delight. 
 
 Yes, she was fair, and in her face 
 The rays of Goodness mildly shone ; 
 
 While Virtue heighten'd ev'ry grace. 
 By which my Emma's form was known. 
 
 O'er what my Emma once thoii wert, 
 Fond Memory shall in sadness mourn. 
 
 And grieve to think thy tender heart 
 So soon from life and me was torn. •
 
 94 
 
 No more thy accents charm to rest 
 Alcandar's spirits rudely cross'd ; 
 
 All, all is tumult in my breast. 
 
 Since thou, my Village Maid, art lost. 
 
 But ere the Summer next appears 
 
 To deck with flow'rs thy simple grave. 
 
 Long may have ceased my falling tears. 
 And Death o'er me her trophy wave. 
 
 Then may my form near thee be laid. 
 
 Beneath this yew-tree's spreading gloom ; 
 
 For still I mourn my Village Maid, 
 Now mould'ring in the silent tomb. 
 
 J. P. W.
 
 95 
 SONG. 
 
 THE grey-eyed Morn begins to peep. 
 And through the lattice shoot its ray; 
 
 The rustic now starts from his sleep, 
 And hies to labour through the day. 
 
 Up soars the lark on airy wing 
 
 To hail Aurora's early birth ; 
 The feather'd songsters gaily sing. 
 
 And ev'ry grove is full of mirth. 
 
 Then, Laura, come and let us rove 
 To breathe the health inspiring gale 
 
 O'er upland hill and shelter'd grove. 
 Or brush the dews of yonder vale. 
 
 The banks are deck'd with budding flow'rs. 
 All Nature smiles serenely round. 
 
 The woodbine twines o'er flaunting bow'rs. 
 And meek-eyed daisies strew the ground.
 
 96 
 
 No clouds olisciire the morning dawn. 
 The g-lowiug sun-beams soon shall the 
 
 To til row their radiance o'er the lawn. 
 And " paint with gold the azure skies.*" 
 
 Then, Laura, haste to view the scene 
 liedtck'd with Nature's varied hue ; 
 
 The tufted rock, enamell'd green, 
 And ocean's surface, wide and blue. 
 
 And as we mark each checjner'd charm. 
 To Heav'n our orisons shall rise. 
 
 And gratitude with fervour warm. 
 Inspire the morning' sacrifice. 
 
 J. P. W.
 
 97 
 
 DAPHNE. 
 
 A PASTORAL SONG. 
 
 ADIEU to the follies of Love, 
 
 Adieu to the vallies and plains, 
 I go to re-visit the grove, 
 
 Where cheerfuhicss prompts all the strains. 
 
 Adieu thou fair Nymph of the Plain, 
 No more in thy chain am I bound, 
 
 With transport I tell the glad strain. 
 And echo awakes at the sound. 
 
 Then, Daphne, forbear to deride 
 The heart you no longer can sway ; 
 
 For spite of your arts and your pride. 
 In calmness 1 carol the day.
 
 9S 
 
 Still I with my sheep and my crook 
 May find both contentment and joy ; 
 
 On the banks of yon murmuring' brook 
 No care shall my comforts annoy. 
 
 J. P. W.
 
 99 
 
 C^ougljt^ en futuritp. 
 
 HOW sweet the songs of Mirth now sounds 
 
 For echo all the notes rebound 
 
 With milder cadence, soft and clear. 
 
 To strike the mute, enraptured ear ; 
 
 To charm the fancy, warm the heart. 
 
 And hope and joy by turns impart. 
 
 These simple joys are only known 
 
 To those who Nature's beauties own ; 
 
 Long, long I've felt their charms divine. 
 
 Amid my varied landscape shine ; 
 
 And still I hope their joys to prove 
 
 Till Death from earth my form remove ; 
 
 Till brighter scenes salute the sight. 
 
 And yield my soul her last delii,'ht. 
 
 Then Nature's landscape I'll resign. 
 
 In hopes to reach the shore divine : 
 
 To prove the joys we find below 
 
 Are faint to those the Heavens bestow 4
 
 lOO 
 
 When Faith and Hope in concert bright 
 Are lost in Heaven's resplendent light; 
 And when the music of the spheres 
 AVith raptnre strikes my list'ning- ears ; 
 "When choirs of angels round me sin";- 
 In praise of Heaven's eternal king. 
 Then will the Saviour hail the just. 
 And those who in his mercy trust 
 Wipe tears of sorrow from the cheek. 
 And praise and commendation speak ; 
 O then my heart be just and pure, 
 And trust to Heaven thy ills to cure ; 
 For know wlun Grief assails thee here. 
 It fits thee for a better sphere, 
 Where woe ajid sorrow wholly cease, 
 And all is harmony and peace. 
 
 J. P. W.
 
 101 
 
 ADIEU TO SUMMER. 
 
 'TIS Autumn chill, and o'er the scens 
 No longer smiles the Summer gay ; 
 No more I hail the eve serene, 
 Or watch the stay of setting day. 
 
 No more I brush the dewy lawn, 
 No longer seek the leafless grove : 
 Or with the morning's early dawn. 
 Arise through woodland glens to rove. 
 
 No longer in the hedge-row free. 
 No more upon the bloomy spray 
 The birds shall twitter notes of glee. 
 Or warble forth their matin lay. 
 
 No longer bloom, ambrosial flowers.. 
 No more their swelling buds expand, 
 They droop beneath the sleety showers. 
 Like strangers in a foreign land. 
 
 J. P. \V
 
 102 
 
 THE NORTHERN TOWER. 
 
 THE night is rough, the sky o'ercast. 
 
 And rain begins to pour; 
 While vengeful sweeps the hollow blast 
 
 O'er yon old inoss-growu tow'er. 
 
 The bat now flits for shelter there. 
 
 And owlets find a home ; 
 Though once was seen such princely glare 
 
 Beneath its lotty dome. 
 
 The tott'ring fabric seems to bend 
 Beneath some potent power. 
 
 And fabled ghosts their aid will lend 
 Till the first morning hour. 
 
 For, oh ! 'tis said, those walls among 
 
 Unnumber'd victims bled. 
 And he who slew the wretched throng 
 
 AVus butcher'd in his bed.
 
 103 
 
 'Twos fell Revenge which arm'd the foe 
 The murderer's life to take. 
 
 And with a stroke to lay him low 
 Ere he from sleep could wake. 
 
 The arm was nerved with hatred dire 
 Ag-ainst the Miscreant's life. 
 
 And vengeance did his bosom fire- 
 To end the dreadful strife. 
 
 But when he saw his victim dead. 
 
 All welt'ring- in his blood. 
 His courage and his vengeance fled. 
 
 And horror-struck he stood. 
 
 A groan then sounded in his ear. 
 So hoarse, so loud, and deep. 
 
 As harrow'd up his soul with fear. 
 And made his courage sleep. 
 
 His trembling hand had dropp'd the sword 
 With which the deed was done 5 
 
 The chamber floor with blood was gored. 
 To which his feet now clung. 
 H
 
 104. 
 
 With phrenzy did his eye-balls glow. 
 To catch the fleeting shade 
 
 Of spectres passing to and fro. 
 As the red lightning play'd. 
 
 With hair erect and tott'ring feet 
 He strives to reach the door. 
 
 But fears the spectred fays to meet. 
 And sinks upon the floor. 
 
 The blood then caught his glaring eye, 
 And madness fired his brain ; 
 
 ** 'Tis but a stroke and then I die, 
 ** So ends this wretched pain.'* 
 
 Then quick he caught the glist'ning steel. 
 And plunged it in his heart ; 
 
 ♦* Mercy, kind Heaven, the pang I feel 
 *' Is Retribution's dart." 
 
 The castle then vfzs left a prey 
 To Time's destructive power, 
 
 And o'er its turrets high and grey 
 The ivy form'd a bower.
 
 105 
 
 Cradled in which the birds may rest, 
 For no unhallowed feet 
 
 Will ever dare disturb a nest 
 Secured in that retreat. 
 
 No school-boy enters that dotnain 
 
 Without a holy dread 
 Of those who ages past Were slaiflj 
 
 And laid amongst the dead. 
 
 For oft at night a ghost is seen, 
 Wrapp'd in a paly shroud, 
 
 Slow pacing o'er the castle gfeen, 
 While ravens scream alond. 
 
 The bat then flits and skims the air^ 
 The owl sits musing by, 
 
 And the red lightning's vivid glare 
 Illumes the northern sky. 
 
 The cries of murder strike the ear, 
 And harrow up the soul ; 
 
 The rosy cheek turns pale with fear^ 
 And starting eye-balls rolh 
 
 11 2
 
 106 
 
 With gaping mouth and nostril wide, 
 The rustic strains his eye. 
 
 If chance he in the evening tide 
 The Northern Tow'rs pass by. 
 
 For then 'tis said the grisly crew 
 
 Are stalking to and fro. 
 And then is seen light pale and blue 
 
 Around each form to glow. 
 
 Oh ! go not then near yonder tow'r. 
 Nor cross the castle green ; 
 
 For soon as twilight marks the hour. 
 The spectred band is seen. 
 
 For oh ! 'tis said those walls among 
 Unnumber'd victims bled ; 
 
 And he who slew the wretched throng 
 To join their spirits fled. 
 
 .1 P. W
 
 107 
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH 
 
 5lot)rip anb 5ilmtatJlc (3it\, 
 
 WHO DIED 
 
 The 1st of December, 1810, in the 12th Year ofherAgc, 
 
 THE fragrant lily pure and white 
 
 That scents the vernal air. 
 That shuns the g-aze of vulgar sight. 
 
 Was like young Martha fair. 
 
 Like her it hloom'tl unknown to fame. 
 Yet shed its sweetness round ; 
 
 In modest beauty both the same. 
 Fair tenants of the ground. 
 
 The budding flow' ret flourish'd faif. 
 
 In pride of early bloom ; 
 But crush'dby Autumn's chilly air, 
 
 Returu'd to earth's dark womb.
 
 108 
 
 So beauteous Martha met my view, 
 In childhood's artless guise ; 
 
 Retired, she like the lily grew, 
 And like it too she dies. 
 
 Fair blossom, blasted ere thy prime, 
 In Heaven again thou'lt bloom ; 
 
 Transplanted to that genial clime, 
 I cease to mourn thy doom. 
 
 J. P. W
 
 109 
 TO PEACE. 
 
 FRIEND of mankind — heart-easing Peace, 
 I woo thy mild and gentle form. 
 
 For thou canst bid pale sorrow cease. 
 And smile through misery's darkest storm. 
 
 The heart where thou hast fix'd thy reiga 
 Is proof 'gainst every change of fate ; 
 
 On thee I call, but call in vain. 
 
 To gild misfortune's cheerless state. 
 
 Nor peace, nor hope, I now can boast. 
 Yet once 1 fondly thought them mine : 
 
 By life's eventful billows tost. 
 
 O'er me no gleam of joy will shine. 
 
 Then, gentle Peace, attentive prove. 
 And list to hear thy vot'ry's prayer ; 
 
 So may'st thou from this heart remove. 
 Each thorn which wounds to rankle there.
 
 110 
 
 If thou'lt not deign my path to cheer. 
 Nor gently lull the sense of pain, 
 
 I'll welcome death that's hovering near^ 
 And wake from grief to joy again. 
 
 jJ^HE above Piece, from the unformed liand in which it was 
 written, and another coincidence, w'as probably composed 
 in the 3'ear 1803, or perhaps sooner; but, hke many of the 
 writer's first productions, possessed neither date nor signa- 
 ture. The latter circumstance made her hesitate as to tlic 
 propriety of inserting it, and almost determined her to sub- 
 stitute another; but a recollection of the very few poetical 
 works she had, at that period, perused, and tlie uniform 
 practice observed when making extracts of stating the 
 works from whence taken; together with a strong internid 
 evidence of its originality, overcame her objections,]
 
 Ill 
 
 LINES, 
 
 Occasioned hy the Battle of Alhuera. 
 
 TO arms ! to anus ! is now the sound. 
 Each Briton's heart the tones rebound. 
 He grasps his steel with martial air 
 To guard the western nation fair 
 Trom rapine dire and gallic foes, 
 IVho pluck from Peace her blushing rose 
 With ardour glows each generous breast 
 To gain Oppression's victims rest : 
 Let memory then beyond the tomb 
 Recount each Hero's early doom. 
 
 The trumpet sounds, the Britons hie 
 Resolved to conquer or to die ; 
 They fight in Freedom's sacred cause 
 To vindicate her injured laws, 
 And shall not conquest crown the brave 
 If Justice on their banners wave ?
 
 112 
 
 Yes, ^'u"tory on ( ach blade is born**. 
 And L>%v ia dust our foes shall mourn : 
 Then let the vtrdaut laurel twine 
 Aruuiid each iltfos sacred s.hriue» 
 
 T. ith ardour sf-e our youth advance. 
 To crush the Sower of hostile France; 
 Thdk eoIiiAHiiv etose not ions;: fan staud 
 Av.'jainsr the sous of Arbiou's laud ; 
 Our troops now shout — " They run, they run, 
 '•'• Great (iod, by thee the biittle's won ;'* 
 V.ith triumph swell d each martial breast 
 When cijrLquesi.t graced ins towering cres.t, 
 Aud laurel wreaths shall e\er wuve 
 Tu deck tut \ ictor's houour'd grave. 
 
 Though now resounds the plaint of woe^ 
 1 hat from the dying- lievoes flow ; 
 Valour ishall consecrate the shade. 
 Beneath whoi?e iuiiage low are laid 
 Ihe' Warriors who by ghuy fired, 
 Fouji'ht for their ( ouatry, and expired : 
 lit'V laws to g-(iard, her sous to free 
 I'iom the rude scourg-e of tyiaunv.
 
 113 
 
 And grateful Memory long shall tell 
 How well they fought, how bravely fell. 
 
 The wounded too our cares should claim, 
 They fought to raise Britannia's fame. 
 And smiled to see their blood imbrue 
 The plain where many a foe they slew; 
 Their hearts still own the sacred flame 
 Of Valour and fair Freedom's name ; 
 Still burn to show the ardent zeal 
 Of Patriots in their Country's weal : 
 Then let the laurel gaily twine 
 Fair Britain round those sons of thine. 
 
 And now the battle's rage is o'er, 
 
 May clanging sounds be heard no more, 
 
 For widows, parents, sisters, mourn. 
 
 And bathe with tears the Soldiers urn, 
 
 And orphan'd children pensive weep 
 
 Where low their mouldering relics sleep ; 
 
 Such rabid war thy trophies prove 
 
 Foe to domestic peace and love ; 
 
 For though the laurel wreath may wave, 
 
 Kindred and friends must mourn the brave. 
 
 J. P. W.
 
 114 
 
 TliK Authoress once thouglit of transposing into verse ths 
 v;h()!c haok of Psalms; but fioni the obligation she 
 thought htrbfclf under of keeping ahnost literally to the 
 words of the text, every Pitteinpt failed, and she relinquished 
 tiie idea, after having composed the three following Psalms, 
 and from the nsaiiner in whieh they are executed, it werfe 
 perhaps bcucr they hud been suppressed. 
 
 PSALM V. 
 
 i NTO my words, O Lord, give ear, 
 
 ISly meditution weigh ; 
 O hear luy voice and dry my tear. 
 
 For unto thee I pray, 
 
 3Iy early voire to thee sliall rise, 
 IMy morning prayer ascend ; 
 
 "With eyes east np towards the skies 
 I'll watch till thou attend. 
 
 For thou art not a God to take 
 
 In wickedness delight; 
 Ko evil dwellings dost thou makfe. 
 
 Or bear them in thy sij;ht.
 
 115 
 
 Within thy presence cannot stawd 
 The fool whom thou dost hate. 
 
 Iniquity is in his hand. 
 And dreadful is his state. 
 
 All ling flesh thou shalt destroy. 
 
 And all for blood who seek 
 Deceitful men thou'It not employ. 
 
 Or let thy mercy speak. 
 
 But as for me thy mercy dear 
 
 Around me still shall flow ; 
 I to thy house with holy fear. 
 
 And to thy temple go. 
 
 In righteousness, be Lord ! my guidr. 
 My path make straight thro' grace. 
 
 For though the foes my faults have spied. 
 To thee is turn'd my face. 
 
 ¥0 faithfulness is in their tongue. 
 
 Their insides wicked seem. 
 Like open graves their throats are itrung'» 
 
 With flattery they teera.
 
 116 
 
 Destroy them, God, and make them flee*. 
 
 By their own counsels fall ; 
 Rebellious are they unto thee, 
 
 Transgression marks them all. 
 
 But let all those who trust in thee 
 Rejoice and shout thy fame ; 
 
 Defended they shall ever be 
 To glorify thy name. 
 
 For thou, Lord, wilt bless the just, 
 Surround him with thy shield ; 
 
 With favour see his holy trust, 
 And mercy to him yield. 
 
 J. P. \y 
 
 ^^•^^■^•^- r-^^^ r^
 
 117 
 PSALM LXXXVL 
 
 THY pitying ear, O Lord, iDcJine, 
 And hear me when I pray. 
 
 For I am poor and fast decline. 
 And thorny is my way. 
 
 Preserve my soul for ii is pure — 
 Thy servant have I been ; 
 
 Lord thou art for ills a cure. 
 Thy meiTJes have I seen. 
 
 1 daily cry to thee, my God, 
 
 In hopes thy love to move ; 
 And in thy ways my steps have trod i 
 Then, O ;hy merty prove^ 
 
 Rejoice the soul of bim who serves 
 
 llh Maker and his King-, 
 Who from his statutes rever svvcrvpSi, 
 
 Or fails his praise to sin^.
 
 118 
 
 For thou, Lord, art good, and proim 
 
 To pardon those wlio fall ; 
 And o'er my head has mercy shone 
 
 AVhene'er to thee 1 call. 
 
 hear my supplications Lord, 
 And to my piayer give ear. 
 
 And grant the aid thou canst afford 
 To free my soul from fear. 
 
 In my distress to thee I cry. 
 For thou wilt answer me 
 
 1 know when sore distress'd I lie. 
 
 Thy power can set me free. 
 
 Among'st the Gods, which can compare. 
 
 Or vie in power with thee, 
 "Whose works like Ihine are pure and fair. 
 
 They reach o'er earth and sea. 
 
 The nations all that thou hast made. 
 Shall loudly speak thy fame. 
 
 And b<>nd tlie knee and bow the head. 
 To glorify thy name.
 
 119 
 
 llow high art thou, and wond'rous great. 
 The works which thou hast done 
 
 AVhen placed upon thy mercy seat. 
 Proclaim thee God alone. 
 
 Teach me, O Lord, the way that's right, 
 
 I in thy path will go ; 
 To fear thy name my heart unite, 
 
 That I thy truth may know. 
 
 O Lord, my God, thee will I praise, 
 
 Both honour and adore ; 
 To Heaven my voice will grateful raise. 
 
 And bless thee evermore. 
 
 Great is thy mercy shown to me, 
 My soul thou'st freed from hell; 
 
 Its grateful fervour breathes to tliee 
 From 'neath its inmost cell. 
 
 O God, the proud against me rise. 
 The assembly now have met. 
 
 For I am hateful to their eyes — 
 At naught thy word they set.
 
 120 
 
 But thou, Lord ! art God most mild. 
 
 Most gracious, and most true ; 
 For suffering and for mercy stiled. 
 
 The God whom Israel knew. 
 
 O turn to me, let Mercy shine. 
 
 And give me of thy strength ; 
 Thy handmaid's son make wholly thine, 
 
 And show thy face at length. 
 
 To me some sign of good afford. 
 
 That all my foes may see, 
 
 And be ashamed because thou, Lord, 
 
 Dost help and succour me. 
 
 J. P. W.
 
 121 
 
 PSALM CXXXVL 
 
 LET us with a cheerful mind 
 Praise the Lord, and own him kind • 
 For his mercies will endure. 
 And the faithful be secure. 
 
 Let us chaunt the fame abroad 
 Of the true and only God ; 
 For his mercies, Sec. 
 
 Who in his wisdom made the earth. 
 The heavens above, and gave us birth ; 
 For his mercies, &c. 
 
 He made the Sun to rule the day. 
 And guide the Planets on their way ; 
 For his mercies, &c. 
 
 The Moon he gave to shine by night, 
 To yield a soft resplendent light ; 
 For his mercies. Sec. 
 I 9
 
 122 
 
 He with his great and mighty hand 
 First smote the Sons ot Egypt's land ; 
 For his mercies, &c. 
 
 And then his Israel safe brought forlh 
 From bondage dire and Pharaoh's wrath 
 For his mercies, kc. 
 
 The blushing waves he cleft in twain, 
 And led ihem through fhe parted main ; 
 For his mercies, kc. 
 
 The waves retired to let them pass, 
 And smooth became as polish'd glass ; 
 I'or his mercies, kc. 
 
 But soon they rose and did devour 
 Proud Pharaoh and his lordly power ; 
 I'or his mercies, kc. 
 
 But his people he did bless, 
 Though in the barren wilderness; 
 For his mercies, kc. 
 
 And in the battle low brought down 
 Kings of high and great renown ; 
 For his mercies, kc.
 
 123 
 
 Sehon, of the Amorites King", 
 Soon to the earth the Lord did biing ; 
 For liis mercies, &c. 
 
 Then mighty Og' ho did subdue. 
 And all his host with fury slew ; 
 For his mercies, 6ic, 
 
 And to his people Israel 
 lie g^ave the land therein to dwell ; 
 For his mercies, &:c. 
 
 llis eye observed their low estate. 
 And that the nations did them hate ; 
 For llis mercies, &c. 
 
 His ear he bent to hear their cries. 
 And freed them from their enemies ; 
 For his mercies, 6».c. 
 
 Then let us praise the Ford of Heaven, 
 And grateful be for mercies given ; 
 For his mercies, &c. 
 
 J. P. \V.
 
 LINES, 
 
 ^[bticc.iSf^cb to a 2lat)i; 
 
 OF DISTINGUISHED VOCAL ABILITIES, 
 
 On receiviiw a Lock of iirr Hair; 
 
 THE Lock with pleasure I survfyVl, 
 ■\Vhicb once the lovely Kate display'd; 
 Whose modest worth and warbling' tongue 
 Delight the old, enchant the young ; 
 Whose virtues mild as evenin;:: lay 
 Retire and shun tlie blaze of day. 
 
 J. P. ^^\
 
 125 
 
 ON LOVE. 
 
 YOU tell me of Love, liow despotic a power '. 
 
 Its fetters I never will wear, 
 But contented and free pass each liappy hour, 
 
 A stranger to sorrow and care. 
 
 Then why will you tease me, why wish to obtrude 
 
 A Guest so unwelcome as Love ? 
 
 The peace of my bosom why strive to delude ? 
 
 'Tis Indifference I ask from above. 
 
 J. P. W.
 
 126 
 
 RURAL SIMPLICITY. 
 
 J5ESIDE a little miirmuiing' rill 
 
 A lowly cot was rear'd ; 
 Where at the close of evening still, 
 
 Ann's simple song was heard. 
 
 For all the day her heart so gay, 
 With pleasure bright and cheery, 
 
 Woidd carol blithe the hours away, 
 Nor dream of sorrows dreary. 
 
 And when the night her sa])le veil 
 O'er all the landscape tlirew, 
 
 Ann would recount the merry tale, 
 Or tell what go])]iiis do. 
 
 How tiny elves on fairy ground 
 The traveller would compel 
 
 To dance with them their airy round. 
 O'er heath and briarv dell.
 
 127 
 
 That lantern-jack too oft was seen 
 
 To lure him from his way, 
 To charnel house or still-pooj green 
 
 Led by the meteor ray. 
 
 Ann could not doubt the wonderous story 
 
 By her old gran-dame told, 
 For o'er her head of white hairs hoary, 
 
 Full four-score years had roll'd. 
 
 And yet she was both blithe and gay. 
 
 With Ann would carol cheery. 
 And singing still the hours away. 
 
 Ne'er thought of sorrows dreary. 
 
 J. P. W.
 
 128 
 
 THE MANIAC. 
 
 UPON a mountain's siiniinit near the sea, 
 
 A ?<Iaiii;ic lived ; and had for seasons dwell 
 
 Aloiv, luipitied, save by wandering- liind, 
 
 Or traveller, whom the wild romantic scenes 
 
 Tempted to brave the high and narrow base. 
 
 Which wound around his solitary hut. — 
 
 There, bnilt with wood, with dry moss cover'd o'er. 
 
 And many a sea-weed dangling from the roof, 
 
 Was seen Alcander's dwelling, — his Palace call'd ; 
 
 Where fancied Pages waited on their Liege, 
 
 Who, seated on a stone, his chair of State, 
 
 Fictitious audience gave to Lord and Duke, 
 
 And many a wrong redress'd ; for Reason, 
 
 Though perverted, still dwelt on justice, rlcnienc}', 
 
 And all the cliaritie.s of life. — Poor mortal ! 
 
 Thou wert driven an alien from the laud 
 
 Which gave thee biith, when Revolution, 
 
 1)1 the guise of Liberty, liurl'd ruin wide, 
 
 Destroy'd all order, trann)led on the laws.
 
 129 
 
 And into one great chaos broke the State. 
 This thy tale disastrous: — One eve autumnal, 
 When scarce a whispering- zephyr fann'd the air, 
 Loaded with balmy fragrance, when not a sound 
 Was heard breaking the stillness of the night, 
 Save the soft warbling of a convent citoir, 
 Which ever and anon in sweetest cadence 
 Rose, then sunk into a pause and rose again. 
 Alcander long had listen'd, witli his heart's 
 Chief treasure, the mild and beauteous Rosa, 
 Walking by his side: — Together on they pass'd; 
 Together talk'd of peace and innocence. 
 Which far lieyond the city's jarring noise. 
 To rural scenes and contemplation fly. — 
 Around Alcander's dwelling vv'ide were slretch'd 
 Plains, with the ripening vintage blushiiig gay ; 
 While far beyond, the hills' blue summits rose, 
 Then faded into ether — link'd in chains 
 Stupendous as if to guard the ^ood man's 
 Fair domain : — but ah ! how intricate 
 The purposes of Heaven !— Who can pierce 
 The veil that hides futurity, or fathom causes 
 By their seen effects ? 
 JDim Night now cast her mantle o'er the earth.
 
 130 
 
 And not a star was seen to glimmf-r from 
 
 The high arch of Heaven — 'twas darkness all ; 
 
 The vespej- h}inii had eeastd ; the huminiiig fly 
 
 No longer wheelil its current ; all was still, 
 
 Aii-d Nature sii.m'd to pause in expectation 
 
 Of the coming- evil — 
 
 V< hen lo ! a din, as if of carnage dire, 
 
 f?t" chniging arms and groans of dving swell ; 
 
 Ntifr and more near the appalling sounds are heard. 
 
 Till fancy sickens at the scenes poi trayed ; 
 
 For now had Civil War her standard rear'd. 
 
 And streets been deluged with the Nobles' blood ; 
 
 Thus vfhen the rabble seize the helm of State 
 
 The mightiest fall ; the humble sleep secure — 
 
 As the rough wind which fells the oak, 
 
 Th* mountain ddisy spares. 80 fared Alcander : 
 
 l)y Nature placed on the high eminence 
 
 i)i Fortune's vane — but more by worth exalted — 
 
 To the poor man his hand v/as ever open, 
 
 liis heart ne'er shut 'gainst virtue in distress ; 
 
 For mild Philanthropy, whose generous eye 
 
 Takes in the whole creation, dwelt with him. 
 
 lint what siu h virtues : — what such worth avail ? 
 lii Anarchy's rude reitrn can virtue save.
 
 131 
 
 Or lurn aside the blow that's alm'd at life ? 
 No, else had Louis Caput lon;^ been spaw d. 
 Spared to a people deep in blood and crime. 
 Who scourging other nations drain their own. 
 Convulsive agitation shook the frame 
 OfllosA and Alcander, for on their 
 Startled ears loud shrieks of death broke lioniblj 
 Impressive, 
 
 As from the sacred altar daring hands 
 The holy vestals tore ; and the fair pile. 
 Their calm abode, a burning niiu made ; 
 Whilst fiends, in form of nitu, not youth, nor 8ge, 
 Nor sex would spare, for massacre became 
 The general rage. 
 
 x\lcaxder's sister, young and blooming Agvk5, 
 O'er whose fair head three lustres had not pass'd. 
 Was with the Lady Abbess, who loved to pour 
 Instruction's meed o'er the bland mind of youth ; 
 For winning softness and attractive charms 
 With her survived monastic, dull, seclusion. 
 Twice had Alcander's steps bent towards the pile. 
 Whence issuing flames burst forth, and twice his 
 Jvo.sa's voice recall'd him : but a sudden yell, 
 As if expiring Nature groan'd her last.
 
 1. 
 
 O'ercame his awed, his lingering- fondness ; 
 
 Onward he rush'd, mid scenes of blood and slaughter. 
 
 Careless of life his arm soon clear'd a passage 
 
 To where his pale, affrighted Agnks stood. 
 
 The image of a fixed and sad despair ; . 
 
 Scarce breathed the maid, but mute, transfix'd 
 
 with horror. 
 Awaited patiently the stroke of Death. 
 The ponderous axe and blood-incrusted spear 
 Made dreadful havoc ! — Agnes, borne on her 
 Loved brother's arm, had gaia'd the outward portal 
 Ereithe enfuriate mob espied her ; then 
 Like blood-hounds rushing on their prey. 
 They seize the hapless death-devoted pair ; 
 Useless the meed of valour when coward guilt 
 Its tenfold number pours to wreak fell vengeance. 
 
 Torn from Alcander's grasp the lovely A^nes 
 Became a bleeding victim ; her beauteous head 
 Divided from its trunk, and bleeding still, 
 Upheld in wild derision — her noble 
 Brother pierced with countless wounds, lay in 
 The arms of Death : but the grim monarch 
 Yielded up his prey, to bear severer trials. 
 Twelve hours, twelve long and fatal hours, he lay
 
 133 
 
 Wrapp'd in the shade of dark oblivion, 
 
 Till roused by pain, his eyes once more re-opened 
 
 Upon a world of wretchedness and woe. 
 
 Then memory held her glass, and wild imperfect 
 
 Visions in quick succession floated. 
 
 Like passing clouds athwart his madning- brain. 
 
 To recollection roused, and to the pangs 
 
 The past recalled ; to reach his peaceful home 
 
 Alcander vainly tried. No longer peaceftd. 
 
 For, alas ! the wolves, the ravening wolves, 
 
 Had devasted the " once beautious " scene. 
 
 The faithful Bertram now espied his Lord, 
 
 And to to his hovel borne, his wounds he drest : 
 
 For watchful tenderness and duteous care 
 
 Supplied the place of science ; soon they healed ; 
 
 But yet a deeper wound had pierced his heart. 
 
 Which no kind care, no balsam e'er could cure: 
 
 His Rosa, she whose radiant beauty shone 
 
 Above all compeer, like a planet fair 
 
 Mid inferior orbs, whose virtues more than" 
 
 Beauty charm'd him, had fallen beneath the hand 
 
 Of savage, dire, unmanly violence. — 
 
 His infant boy, whose ruby sever'd lips 
 
 Could just articulate a father's name,
 
 134^ 
 
 Would lisp that name no more— be too slept in deatlj. 
 
 His Agnes butcher'd, home destroy'd, and faithiul 
 Vassals lost, press'd on his aching nerves, 
 And form'd a load too mig-hty to be borne. 
 
 His senses flee, but 'inidst his ravings wild, 
 One single wish, one constant theme of converse 
 Bespoke consistency. A wish to fly 
 Far from the scenes of happiness now lost, 
 And from a land of deep intestine broils. 
 Old Bertram ever mindful of his Lord, 
 Forgot his age, the dangers tluy must pass, 
 And all the cares, which gratitude alone. 
 Pure gratitude could h "d liiin to encounter, 
 
 Alcandkr and his frii nd, for friend he was. 
 Soon bade adieu to Callia's hostile pow'rs. 
 To seek in other realms the meed of peace; 
 Together hail'd they the white cliffs of Albion, 
 Together landed on her sea-girt shore. 
 And breath'd the blessed air of Liberty. 
 Cambria's wild romantic scenery soon caught 
 The Wanderer's eye ; and a huge mountain there 
 Became the chosen spot to hide his sorrows : 
 Aided by Bertram the lone cot was reared, 
 Which since has been the Maniac's ftx'd abode.
 
 135 
 
 Thiice have the mild, the genial sutnmer zepliyTS 
 Sigh'd o'er the humble, lonely, habitation ; 
 And thrice the winter blast swept its low roof 
 Since Bertram left his mind distracted master; 
 Worn out with age, his gentle spirit fled 
 To gain the recompence of worth and faithful 
 Servitude. 
 
 The shepherd 'boy who bears his scanty meal. 
 Is now the only friend Alcander knows. 
 Yet in his wild delusion is he happy. 
 Happier far than those who basking in tTie 
 Sunny ray of fortune, feel the sting of 
 Conscience ; 
 
 Or he whose soul attuned to every finer feeling 
 Is d(tom'd to bear Adversity's rude scourge. 
 And all the taunts of low ignoble pride. 
 A few short fleeting years and all will pass. 
 Pass as a vision, and no trace be left 
 To point Alcander's dwelling. 
 
 Well, be it so— 
 His every mortal sufF'ring, vice and virtue 
 Writ in the book of life will still remain 
 To claim their due, their merited, reward. 
 Think, think on this ye virtuous mourning few, 
 K
 
 136 
 
 Cr»ish'd by the storms of Fate, environ'd round 
 With tiials, yet virtuous still ; the Deity, 
 For ends beyond the search of finite man — 
 Oft chastens where he loves, and purifies 
 The heart by wholesome sharp correction ; 
 And shall we dare arraign Omnipotence, 
 Or fancy that the wicked, prosperous here. 
 Enjoy, eternally, the smile of Heaven ? 
 No, thoug-h every plan succeed, and giddy 
 Fortune pours into the lap her ample store ; 
 Though roses deck the couch, and the loud trump 
 Of Fame pronounce them happy; yet a day, 
 An awful day of Retribution, 
 Will arrive to prove Unerring Justice, 
 
 J. P. W. 
 
 MEYLER AND SON, PKINTEIIS, 
 BATH
 
 ■■/•"•'■■■ ■•■•../'. 
 
 / 
 
 //,:^ .,^-/: 
 
 7/ 

 
 POEMS. 
 
 HENRY SELWYN. 
 
 NOS H/EC NOyiMUS ESSE MfflL. 
 
 Martial. 
 
 WE KNOW THESE THINGS TO BE BUT TRIFLES. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY E. W. MORRIS, DORSET COURT 
 SALrSBLRY SQUARE ; 
 
 And sold by Messrs. Underwood and Black, 
 
 (Successors to Mr. Mukkay), Fleet Street^ 
 
 and Mr. Walker^ Strand, 
 
 1813.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 IN presenting the following pages to the 
 Public, I offer the spontaneous effusions of 
 the heart, not the laboured productions of 
 the head. They were not originally intended 
 as a theme for criticism, but were entirely 
 prompted by the desire of expressing feel- 
 ings, which others, no doubt, have experi- 
 enced as keenly as myself, and like me, per- 
 haps, have also wished to delineate. 
 
 I own it has not been without difficulty, 
 and a great degree of fear ard trembling that 
 I have at length been induced to commence 
 the career of Authorism, particularly, as 1
 
 VI 
 
 must lay my whole heart open to inspection : 
 but I have found the flatterv of Friends too 
 seductive, and the desire of obtaining the 
 Palm held out to the successful votaries of 
 Apollo, too powerful to be withstood. 
 
 Since, then, my resolution is fixed to ap- 
 pear before the Public, I have also deter- 
 mined, whatever may be the fortune that 
 awaits me in the world of criticism, to wean 
 myself, as it were, from my book ; and when 
 once it has gone f>rth from mv hands, to 
 res'ard it's fate with as little concern as an 
 author can be supjx)sed capable of feeling ; 
 convinced, as I must be, that its success will 
 be in due pro|)()rtion to its merits. In this 
 I shall make the birds of the air my example, 
 who forofet their vounij as soon as thev have 
 taught them to fly. — Far be it from me to 
 suppose, tjiat I have instructed the offspring
 
 Vll 
 
 of my muse to soar high in the regions of 
 Htcrary fame. It will be well for me, if a 
 more hmnble flight lifts them a little above 
 oblivion.
 
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 Minto, Major 
 
 Moore, Rev. H. 
 
 Moore, C. Esq. 
 
 ?.Iooye, Miss 
 
 Moriarty, Mrs. Col. 
 
 Moriarty, Miss, Oakhampton 
 
 Newark, The Right Honorable A'iscount 
 Newark, The Riaht Honorable Viscountes?;
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Nevett, William^, Esq. 
 Oglc", Rev. G. 
 
 Pcrcival, The Right Honorable Lady 
 
 Peshall, Lady 
 
 Pollen, Lady 
 
 Pierrepont, Right Honorahle H. 
 
 Pierrepont, Honoraljle P, 
 
 Pierrepont, Honorable Mrs. P. 
 
 Page, C. Esq. 
 
 Patrick, Mrs. 
 
 Payne, C. Esq. 2 Copies 
 
 Payne, C. Esq. Jan. 4 Copies 
 
 Payne, Miss, 2 Copies 
 
 Philippart, J. Escp 
 
 Philip|>s, J. Exj 
 
 Priist, — Esq. 
 
 Rice de Cardonnel, Honorable G. 
 
 Rich, W. Osl)orn, Esq. 
 
 Roqueniont, Mrs., 4 Copies 
 
 RobiL;son, John, Escj. 
 
 Rn!)insc)n, Mr. Lainbeth ^larsh Academy 
 
 Rose, T. Esq.
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Sidney, Right Honorable Viscount 
 
 Sandham, J. M. Esq. 
 
 Scroggs, Miss 
 
 Scuddamore, IMrs. 
 
 Selvvyn, Rev. J. 20 Copies 
 
 Sehvyn, Miss, 3 Copies 
 
 Selvvyn, Miss B., 4 Copies 
 
 Smith, — Esq. 
 
 Smith, J. Esq. 
 
 Stuart, A. D. Esq. 
 
 Symes,' Mrs. 
 
 Townshend, Honorable W. A. 
 Townshend, Honorable Col. 
 Townshend, Honorable Miss 
 Townshend, Honorable Miss M. E. 
 Townshend, Mrs. Mary 
 Tomlinson, John, Esq. 2 Copies 
 Taylor, Lieut. N. Glo'ster Mil. 
 Thomas, ]\Irs., 2 Copies 
 Thomas, Theophihis, Esq. 
 Thomas, Miss 
 Thompson, G. N. Esq. 
 Trapaud, F. P. Escj.
 
 LIST OF SUBSCKIBEKS, 
 
 Trapaud, Mrs. 
 Ti'ench, W. Esq. 
 Trench, Mrs. W. 
 Trench, C. Esq. 
 Trollope, G. Esq. 
 Tucker, Francis, Esq. 
 Tucker, Major 
 Tucker, Mrs. 
 Tucker, Miss 
 Turnor, Mrs. 
 
 Ward, Honourable Col 
 
 Walker, F. Esq. 
 
 Waller, R. G. Esq. 
 
 Warner, G, Esq. 
 
 Watson, G. Bowes, Esq. 2 Copie? 
 
 White, George, Es(|. 
 
 Wickliam, J. Escj. 
 
 Woodroffe, J. Esq. 
 
 Wyatt, T. Exj. 
 
 ^^'yl)ro\v, a. h^t\, 
 
 A\;vld, Miss 
 Vittes, .loiin, Esij
 
 ADDITIONAL SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Craggs, W. Esq. 
 
 Davis, R. Esq. 
 
 Ford, James, Esq. Bedford House, Stockwell 
 
 Hodson, Mrs. 
 
 Lettsom, Mrs, 
 
 Richards, John, Esq. 
 
 Robinson, Miss 
 
 Smith, Wm. Esq. 
 
 Thomson, Charles, Esq. 
 
 Wells, Mrs. 
 
 Williamson, James, Esq. 
 
 Wilson, D. Esq.
 
 ERR AT J. 
 
 P. 3, line g, for " mein," read " mien." 
 
 17j Motto, for " Adjices," read " Adjicis. 
 
 35, line 5, for " inein," read " mien." 
 — \Q, — do. — do. 
 
 42, line 1, for " one," read " our." 
 
 70;, Motto, line 2, /or *' 't;," read " ^:' 
 
 97j line 5, for " his," read " has."
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Dl-EU A BEAUCOUP DONNE 
 A t'HoMME, EN tux DONNANT UN COEUR. 
 
 Aug: la Font: 
 
 SWEET are the feelings that excite 
 The Heart's enthusiastic glow ; 
 
 The source of keen, of pure delight, 
 Which common minds can never knoW' 
 
 Soft as the Sun in vernal Days, 
 
 And bright as it's meridian blaze. 
 
 Yet quick sensation in the breast 
 
 Oft' plants imaginary cares, 
 And hence the cheek that dimples dress'd 
 
 Is quickly overspread with tears ; 
 \ et pleasant is the Summer shovv'r 
 That falls at Noon's oppressive Hour. 
 
 B
 
 Vers a l'Aurore. 
 
 PAR Henri IV. 
 
 " VIENS, Aurore! 
 " Je t'implore, 
 
 " Je suis gai qiiand Je te vois ; 
 " Et la Bergere, 
 " Qui m'est chere, 
 
 " Est venneille comme toi. 
 
 " Elle est blonde, 
 
 " Sans seconde, 
 " Elle a la taille a la main; 
 
 " Sa prunelle 
 
 " Etincelle 
 " Comme I'astre du Matin.
 
 TO AURORA. 
 
 TRANSLATED. 
 
 TO ope' the Skies, 
 
 Aurora, rise ! 
 Thy beams rejoice my sight — 
 
 The blush of her 
 
 I hold so dear 
 is rosy as thy light. 
 
 Ah ! She is fair 
 
 Beyond compare. 
 And Sylph-like is lier mein 
 
 The Morninff Star 
 
 Shines not from far 
 More sparkling than her eyne. 
 B 2
 
 " T)e ros^e 
 
 " Arrosee 
 " La Rose a nioins de fraicheur ; 
 
 " Une Herniine 
 
 " Est moins fine, 
 " Le lys a moins de blancheur. 
 
 " D'Ambroisie 
 
 " Bien choisie 
 *' Hebe la nourrit a part ; 
 
 " Et sa bouche 
 
 " Quand J 'y touche, 
 " Me parfume de Nectar."
 
 And not the Rose 
 
 As sweetly blows 
 With dew-drop't Gems bedight; 
 
 Less soft the down 
 
 That Ermines own, 
 Nor Lilies half so white. 
 
 Ambrosia, stole 
 
 From Hebe's bowl, 
 Surely the Maid must sip ; 
 
 While her's I press. 
 
 In fond caress, 
 Nectar perfumes my Lip. 
 
 b3
 
 6^ 
 
 THE 
 
 ORIGIN OF A. DIMPLE. 
 
 IT was upon some festive day 
 As Love pursued his frolic play, 
 That Venus with maternal joy 
 Beheld her sweetly-sportive Boy. 
 Grown wanton quite and wild at last. 
 He seiz'd his Bow, in eager haste, 
 And aiming at his Mother's heart, 
 Drew to the head a flaming dart. 
 The Goddess saw his bended Bow, 
 And smil'd defiance at the blow : 
 The shaft, though erring, swiftly flew 
 And pierc'd her cheek directly through. 
 Scarce was the wound a moment's pain^ 
 But, soon as felt, was heal'd again — 
 For Beings of immortal kind 
 From wounds no lasting hurt can find— - 
 Yet still a little scar was seen 
 Upon the face of Beauty's Queen,
 
 Like tliose which since, on Earth below. 
 We by the name of Dimples know. 
 " Henceforth," fair Cytherea said, 
 " Let ev'ry young and blooming Maid, 
 " To be accounted truly fair 
 " Wirii ev'ry smile such Dimples wear : 
 " Thou, Gupid, for thy wanton play 
 " Shalt rest in Durance many a Day, 
 " And for thy prison thou shalt seek 
 " The Dimple in sweet Mary's cheek.
 
 8 
 
 LA Belle recluse. 
 
 " I PITY," said a flaunting Rose, 
 That in a cultur'd Garden grew, 
 
 " Tlie Violet that obscurely blows, 
 
 " Whose modest flow'rs are hid from view 
 With all their sweets." 
 
 *' Ah ! why the Violet's fate deplore," 
 A neighbouring Flow'r at once replied. 
 
 " Ourselves should claim thy pity more, 
 " To whom the Violet is denied 
 
 With all her sweets."
 
 9 
 
 THE PRAYER. 
 
 YE Pow'rs supreme, supreme in good, 
 With heav'nly perfeclness endued ! 
 Ye guardian Angels ! from your sphere, 
 Ye guardian Sylphs ! if Sylphs ye are, 
 Who viewless in the fields of light 
 The wrong oppose, protect the rights 
 Oh, with a tender mercy hear ! 
 List, listen to a Lover's prayer! 
 
 By night, by day from ev'ry harm, 
 From sense of pain, from all alarm, 
 My lovely Mary, Oh, protect ! 
 To bliss alone her steps direct ! 
 E'en w here her thoughts a moment stray 
 Quicker than thought delight convey! 
 Oh, with a tender mercy hear 
 A Lover's first, his only prayer 
 
 „-i
 
 10 
 
 Should dewy sleep his opiate shed 
 
 Oblivious o'er my Mary's head, 
 
 To sooth her senses into peace 
 
 Sweet Roses on her pillow place : 
 
 And if what I have heard be true, 
 
 That Maids their dreams receive from you, 
 
 Oh, softly whisper in her ear, 
 
 A Lover's wish, a Lover's prayer !
 
 11 
 
 ftlilitat oninis Amans, et habet sua Castra Cupido. 
 
 Ovid, 
 
 IMITATED. 
 
 Love has his Tournaments, and seek the List 
 'Gainst Lovers, Lovers, martially address'd. 
 
 OF a glance from Mary's e^e 
 
 Cupid forg'd a Dart — 
 He hurl'd it — from her breast a sigh 
 
 Wing'd it to my heart. 
 
 But soon the Boy in pity found 
 The means to ease my pain ; 
 
 He drew the arrow from my wound, 
 And shot it back again : 
 
 Revenge is sweet — how I was blest 
 When it pierc'd my Mary's breast !
 
 12 
 
 Fair tresses Man's imperial race ensnare, 
 AjiD beauty draws us avith a single hair. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 MARY, when my fervent prayer 
 These beauteous hairs obtain'd, 
 
 Love soft whisper'd in my ear, 
 Thy foolish heart's enchain'd ! 
 
 Indeed, Love's prophecy was riglit- 
 These hairs of silken twine 
 
 Frame a Lock in Reason's spite, 
 Which locks that heart to thine.
 
 13 
 
 -Homines ad Deos nulla re propius acccdunt, 
 
 (]ilam salutem Hominibus dando. 
 
 Tull: 
 
 Men resemble the Gods in nothing so much, 
 as in doing good to their fellow creatures. 
 
 OH, Fortune ! I said, thy propitious regard, 
 And thy favoring smile let me daily implore, 
 
 Yet, not that I think that the lesson is hard 
 To learn to be happy, though humble and poor. 
 
 Ah, no ! but if richly cmpower'd by thee, 
 
 1 could stand in the stead of a crutch to the lame; 
 
 I could lead the blind wanderer far on his way, 
 And yield a support to pale Misery's claim. 
 
 No more should the Widow despairing, distressed. 
 Weep sad o'er llie Infant, she cannot sustain, 
 
 And the Orphan its cradle should find in my breast, 
 And my care should defend it from sorrow and pain.
 
 14 
 
 In my Halls should the weary, unbidden to rise, 
 Repose from their toils, and partake at my Board ; 
 
 No more should the Himgry be fed but with sighs, 
 And drink the sad Draught that their tears could afford. 
 
 For this were the Soul's tender feelings design'd, 
 'Tis for this that the Blessings of Fortune are giv'n ; 
 
 And since Heav'n is merciful, tender and kind, 
 'Tis by this that we prove we are kindred of Heav'n.
 
 15 
 
 DIALOGUE. 
 
 HENRY. 
 
 SWEET Love, thou'rt true as Heav'n above, 
 
 Yet my jealous fears are many ; 
 Conscious I have all thy love, 
 
 1 feel how small my right to any. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 My Henry, all this Bosom's store 
 Is one Heart from falsehood free; 
 
 I would I had a thousand more 
 To bestow them all on thee. 
 
 HENRY. 
 
 While other Youths have much to offer 
 
 For a prize so rich, so dear, 
 I, alas ! can nothing proffer 
 
 But affection most sincere.
 
 16 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Dost thou think my Soul's desires 
 Could be won by Fortune's lure? 
 
 Love, for Love, alone requires 
 Love as tender, warm, and pure.
 
 17 
 
 Quid virus in Angues 
 Adgiccs? et labidae tradis ovile Lupae? 
 
 Ovid. 
 As WELL YOU MAV 
 
 Instruct a Snake to bite, a Wolr to prey. 
 
 I'LL teach the Maid who wouki enchain 
 The World by captivating arts, 
 
 Her wishes how she may attain, 
 
 And prove the very Queen of Hearts. 
 
 Let her be Nature's duteous Child, 
 Obedient to her simple laws, 
 
 Let her be gentle, modest, mild. 
 And pure as Snow before it thaws. 
 
 Let her know how to shed the tear 
 " For private or for social woes," 
 
 Yet frequent how such smiles to wear 
 As Dian's warranty allows. 
 c
 
 18 
 
 Let her — but, ah ! this heart of mine, 
 Still verging to its polar Star, 
 
 Has pictur'd Mary in each line — 
 Then be th' engaging Fair like iier.
 
 19 
 
 On n'est heureux que par l'Amolr. 
 
 Val: 
 
 LOVE, mutual Love, alone can give 
 The Bliss my thirsty Soul requires ; 
 
 For mutual Love alone I'll live, 
 For Love relinquish vain desires. 
 
 Let those who list, with anxious toil, 
 Plough wild Ambition's barren land, 
 
 And scatter o'er th' unyielding Soil 
 
 Their Years, their Lives with lavish hand. 
 
 Poor, frantic Labourers ! doom'd to weep. 
 No smiling Harvest shall be theirs ; 
 
 No other Crop their toil shall reap 
 
 But blighted hopes, and poisonous care$.
 
 20 
 
 Or let the dull self-banisli'd wretch, 
 For Wealth far distant Climes explore, 
 
 And from the Mine attempt to fetch 
 Pure Happiness \vith labour'd Ore. 
 
 For joys like his I do not sigh, 
 
 I envy not his golden Bliss ; 
 Not India's doubled wealth should buy 
 
 The value of my Mary's kiss. 
 
 Love, mutual Love, alone can gire 
 The Bliss my thirsty Soul requires; 
 
 For mutual Love alone I'll live, 
 For Love relinquish vain desires.
 
 21 
 
 HER SMILE. 
 
 TELL me, ah! tell me whence you stole 
 That smile bewitching to the Soul, 
 That lovely smile, the charm of charms, 
 Worth all the rest of Beauty's arms. 
 
 Did'st thou receive it from above, 
 
 A DowVy from the Queen of Love ? 
 
 Or was it by her Son agreed. 
 
 For some sweet kiss thy promis'd Meed r 
 
 Were I to guess from its effect, 
 
 And could from thence its source detect, 
 
 I'd surely say that it was giv'n 
 
 To thee, from no where else but Ileav'n.
 
 •22 
 
 For it can perfect joy bestow. 
 And triumph over Care and Woe, 
 And those sweet pow'rs are all its own 
 Which Men believe are Heaven's alone. 
 
 I swear, I think if I were laid 
 Senseless, and pale, and cold, and dead, 
 If thou could'st smile, 'twould Death subdur . 
 And Life's extinguish'd lamp renew.
 
 23 
 
 TO 
 
 SHALL cold-bosom'd Caution exclusively claim 
 The merit of V'irtue, the Title, the Fame, 
 Because, though her actions are selfish and mean, 
 Tliey are squar'd by the World just as far as they're seen ; 
 
 Meanwhile simll our prejudice narrowly deem 
 Generosity, kindness, unworthy esteem 
 If the Being whose heart with each charity warm 
 lias err'd in Decorum, and sinn'd against Form 
 
 Ah, no — in the Soul where each Charity glows, 
 And o'er ev'ry action a brilliancy throws, 
 The frailties that Prudence would teach us to shun 
 Appear but as spots on the face of the Sun.
 
 24 
 
 I love to view the kindled Soul 
 
 Peep through the casement of the eje, 
 
 Or see it's purest essence stole 
 To paint the blush of Modesty. 
 
 I love it's voice that, soft and low, 
 
 Is often vvhisper'd in a sigh ; 
 I doat upon those smiles that glow 
 
 Like ravs of it's beniguiiv. 
 
 Till lately, I thought that ihe smile of my Fair 
 Was the sweetest of charms she could possibly wear, 
 'Twas the bright sunny beam that alone could impart 
 New life to the passion that springs in my heart. 
 
 But; impell'd by the fondness she could not deny, 
 As the tear of Affection escap'd from her eye, 
 I own'd, that as grateful a blessing is giv'u 
 In the soft-falling Dew, as the sunshine of Ileav'n.
 
 25 
 
 Man, JAK.E THE gen'rous vine, supported lives — 
 The strength he gains is from th'embrace he give?. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 THERE is no Joy unmix'd with pain. 
 But that which generous bosoms know 
 
 When, unseduc'd by hopes of gain, 
 On others they a boon bestow. 
 
 In Infancy this truth I scann'd, 
 
 When oft' some lov'd and darling toy 
 
 I'd place within another's luand, 
 And straight receive a double joy. 
 
 At the same price delight is bought, 
 Ee'n in our riper \ ears, I find; 
 
 Then call not selfishness a fault, 
 For 'tis most selfisii to be kind.
 
 26 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 NO, Maiden of my soul, ah! no, 
 Thou can'st not love to my content ; 
 
 Tho' thy Affection should not know 
 Or earthly bounds, or measurement. 
 
 Double thy quantity of Love, 
 And that encrease a thousand fold^ 
 
 Then onward in progression move 
 To sums that Numbers never told. 
 
 Still not enough — let more be giv'n — 
 Be't ample as the vaulted sky, 
 
 Free as the winds that blow from Heav'u. 
 And endless as Eternity.
 
 27 
 
 Let not the solar-ray supreme 
 In brightness or in warmth exceed, 
 
 Nor yet in Chasteness, Cynthia's beam 
 Surpass the flame which thou dost feed. 
 
 f n brief — to make my Bliss secure, 
 Thy Passion like my own must prove. 
 
 And thou must feel what I endure, 
 Whose very Soul, whose Life, is Love,
 
 28 
 
 IS there a ^lan has gone astray 
 From Virtue's sweet and pleasant May, 
 And trodden, with the erring throng, 
 The rough and thorny paths of wrong, 
 Art thou his foe, and woukl'st thou arm 
 The hand of Justice to his harm. 
 And woukl'st thou. Punishment might shed 
 Her darkest Vial o'er his head ? 
 Let his own breast himself arraign. 
 His Pains and Penalties ordain : 
 I'm very sure his heart would be 
 Severer than his Enemy. 
 
 In fierce temptation's fervid hour. 
 When slumber'd Reason's guiding pow'r, 
 Jf e'er thyself hast given way 
 To Pleasure's Charm, to Passion's sway,
 
 29 
 
 If, in the very arms of Joy, 
 Thou'st felt a sense of Guilt annoy, 
 And when Delirium's dream ^va^ fled 
 Hast bitter tears of sorrow shed — 
 Let his own breast himself arraign, 
 His Pains and Penalties ordain, 
 For thou must Jcnozo his heart would be 
 Severer than his enemy.
 
 30 
 
 Video nieliora proboqiifj 
 
 Deteriora sequor 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 \ SEE THE RIGHT, AND I APPROVE IT TOO ; 
 
 Condemn the wrong, and vet thk wrong plrsi i- 
 
 Tate. 
 
 OUR heads softly laid on our pillows at night 
 We lament that the day unimprov'd has gone by ; 
 
 New plans we propose to commence with the ligiit. 
 And tomorrow our faults we determine to flv. 
 
 The Sun lifts his beams in the glorious East, 
 And the shadows of Night chases briskly away. 
 
 And again in the race that he yesterday past, 
 
 His radiance, warm-glowing, prepares to display. 
 
 Then, refresh'd by dull Morpheus' somniferous dew. 
 With the Sun in the morning we gaily arise. 
 
 The old course of our follies tread over anew, 
 And, ah I close it again with repentance and sigli:>
 
 31 
 
 RlEN K'ilST DOUX SANS AMOUR EN CETTE VIE Hl.MAINt. 
 
 Bertauf. 
 
 IF the sweetest of thoughts can bring peace to the mind, 
 
 Or a sense of delight can impart, 
 'Tis the thought, that around us we somewhere may find 
 
 Some fond and affectionate heart. 
 'Tis the thought, that the ]5eing fast link'd to our Soul 
 
 As the hopes that we cherish of Heav'n, 
 Does our name in its list of beloved enrol, 
 
 An'd the boon of its kindness has giv'n. 
 
 The richest of Gifts that are dealt from Above, 
 
 Would to me too unworthy appear 
 To compensate the want of an object to love, 
 
 Or the love of the object that's dear. 
 No pleasure in Fortune or sway I should see, 
 
 Vain trifles and troubles of state ; 
 One heart were a kingdom unbounded to me 
 
 Let me reign but supreme over that.
 
 32 
 
 Nor yet would the rubs and the frownings of Fate, 
 
 If Fate wore the gloom of a frown, 
 The sweet store of my Happiness ever abate, 
 
 If one heart I could count as mine own. 
 But rather in spite of Life's cares and its woes, 
 
 Those twins of Adversity's birth, 
 On the bo^om of Tenderness let me repose, 
 
 And forget there are cares upon Earth.
 
 33 
 
 THE 
 
 WANDERINGS OF SENSIBILITY. 
 
 A FRAGME.NT. 
 
 ■^ — HER robes were loose, of snowy white v 
 Her bosom naked to the sight ; 
 Her golden hair was unconfined, 
 And lightly floated on the wind ; 
 Her soft blue eyes benignant shone 
 With mildness of an ev'ning sun ; 
 Sometimes their pensive glances bent: 
 Low on the Earth with gaze intent, 
 And sometimes, rais'd sublime on high, 
 They trac'd the Clouds that cross'd the sky— • 
 
 • — I saw her through the meadows stray, 
 And foUow'd still her devious way. 
 Sometimes she'd pause, as all around 
 Nature breath'd sweet in ev'ry sound,
 
 34 
 
 And listen to the Ploughman's strain, 
 And smile upon the simple swain. 
 Oft' would she view, with sparkling eye. 
 The tuneful Lark ascend the sky, 
 And mark the songster's upward flight 
 Till lost to the diminish'd sight ; 
 Then turn where o'er the pasture green 
 The scatter'd flocks and herds were seen, 
 And try a character to trace 
 In ev'ry Sheep's unconscious face. 
 
 I've seen her like an April show'r 
 
 Weep silent o'er a faded flow'r ; 
 
 I've heard her often deeply sigh 
 
 In pity for a cob-web'd fly, 
 
 And mourn the wretched captive's fate, 
 
 The Spider's fury deprecate ; 
 
 Yet, still her sorrows did appear 
 
 As sweet companions, lov'd and dear. 
 
 And sighs to her were better worth 
 
 Than Folly's stupid, careless mirth.
 
 35 
 
 She wander'd till by Evening's fall 
 
 She came within a City's wall, 
 Where all w as noisy, loud and gay, 
 And busy tumult throng'd (he way. 
 She stood aside, with anxious niein, 
 And view'd the often-varying scene. 
 First Pleasure's giddy train pass'd by, 
 With drunken mirth that rent the sky, 
 And plodding Bus'ness hobbled next 
 With sweating toil and riches vex'd ; 
 Slow after these, with crippled pace, 
 W"an Mis'ry led her squalid race, 
 Vice, Sickness, Pain, and canker'd Care, 
 That feebly follow'd in the rear. 
 
 1 heard the lovely Maiden sigh, 
 
 1 saw a pearl in either eye. 
 
 The ev'ning sky was dark and drear. 
 And piercing blew the Northern Air, 
 Yet none lier artless mein could win 
 With tender heart to take her in ;
 
 36 
 
 For Prudence and her frigid school 
 Call'd her a wild romantic fool. 
 I took her to my glowing breast, 
 And to my heart the Maiden press'd ; 
 I wip'd the tears from off her eyes, 
 That Bashfulness had taught to rise. 
 Bade her poor bosom be at peace, 
 And all her little troubles cease. 
 From that same hour, in Prudence spite, 
 She still has been my dear delight. 
 Whene'er I weep, whene'er I smile, 
 *Tis she who prompts me all the while, 
 And bids my soul forever know 
 The sweetest Joy, the sweetest Woe.
 
 37 
 
 And whatsoever mine eyes desired, I kept not from 
 THEM; I witheld not my heart from any joy. 
 
 EccL c. a r. 10. 
 
 And behold all was vanity and vexation of 
 
 SPIRIT, and there was NO PROFIT INDER THE SL N. 
 
 EccL C, it. y. 11. 
 
 HAVING fully enjoy 'd, as his wishes inspired, 
 ^Vilatever his Fancy tiiought good or desir'd, 
 It stands upon Record, the wisest of Men 
 Styl'd it \ anity all, with one stroke of his pen.. 
 
 Yet with deference due to that wisdom confest, 
 I believe hiin convict' of an error in taste, 
 No less than rejecting the properest means 
 To be happy, the envied reward of his pains. 
 
 For although he has told us, with Judgment profound 
 That a season (sub Die) for Love may be found, 
 T can never conceive, from iiis libertine life. 
 That he felt a true Passion for Mistress or Wife^
 
 38 
 
 I am sure, had true Love ever swell'd in his breast, 
 He had found, like myself, the true way to be blest, 
 Except, that on him, not so happy as I, 
 No Mary ere shed the soft beams of her eye. 
 
 Yet still, by a Quibble, I'll grant he may prove 
 That Vanity lurks in the truest of Love ; 
 For I'll own, without any concealment or art, 
 I am vain of tiie love of the Maid of my heart.
 
 39 
 
 While borne away 
 On swelling thought, his wafted spirit flies 
 to the vain bosom of his distant fair. 
 
 Thompsoih, 
 
 ALTHOUGH from hence, fair Maid, I fly, 
 
 To other scenes repair ; 
 In ev'ry tear that fills mine eye, 
 In every tender, anxious sigh, 
 
 Shalt thou attend me there. 
 
 When yonder azure fields above 
 
 My ardent Gaze employ, 
 Thou shalt ray Thoughts' companion prove, 
 For thou art worthy Angels' love, 
 
 Fit for those realms of joy.
 
 40 
 
 Oi; if upon the downward Earth 
 
 My bended eyes recline, 
 Thou still shalt prove my fancy's birth, 
 Tor all this world can boast of worth 
 
 Is poor, compar'd with thine !
 
 41 
 
 SAY, what are Joys bat boons from Heav'n 
 
 To hapless mortals rarely giv'n ! 
 
 Few drops of Nectar that perfume 
 
 Ihe bitter Chalice of our Doom ! 
 
 While yet the honied treasures last, 
 
 He, whose blest lips the sweet drops taste, 
 
 Fares like th' immortal gods above. 
 
 Like Jove himself, and feels a Jove. 
 
 Hence, e'en in mercy, gracious Heav'n 
 
 Such mix'd and scanty store has giv'n — 
 
 For ah ! what mortal could endure 
 
 The drink of gods, unmix'd and pure. 
 
 Nor feel the draught, with niad'ning pain 
 
 Intoxicate the feeble brain.
 
 42 
 
 now i know what it is to have strove 
 With the torture of doubt a\o desire ; 
 What it is to admire and to love, 
 And to leave her we love and admire. 
 
 Shenstone. 
 
 WHEN absent from one best belov'd, 
 How much Reflection makes us sigh, 
 
 To think how little we improved 
 
 The blissful hours, when they were nigh ! 
 
 Nor this our only source of grief, 
 
 Nor this our greatest cause to mourn — 
 
 For sadder yet the sad belief 
 
 That those sweet hours will ne'er return. 
 
 What cruel pain to think the while 
 When we our sever'd soul bemoan. 
 
 Our dear-one, haply, wears a smile, 
 Nor echoes back a single groan !
 
 43 
 
 Yet still more painful to reflect 
 
 That, since our thoughts can wander thus, 
 The Being we so soon suspect, 
 
 May sadlv deem the same of us.
 
 44 
 
 Happy the Man whose wish and care, 
 
 a few paternal acres bound ; 
 Content to breathe his native air, 
 In his own ground. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 HARD, hard are the dark-letter'd mandates of fate, 
 When they doom us in search of frail fortune to roam,. 
 
 In regions remote, where we find but regret, 
 
 And that wealth that pays poorly the loss of our home. 
 
 For our own native country is dear to our thought 
 As the breast of it's mother is dear to her child ; 
 
 And the clime that our earliest affection has cauglrt 
 Makes all others seem desolate, dreary and wild. 
 
 And, sure, in those scenes 'tis delightful to rove 
 Where on pinions of down our infancy tlew — ■ 
 
 — E'en a mole-hill, if rais'd near the home that I love, 
 Is far dearer to me than the mines of Peru.
 
 45 
 
 Plus Aloes quam mellis habet. 
 
 Juv. Sat. 
 
 The Bitter far exc-eeds the sweet. 
 
 YES, vain are the pleasures the vicious enjoy, 
 And transient the charms that their senses betray. 
 
 And they feel, when their ravenous appetites cloy, 
 How great are the terrors remorse can display. 
 
 I have seen the poor female, seduc'd and undone, 
 Deck'd out in the glittering trophies of shame ; 
 
 I have seen her the race of mad gaiety run, 
 Ev'ry feeling of modesty lost with her fame. 
 
 But her moments of Joy imperceptibly lled>. 
 
 As the twilight of , Winter fades swift into night : 
 I beheld her — the Earth damply pillow'd her head. 
 
 And cold, cold was tliat heart that had beat with delight
 
 40 
 
 A curse to the Wretch who, with serpent-like art, 
 Crept soft to that bosom it's peace to destroy, 
 
 Entwining himself round the innocent heart, 
 And stinging the credulous source of his joy. 
 
 Let him look on his Victim, too young for the tomb, 
 While Conscience shall loudly proclaim in his breast 
 
 'Tis thou who hast robb'd the sweet rose of it's bloom> 
 And thy ruthless cold hand hath it's perfumes coiupress'd.
 
 47 
 
 These are tme charming Agonies of Love. 
 
 Thompson. 
 
 WHEN forc'd from thee, my Soul's delight, to part 
 All, how 1 wept the ordinance of Fate, 
 
 That from my bosom tore my bleeding heart, 
 And left it wounded with it's softer Mate ! 
 
 But when returning unto Joy and thee. 
 Thou did'st replace it in my aching breast; 
 
 Say, by what magic, ah, thou dear-one, say, 
 
 Did'st thou restore that wounded heart so bless'd f 
 
 ITad'st thou embalm'd it with soft tender tears, 
 Sweet drops medicinal from those blue eyes, 
 
 Or liad'st thou sooth'd away it's throbbing cares 
 With the aerial music of thy sighs ?
 
 4B 
 
 For it uas sooth'd, and heal'd, and ktiew no more 
 Tlie pangs and torments that it once liad known; 
 
 And I can guess no oilier means of cure, 
 
 Unless, in lieu of mine, thou gav'st thine own.
 
 49 
 
 To CONTExVT. 
 
 OH, blest Content, if thou art mine, 
 I envy not the world beside, 
 
 For thou art source of Peace divine. 
 And smoothest Life's uneven tide. 
 
 What if it be not mine to taste 
 The Nectar-flowing Cup of Joy ; 
 
 If the Heart pants not to be blest. 
 
 The want will ne'er it's peace destroy. 
 
 What if my fate be care and toil. 
 
 And Penury my way befal ; 
 The Soul may wear a placid smile. 
 
 And proudly look beyond it all. 
 
 E
 
 50 
 
 Quid sit futurum Cras fugc quaerere. 
 
 Hor. 
 
 Ask not to know 
 
 "What shall happen on tomorrow. 
 
 WHY should we seek, with fruitless cares, 
 With vain attempts of human skill, 
 
 To pierce the cloud of distant years, 
 Anticipating Good or III ? 
 
 All! did Me judge from time that's gone, 
 Did we from parted days conclude, 
 
 This truth, if candid, we must own — 
 That Hope's a Cheat, and Fears delude. 
 
 Tor Years, now past, were once to come, 
 And then warm Hopes and Fears we knew ; 
 
 But, ah ! prophetic of our doom. 
 
 When did those Hopes, those Fears, tell true ?
 
 51 
 
 MY SOUL. 
 
 MY Soul, I am certain, resembles a Lyre 
 
 Where the chords are but few, tho' their compass is wide, 
 And various the strains it is taught to respire, 
 
 As the touch is unskill'd, or with judgment applied. 
 
 When Passion, precipitate, heedless and wild, 
 Strikes rudely and harshly its quivering strings. 
 
 All concord is lost, all it's harmony's spoil'd, 
 Jt vibrates in pain, and untuneful it rings. 
 
 And liOve, when he tries the poor Instrument's scope, 
 Though his measures are tender, entrancing and dear, 
 
 Yet, sometimes his hand is too heedless with Hope, 
 And too often it shakes with the palsy of Fear. 
 s 2
 
 52 
 
 But warm o'er the chords, as with pensive delight, 
 Sensibility breathes her mellifluent sighs, 
 
 As wild as CEolian airs in their flight, 
 
 All it's music at once in soft cadence replies. 
 
 Oh, Nature! I thank thee, who, bounteous and kind, 
 Since Power and Wealth were beyond my controul 
 
 Did'st give me the source of Joys far more refin'd, 
 A heart that could feel, and a sensitive Soul.
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF AN INFANT. 
 
 THE Rose-bud just began to swell> 
 'Midst many a pointed thorn ; 
 
 Nip't by the early blast, it fell. 
 It perish'd in Life's morn. 
 
 The gard'ning Mother's culturing hand 
 
 Had nurs'd it up with care, 
 And as she did her Darling tend, 
 
 'Tvvas still more dear, and dear. 
 
 Ah ! what shall now her loss repair. 
 
 What bid her grief subside, 
 Who hop'd one day the Flow'r to weap^ 
 
 Her pleasure and her pride !
 
 54 
 
 Yet, better far its early doom, 
 
 Than by small stealth on Time, 
 Just to expand in Beauty's bloom, 
 Then wither in its prime. 
 
 What, though on Earth it was not giv'n 
 To meet Life's Noon-tide ray ; 
 
 It's fragrant spirit, fled to heav'n, 
 Exhales in endless Day,
 
 65 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF CHRISTIANA. 
 
 UxVGENTLE Death! Thou, with terrific frown, 
 Pursu'st poor mortals through the paths of Pain, 
 
 With joy malignant, hear'st each fateful groan, 
 While Love or Beauty supplicate in vain. 
 
 Thy cruel Scythe, with devastating pow'r, 
 Moves o'er the undistinguish'd vale of Life, 
 
 And, cropp'd untimely, oft' the sweetest flow'r 
 Claims, 'mid the common wreck, no common grief. 
 
 Beneath so cruel, so severe a blow, 
 
 Lo ! thy too-lovely, hapless Victim fades ; 
 Such was the stroke that now has laid so low 
 
 The flow'r of Vir;::!-!';, and tlse rose of Maid?.
 
 66 
 
 What are all the daggers aim'd by the 
 world, in comparison of one stab from the 
 
 HAND OF THE FrIEND HE LOV'D, AWAKENING THE 
 
 Sleeper from a pleasing Dream ? 
 
 Hotzebue, 
 
 MOST happy's our lot, if our pleasures we share, 
 Though scanty our Store, with the friend that we prize, 
 
 And splendour or riches a curse must appear 
 Where Fate,the fond blessing of Friendship denies. 
 
 For the Violets of Friendship are happily plac'd 
 
 By Life's ruffled stream that flows dark from its source, 
 
 To sweeten the Wave Me must all of us taste, 
 W^hich Affliction embitters too oft' in its course. 
 
 Yet bew are, lest the Friend that you cherish, should prove, 
 In specious disguise, the fell bane of your peace. 
 
 And the poison you thought was the Extract of Love, 
 Should canker your Soul w ith consuming Disease.
 
 57 
 
 I once had a friend, so much valued and dear, 
 I imagin'd his heart in my heart was enclos'd — 
 
 He cleft the poor Casket, and forc'd from my care 
 The treasure where all my Affections repos'd.
 
 53 
 
 -How MANES My borrow'd Bliss! 
 
 Youm 
 
 ONCE, I fancied that Sorrow I never could know, 
 That the dark shaft of woe could not injure my peace 
 
 For, by Mary belov'd, what could either bestow 
 On my Soul a new bliss, or my blessings decrease ? 
 
 I forgot, that the joys I had borrow'd the while, 
 The dear lender might one day recal as her own j 
 
 And I dream't not my love could do other than smile> 
 'Till I felt all the terrors displuy'd in her Frown.
 
 o9 
 
 TotT EST COLEt'R DE ROSK POUR L'HOMMI 
 
 HELRELX; Tout est noire bt lugubre pour 
 
 r.'iNFORTUNE. 
 
 Zimmerman. 
 
 AH ! how we court, with heart elate, 
 Sweet Happiness to be our Bride ; 
 
 And fancy that her smile is Fate, 
 
 And that her 'witching charms will 'bide 
 
 Forever. 
 
 But given to our longing arms, 
 And folded in a fond embrace, 
 
 A moment's bliss our bosom warms, 
 And then, the Phantom dies, alas ! 
 
 Forever.
 
 6a 
 
 Her fun'ral Rites, full many a tear ; 
 
 We make the universe her tomb ; 
 And, on our widow'd hearts, we bear 
 
 For Weeds, dark Melancholy's gloom, 
 Forever.
 
 61 
 
 Haerent infixi pectore Vultus. 
 
 Virg 
 
 Her looks were deep imprinted on his heart. 
 
 HOW contentedly blest in these scenes I have stray'd, 
 And my careless, gay moments flew pleasantly on, 
 
 While I softly repos'd in th' embow'rlng shade. 
 
 Where I woo'd the lov'd Muse, where her favour I won. 
 
 Here, oft' as young Fancy instructed my choice, 
 I would pluck the pale Jasmine, the woodbine and rose, 
 
 Or attentively muse, as with querulous voice, 
 Sweet Piiilomel sang the bright Sun to repose. 
 
 But now as I wander, again and again, 
 
 In search of the liliss 1 had left in this grove, 
 
 I find it has fled, and that Sorrow and Pain 
 Now haunt, with pale horrors, the shades that 1 love.
 
 62 
 
 Ev'ry sound that the nightingale pours from the trees, 
 Ev'ry Flow'ret, the tenderest fet-Hngs alarm ; 
 
 For my Mary's sweet voice seems to How on the breeze, 
 And each blossom's the 'semblance of one of her charms. 
 
 And still to augment the sad torments I bear, 
 Since Love has enslav'd me, once happy and free, 
 
 Reflection still cries, with the shriek of Despair, 
 Those are flow'rs too rare to be gather'd by thee.
 
 63 
 
 I GRASP'O THE PHANTOMS AND I FOIND THEM AIK, 
 
 Oh! had I weigh'd it e'er my fond embrace, 
 What darts of agony had miss'd my heart ! 
 
 Young. 
 
 AH, Mary! 'twas cruel, 'twas cruel indeed, 
 To mock my fond hopes with illusive Delight ; 
 
 Por, attempting to grasp it, I found it a shade. 
 
 And my hopes with the vision swift vanish'd in night. 
 
 It was cruel — for surely, a Phantom so fair 
 1 could not suspect was a fiend in disguise, 
 
 Or that e'er it could lead my rash steps to despair, 
 When 'twas rais'd by the spell of an Angel's blue eyes*
 
 64 
 
 TO CYNTHIA, 
 
 AS on the quiet scene it gleams, 
 
 J love lljy hunbent light; 
 I dearly love thy silver beams. 
 Pale Queen of Night. 
 
 Because, ulien through the starry maze. 
 
 Thou oft' did'st climb the sky, 
 Mary on thee once lov'd to gaze 
 With uplift eye. 
 
 Should now, perchance, the Maiden stray 
 
 To mark thy radiant sphere, 
 Thy course a moment, Cynthia, stay 
 And grant my prayer.
 
 65 
 
 Oh ! let her in thy face behold, 
 Oppress'd with anxious cares. 
 Her Lover-'s form reflected, cold 
 And bath'd in tears. 
 
 Should then, amid this silent pause. 
 
 Her heart with pity glow, 
 Oh ! shew her then herself, the cause 
 Of all my woe.
 
 66 
 
 Not forgotten are our friends 
 «n their danger, though distant is our land. 
 
 Ossian, 
 
 ON the swift winged Light'ning I'd move, 
 And think e'en the Light'nins too slow 
 
 To convey me to tliose that I love, 
 
 When they sorrow in sickness and woe. 
 
 For 'tis sweet the sad heart to beguile 
 Of it's Cares, and kind solace to lend, 
 
 And to see quick reflected our smile 
 On the brightening face of a friend. 
 
 But, ah ! if this Boon were denied, 
 Far away if I knew that they griev'd, 
 
 Though })os,^ess'd.of each blessing beside, 
 Still of Joy v>oukl my Soul be bereav'd.
 
 67 
 
 Sad, sad at the dawn of the Year 
 
 Would the Breeze from the Vallies arise ; 
 
 In the M hispers of Spring I should hear 
 But the dear distant Sufferer's sighs. 
 
 When tlie Summer's tyrannical pow'r 
 O'er the plains in dread Majesty rov'd, 
 
 I should fancy eacli withering flow'r 
 Was the heart-stricken Being I lov'd. 
 
 I should say, when the Autumn's loud brawl 
 llurl'd the sickening foliage down, 
 
 Like a leaf, ah ! my dear-one may fall, 
 Amidst thousands unnotic'd, unknown. 
 
 And when, chill in the Wintery gloom, 
 The Year's faded charms were array'd, 
 
 I should grieve, that more cold in the Tomb 
 Might my Soul's best afl'ections be laid.
 
 68 
 
 L'VRE, OH LrYE ! MY ONLY TREASURE, 
 
 Solace of my bleeding heart ; 
 Lyre, oh Lyre ! my only pleasure, 
 We will neyer, never part. 
 
 WHEN at my Birth the book of Fate 
 Receiv'd my Life's beginning date, 
 The lines were dark that told the cares, 
 And sorrows of my future years. 
 
 The pensive Muse the page beheld. 
 And, by Compassion's glow impell'd, 
 Ambrosial tears began to flow, 
 For me the destin'd Child of woe. 
 
 " Alas!" she said, " ihy lot must be, 
 " Poor mortal, as the Fates decree ; 
 " For, ah ! 'tis fruitless to complain 
 *' Of what their rigid Laws ordain.
 
 69 
 
 " One only Boon I have to give, 
 
 " To make it worth ihy while to live — 
 
 " A Lyre harmonious to disclose, 
 
 " In plaintive notes, thy bosom's woes. 
 
 " 'Tis not endued with lofty lays, 
 " Battles and plumed Chiefs to praise; 
 " And mute, and tuneless be its strings 
 " When wanton Mirth or Pleasure sings. 
 
 " Full early Love shall teach thy hand 
 " Its sweetest Numbers to command ; 
 " Meek Sadness, too, shall smooth the straia 
 " With sounds that from her lute complain."
 
 70 
 
 ^a^fTTov TO /iA»j ^jX^o-at, 
 
 The task is pvinfil not to i-ovk ; 
 Love too, amll ovten painjxt. prove. 
 
 LIKE a Bird newly fledg'd from the nest, 
 Quite careless, and giddy, and gay. 
 
 Once, I liutter'd where Fancy thought best, . 
 And Youth's pinions sped lightly my way. 
 
 \oung Love marked my lieedless career, 
 And he smil'd as he spread out his toils — 
 
 Ah ! how could 1 'scape from the snare, 
 
 When the Bait was Love's sweetest of smiles ! 
 
 Yet his look was so mild, as he view'd 
 His Captive enthrall'd at his feet, 
 
 That, to me, though enslav'd and subdu'd, 
 No Freedom was ever so sweet.
 
 71 
 
 The Chains that he bound me withal 
 Were lin'd with the tenderest down, 
 
 And wherever he strayed, in his thrall 
 I follow'd contentedly on. 
 
 He made me to carol his praise, 
 
 In strains that could steal to the Heart ; 
 
 And Joy gave his aid to my lays, 
 And taught me his musical art» 
 
 The Boy was so tender and kind 
 
 That I thought 'twas myself who was free, 
 And that e'en his own Chains serv'd to bind 
 
 The dear Infant himself unto me. 
 
 But too soon I was destin'd to prove 
 The fullest extent of his pow'r ; 
 
 And beneath the soft dimples of Love, 
 I found he had terrors in store.
 
 72 
 
 For, quite unsuspecting, one day 
 As Caprice sway'd his Infantile mind, 
 
 To pale Sorrow he gave me away, 
 Pale Sorrow, a Mistress unkind! 
 
 My bonds that e'er-while were so light 
 She replac'd with her heaviest chain ; 
 
 And instead of my songs of Delight, 
 She instructed me how to complain.
 
 73 
 
 TO THE BREEZE. 
 
 SAY, pensive Spirit of the Air, 
 Mysterious whispering to my ear, 
 Why does thy sweet complaint arise 
 So mournful through the list'ning skies? 
 
 Haply, thou art the Voice of Eve' 
 Who sighs, perhaps, at taking leave 
 Of Phaebus' last departing rays, 
 That o'er the Clouds of purple blaze ; 
 While sad she sees the sable Night, 
 With cheerless brow, that iiates the light, 
 Slow creeping o'er the darken'd scene 
 To steal her transitory reign. 
 
 Or, haply, with thy breath may blend 
 The soul of some departed Friend,
 
 74 
 
 That hovers still o'er those below 
 Tlie Tenants of a world of Woe ; 
 And chides, and mourns the dull delay 
 That keeps it's kindred Soul away. 
 
 How sad-soe'er thy murmurs be, 
 I'm sure they meet with sympathy ; 
 For, when thou mourn'st along the Vale, 
 Thy confidants, the Primrose pale, 
 And Cowslips o'er the iiillock spread, 
 And Violets lurking in the shade, 
 And Woodbine flow'rs that climb on high, 
 Sigh perfume to thy frequent sigh.
 
 75 
 
 WRITTEN ON 
 
 THE 3lst. OF DECEMBER, 18—. 
 
 TO the hours that are fled, to the days that are gone, 
 When the sigh of Rememb'rance wafts back the idea^ 
 
 Are there any of those that most sweetly have flown, 
 We would wish to recal with the tiresome Year ? 
 
 For in that were not all our mojnents of Bliss, 
 So brief, we could scarcely entitle them so. 
 
 Before they were lost in the fatal Abyss, 
 
 \\ here time heaps them up with whole ages of woe ? 
 
 Yet still to the Future our wishes extend, 
 
 And we people it's scenes with the forms of delight ; 
 
 Vain shadows, alas ! as 'twill prove in the end 
 When the davs of the Past with the Future unite.
 
 76 
 
 Thus the whispers of Hope lead us on to the last, 
 With the promise of Happiness never to come ; 
 
 'Till Life, like a Journey, is wearily past. 
 
 And it's sorrows and vanities end at the Tomb,
 
 77 
 
 Take thejj, oh World ! thy much indebted tear. 
 
 1 SIGH'D when I thought on the troublesome world. 
 So like the tall wave of the fathomless Deep; 
 
 On it's bosom how many poor wretches are hurl'd 
 In distress and despair to oblivious sleep ! 
 
 And a tear fell for him that, dependent and low, 
 The keenest of sorrows is destin'd to prove ; 
 
 For I've felt, when the winds of Adversity blow, 
 How slender's the raft of frail Friendship and Love. 
 
 And a tear when I thought on the prosperous breeze 
 That oft' wafts the unworthy to harbours of rest; 
 
 But I swept it away, while 1 own'd the decrees 
 Of inscrutable Wisdom were certainly best.
 
 78 
 
 AH ! when tlie winged and revolving Year 
 
 Brings back the date of some h)v'd, lost deligiit, 
 
 'Tis like the picture of a friend most dear, 
 
 Tlie Friend that Death has ravish'd from our sight. 
 
 For, though the substance of the Joys we knew, 
 The due return of Time can ne'er restore. 
 
 It must awake to retrospective view 
 
 Th' endearing smile that once our moments w ore. 
 
 Then, mingled sense of Pleasure and of Pain 
 Divides tlie Soul, and rises in the Bieast; 
 
 O'er parted Bliss Kemendyraiice sighs in vain, 
 Yet fondlv lums the image of the Past.
 
 79 
 
 et Urticffi proxima saepe Rosa .est. 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 Beside the Nettle frequent blooms the Rose. 
 
 WHEN Aurora, just ris'n, looks out from the East, 
 And paints the grey heav'ns with crimson and gold, 
 
 How sweet is the calm on the bosom impress'd 
 By the bright scene of Beauty her blushes unfold ! 
 
 But, lost in the gaze of ecstatic Delight, 
 
 We heed not how soon a dark Cloud may arise 
 
 To shut the dear prospect again from our sight, 
 Willi it's dun misty mantle enfolding the skies. 
 
 It was thus when Love's first tender impulse I knew, 
 As the young ray of morning'twas sweet to my heart; 
 
 And the blush that oft' Mary's fair cheek did imbue, 
 Could more charms than the dye of Aurora impart. 
 
 •^
 
 80 
 
 But shortly the dawn of my bliss was o'ercast, 
 And Affliction's cold clouds wept profuse o'er my head j 
 
 And 1 felt, when it's ruinous fury was past, 
 That my peace on the wings of the whirlwind had fled.
 
 81 
 
 Quantum est in rebus Inane? 
 
 Pers: Sat: 
 
 How MLCH OF Emptiness me find in Things ! 
 
 WHEN the best gifts that Life can give 
 
 Are but some vain and fleeting pleasures, 
 The highest Joys for which we live 
 
 ]>ut worthless play-things, Baby-treasures — 
 When, likelier case, at ev'ry turn 
 
 We're dooni'd to meet a thousand crosses, 
 And sad Experience bids us learn 
 
 How few our Gains, how large our TiOS«cs- 
 
 When all our wishes arc denied, 
 
 Our fondest, dearest, Hopes eluded. 
 
 And in each scheme of Bliss we've tried, 
 Wi lind our simple hearts deluded — 
 
 G
 
 82 
 
 When all our Comforts stol'n awa} , 
 In lieu thereof comes heavy Sorrow, 
 
 From which if we escape to day, 
 We but defer it till tomorrow — 
 
 When Life is thus — oh ! where is he 
 
 AVho might not wish this scene were over, 
 While then his only \\ ant would be 
 
 A little dust his bones to cover ? 
 ■ — For me, most joyfully Fd drown, 
 
 Tn Death's oblivion, ev'ry feeling ; 
 Upon our Mother's la}) lie down, 
 
 From Life, its cares and sorrows stealing,
 
 83 
 
 MON DIEU' QlJ'lL EST DIFFICILE DE FAIRE LE BiEN! 
 ih N'V A QUE LE MaL QUI EST FACILE A FAIRE. 
 
 St. Pierre. 
 
 I LOOK around, and grieve to see 
 
 Mankind tlie paths of wisdom leave ; 
 I look at home, and, woe is me! 
 
 I find a nearer cause to grieve. 
 Why do we thus the right forsake, 
 
 Why foolishly the wrong pursue 
 Against the choice that we should make, 
 
 Did Reason guide us what to do ? 
 
 Alas ! tis plain — the way to wrong 
 Is down, as 'twere, a sloping Green., 
 
 With I'airest Flow'rs bestrown along, 
 A templing, a bewitching scene :
 
 84 
 
 And mirth of heart, and gay desires, 
 And Youth and winged Joys invite. 
 
 And Passion's syren voice inspires 
 To dance it down in Reason's spite. 
 
 But ah ! the rough and narrow way 
 
 That must conduct us on to Right, 
 Is all up-hill, and blank Dismay 
 
 Frowns from the mountain's awful height 
 Aed there, our Steps to guide or cheer. 
 
 One " still small voice" is all we lind ; 
 E'en that a monitor severe, 
 
 And should we wander, mo»t unkiiiu. 
 
 Yet mark me — Passion, Joy and Youth, 
 And gay desires, and mirth of Heart, 
 
 Hide but a little w hile the truth, 
 
 That wrong, at length, must pain impart
 
 85 
 
 While Conscience, though her still small voice 
 
 Full oft' a just reproof bestows, 
 Yet bids the upright mind rejoice 
 
 In Bliss that Error never knows.
 
 m 
 
 Deep is thk sleep of the Dead, iov, 
 
 their pillow of dust. 
 
 Ossian. 
 
 MY fancy oft' wanders away 
 
 To those who are silent and cold, 
 
 And I think of their mantles of clay, 
 That darkly their relics enfold. 
 
 Yet, they feel not how danjp arc the sods 
 Which their last narrow man-ions enclose 
 
 For, laid in those peaceful abodes, 
 Each heart sinks to rest and repo-e. 
 
 They hear not the whispering gale 
 Tlrat mournfully kisses their Tomb ; 
 
 Nor the sigh of their Friends, \\lio bewail 
 Death's sad and iiiiniuUible doom.
 
 f>7 
 
 They see not the drops that hang pale 
 On the marble that tells of their name ; 
 
 And the tears can as little avail, 
 
 That from sorrow incessantly stream. 
 
 Then, why should we yield to regret 
 Since the deepest regret must be vain ; 
 
 And wherefore complain of that Fate 
 
 Which releas'd those we cherish'd from pain ? 
 
 .Ah! 'tis nat'ral the loss to bemoan 
 
 Of the Bosom to which we were dear, 
 
 That was soft as the pillow of down, 
 To the head that is aching with Care,
 
 08 
 
 S O N N E T 
 
 BROKEN RING. 
 
 THOU broken Trinket, ever loV'd and dear, 
 
 That once my finger closely did'st embrace — * 
 Thou claim'st from Memory the silent tear, 
 
 As past Delights thou bid'st her to retrace : 
 Once, the bright pledge of fond and mutual Love. 
 
 I thought ihee, too, the emblem of its joy, 
 That would, I hop'd, a ceaseless Cucle prove. 
 
 And like thy Gold ere mix'd with l)ase alloy. 
 Alas ! though all my cherish'd hopes are vain, 
 
 My Ring as emblematical I find — 
 Ne'er to revive, never to join again ; 
 
 Love's joys are perish'd, thou hast found an end I 
 Yet still, dear broken ring, we will not part — 
 I'll wear thee now as emblem of my heart.
 
 89 
 
 TO 
 
 MY Friend, what made that sigh to rise, 
 
 So heavy fraught with sadness, 
 What dims the lustre of those Eyes 
 
 I'd wish to beam with gladness ? 
 Dost thou regret the needy want 
 
 Of worldly pomp or riches. 
 Or does thy heart for pleasure pant. 
 
 That simple hearts bewitches ? 
 
 Let winged Riches flee away, 
 
 Unmindful of their flying ; 
 Nor court or Pomp, or Pleasure's stay, 
 
 With vain, with useless sighing ;
 
 90 
 
 Why should we view their flight with pain 
 Much care they with them carry ; 
 
 And with them, too, when they remain, 
 Do many Sorrows tarry. 
 
 Yet haply thou, my Friend, for grief 
 
 Hast some more just occasion, 
 Beyond the soothings of Relief 
 
 From Reason's sweet persuasion — 
 Ilaply, thou feel'st the cruel smart 
 
 Of evil instigations, 
 The AV ill at war, within the heart, 
 
 Vt ith better inclinations. 
 
 Perhaps, in some ill-fated hour, 
 "^I'hou'st fallen in otfences, 
 
 ISeglecting Wisdom's ruling pow'r. 
 And V^irtue's best defences :
 
 91 
 
 Perhaps Thou'st steep'd thy fault with tears, 
 
 Repented thy Delusion, 
 Resolv'd 'gainst Error's future snares. 
 
 And broke thy Resolution* 
 
 f f so, the sorrows of thy heart, 
 
 Thy bosom's deep dejection. 
 Oh ! to thy other-self impart, 
 
 For Friendship's fond inspection : 
 ril hear thy tale without a frown. 
 
 Or one upbraiding feature ; 
 And then, together sit we down 
 
 To mourn for Human nature.
 
 92 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 TOGETHER, in a gay Parterre, 
 A Rose and Jasmine grew. 
 
 Alike they sweeten'd all the air, 
 And sipp'd alike the Dew. 
 
 Their gentle Intercourse, at last, 
 The tend'rest Love became ; 
 
 For Friendship long the passion past, 
 Then own'd it's real name. 
 
 The Jasmine first his love dcclar'd, 
 In sighs of sweet perfume ; 
 
 The Rose with fond emotion heard, 
 And blush'd a deeper bloom.
 
 93 
 
 Their tenderness no more repress'd, 
 They kiss'd in ev'ry Breeze, 
 
 And in each other's love were bless'd, 
 More bless'd than happiest trees. 
 
 A gilded Fly their joys espied, 
 
 And Envy stung her heart ; 
 Ah ! what than Envy's wounded pride 
 
 Can keener stings impart ? 
 
 She flutter'd round the happy flow'rs, 
 
 With gay deceiving air — 
 They open'd all their honied Stores, 
 
 Their sweets they did not spare. 
 
 When Noon shot forth its ardent ray, 
 She was their welcome guest ; 
 
 Each night beneath their Leaves she lay. 
 Enjoying safest rest.
 
 94 
 
 Her Malice, cloak'd in dark deceit, 
 
 Grew deadlier than before — 
 For Benefits from those we hate 
 
 But sharpen Rancour more. 
 
 One day, the virgin Rose she sought, 
 
 In tears well feign'd to move, 
 And whisper'd falsehoods fiend like wrought, 
 
 Against the Jasmine's love. 
 
 Alas ! too well the bolt was aim'd 
 
 That shook the fabric down, 
 Which Love in two pure hearts had fram'd, 
 
 And Joy had call'd his own. 
 
 The Lover soon, aniaz'd perceiv'd 
 His Love's much alter'd mien — 
 
 Had Death that hour his pangs reliev'd, 
 How happy had he been!
 
 95 
 
 In vain, through each succeeding day, 
 Sigh'd his complaining Boughs ; 
 
 She bent her angry flow'rs away, 
 Unheeding prayers or vows. 
 
 Ah ! do thy tears, my Mary, fall 
 For the poor Jasmine's fate ? 
 
 And dost thou not to mind recal 
 My wrongs and woes as great ?
 
 96 
 
 Singula de nobis anni praedantur ountes. 
 
 Hor: 
 
 Years following Years steal something ev'ry Day. 
 At last they steal us from olrselves awav. 
 
 Pop,: 
 
 UPON the wings of Time, 'tis said, 
 
 A lenient Balm lie bears, 
 To sooth the wounds that Woe has made. 
 And dry those Eyes that oft' have shed 
 
 Tlie bitter flood of Tears. 
 
 Ah ! for each wound he feigns to heal, 
 
 He proves a very thief, 
 Some yet remaining good to sfeul, 
 And bids the fated Sutfrer feel 
 
 But sad exchange of Grief.
 
 97 
 
 Love refines the thoughts 
 
 Milton. 
 
 1 PrrY the Man, \vho with Fancy impuie, 
 
 Seeks for nothing in Love but his selfish Desire, 
 
 For his Joys, like the Raiurjow, a moment endure, 
 And tlicn fadcTroui Ins Soul, and for ever expire. 
 
 But the Breast where true Love his estahlish'd it's reign, 
 \\ ith the purest Ideas does it's object regard, 
 
 i\nd voluptiious passion ne'er enters to stain 
 I'he fond iieart with a wish that a Blush mustrecord. 
 
 H
 
 98 
 
 Durum : sed levins fit patientia — 
 
 Hot. 
 
 'Tis hard: but patience makes the blruen light. 
 
 OH! if thou hast some fav'rite Joy 
 That twines itself about thy Heart, 
 
 Tliat does thy ev'iy thought employ, 
 And of tliy Being seems a part — 
 
 Hast thou some Hope which thou dost cherish, 
 And prize beyond ali good beside; 
 
 And if tlie lov'd Idea perish, 
 
 Must perish too thy peace, thy pride — 
 
 Oh! look to see tliat Joy bereft, 
 
 That fondly-cherish'd Hope destroy 'd ; 
 
 Oh ! look to lind I'xi.stence left, 
 A* comfortless, and dreary void.
 
 99 
 
 Yet Patience ! 'tis in mercy giv'n, 
 A clmst'iiing from a Hand of Love, 
 
 To lead our thougiits from Earth to Heav'n, 
 From Cares below, to Peace above.
 
 100 
 
 L'ESPERANCE EST MORTE EN MON C(EUR, 
 Et CEPENDANT MON AMOUR VIT. 
 
 Racine, 
 
 M/\RY, as genial Suns in May 
 
 With mildest lustre shine, 
 On me thy smile was wont to plaj 
 
 Most heav'iily, most benign. 
 
 Two Flow'rs sprang up within my breast, 
 
 Beneath that sunny smile ; 
 And Love, and Hope, their names express'd, 
 
 i\nd fair they grew awhile. 
 
 But soon, alas ! in evil hour 
 
 Thy radiance was denied ; 
 And budding Hope, a tender Flow'r, 
 
 Low droop'd it's head, and died
 
 101 
 
 Sweet Love, more deeply rooted there, 
 
 Still in my bosom grew ; 
 But since Hope died, in sad despair, 
 
 Distils cold drops of Dew.
 
 102 
 
 THE MOON. 
 
 AS often at Night's silent Noon 
 From dreams of Sadness I awake, 
 
 From the cold sky, the h)ne]y moon 
 Looks pale upon my tearful cheek; 
 
 And as she wanders on l.er way, 
 
 Sweet words of Pity seems to say. 
 
 • 
 
 Melhinks thou art, soft 13eam of Night! 
 
 The slee))less I,over's deaiest Friend ; 
 And thou dost woo him to recite 
 
 His tale of Sorrows to the end ; 
 And, most attentive all die while, 
 Dost half iiis misery beguile.
 
 103 
 
 If this be so, thy radiant sphere, 
 
 In many a monthly course, has heard 
 
 The darkest Stories of Despair, 
 
 And saddest prayers to thee preferr'd : 
 
 Yet none, I think, thou'st heard repine 
 
 At griefs more sad, more dark than mine.
 
 104 
 
 What a Piece of Work is Man? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 WHEN something of a noble kind, 
 Beyond tlie reach of mean controul, 
 
 Stirring within our breasts we find, 
 That tells us we possess a Soul — 
 
 What grief to feel it's native pow'r, 
 
 Its inborn dignity to trace, 
 Yet feel it only to deplore 
 
 How much that greatness we debase ! 
 
 What deeds of meanness, or of Pride, 
 To stain it's gl'iry have been done, 
 
 As envious clouds deform and iiide 
 The radiant beauty of the Sun.
 
 105 
 
 Oh, for the firmness to pursue 
 Some fix'd undeviating plan ! 
 
 Oh, for some pow'r to guide us true, 
 And make man act becommgr Man !
 
 1C8 
 
 Oh, Happiness, not to be found. 
 Unattainable Tkeaslre auiei; ! 
 
 Cowpei'. 
 
 IN Error's maze so far astray, 
 Say, whither wander you away 
 
 Oh, Man ! my Friend : 
 What can the fond pursuit t;ngage, 
 Of either sex, of ev'ry age, 
 
 Wliat noble end r 
 
 • 
 
 If lla|)))iiicss your search employ, 
 Or that delusive Phantom Joy, 
 
 Your search forego ! 
 Trust n\e, they are not to be found 
 Where Sorrows evermore abound, 
 
 On Earth below.
 
 107 
 
 In vain ye look or liere, or there: 
 
 Love, Fame, Wealih, Pow'r, are all but Care, 
 
 All share its leav'n ; 
 Meanwhile, una})t this sphere to bless, 
 Swift tlies the cherub Happiness, 
 
 And lights in Heav'u. 
 
 Then rather wisely seek to find 
 Calm and contented peace of mind, 
 
 And curb the Will ; 
 Aim not at Joys of high degree, 
 But think it ample good to be 
 
 Exempt from ill. 
 
 For even this and man between, 
 Full oft' w ill something intervene 
 
 To bar his way; 
 Full oft' (he malice of a foe, 
 Or dearest Friends by Death laid low 
 
 Scare Peace away.
 
 108 
 
 Or if the rush-light beam of Life, 
 Less clouded, or by VV oe, or Strife 
 
 Might shine serene, 
 How oft' will Passion's ruthless blast, 
 Or sighs, and tears, for errors past, 
 
 Bedim the scene !
 
 109 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 MONTHS, weeks and days have pass'd away 
 Since, Mary, thou hast met mine eye, 
 
 And every month, and week, and day, 
 Has each been number'd with a sigh. 
 
 Maid of my Soul ! like minutes flown, 
 Which Time's unsparing hand bereft, 
 
 Tell me, and is my image gone. 
 And on thy Heart no traces left ? 
 
 Yet, with the Morning's smiling ray, 
 
 1 breathe my Orisons for thee, 
 Rememb'ring, in a happier day 
 
 lliy smile, like beams of Morn, to me.
 
 no 
 
 ^nd when Xiglit darkly frowns, again 
 Thou dost my warmest Prayers employ ; 
 
 Although my heart rccals wiih pain, 
 
 Thy frown which clos'd my day of Joy.
 
 lU 
 
 Spem longain reseces 
 
 HoK 
 
 Cut short vain Hope — 
 
 BY past affliction roughly school'd 
 
 Weigh'd down by present grief and care, 
 
 Let us by Hope no more be fool'd, 
 Nor paint the future moments fair : 
 
 For these will prove, like those gone by, 
 Man lives alone to suffer and to die. 
 
 Scarce do we gain, by us unsought, 
 The threshold of beginning Life, 
 
 E'er something of its Ills we're taught. 
 And wage, with pain, unequal Strife : 
 
 Proving, by eveiy feeble ciy, 
 
 Man lives alone to suffer and to die.
 
 112 
 
 When, more advanc'd upon the Scene, 
 Youth seems to offer instant joy, 
 
 Impetuous Passions rush between, 
 And all the promis'd good destroy ; 
 
 And still we prove, by many a sigh, 
 
 Man lives alone to suffer and to die. 
 
 Then come staid Manhood's sober years, 
 Yet come no harbingers of Peace : 
 
 For Griefs, Regrets, and anxious Carts, 
 With these, alas! too much increase; 
 
 And reft of many a valu'd tie, 
 
 Man feels he iives to suffer and to die. 
 
 Is Age, beneath it's tranquil Mien, 
 Exempt from Sorrow and Distress : 
 
 Ah, no ! but us'd to Life's sad scene, 
 It looks f')r woe, and feels it less ; 
 
 And, half resign'd, can reason why 
 
 Man lives alone to suffer and to die.
 
 Vohiptas 
 
 Solamenque rnali. 
 
 rirg. 
 
 Tins ONLY SOLACE HIS HARD FORTUNE KNOWS. 
 
 Dri/den. 
 
 I'LL bless that long, long wisli'd-for day 
 That sets my fetter'd Sj)ir!t free ; 
 I'll bless that hour, my last of grief, 
 That breaks this prisonment of Life : 
 Then mem'ry, with the Parthian's arc 
 
 Back from those Joys that far have fled, 
 ]So more shall wing the poison'vl dar 
 
 To bid my vvretclied bosom bleed. 
 
 To my cold couch within the tomb, 
 Vain Dreams of Bliss shall never come, 
 Nor Morn, awak'ning sense of pain, 
 There prove that Dreams of Bliss are vain. 
 I
 
 114 
 
 Yet say, will Mary o'er my Bier, 
 In pity for her Lover's fate, 
 
 Lay, sweetly-spangled with a tear. 
 One wither'd rose of late regret :
 
 115 
 
 TO MYSELF. 
 
 ALAS, the folly of my heart, 
 That plays me such a treach'rous part; 
 Seducing me so oft' astray, 
 from sober Reason's better way ! 
 
 Wlien shall I learn me to be wise, 
 When quit this trifling I despise, 
 My Inconsistency give o'er. 
 And wander from the ri^ht no more r 
 
 Is Youth the season for reform, 
 Life's Summer season, blithe and warm 
 Shall op'ning rose-buds of Delight, 
 Be nipp'd by Care's corroding blight f
 
 116 
 
 Not so the youthful mind conceives, 
 But rather Nature's voice believes, 
 That tells us, Manhood's early prime 
 Is Love's and Pleasure's golden time. 
 
 Fitter th' unpleasing task appears 
 For Age, the Winter oluur year.s. 
 Whose hoar and chiduig Frost destroys 
 Our Passion's warmth, and kills our Joys, 
 
 Yet when the Heart is cold and dead. 
 And Life's last sunny beam has tied. 
 What vigour, or what strength remains 
 To animate our toils and pains : 
 
 And is there, then, no happy hour 
 When Wisdom may exert her pow'r. 
 Except what heedless we refuse, 
 Or she, once scorn'd, now scorns to use r
 
 '117 
 
 Ah, me ! then I liave cause to dread 
 That I, unfortunately made 
 Scarce other than a Fool by Nature, 
 Shall live and die a foolish creature.
 
 118 
 
 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 A PILGRIM through the winding vale 
 
 Pursued his lonely way ; 
 With Lollow voice the fresh'iiino; <vale 
 
 Foretold the stormy day. 
 
 While sad he saw the clouds around 
 
 Wing'd swiftly o'er the sky, 
 A sun-beam, on a distant ground, 
 
 Enliv'ning caught his eye. 
 
 With toil he gain'd the smiling liill. 
 The storm more swiftly sped ; 
 
 And there, with threat'ning aspect, still 
 Hung o'er the Pilgrim's head 
 
 But from the \'ale he left below 
 The Clouds had puss'd away,
 
 ir9 
 
 And Plicebus' beams began to glow 
 Along his former way. 
 
 Tis thus when Pilgrim-like we tread 
 
 Life's sad and weary road, 
 Tlie Clouds of Fate, around us spread, 
 
 The blackest Ills forebode. 
 
 Tlien do we mark the far-ofF scene 
 Where sunshine seems to rest ; 
 
 Where seems the future to our eyne, 
 In fairest colours dress'd. 
 
 But when we reach the purpos'd end 
 Tliat promis'd calm repose, 
 
 How oft' in darkness do we find 
 Our brightest prospects close ! 
 
 Ah! how the Valley of the Past 
 Then brightens to our eye ; 
 
 Vv liile we endure a ruder blast 
 Beueath the present sky.
 
 120 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 WHO WISHED HERSZLF IN HEAVEN. 
 
 OH! Lady, let not lips divine 
 
 The accents of DesponJence breatLc; 
 
 But rosy Happiness be thine, 
 
 And Pleasure's never-radiiig Wicatli. 
 
 Lest those whose joy i> in thy sniile, 
 And in thy sadness all llieir care, 
 
 Be taught to think w'nh thee the \\ li:le, 
 This world a desert of despair. 
 
 Beside?, 'twere selfishness in thee 
 To wish to heav'n'y climes to go, 
 
 While tliou thyself wert made fo be 
 The Heav'n of many here below.
 
 121 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 When Lilies with the Dew bespread 
 Hang down oppress'd the beauteous head, 
 
 And sadly bend beneath the weight, 
 Some gentle hand may yield relief, 
 And shake the dew drops from the leaf, 
 
 And save them from untimely fate : 
 And can there none from those sweet eyes 
 (Where Love in fear of drowning lies) 
 
 Dispel Af3iction's dewy tear ; 
 And has there none the blissful pow'r, 
 Tiiee, drooping Lily, lovely flovv'r, 
 
 Lrom Grief's oppressive weight to rear? 
 
 When Night, njost silent and forlorn. 
 Seems clad in sable Weeds to niourn. 
 
 And shrouds her in the darkest gloom; 
 At length, the Morning Light appears, 
 And Nature's face new Beauty wears, 
 
 And brighter glow, and fresher bloom :
 
 122 
 
 i\nd can there none with magic art, 
 Pour light upon that heavy heart, 
 
 And Melancholy charm away; 
 None on that downy cheek excite. 
 'Hie roseate hue of young Delight, 
 
 And kindle Joy's reviving ray r 
 
 Oh ! were there one who could impress 
 Thereon the smile of Happiness, 
 
 And rouse in dimples sportive Mirth, 
 If such there were, most surely he 
 Would ever feel his Lot to be 
 
 The very blessedest on Earth ! 
 Than I.ilies, which the Morning dew 
 Doth all with liquid gen»s imbue, 
 
 Tar sweeter his reward would be : 
 ]5rigiiter than are the Morning's beams. 
 When from the East that radiance gleams 
 
 Which makes the Shades of jSijiht to Ase
 
 1-23 
 
 YE futile Hopes, ye vain Desires, 
 
 To which our anxious minds give birth, 
 
 What are ye like, but Meteor fires, 
 The kindled vapours of the Earth ? 
 
 As these, through paths be^^et with ill, 
 Mislead the Trav'ller from his v. ay, 
 
 Still seeming near, though distant still, 
 Then leave iiim, darkling aiid astray — 
 
 So ye, still flying, still pursued, 
 
 Life's gloomy Scenes awhile illume, 
 
 Lead us through Di'Uger's mazy road, 
 And vanish o'er the dark cold tomb.
 
 124 
 
 To ERR IS HV.MAN 
 
 Pope. 
 
 WHEN the eirors of others we blame or bemoan, 
 From Oblivion and Silence recalling our own, 
 We sliould pity the Being denied to our Love, 
 Nor censure too much what we cannot approve. 
 
 For we know not what struggles the Heart may have us'd, 
 To be IVee from the Shackles that Folly impos'd ; 
 Or how keenly the Serpent Repentance may bite 
 When aioLis'd from a short deviation from right. 
 
 And consider, their Foes inay be stronger than our's, 
 More defenceless their bosoms, and weaker their pow'r:^, 
 And the Shaft that flics harmless and distant from me, 
 'Jo another a death-winged Arrow may be.
 
 125 
 
 Ah Homine Homini quotitliannm periculum. 
 
 Senec. 
 
 Man's inhumanity to Man 
 
 Mas!:s roLXTi.Ess thousands mourn. 
 
 Burnt. 
 
 IN what has Society power to charm, 
 
 And hou dt^es the World our affections retain? 
 
 'Tis the seat of Oppression, Distress, and Alarm, 
 \\ liere the sensitive Soul is lor ever in pain. 
 
 Here Envy repines when good Sense would applaud. 
 Where to Aleiit and Truih the just tribute is due, 
 
 And would Merit itself of it's merit defraud. 
 
 And e'en doubt oi ihe truth of whatever is true. 
 
 And blackening Slander oft' frowns in reproach 
 At sriow-nianlied Innocence, tearful and pale, 
 
 Aiid whene'er ihe mildMaideu attempts to approach. 
 With poisonous Whispers impregnates the gale.
 
 126 
 
 Thenl'll shun what Experience has taught me to fear, 
 Content, ihough obscure, to be happy and free, 
 
 Nor again shall the World, or it's pleasures be dear ; 
 For why should I care for what cares not for me?
 
 127 
 
 After long toils and voyages in vai^, 
 This quiet port let my toss'd vessel gain ; 
 Of heav'nly rest this earnest to me lend, 
 Let my life sleep and learn to love her end. 
 
 CoTKley, 
 
 GIVE me that sweet repose of mind, 
 That Calm the tranquil bosom feels; 
 
 Give me that Pensiveness reiin'd, 
 That o'er the soul in quiet steals — 
 
 E'en as Favonius softly plays 
 
 Along the Streamlet's dimpled face. 
 
 TTis found at distance from the world, 
 
 In Solitude's secure retreat, 
 When the poor heart, long tempest-hurl'd, 
 
 Leaves Hopes and Fears to lean on Fate; 
 'Tis much unlike Mirth's joyous folly, 
 Yet more serene than melancholy.
 
 128 
 
 'Tis when tbe Fancy, tir'd and spent 
 In search of foreign Joys and Care, 
 
 Ho!!)e\\ard at last her course has bent, 
 And iinds that rest is only there: 
 
 On things external shuts iier eyne. 
 
 And draws sweet solace from within. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 I'rinted hy E. \V . Mcjiris Dnrspt Couil. 
 .■^uatlmry .Sijiiaie, LmikIuh.
 
 MIDNKiHT, 
 
 AKD OTHER 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 
 
 THOMAS YORK. 
 
 Nil iiiortalibus Hiduum est : 
 
 Cceliim ipsum pettmus stultitia; itfquc 
 Per nostrum patimus scelns 
 
 Iracunda Jovem ponere ftilmina. 
 
 HOR. 
 
 Nothing is arduous to daring' man: 
 We foolishly attack the very hearenj ; 
 
 Nor suHer God, thro' our impiety, 
 
 To lay aside his wratliful thunderholtt. 
 
 PRINTED BY ALFRED LUNN, 
 
 AND SOLD BY BALDWIN AND CO. PATERNOSTKR 
 
 ROW, EVANS, LONG LANE, SMITHFIELD, AND 
 
 W. DARTON, HOLBORN HILL, LONDON. 
 
 1 829.
 
 PRE! ACE. 
 
 It is with the greatest diiiideiice, that the 
 author presents this voiuiiie to the pubHc; 
 a\vare that, Vrhatcver respectahihty it clahn.--;, 
 it has its imperfections. Had he relie ! on 
 his own judgement only, lliese poems, wlra:h 
 at iirst v,ere written solely to ])e.uuile his 
 solitary hours, would have never been print- 
 ed, but encouraged by his friends, w!io, he 
 knows, were not disposed to deceive or Hal- 
 ter him, he has aiter many broken resolutions 
 to publish, ventured to give theiu publicity. 
 It can hardly be expected, that a young 
 man, who has been sparingly blessed with 
 time to pursue the bent of i.is inclination, 
 who has been obliged to reliiifinisii, often 
 when most disposed to wriie, Poes\, should
 
 iv PREFACE. 
 
 have written like a Byron, or a INlilton. 
 Yet there ma}- be something to amuse, 
 something" to be2fuile a leisure hour, in this 
 volume. It would, therefore, be unjust to 
 deny me the liberty of publishing' my lucu- 
 brations to the world. No true admirer of 
 nature will trample underfoot the simple 
 primrose, because it does not develope the 
 lovely hues of the tulip, or fragrance of tlie 
 rose. Then let me have an impartial criti- 
 cism from my readers ; to the tribunal of the 
 just I ^^ ill be accountable. 
 
 My readers may think these pieces wiit- 
 ten in too querulous a strain, and, that I 
 have taken too partial a view of human 
 distress, but those who can Ijreathe the air of 
 solitarv thought, and who have felt, by sad 
 experien.ce, this Avorld to be a vale of tears 
 and c'.xn ccnsequenlly look doM n ^vitll com- 
 miseration on human wretchedness, will 
 ackno^\le(]ge me to liave given an impartial 
 sketch of things as they are in themselves. 
 A man of a constitution ill able to contend 
 Avitli niisfortnne, who has from his earliest 
 \«>nt!i, sulfcrrd a seiics of iiijurirs— frauds.
 
 PREFACE. V 
 
 treachery, and caluiniiv, a large portion of 
 which happens to ahiiost all — very naturally 
 gives a gloomy coloring to all his thoughts. 
 This I trust is a sufficient apology for a want 
 of vivacity in my volume. 
 
 The principal poem (.Midnight) is to be 
 regarded as a sketch ofsnch scattered events, 
 as present themselves to a mind b} nature and 
 habit, fond of solitude and night. There are 
 faults v/hich perhaps the reader will not fail 
 to condemn, and perhaps there are beauties, 
 which he should not fail to admire. How- 
 ever, I send them fortli with all their imper- 
 fections on their head, conscious that, if the 
 reader derive the same exquisite bliss from 
 reading, that I have deri^.ed from A\riling 
 these poems, lie Avill be amply rewai'ded ior 
 his labor. 
 
 Tittleshall, Tin: altiIor. 
 
 February, I82'.>.
 
 EuIlATA. 
 
 Pa^e 2, twentv-firdi iii.o. J'.ir 'corpse' read copse. 
 
 J*tj;ie 19. ln;t \t'Vr[-J',.r Test' rer;:! vast. 
 
 P/'^'-e 21, I'lrst vcr-if. j'or 'to shine' rc'arf don't ihine. 
 
 P/Ji;e 2i. iir^t ]\\\c. J'-'i- -liiw^' /r^s^ hou's. 
 
 /V/ife 26. lif'ih I. ne. "_/;-:," 'fjrrath' /-cYi^i' brt-athcs. 
 
 Fat^e Si", s::;r;'en*!i I'ljC. jr-r -parrin^' ?yv;,7 pontine. 
 
 P./jfe 20, sivtfcnili lir:o. _yi9r '\vi;l) ;;!! jo;.' read witn ail 'viio jov 
 
 Page 40, iiineteenrh iiiic. /'.>;• •law' /'Cur;^ low. 
 
 I'XVe 59./-;;- Hor. ?7v;f/ Vir. 
 
 JJitiO V.\A Wr.o. foi- "^,it!!3 iiihaic' r:'ad to in!;iile. 
 
 PagcSL cia:lHh liiie. Jl-w 'v,(;il;!,' read y.v\:\- 
 
 page \',).';,j'i)r -I'diir Vtiidonies" read Fair \'cridoir;e. 
 
 Page 1!!), seco;;(l \vr?v. J'fr 'hov.-i-^ rend cii\m. 
 
 page 117, first verse. Jbr 'b^" fatiicf read by niv fa'h'Ji.
 
 :Oi\TENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 MidniiTiit 1 
 
 The Fug-itive, addressed to !•'> 
 
 The Winter Evening- 22 
 
 Verses 31 
 
 To Death 33 
 
 The Female Wanderer 35 
 
 To my Lyre 38 
 
 Life 45 
 
 Evening-, written during- a fit of illness. . 49 
 
 Disappointment, an ode 52 
 
 Verses 55 
 
 The Land of Canaan 57 
 
 To a Friend, an ode 59 
 
 To my Mother in Heaven 65 
 
 The Mariner's Ode 07 
 
 The Soul 69 
 
 Lines 71 
 
 To a Friend 73
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 To ft Partridg'e 75 
 
 Lin , 7G 
 
 The Little Orphan 78 
 
 Sleep 81 
 
 Lines 84 
 
 E) ;ram 87 
 
 Peace . . . . , ib. 
 
 Woman 89 
 
 IMy Dog- 90 
 
 Fame 91 
 
 Lines 93 
 
 Lydia 94 
 
 An Ode' 95 
 
 Sympathy 97 
 
 To the first Swallow seen in Spring- . . 104 
 
 Sonnet 105 
 
 Evening- ,, lOG 
 
 A Satire 107 
 
 On the Death of an unfortunate Poet . . 110 
 
 Frag-ment 112 
 
 Ode to Decline 114 
 
 Devotion, a Hymn IIG 
 
 A Rout 118 
 
 A Hymn 120 
 
 The Sea Boy 122 
 
 Religion 125
 
 MIDNIGHT. 
 
 Jamque quiescebant voces hominumque canumque. 
 
 OVID. 
 
 But be the day another's, let it pass, 
 
 The night's my own.— They cannot steal my night. 
 
 KIRKE WHITE. 
 
 vJ SABLE nig-ht, sweet source of g-en'ral rest, 
 To man o'erwholm'd with care, and weary beast ; 
 The kind restorer of exhausted streng-th ; 
 The miscreant's solace, weary with the leng^th 
 Of his diurnal route, thro' lane and street. 
 In search of bitter bread, his taste to g-reet ; 
 Fit emblem of the tomb, where, buried, lie 
 All states, and ages in obscurity. 
 Thee do I hail, the fountain of my joy, 
 Amidst a world, where miseries annoy. 
 
 The g-enius, pining' under many a pang-, 
 Inflicted by the critic's odious fang-, 
 Immur'd in g-arret, hungry and forlorn, 
 Victim of fell despair, and frowning- scorn, 
 Stretch'd out, at length, upon his straw-mat, cold, 
 Half stifled, in the pestilential hold. 
 By thee O night, enjoys sleep's lov'd repose, 
 Which buries, in oblivion, all his woes. 
 He too, who's hurl'd from wealth, and pleasure gay, 
 A
 
 '1 MIDNIGHT. 
 
 Pacing- witli grievous steps, life's devious a\ .s^n , 
 Withont a finend to sooth his soul to rest, 
 And take tiie g'angrene from his aching breast, 
 .Mock'd by the proud, and by tiie c^o^vd unkind, 
 Who never feel for him oppress'd in mind, 
 Slce})S undisturb'd, awiiile forg-ets liis tears. 
 And nov,- is dreaming- of his g-ayer years. 
 The widovv's heart now rests in soothing- sleep. 
 She at her husband's shrine has ceas"d to weep -, 
 A.nd her unconscious baby little knows, 
 Tliat nig-ht alone has still'd its mother's woes. 
 Ah! happy babe, thee twenty years will telK 
 Tliat man is born to g-rJef and troubles fell. 
 Ah! were thy little mind attun'd to think, 
 I'd tell thee man is pendent o"er the brink 
 Of vice, of da.ng-er, disappointment, deatli, 
 Of pale disease, which steals his vital breatii, 
 .\nd one imprudent step, in his short years, 
 May strew his live-long- path, with penitential tears 
 T>ut, happy babe, thou knowcst not this truth, 
 That care consumes us with his cank'ring- tooth, 
 jiiich do I wi.:h, that thou may'st never know, 
 Tliv motlier's tears, thy mother's share of wo. 
 The fair, lial? frantic willi her bla^ted hopes, ^ ,^ 
 Wiio, evev.'hile, wept h.er ruin 'neath yon corpse, 
 AVho once g-ay pleasr.re kncv.-, and happy home, 
 V}\\\ forc'd, tliro' ^^in in banislnnent to roam ; 
 T!;e merchant, having; loi-t his stately ship. 
 With in:iian treasures in tiie greedy deep, 
 V.'Iio .-ce.-,. thro* rdver^e f;>tLS, liis worthy wife^ 
 \<-'A ch;!i*r..'ii, : iibi(;ct t-t the ^^^jl'm■^ of life
 
 MIDNIGHT. 3 
 
 The son of Bacchus, drench'd hi <;parklinf>' v> ine, 
 
 Conlcnining- rdl laws, human and divine, 
 
 Who only lives to swear, to lie and laug-h, 
 
 And blushing- g'oblets of pure v/ine to quaff. 
 
 To bring to vvTeichedness his harmless wife, 
 
 And to involve her in perpetual strife. 
 
 All, in their turn, sleep's soft dominion feel. 
 
 As if unmov'd by fortune's fickle wiieel. 
 
 While all are sleeping-, I, in solemn fit, 
 
 Delig-iited with my ruminations sit 
 
 To pore o'er solitary books, who?e labour'd slrains, 
 
 Show men have patience much, with ampi braiiis. 
 
 I, therefore, will foreg-o some hours sleep, 
 
 The richness of their labouring- minds to reap. 
 
 Hence nig-ht's a friend to lore,— relig-ion too, 
 
 If well improv'd, a monitory true. 
 
 Which, clothing- all the woi'ld in sombre g'loon;, 
 
 Bids all prepare for death, a darker tomb. 
 
 Nor will I cease to court thee, sable maid, 
 
 While God ordains me thro' life's >vaves to wade; 
 
 W^hen death shall strike me with his liorrid staff. 
 
 Night's votary, shall be my epitaph. 
 
 Why man, my midnight fsre and book, are more to me. 
 
 Than honor, wealth and fam.c, can be to thee. 
 
 Tho' pond'rous acres of paternal soil. 
 
 With slaves to husband it xvhh sweaty toil, 
 
 Where never left to me, shall I repine ? 
 
 No, —reason, night and study, all are mine. 
 
 And though they're not my own, their good I share, 
 
 1 see, and use them as "creation's heir." 
 
 Mc for the lovs of health the crowd mnv blame.
 
 4 iMlDNIGlIT, 
 
 Small is the lionor of a poet's fame ; 
 
 True, but if fame could be my sole delig-ht, 
 
 I'd say, farcv.-ell for ever, studious nig-lit. 
 
 'Tis midnig-liit, men and noise arc far away, 
 And darkness reig'ns with universal sway, 
 Resembling" cliaos, when no human wig'ht, 
 Startled grim silence from his throne— the nig-ht. 
 Unconscious of a world all beings seem, 
 Save when it flits before them in a dream. 
 Alone, and free from revelry and noise, 
 I taste, unrival'd, the most lasting joys. 
 When the g'ay pleasures of the vain shall die, 
 And on their heads shall frovrn the ang-ry sky, 
 When death the wicked's impious course shall stop, 
 And God shall let his lifted thunders drop, 
 And the pale visionary's hopes retire, 
 And he, with all his vices, sliall expire, 
 How will lie v,"ish, his poisonous draug-hts of wine. 
 He'd barter'd for relig'ion's ways beni-rn ? 
 No more is heard the rustic's languag-e coar.»c. 
 Which erewhile, rusiied from yon public hou;e. 
 No more the little rag-g-ed urchin's seen. 
 Playing- his harmless freaks upon the g-reen. 
 But, supperless, pcrcliance the liarmless wig-lit, 
 Has found his only luxury in the nig-ht. 
 Rlany, like thee, are supperless, and cold, 
 Pursued by want, as v<;olvcs pursue the fold. 
 Stiil'd is the miik-maid's v.-i!d juelodious song'. 
 She, clieerfiil, warbled, as >he waliv'd along-. 
 The lowing- cows are hush'd beneath the shed. 
 The swains, their keepers, ha\c rctir'd to bo!
 
 MIDNIGHT. O 
 
 Then sleep ye liappy sons of rural peace, 
 
 Tlioug'h poor, ye yet enjoy your rural ease. 
 
 Your homely fare, and pipe, are more to you, 
 
 Than Plato's lore, or mines of rich Peru. 
 
 Few are your wants, and fewer still your cares. 
 
 And nature kind, for you these wants prepares. 
 
 Ye never know the gTief of learning" lore: 
 
 O'er knotty truths ye have no need to pore 
 
 The spade and ploug'h your only science are, 
 
 These give you health, and taste for your plain fare. 
 
 While, the pale student, at his nig-htly lore. 
 
 Just as the traveller in a miry moor, 
 
 Bewilder'd, stumbles on the devious heath. 
 
 And the last strugrgle brings him monstrous death. 
 
 Then sleep ye happy wights ; I praise your state, 
 
 Me fortune mocks, with cruel, lasting hate. 
 
 As the fierce tigress hunts the harmless lamb, 
 
 tSeeking, in vain, protection in its dam, 
 
 And ceases not her hunt, thro' field and wood, 
 
 Till she has smear'd her cruel jaws with blood; 
 
 So adverse fortune, with unchanged decree, 
 
 Hunts, and pursues, and, cruel, thirsts for me, 
 
 IMe too with odious grin, she does deride, 
 
 With disappointment laughing at her side. 
 
 W^hile pale consumption runs, with hasty breath, 
 
 On me, and threatens with an early death. 
 
 Me placid sleep avoids, as stags the wolf; 
 
 While the pale pilot on the ocean's gulf. 
 
 Can have, unmov'd, an interval of sleep, 
 
 Tho' roars the wind, and rolls the snow-clad deep. 
 
 As clouds oft under-hang the placid sky,
 
 MIDNIGHT. 
 
 And inundating" showers of blackest die 
 
 O'erwhelm with rapid roar, the fertile earth, 
 
 And crush the spring-ing- fruitage in its birth ; 
 
 So memory past of sad events unkind, 
 
 And present thoug-hts o'erwhelm my anxious mind. 
 
 Hence, cloudy memory bring-s no g-entle rain; 
 
 Hence, turbid thoughts disturb the turbid Vn-ain. 
 
 The seas of life have struck my shatter'd bark. 
 
 The murky clouds have quench'd hope's radiant sj^ark. 
 
 And the firm rock, which I had tried to sieze. 
 
 Gave way, as willows 'fore the rushing breeze. 
 
 Y«t borne to better clime I hope to be. 
 
 When calmness shall pervade life's unilx'd sea. 
 
 Such is the fate of him, whose nightly oil 
 
 Is witness to his cares, his griefs, his toil. 
 
 Who grows in knowledge, grows in mis'ry too; 
 But thrice, and four times liappy are tiie fe\A', 
 Who, having just acquir'd so much of art. 
 As shows them how to act a manly par/, 
 Leave abstruse questions to tlie hardier mind, 
 Who soon docs o'er his book his death-bed find. 
 And thus, juy junch-lov'd White, of deathless K;nie, 
 Which sounds from pole to pole his honor'd name. 
 On eagles' wings soar'd 'bove a common fate; 
 How much his piety ! his mind how great ! 
 But as he soar'd, conceal'd within his soul, 
 A gangrene nestled, and, by its control, 
 Death, pitying not his youth, hurl'd straight his dart, 
 AVhich sunk and quiver'd in his manly heart. 
 Thus, the young poet died ; the IMuses fire 
 Ga\c nj) to death, a nation's fond de-ire.
 
 vUDNIGHT. 4 
 
 O Whitu ! fof<i-ive me, when I s>hed a tear, 
 And weep, with all v/ho sorrow, o'er thy bier. 
 May I, like tlieo, sweet bard! learn wisdom's ways, 
 Ti}o' never crown'd with thy poetic bay?:. 
 
 Now roar.-: the wind,— down ru»h the peltin^r rains, 
 Strikinu" with hurrying' force-the glassy panes. 
 While L-easeless sleep, amidst the solemn g"loom, 
 Has lock'd his votaries, as in the tomb. 
 No ray of light can chase the darkness drear. 
 Chaotic blackness shrouds our nether sphere. 
 Lord help thee, pilgrim, on thy lonely tour, 
 Pacing', with dread, the inhospitable moor. 
 Where dangerous pits betray thy weary feet, 
 And no kind guard thy anxious eye will greet. 
 Where neither house, nor turfy embers warm, 
 Will shield thee, pilgrim, from the murky storm. 
 The moon, as if she frown'd upon our globe, 
 Is now surrounded with her cloudy robe ; 
 As if disgusted with a world, where tears 
 Cease not to flow, from ten to eighty years. 
 Pale visitant, divulge thy radiant light, 
 And guide the traveller, in this dreary night. 
 On the dark wing- of the infuriate storm, 
 Is borne aloft iEolus' furious form ; 
 And the grim deity, in his swift course, 
 Adds to the storm the lightning's rapid force. 
 But hark I at distance roars the turbid sea. 
 That mighty wonder of God's dread decree. 
 That happy medium of our wealth and trade.
 
 8 MIDNIGHT, 
 
 By which we shield our coa^t, if lost, we lade : 
 
 Whose surge, in ancient time, in many a bhist, 
 
 llock'd the poor sea-boy on the groaning- mast, 
 
 Whose opening- g-ulf lias swallow'd many a ship, 
 
 And many a valu'd cargo, in its boundless deep, 
 
 Phenicia, Greece, and Rome, all dar'd its roar, 
 
 For wealth and fame, for empire, or for power. 
 
 Hard-hearted man ! who lirst sent out to sea. 
 
 The frag-ile bark on some discovery, 
 
 Who, tearless from his bride could, cheerful, g'o 
 
 O'er flowing- seas to meet the hostile foe. 
 
 Could wend from home, whose homely ample fare. 
 
 Freed him from all perplexity and care. 
 
 But, such is man's impetuous thirst of fame, 
 
 He'll out-brave death itself to g-ain a name. 
 
 In that cibyss of water, swelling- liig-Ji, 
 
 Myriads of all deg-rees, ingulphed lie; 
 
 There lies the merchant, seeking- Tyvian shores. 
 
 Or else returning- with his Tyrian stores. 
 
 The grcneral, leading- his immortal band. 
 
 To conquer, or to sack some foreig-n land. 
 
 Brave men! the fertile laud, that g-a\e you birth. 
 
 Blazons your famous names thro' all the earth: 
 
 Much admiration's to your valour due: 
 
 But who weeps not your bloody carnag-e too? 
 
 Could tears liave quench'd the fury of your eyes, 
 
 Or female importunities and cries ; 
 
 Could these unclench the g-rasp that holds the spear, 
 
 And wrest the falchion from vour hands -evwre,
 
 MIDNIGHT. 9 
 
 Ve had not, first been wounded on the coast, 
 
 And then, in boundless oceans, ever lost. 
 
 How many widows weep, in many a land, 
 
 For husbands butcher'd by your blood-stain'd hand ! 
 
 How many orphans weep the father, dead, 
 
 And begr, in hostile climes, for bitter bread! 
 
 But ye are hush'd, brave men! securely sleep ! 
 
 Till God shall rouse the silence of the deep. 
 
 And, O thou angry sea! now, now perchance thou'lt 
 
 sweep. 
 Some husband lov'd, or son within thy cavern deep. 
 IMaternal fondness, as thy surg-es run. 
 Weeps o'er the storm, and cries, alas! my son! 
 With trembling- knees, she to the bank does roam, 
 To hail the bark that bring-s her fav'rite home. 
 Approaching" near the snow-clad ocean wide, 
 Meets all that's dear, dead, rolling- 'fore the tide ; 
 Distracted, impricates the cruel wave. 
 Then takes him to her breast, and shares his grave. 
 She madly spurns the bank, and braves the surg-e, 
 Which her entombs within its horrid verg-e. 
 Lo! o'er the shatter'd bark the lig-htning-s flash, 
 The thunders bellow with tremendous crash. 
 The topmasts fly before the sweeping- storm, 
 Aloft is seen the wind-g-od's awful form. 
 The cordage cracks, from anchors cables break, 
 The mainmast's g-roaning-, and the yardarms creak. 
 Another wave, another wat'ry shock. 
 Will fix yon stately g-allies on the horrid rock. 
 And all, who left their much-lov'd native land, 
 Will perish, helple>.s on the treacherous strand. 
 
 B
 
 10 MIDNIGHT. 
 
 Tlic ''i-ug-ged charioteer" of Libs severe, 
 ilidcs furious on, unmindful of the tear, 
 That, now Iialf strang"led, laves the roseate cheek. 
 Of lovely female weeping- o'er the Vv'reck. 
 Long- had she ling-ered on the thronged beach: 
 The distant vista oft her eye would reacli ; 
 And ever}' bark, that plow'd the flowing- sea, 
 And every wind, tliat rush'd towards the lee, 
 Convey'd, she hop'd, on board the loveliest form, 
 Oiitbraving- every dang-er, every storm. 
 For him, her second self, she waited long-, 
 This was the night to chant the nuptial song- ; 
 But lo ! stern fortune, ruling- human fate. 
 Exposing- all to disappointment's state. 
 Blasted the bloom of expectation near, 
 That form was ing-rdph'd in the deep severe. 
 The winds bore on their wings her piteous cry^^ 
 The thunders once more rent the vaulted sky, ^ 
 The glaring- flash v;as seen to dance on high. 3 
 
 Njght-imag'cs become my native air, ^ 
 
 These I can breatlie, while pleasures debonair, > 
 Are irksome, and are fraug-ht with carking- care. 5 
 When hammers on the anvil cease to beat. 
 When sheep-bells sound not, nor their offspring- bleat. 
 The woodman's song- nor echoes from the rock, 
 Kor careful shepherds tend their fleecy flock, 
 When bursts not from the v/assail-dome the noise. 
 Of rustic coarseness, and of rustic joys, 
 When revelry has slamp'd his \'ot'ries down, 
 And riotous mirth has left ilie quiet town,
 
 MIDNIGHT. 11 
 
 When oaths bhisphcmous here no more are heard, 
 And sleep has bound in peace the impious herd. 
 My soul, invested with the robe of nig-ht, 
 As on the clouds careers the floating- sprite, 
 Enjoys a holy calm, exalted, hig-h, 
 And soars, in contemplation, 'bove the sky. 
 And, as the po])lar, nodding- to the wind, 
 Fills with .-Eolian melody my mind, 
 Peace g-ently steals upon my ravi^h'd soul : 
 Dear to my heart is midnig-ht's calm control ! 
 Misfortune, want, pale partners, deadly fair, 
 How oft ye crush the g-enius, child of caro! 
 Give me, in melancholy mood, to weep 
 For him, so soon to sleep a deathful sleep. 
 I envy not the man, whose iron-heart, 
 For other's woes ne'er feels a friendly pari : 
 Whose selfish soul of adamantine steel, 
 Feels for himself, and not another's vreal ; 
 Who sees, while tearlocs, bleed at every povc, 
 His friend, and country desolate and poo;". 
 Him I would shun a nameless, usclcs.:; lhiii:r, 
 The curse of every land, and every king. 
 It is for some to lay their easy head, 
 On silken couch, or on tlie downy bed ; 
 To quafl' luxuriant joys, tho' tempests ro;.i*. 
 And eulogfise themselves, and fertile store: 
 To tread on acres of paternal g-rouad. 
 And eye, with smiles, a wide extended mouxid; 
 While lying- in her arms, kind fortune smiles. 
 And saves them all from dioajipointmenfs- wile ■.
 
 12 MIDNIGHT. 
 
 These, \vl;en heaven's high King- demands their breath 
 Obey the tiat,— cheerful wend to dcatli. 
 Is this the case of all? (I envy not), 
 No— few indeed enjoy such happy lot. 
 Scest thou that youtli, expiring- 'neath that shed. 
 His hou^e a hovel, and a stone his bed? 
 Seest thou his meag-re features, deadly pale, 
 Spoil'd of their bloom, by biting-, nothern g-ale? 
 That eye, once beaming- with its wonted (ire, 
 Sinks in its socket, and its llames expire ; 
 His wasted cheek had once a vivid g-low. 
 But novr the hue, and biting: cold of snow; 
 And yet his manly form, and noble air, 
 A youth of more than vulg-ar worth, declare. 
 But gfenius, wit, and learning-'s sacred flame, 
 Expire with him, unknown to men and fame- 
 See him, and let thy mind, im^partial, tliink, 
 That man is standing- on destruction's brink. 
 Oh ! had I wealth I'd stretch my bounties forth. 
 To aid the g-enius and support his wortli. 
 Nor think this g-loomy picture overcharg-'d, 
 I\r;!n's born to g'riof, and till his soul's cnlarg-edj 
 He still will disembogue a flood of tears, 
 Flowing- thro' all tlio winding-s of his years. 
 Hark! rina'S yon chain, in bedlam'^ horrid cell, 
 A\'itiiout a cau^e!* a g-loomy type of hell ! 
 It binds a hapless lady, young-, and fair, 
 And beautiful, the victim of despair. 
 Abandon'd, by a wretch, Avho, once with pride^ 
 Promis'il, delig-hted, he would be her guide.
 
 MIDNIGHT. 13 
 
 She could not bear her mm-d'rer's cruel hate, 
 Now frantic, pines witliin tJiat horrid grate. 
 Ah ! hapless lady ! who shall tell thee, there. 
 That man is happy, and, his "life is fair;" 
 And myriads, in this midnight dang-'rous vale, 
 Can tell, like thee, destruction's awful tale. 
 But for the night I'd never struck my lyre. 
 Nor caught the pleasing" flame of lyric fire. 
 Nor ever, mournful, hynin'd, in plaintive song-. 
 Vain w^ayward man's pursuits, distructive, wrong". 
 Nor felt that solemn melancholy mood. 
 Which, patient suffers adverse tempests rude; 
 Which can our evil passion's force control, 
 And calm the rag-ing-s of an angry soul ; 
 Whose sympathy can raise the down-cast eye, 
 And ease the swelling bosom of its sigli: 
 And find its way to want's obscure abode. 
 And rescue tliem, whom chilling wants corrode; 
 These are not found in gaiety and vice, 
 In tap-rooms, and the swearing stews of dice. 
 Hail nighth' lucubrations, which inspire. 
 The human bosom, with such chaste desire. 
 But now my harp, oppress'd with pale disease, 
 And man's unkindness, that my soul does teaze, 
 My vitals stung too, M-ith calumny's fang. 
 Thee, cheerless, on the willow bland I hang. 
 No more, alas ! shall tliy sweet plaintive chords 
 Beguile my night.— Night always peace affords. 
 A cheerless scene now breaks upon thy bard: 
 I leave thee, 'cause the treacherous me discard.
 
 14 MIDNIGHT. 
 
 Besides, I fear, the hand of death does spread^ 
 
 His icy dews about my feverish head. 
 
 I see the grave does ope its caverns deep. 
 
 To lull me, in its den, to deathful sleep. 
 
 My friends, —or should have been,~of treach'rv rude. 
 
 Have stab'd my soul—the soul, at first, they we'd. 
 
 And every joy is bitter to my taste, 
 
 And disappointments all my pleasures waste. 
 
 I liate the world, and yet I hug" it still, 
 
 I leave it, then return, ag'ainst my will. 
 
 Tho' sadly tearful, thou has wept o'er man, 
 
 And wept his phantom-pleasures, pale and wan, 
 
 Ah! he that's struck thy simple wires can feel, 
 
 RIan's heart img-enerous, and his mind of steel. 
 
 And now the minstrel's g-riev'd, with care is v.'orn. 
 
 For man's injustice, and his haug-hty scorn. 
 
 Yet Holy King- of heaven's exalted tower. 
 
 Who rul'st all human being-s, by t!iy pov.'er, 
 
 Grant that, where'er I roam, my solemn harp. 
 
 May be my solace amidst trials sharp. 
 
 And should the day, that's spent in active trade. 
 
 Require my hand, my thoug-htful lieart degrade, 
 
 Oil ! let a portion of my span-long- time, 
 
 Be mine, to raise my soul to tlioug-hts sublime. 
 
 And Oh! a little long-cr let me live, 
 
 And for man's g-ood, thy g-lory, still survive. 
 
 And let me, wlien tlie sun has veil'd his light, 
 
 Still have my lyre, and all (he calms of nig-lit.
 
 THE FUGITIVE 
 
 ADDRESSED TO 
 
 Quo nos cumque feret melior fortuna parentc, 
 Ibimus, o socii, comitesque. 
 
 Hon. 
 
 Farewell to the pleasures of youth; 
 
 Farewell to its sallies of wit; 
 Tlie chills of adversity's ruth, 
 
 Its blossoms have blasted and bit: 
 Ye conjure my senses no more, 
 
 Your witchery's charms are all broke ; 
 I rush to some merciful shore, 
 
 To miti<>-ate fortune's rude stroke. 
 
 Youth now is a ponderous load, 
 
 Which I weep, as it presses me down ; 
 Old age, steping- into his shroud, 
 
 I ardently wish were my own ; — 
 Old ag-e, that's respected, rever'd. 
 
 And does all youth's follies outbrave, 
 Ag-ainst human mis'ry is sear'd. 
 
 And soon finds a rest in the grave.
 
 16 THE FUGITIVE. 
 
 But death now is shocking- to me^ 
 
 And yet I am weary of hfe : — 
 To what land, or spot shall I flee, 
 
 For rest from this horrible strife? 
 Oh! irive me the wings of a bird, 
 
 I fly to the uttermost pole ; 
 In the absense of misery's word, 
 
 A solace I'll find for my soul. 
 
 An exile from man I would roam, 
 
 And journey the wilderness there ; 
 Perchance I should find me a home, 
 
 In the lion's deserted, rude lair; 
 The notes of the bittern, so hoarse, 
 
 AVould be better music to me, 
 Than the lyre, whose melody's force, 
 
 Will raise pensive sorrow to glee. 
 
 There tumults and quarrels should cease, 
 
 Man's cruelty ne'er should be shown, 
 I'd 'stablish a king'dom of peace, 
 
 Hostility ne'er woidd be known; 
 "When the arrows of death should assail 
 
 My corse, drawing- near to its close, 
 J\Ty last I would breathe to the g-ale. 
 
 Which alone would mourn over my woes.
 
 THE FUGITIVE. 17 
 
 Time was, when dear classical lore, 
 
 My soul witli rapt-pleasures would lig-lit, 
 As I over its pag-es did pore, 
 
 'Twould chase the grim horrors of nig-ht : 
 But Tit'rus and Flaccus farewell. 
 
 Both your country's g"lory and mine, 
 I now break the bond of your spell. 
 
 To others your beauties resig-n. 
 
 Antiquity's science and art, 
 
 Her statues of marble and stone, 
 Sarcophag-us, weapon, and dart. 
 
 Her wars, in which patriots shone, 
 Forg"et to enchant me, as when 
 
 The sun-beams upon me did shine. 
 Their secrets I study in vain, 
 
 Their beauties, I cheerless resig-n. 
 
 Could no hand be found to inflict 
 
 That last wound, so fatal, so sure. 
 But feig-n'd friends? me, O heaven, protect. 
 
 From men so perfidious impure ; 
 I lov'd you, be witness high heaven. 
 
 Was stanch to your ultimate g^ood; 
 Could I not for one fault be forgiven. 
 
 Which I'd even atone with my blood?
 
 i^ THE FUGITIVE. 
 
 Uo\y oft when nig-ht's balmy re}X)se, 
 
 Afade torpid your senses from care, 
 lias sleep ceas'd my eye-lids to close, 
 
 Has memory broug-lit me despair! 
 He witness, thon bed, to my tears. 
 
 Be witness, thou lamp, to my sighs, 
 'i'liat I've ruin'd the best of my years, 
 
 Fur friends, most ung-rateful, unwise. 
 
 \ot\v hearts hard and callous may rest. 
 
 But mine must still flutter and smart. 
 Kor, ceaseless, and stern, in my breast, 
 
 Stil! rankles pale misery's dart: 
 Chill penury, paler than death, 
 
 Hi.v hand on my temples will press, 
 And frantic, will hence stop my breath, 
 
 When tliis world shall cease to caress 
 
 And you, once a Sister so dear. 
 
 And you, belov'd Brother, farewell.' 
 'J'o you the gTim tempest so drear. 
 
 Perchance my misfortunes may tell; 
 Or at midnig-ht perchance ye may hear 
 
 From tlie omens of creakiny owls, dull 
 Or tile sigh of a friend, or a tear, 
 
 A proof, tl>at none can annul.
 
 THE FUGITIVE. 19 
 
 If over my bier ye should weep, 
 
 Be my errors completely forgiven ; 
 1 did err : but a premature sleep, 
 
 Is order 'd perhaps by .just heaven ; 
 Be assur'd that vice has not stain'd 
 
 My blood, whicli, in infancy, ran, 
 The friendship, that's fickle and feign 'd 
 
 Has betray'd me.--I was but a man. 
 
 You, friends, who, as fixed as the pole, 
 
 Have been my protection and joy, 
 Whose favor, when seas o'er me roll, 
 
 Does g-uard me from ev'ry annoy, 
 I must leave, with a bleeding" farewell, 
 
 In your solace no more must indulge, 
 I wend among- strang-ers to dwell, 
 
 Where fortune new scenes will divulue. 
 
 Yet still recollection of you, 
 
 Shall solace my ag-onis'd heart ; 
 The g-reen leaf shall sooner turn blue, 
 
 Than your imag^e should ever depart : 
 When griev'd and forlorn, I shall pace 
 
 Life's cheerless and dreary stage rest, , '/r.^/ \ 
 I'll cherish my few waning- days, / 
 
 With thoiig-hts on tiie joys, thnt arc pi>l.
 
 20 THE FUGITIVE. 
 
 My best wishes to them that I love, 
 
 And a laugh for the elves, who me hate ; 
 Laug-h I will at the bipeds, who strove, 
 
 To crush me by penury's state ; 
 As soon shall the sturdy oak bow 
 
 To the soft Zephry's g-entlest breeze, 
 As I dread man's cruelty, now, 
 
 Ingulph'd in dread misery's seas. 
 
 Farewell to thee, land of my sires. 
 
 The empire of freedom and peace ; 
 Till this fragile body expires. 
 
 My love to thee, never shall cease. 
 But I haste where stern despots oppress ; 
 
 Where dark superstition does dwell ; 
 Dear land! who can tell my distress, 
 
 Which my heart rends, when I say, farewell! 
 
 Yet dear is the land of my birth, 
 
 And dear are the friends of my youth ; 
 My land is the temple of worth, 
 
 My friends are the pillars of truth; 
 In vain, superstition inane. 
 
 Attempts to delude my fam'd land : 
 She, freeborn, the scimitar vain 
 
 Does wrest from grim tyranny's hand.
 
 THE FUGITIVE. 21 
 
 Her annals, in letters of lig-ht, 
 
 Record her achievements of fame ; 
 In learning- not less than in fig"ht, 
 
 She shines with unquenchable flame. 
 But land of my fathers, and mine, 
 
 Thy first fame is g-one to decay ; 
 Thy sons, like their fathers to-stnne, ^y- / ^:■/6^t■^el 
 
 A cloud wraps the sun of thy day. 
 
 Must I leave thee, the solium of peace. 
 
 The temple of learning- and fame ? 
 Oh ! nurs'd in thy bosom of ease. 
 
 Exilement I hate, as my shame ! 
 Should fortune, remove from her brow 
 
 The dark frown, that drives me away, 
 I'll return,— and my miseries, now, 
 
 I'll turn to harmonious lay. 
 
 But God seems to frown on me now, 
 
 Is it fancy ? Oh ! would that it were ! 
 Yet he cannot be deaf to my vow, 
 
 He cannot spern, ang-ry, my prayer; 
 To him, when the faithful recede 
 
 From my presence, I'll humbly retire ; 
 When my soul from its clay shall be freed, 
 
 It will blend with angelical fire.
 
 THE 
 
 WINTER EVENING. 
 
 Dissolve frigiis, ligna super faco 
 Large reponens, 
 
 noR. 
 
 Man, noblest object of creating power, 
 
 On whom distils, as dew-drops, reason's shower, 
 
 Of intellect, and feeling-, taste and joy : 
 
 Of social soul, unmix'd with hate's alloy, 
 
 Is formed for friendship, and for friendship's feast 
 
 Of flowing- reason, and of truth's repast. 
 
 Where Ganges, rociring-, rolls his rapid surg-e, 
 
 And superstition hails the funeral dirg-e 
 
 Of India's frantic vot'ries of the pyre, 
 
 Fling-ing- aloft its flames of limpid fire, 
 
 The smile of softening- friendship never cheers 
 
 Tlie soul. And from the rock afi'ection's tears 
 
 Would sooner flow, than feeling-'s softening- hand 
 
 "Would move Ihc savag-e to weep o'er his land.
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 23 
 
 Hail liappy Isle, the seat of truth and sense, 
 
 Tlie land of education--love intense, 
 
 I bless the fate, that fixed in thee, my lot, 
 
 That plac'd upon thy soil my humble cot; 
 
 That g-ave me friends, that gave me fr endship's tear, 
 
 And friendship's heart, and friendship's firmness dear, 
 
 Far hence be envy, and unfeeling' souls, 
 
 Far as the wave of smiling- ocean rolls. 
 
 But come ye g-enial spirits, and inspire 
 
 My bosom with affection's warm desire ; 
 
 Come, speak and banish care, and sorrow rude^ 
 
 And mourning's rife, and melancholy mood. 
 
 Now sluit the windows, solve the biting- cold. 
 
 Wheel round the sofa, and the screen unlold. 
 
 Now snuff the candles, and hand round the tea; 
 
 Let each indulg-e in truth's loquacious glee. 
 
 Leave life's g-ay pleasures to the vainly g'ceat. 
 
 Unknown to all the joys of friendship's state. 
 
 Tiie icy breath of chill December's breeze 
 Congeals the rain-drop on the autumnal trees ; 
 Has dispossess'd all nature of her bloom, 
 And substituted chaos in its room. 
 The sear leaf floats upon the eddying- pool, 
 Forc'd to obey stern winter's iron rule; 
 And, like an exile, forced, by adverse blast, 
 From place to place, but finds a grave at last ; 
 Some leaves arc blown in heaps beneath the wall. 
 And seem to weep bluff winter's g-loomy pall.
 
 24 THE WINTER EVENING. 
 
 And these, which erewhlle grac'd their native few&j 
 Beneath whose shade the herds were wont to browse, 
 Oppressed with snows, oppress'd with beating- rainSj 
 Will soon be scattered o'er the cheerless plains. 
 And as the day-star sinks beneath a cloud. 
 So does bleak winter vernal beauty shroud. 
 So beauty fades, and vanity, and power. 
 And g-eniiis sons, sear'd in untimely hour, 
 Yet worth, the g-ift of some, the praise of all. 
 Not wither'd by the storm of summer's fall. 
 Lives, tho' the hand of death oppress the frame^ 
 And flourishes, in wreaths of heavenly fame. 
 
 The naked oak, opposing- w^intcr's sway, 
 Stands like a g-iant— scorning- blasts of day. 
 His naked streng-th, his solid-planted base, 
 Does scorn the furious blast in all its ways. 
 Erewhile I saw him, monarch of the woods, 
 Bownng- and frowning on his foot-wash'd floods, 
 Clad in his simple dress of summer's eve, 
 Delighting, branches within branch to weave. 
 I saw the iicrds, oppress'd with noon-tide heat, 
 Beneath his foliage, for cool shade, retreat. 
 The doves too on his lofty branches rude, 
 Delighted with their fate harmonious coo'd. 
 The radiant sun-ray wanton'd on liis leaf, 
 Gilding his temples, as the forest chief. 
 But Ah! the doves, and sheep, and sunny ray; 
 No more about the tall oak love to play.
 
 THE WINTER EVENING 25 
 
 His leaves are swept away by wintry storm, 
 And cold, and naked, hh chaotic form. 
 
 No more I sec the finny tribes in play, 
 Siiining-, with various hues by Sol's brig'iit ray 
 Fioatinp', as lightning-, thro' the limpid wave, 
 Rusliing- among" the flag's themselves to save : 
 Nor, g-uilcful ang-ler casts the luring' bait. 
 Which lures to deatli— the ansflers solemn fate. 
 
 The g-ardcn, ere'whilc fill'd with fragrant sweet, 
 The field o'erloaded with the g-olden wheat, 
 The orchard, burdcn'd with its mellow frr.its, 
 And errounds, abounding- with their useful roots ; 
 All mourn, with me, that winter's horrid hand 
 Has strew'd with frost and snow, the fertile land. 
 
 Our fickle clime, by heaven's sovereign sv>-ay, 
 In winter, sparing- bless'd with sun and day, 
 Is prone to change : hence storms and tempest:; hlo- •;. 
 Impel us home, and home's fire-side vrc ^cek ; 
 The rushing- winds do sweep athv/art the plaixi 
 And fall, in torrents, inundating- rains ; 
 Tlie driving- snow forms a g-ig-antic heap, 
 Driving- o'er lowering- hills, with trackless sweep ; 
 I)
 
 '_!() THE >\ INTER EVENING. 
 
 And Miow-fill'd ])ils beg-iiilc the traveller's left. 
 Or brooks half-frozen.— Xor the noon-tide lieat 
 Can solve the callous vapour, hard, cong-eal'd. 
 Aaainst the sun the frozen mass is seal'd. 
 Rut Avhen the south breaths, with voluptiU)Us breath. 
 A warm, dense softness on the snow-clad heath, 
 Hard winter, loosen'd with reluctant <ras}) 
 I^nlocks the earth, and opes his hard-clench'd ^rasp; 
 The ?now too melts, vet disembog-ues a flood, 
 'J'hat inundates the field, the plain and wood, 
 Hence the poor peasants, in th' unwholesome night, 
 Rush from their cots, amaz'd with wild aflfrig-ht. 
 And lo! tlttjfai>id surges roll away 
 'I'liemselves, and cattle to the flood, a prey. 
 .Sometimes the frost, with adamantine lock. 
 Hardens tlie fertile lands to callous rock. 
 The f)loug-li, the skifl", the mattock, all are still. 
 The geese no more float down the purling rill. 
 All nature, ere'while, clad in vernal bloom, 
 l.ies sepulchred, in winter's snowy tomb, 
 (.^ft in the cold, the traveller, wanting" rest, 
 I^ays on a snow-drift, his tired, aching-, breast, 
 And sleeps : while motionless, the frost intense 
 Congeals to stone, his last, life-drop of sense. 
 Such then is winter: yet the season drear 
 The soil enriches for the fruitful year. 
 While, both the gforgreous east, and gilded west, 
 Redcck'd, on all sides with *Apollo's crest, 
 Feel not our varied seasons, winter bluff 
 !•< not so long-, so cold, so deadly rough. 
 * The Sun.
 
 THE VVINTEM EVENING. 27 
 
 Yet let the tempest ra^e, the winds too, blow, 
 
 And cast in uncouth shapes, tfie driving- snow : 
 
 The frost may bite; we dread not his sharp toolli;, 
 
 The fire protects us; and informing- truth, 
 
 With vivifying" ray, ilhimes the mind. 
 
 And cheers the social circle, feeling-, kind. 
 
 The fire burns, now Mary take away 
 
 The tea-things, and do bring-, without delay, 
 
 That waxen candle,— and, now, quick retire 
 
 For coals to feed the lured, waning-, fire. 
 
 The dancing- flame fling-s round the paper'd room 
 
 Strang-e fig-ures; he, who never saw such gloom, 
 
 Might think them spectres, or some Abbeysi^pi"''^'-'''? 
 
 Such as are said to walk in g-loomy nighrs. 
 
 'Tis sweet, while roar the roaring- v/inds wiihout, 
 
 And winter strews liis snowy flakes about. 
 
 And frost cong-eals the rime on rustic's hat, 
 
 And kills, in hollow trees, the torpid bat. 
 
 To form a circle round the evening- fire. 
 
 And chat away the hours, which never tire, 
 
 I.et flames of parlour— eloquence divine. 
 
 In every eye, and every bosom shine. 
 
 And wit, the brig-ht'ner of the down-cast eye, 
 
 Prepar'd to ease the soul of far-fetched sigh. 
 
 Brush off the rust, that eats the anxious mind, 
 
 Long- press'd with sorrows, or disease unk'.nd. 
 
 But let eternal railery persue 
 
 The man, to others faithless, and untrue ; 
 
 Lot him not curse our circles, let him wend 
 
 •"Mong- being-s rude iiis worthless days to spend.
 
 28 THE WINTER EVENING. 
 
 Shall we admire the down tliat gilds the fly, 
 
 And not the fly itself, with curious eye, 
 
 Shall courtly etequette of grorg-eous king's, 
 
 And ornaments, and dress, and such vile thing's, 
 
 Engage the mind's attention, and the time, 
 
 Of sapient beings, of a mind sublime : 
 
 Shall towers, and gothic halls of ancient days, 
 
 Be prais'd and they, who built them, have no praise, 
 
 Then let some weigrhty matter, men eng'age, 
 
 AVorthy of peasant, demag'og'ue, and sag-e. 
 
 A v.intcr';, e^'eIling•, is a kiiid of school, 
 
 AVere ail may learn without the pedant's rule, 
 
 Here all is freedom, here is no restraint, 
 
 Eacli may declare his feelinu', each his plaint : 
 
 ?.I;iy start his subject, and d!::.cuss the wiiole. 
 
 And feci di^ca^^ions llanic tlirill thro' his .soul. 
 
 Old a^re who-e memory lies beneath a cloud, 
 
 AVhose frame by time andad'.erse storms is bovv"d 
 
 By conversation with instruction fraug-lit, 
 
 Reg-ains the problems which he had forg'ot. 
 
 And therefore, with attention eag-er waits, 
 
 For ancient leg'cndi of primeval dutes. 
 
 And V. 'ien he tinds ^ome thoug'ht of memory g'one. 
 
 Of martial \alour, and achievements done. 
 
 He smiles on all, and seems so seek tlie praise. 
 
 He ardent soug-ht in his scholastic days. 
 
 His wrinkled brow of worn decrepitude, 
 
 Divested of i{> angry low "ring' mood,
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 29 
 
 Is brighten'd by the flash of evening-'s blaze, 
 AVhich dries the damp, and moves the frozen haze, 
 Which g-ilds the sparkling- eyes, and ruddy cheek. 
 Of vivid youth, well form'd to bear, tho' bleak, 
 Stern Winter's sway, and adverse fortune rude, 
 And wayward ills of life, and hardships crude. 
 
 Parental love, mucli on a winter's eve, 
 Delig'hts hc-r pledg-es fondly to receive ; 
 To lavish on her favorite son the kiss, 
 To pave his way to eminence and bliss. 
 The ruddy urchin, with attentive ear. 
 Which drinks each truth, that is imported there. 
 Sits in the corner, and with hopes and fears, 
 Imbibes the habits of his future years. 
 But the stern nurse, in loud commanding" tone, 
 Announces bed-time, and with panting^ frown, 
 The little urchin, of a soul perverse, 
 Opposes bed-time, and repels the nurse. 
 But, when the authoritative Mother speaks, 
 The ruddy hue forsakes the urchin's cheeks. 
 And with a parting- kiss, reluctant g-iven. 
 He seeks his pillow— nurse is unforg-iven. 
 
 And when the nig-ht, bedeck'd with many a star. 
 Has roll'd around our g-lobe her cloudy car, 
 When watchman's voice, not pleasant, but yet meet. 
 Resounds "half-past eleven," thro' the street.
 
 30 THE WINTER EVENING. 
 
 Then warn'd of bed-lime, all in haste retire 
 To needed rest, and leave the evening-'s lire. 
 Thus free from wo, and free from weeping- tears. 
 These pass their days, these pass their equal years ; 
 And, thoug-h some care occurs, that makes them 
 
 weep, 
 They soon forg-et it, in oVjlivious sleep.
 
 VERSES. 
 
 There are seasons, when the mind, 
 Weary with life's troubles rude, 
 
 Can a joy extatic find, 
 
 \^Iidst the bowers of solitude. 
 
 There are seasons, when I own, 
 
 Spirits sensible can feel 
 Solid bliss to be alone, 
 
 And muse on fortunes fickle wheel. 
 
 There are seasons, when with grief. 
 Feeling- friends we're forc'd to leave; 
 
 And, to seek some short relief, 
 
 Haste to woodland shades to grieve. 
 
 There are seasons, when the tears 
 Of neg-lected friendship steal 
 
 Down the cheeks of blushing" years, 
 Affections slig-hted all do feel.
 
 32 VERSES. 
 
 There are seasons, when gray joy. 
 Seems a sprite, we cannot seize, 
 
 When the world's an empty toy, 
 Lighter than the Zephyr's breeze. 
 
 There are seasons, when the soul 
 
 Dreads the keen-cdg-'d shafts of death : 
 
 We, by nature's fond control, 
 Wish to huo- our tleetina- breath. 
 
 There are seasons, when we hope. 
 All our sins will be foro'iven : 
 
 When this fragile clay shall drop, 
 We shall be enthron'd in heaven.
 
 TO 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 'Pule Monitor of my decease! 
 
 Inwrap'd in melancholy hue ; 
 The numbers of thy slain increase : 
 
 To some thou bring-'st the branch of peace, 
 To others midnijrht wo. 
 
 Art thou my friend?— Away, away 
 O pallid Death, I cling- to life; 
 
 I see, with joy, hope's brig-htening- ray 
 Strewing- with g-olden bliss my way, 
 
 Freeing- mv soul from strife. 
 
 When I am old— who then shall weep?-- 
 When I no more can cheer my friends, 
 
 Then thou may'st come and lay me deep, 
 In thy dark vault ; where miseries sleep, 
 And disappointment ends.
 
 34 TO DEATH.. 
 
 Ah! who can stay thy awful arm. 
 That, without pity, steals our breath? 
 
 When thou dost g-ive the dread alarm, 
 The universe shrink from the harm, 
 
 Thou brino-'st O awful, Death! 
 
 Yet thou dost end the troublous strife. 
 That checkers life's strange varied scene; 
 
 Away with g'aiety, and life, 
 
 And youthful bloom, and passions rife,— 
 Lay me 'ncath cold sods g-recn. 
 
 Dark hour of Deatli ! how dread the scene ! 
 
 Ah! whither roams the uncloth'd sprite? 
 Beyond those lumin'd splieres, I ween, 
 
 Flying-, with hasty wing-, 'tis seen, 
 
 Or sunk in cheerless nig-ht.
 
 THE 
 
 FEMALE WANDERER 
 
 The winds blew loud— the storm beat high, 
 As o'er the moor tlie maiden stray'd: 
 
 Its howling-s did resound the sig-h 
 Of her, the faitlilcss had betrayed ; 
 
 Tlie rufled surges of the deep, 
 
 IMoan'd more to hear the maiden weep. 
 
 • 
 
 Her dark blue eye, her light-brown ti'ess, 
 That flow'd about her neck of snow, 
 
 Her cheek, the image of distress, 
 
 Her heart-throb, beating- hig-li with wo, 
 
 Her moan, that echoed fell despair, 
 
 All made the maiden still more fair.
 
 36 THE FEMALE AVANDERER. 
 
 A thatched cot, not far below, 
 
 Whose window with the fag-g-ot-blaze, 
 Dispell'd, awhile, the maiden's wo, 
 
 And cheer'd her with its fliting- rays; 
 But Ah ! how clouded is our sky, 
 Bliss oft deceives us, when most niffh. 
 
 The uncouth inmates could not feel 
 For the sufferer, drench'd in rain, 
 
 Harden'd were their hearts to steel, 
 Ag-ainst all misery and pain. 
 
 On her they shut their impious door. 
 
 And she still wander'd o'er the moor. 
 
 Now she was wont to lay her head 
 On the hard turf or ciiillin<i- stone. 
 
 And then to seek her tinal bed, 
 
 In the roug-h deep, whose wave did moan; 
 
 But iiopc illum'd her languid eye, 
 
 And clotli'd with bliss her darken'd skv_ 
 
 Then, then the pallid mourning- moon, 
 
 Riding- upon her arg-ent car, 
 Smil'd on the maid with pleasure boon. 
 
 Who, i)leas'd, pursued her journey far. 
 Her Joy did only last awhile, 
 The moon ■•hone only to beg-uilc
 
 THE FEMALE WANDERER. 37 
 
 Ah! as the moon with radiance shone, 
 She, weary, laid her head to rest; 
 
 But Ah ! the biting- frost, to stone 
 Hard cong-eal'd her snowy breast, 
 
 The screach owl g-ave a dismal cry. 
 
 Which saw the maid despair and die. 
 
 And, once the maid had wealth and friends, 
 And, pleasant home, and pleasure g-ay, 
 
 Her guardians, similar to fiends, 
 
 Stole all her wealth, and joys away. 
 
 And she, poor maid ! by these was hurl'd 
 
 From bliss, to perish in a treacherous world, 
 
 Now, oft, the simple rustics say, 
 
 Beside the ocean's swelling- tide. 
 Soon as the Moon reflects her ray. 
 
 The Maiden's sprite is wont to g-lide 
 Upon the surface of the haze, 
 And crag-g-y rocks, and strang-e impervious way*.
 
 TO 
 
 Once more, bereft of all that clieers tlic dreary vale 
 Of fickle life, my trembling, unnerv'd hand 
 Shall touch tliy plaintive wires, my solemn harp. 
 Now querulous complaint becomes thy chords. 
 Thou ev'n in early days, when scortching- tears 
 Of anxious childhood, burnt ny childish clieek, 
 Wast wont to 'g-uile my hoiirs infantile. 
 The crouded streets, and noise of that faniV! town. 
 Where fir^t I breath'd, and wliere life g'ivin*;' Sol 
 First warm'd my temples with his g'olden beams, 
 Were h.ated more by mo than pealing thunders. 
 And hence, the church-yard, and the purling- rill, 
 Tlie lawn, and wood, and iflen, and river's bank, 
 Beheld their infant visitant, with joy 
 Striking" the chords of harmless liarmony. 
 The Nine too own'd tlie simple, artless, bard. 
 Ikit when stealing- time my solace thiev'd. 
 And hurVd my pleasures in a sea of wo,
 
 TO MY LYRE. 39 
 
 And wrapt me in a cloud of thoujrlitful care, 
 I, imknovv'n, neglected, g-ave a g"loomier ting^e 
 Of tliong'lit, to all my lyric meditations. 
 Once I sang- the cares of pevish childhood ; 
 No\v, I sing- the complex miseries of youth. 
 A zest of truth, since infancy was mine, 
 Has superceded all the freaks of childhood. 
 Then v»and'rlng- fancy hymn'd of troubles rude, 
 Now sad experience tells me, that, while here, 
 The human race is treading- on a soil, 
 Infertile, gTowing" scarce oug-ht but noxious weeds. 
 That every ag-e, and sex, must keenly weep 
 The scortching- tears of penitential grief. 
 And yet 'tis pleasure, and sweet sympathy, 
 To wee£^or them who weep, and then rejoice 
 With all joy, rais'd 'bove the storms of time. 
 Yes, I had rather see the house of wo, than that 
 Of mirth, where frolic-foolery is joy. 
 There is the road to humble virtue learn 'd. 
 And here's the awful avenue of Death- 
 Eternal Death."My lyre, how often when 
 The diamonds of yon blue expance so broad, 
 When the pale moon was wont to shed her beams 
 On my head, and round my temples, scortch'd 
 With the hot feverish dews of wanton death, 
 When night her solemn mantle spread o'er earth, 
 And sleep weig-h'd down the lids of sleepy eyes. 
 When wassalUers profane had stag-g-er'd home. 
 And left the town bereft of such vile nuisances. 
 And when perfidious friends, who stab the heart 
 They woo'd, had left me lav'd in grief, and avu.
 
 40 TO MY LYRE. 
 
 Hast thou beg'uird my midnig"ht solitude, 
 And help'd me to complain, in lyric strains. 
 Of their unkindness, and fool-hardy minds. 
 Thy music, mild as mutual interchang-e 
 Of the endearments of wedded kindness, 
 Would mitig-ate the cares of the lone minstrel. 
 The time would steal away, as gentle rills. 
 Unnotic'd by ih' adventurer, in search 
 Of gaudy pearls, or wide-resounding fame, 
 Till Sol, like lovers faithful to their vow. 
 At his appointed time, had gilded wide. 
 The orient mountains with his golden beams. 
 
 Now something seems to wisper in mine ear, 
 
 That death his watchful vigils keeps o'er me. 
 
 A poison'd arrow, barb'd, and lo! 'tis deadly sharp! 
 
 He snatches from his quiver hastily, 
 
 And' frames to hurl it in my throbing heart. 
 
 Ah! who shall shield me from his awful dart? 
 
 Persecution, sister to cunning ktw, <^/. ^ 
 
 Whose smile, is deadly as the laugh of Hell, 
 
 Whose tears I do hate more than viper's blood, 
 
 AVho carries in her lying hand the rack, 
 
 The torture, and, without a blush,— the flame, 
 
 With which she sets the universe on fire, 
 
 Has, with the wiles of stark Hypocrisy, 
 
 Pursued me, as some witch of Acheron's den; 
 
 Even from infancy, to my manly age. 
 
 He who can pluck the venom'd tooth of care.
 
 TO MY LYRE. 41 
 
 From my stung" vitals, and then sear the wound, 
 Will bring: me back my peace, and native streng-th. 
 Till then, consumption's worm, will eat away 
 My vitals, eye's brig-ht flame, and blushing- cheek, 
 Where vig-orous health was wont to nestle once. 
 Had I been proof ag-ainst the ills of life. 
 And lying- falsehoods of a treacherous friend, 
 I might have liv'd in aftiuence and fame. 
 Rut 'twas not mine to strug-g-le with a world. 
 Of rivalship, of stark deceit, and fraud. 
 Fool that I was to patient bear the jeers, 
 Of them, descendents of a mushroom-race! 
 
 Thee, my lyre, I wish I'd never tuned, 
 I wish that ig-norance had cloth'd me. 
 In his dark stole of black obscurity, 
 TJnpierc'd by brightest rays of mental light. 
 My heart, as hard as triple brass and flint, 
 Would not have felt the futile shocks, or blows 
 Of words of puny mortals, vile and vain. 
 Yet even then I should have wish'd to feel, 
 Not for myself, but for the public weal. 
 Hence, why, I ask, was 1 so sensible? 
 Why weep for that, which makes another laugh .' 
 O God ! who read'st the hearts of all, I own, 
 Tiiat I ha^ e pluck'd down ruin on my head, 
 Tliat, in thy sight, I am a guilty man. 
 But man I have not injur'd, and, therefore, 
 Am worthy of a better fate from him. 
 
 K
 
 -i- TO MV LYRE. 
 
 hi ^<i':i1 t!ic v.'ivtcli, that, tried to ruin mc. 
 Socks i'';r some faults for ay to undervalue 
 Mc iii !lie eyes of them, wlioin most I love, 
 AiKi v.lio, in turn, extend their love to me, 
 
 But now my .spirits faint: my vvand'rin"- iiopes. 
 
 The plirntoms of a much-inflated brain, 
 
 Before my fancy dancin;? merily, 
 
 Do v;ai:;-h into everlasting" nig'ht. 
 
 And leave me but the thor.g-lit of sonicthing- g-one. 
 
 Xov," (Icalii, p'ivc mo thy liand,— let us be friends, 
 
 -\nd let us both obey tlie vrill of lieaven. 
 
 Tiious'h noiilier fanie, nor \ve;ilth, shall bind a v.reatl 
 
 -';r c',.'_rlasiln(r honor round my brov,-. 
 
 Tiioug-li hir'd mou.rners shed no v.iiining" tears 
 
 Of <i'ro. s hypocrisy, for me u.nknov/n, 
 
 Though orGrans sound not for rny tearless death, 
 
 '■^>)r scrdptnr'd marble, te'ls ;he passin<r croud 
 
 i;f: tian^c adventure;, no:" of mrrtial feats, 
 
 Vet S should ^vi■ h to have a sim;)lc stone 
 
 To tell ivcn iiow \ li\'d, and how I died. 
 
 Pei'^-iiance ^onle friend will aive me my just due, 
 
 \'.'i]icii is denied ine in thi;: vale of tears. 
 
 Tiie i:'rave, the asylinn of the universe, 
 
 ■rii:,t iiolds in e;irtl;en chains, poor man, once mad. 
 
 V'.'iio !;ow" doe.; need no watch, no bedlam care, 
 
 '*!e, v.i'h the ma-s of all who, deathful, sleep, 
 
 •Sii-di, -0011 i.crcliance, po.v~css,--its silent inmate. 
 
 'i';;ire cue' the vvarin^" v.intN of stormv time.
 
 TO jilV L\]U:. 
 
 There .sleep the tear3, whicii, dim the spavkliiiu 
 And there arc quench'd the lircs of frantic '.vr.. 
 And all the threat'naig- iluiiies of licry tumults. 
 And there is hush'd the moan ofg-eneral wo. 
 And yet the i^-rave, tiie lasi re.-iort of man, 
 is d;i!k, and cheerless ; but the happy thou-^-ht. 
 That all tlie barriers of the tomb shall burst, 1 
 Tiiat its dai'k gdoom si'all end in peerless li,'j;'ii', 
 And v/e spring- up to v/h.erc immortal l:>liss, 
 Holds all exempt from life's anxiety. 
 Does wing- the soul, and tit it for its IV.te, 
 A fate, which, prudently, ordains its exit. 
 
 And when the thread of tiresome, anxious, iif(\ 
 That binds the spirit to its mortal clay, 
 Is cut, the spirit free from earthly dross 
 Shall wing- its flig-ht beyond the rollins* spheres. 
 Tlien, when this ^>-lobe, by heaven"s dread pov. ■ 
 Shall sink into inanity and space, 
 When suns and twinkling- stars, witii drcadiul c; 
 Shall be exting-uish'd in the g-eneral wreck ; 
 The soul, immortal, boundless, uncontin'd 
 Seated upon some sphere, thai has cscap'd 
 The g-eneral conflag-ration of tliis vrorld, 
 Shall smile, unh.urt, to think it has escfsp'd 
 A w^orld of misery, of g-rief, and doaiii. 
 Away with earth, its noise, w hich ];a;ns nunc e; 
 Give me a cot, in some lone soliUuie, 
 Where wars, and tiunult'^^ and vile trcuclxry.
 
 44 To MY LYllE, 
 
 Falsehood, fraud, and impositions foul 
 
 Ne'er dwell ; and where the strong- ne'er crush the 
 
 weak. 
 There, at the close of life, unknown, unpitied, 
 1 would lay me down upon some green bank, 
 And breathe my last g-asp to the sullen winds.
 
 LIFE 
 
 Oh ! what is life— A fleeting- day 
 That, as a stream, glides swift away, 
 
 And soon will cease to run ; 
 Both source and stream are mix'd with pain, 
 The sun's oft wrapt in clouds and rain ; 
 Extatic bliss we shall not g-ain— 
 
 No— never 'neath the sun. 
 
 Within the veil of future years 
 Lie disappointment, death, and fears 
 
 Ag-e and the tomb inane ; 
 These, like the roug-h obstreperous sea, 
 Ingulf us, death will have his fee, 
 Drag"ging us to obscurity. 
 
 The grave, exempt from pain.
 
 16 LIFE. 
 
 Falling- upon the orient hills, 
 Gildinir with g-olden ray-, tlie rilLs, 
 
 Often we see tlie sun ; 
 But, intercepted by a cloud, 
 His beauties adverse tempests shroud : 
 So life and this world's troubled croud 
 
 Are wrapt iti liii^'ries tlnri. 
 
 Swift, as the Cretan arrow flies, 
 
 And g-larlng- lightning-s 'thwart tlie skie 
 
 We haste towards the g"oal : 
 We pass thro' seas, we pass thro' tires, 
 Here one survives, there one expires: 
 For, always burn tlie funeral pyres 
 
 Of death bv life's control. 
 
 Our infant feet do ^'o a.^tray; 
 in youth t!ie Siren lures away, 
 
 The mind, to errors g-loom. 
 And hence, throug-hout our fearful years, 
 Our path's strew'd with repentant tears, 
 And till, we g-rasp yon rollin^r spheres. 
 
 Perplexity's our doom.
 
 LIFE. 47 
 
 And whence we came, and wither wend, 
 And v/hat \ve are, to what we tend, 
 
 We, here but little know. 
 A. payt obscure beclouds our sig-jit. 
 An awfiil future shroud our lig'ht; 
 The SOI! I, to shades of doleful nig-lit 
 
 ijv peerless bliss, must g-o. 
 
 D;;rk clouds hang- o're our brig-htest day, 
 Diming-, too soon, hope's radiant ray 
 
 That saves from fell despair ; 
 And strife succeeds to vagrant peace. 
 And health turns pale by rife disease ; 
 And wailing- wo, and fears increase, 
 
 Decrepitude, and care. 
 
 The lovely rose, .'-urcharg'd with dew, 
 Blesses the world with its line hue, 
 
 And fills the air with sweet. 
 But parching- sun, or northern shower, 
 Or biting- cold's untimely hour. 
 Scatters its sweets, and kills the flower, 
 
 Of promise duly meet.
 
 48 LIFE. 
 
 So youthful beauty, g-enius fine, 
 And lyric musings of the Nine 
 
 And wealth and gaudy fame, 
 And hope, in fancy's vestments drest, 
 And joy, with which none long are bless'd, 
 Decay. Ah! fleeting is the rest, 
 
 At which joy's votaries aim. 
 
 I wish in some sequester'd spot, 
 I had a lowly woodland cot, 
 
 Where public ills ne'er dwell ; 
 Remote from noise, remote from crime,. 
 And bless'd with holy care sublime, 
 I'd pass in solemn mood my time. 
 
 Unknown to misery fell.
 
 EVENING, 
 
 WRITTEN DURING A FIT OF ILLNESS. 
 
 Borne on the wing- of Zephyr's downy breeze. 
 In sweetest harmony, the church-bells rang-, 
 
 Winding- their trem'lous sounds among- the trees, 
 Where erst the nig-hting-ale so sweetly sang-. 
 
 Beneath whose shade, I, free from mis'ry's fang-. 
 Recline, to realize the calms of eve. 
 
 And mitig-ate the smart of fever's pang- ; 
 Here, from the bells harmonic, I receive 
 Extatic bliss, which g-ay joy cannot g"ive. 
 
 Quite weary with my summer-evening-'s walk, 
 And heart-sick of the town's loud, bedlam-din : 
 
 Remote from scenes of vice, where, deadly, stalk 
 Pale mis'ry, death, with fascinating- grin; 
 
 The eve and bells revive me; 1 begin 
 
 To covet, much, the hermit's harmless life; 
 
 For he, in silent pace, the g-oal does win. 
 
 The goal of peace—he shuns time's tumults rife, 
 And disappointment, care, and wayward strife.
 
 50 EVENING. 
 
 When evening' chases mid-day's fervid heat, 
 And spreads her dewy mantle o'er the fri'ounU; 
 
 When frag-rant herbs unfurl their foliag-e svv^;-i. 
 And Luna strev^^s with beams the meadows round. 
 
 And lig-ht and silence rule the world's wide bound, 
 How sweet to rest in solitude's embrace ! 
 
 In poet-musing-s, and in lyric sound, 
 
 To feel health's thrilling- hand, so soft, replace 
 Hale streng"th, and bloom, upon the care-worn face. 
 
 O for the feeling", nature only gives. 
 
 To paint in deathless colors woodland joys ! 
 
 Far hence the sig-h, the city-wand'rer heaves, 
 The sigfh of g-uilt's remorse, —him want annoys ; 
 
 Ah! foolish man! to hunt for tinsel-toys! 
 
 Oh ! who would waste his time in noisy towns, 
 
 Where peace is seldom known, but vice and noise: 
 Peace owns the poor, thoug-h fortune often frowns. 
 While g-nilty dread oft lurks 'neath wealth and 
 crowns. 
 
 Oppress'd with melancholy thoug-hts, and fear. 
 And worn with pallid sickness, and disease, 
 
 I've long'd for solitary silence dear. 
 
 And woodland shades, and evening-'s hour of peace^
 
 EVENING. 51 
 
 Whicli can the rag-ing- passion's power appease, 
 The blackbird's harmony thrills thro^ my soul. 
 
 And, thoug-h I feel my vital powers decrease, 
 IMy spirits soar beyond the utmost pole, 
 To where yon stars, in pathless orbits roll. 
 
 But soon this vernal-beauty will decay. 
 
 And winter bluff, will re-ascend his throne ; 
 
 The song-sters, which, now fly from spray to spray, 
 Will soon unite in nature's g-eneral g-roan, 
 
 Who at stern winter's icy touch does moan. 
 
 Oft have the song-ster's, by the moon's mild ray, 
 
 Cheer'd me, in my summer's walks alone, 
 While I have caroll'd, in harmonious lay. 
 Sad solitary thoug'hts, and mis'ries far away. 
 
 Then let me when I may, in solitude, 
 
 Just seize a taste of vernal evening"'s treat. 
 
 And ere autumnal showers, and tempests rude. 
 Crush summer's bloom so g'ently mild and sweet, 
 
 Seek blushing' health, in nature's calm retreat, 
 But should this be denied, O ! let me still 
 
 To sylvan bowers, direct my weary feet, 
 
 And hear the faint sounds of the pebbled rill. 
 And see the curious shadows fallijig- from tlie hill.
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT, 
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 Now darkness shrouds me round. 
 
 My pleasures fly away: 
 No more I drink the draug-hts of bliss, 
 Now fortune me does not caress, 
 Nor frive me sunny day : 
 Rut, anjrry, rude, 
 In midniii'ht mood. 
 She take- awav mv little earthlv irood. 
 
 I want nor wealth nor fame, 
 
 Nor ^audy toys of time: 
 Give me my book, and quiet lionio, 
 A wife, to ^'•race my plea>ant dome, 
 Let me have lore sublime: 
 And I, you'll see, 
 Content shall be, 
 And, rai>ed above the dread of misci'\.
 
 niSAPPOINTMENT. 53 
 
 Soon life's sad scenes will cease 
 
 In silent, calms of death ; 
 Soon shall I rest from fear and strife, 
 Nor covet more the joys of life ; 
 When fleeing is mv breath, 
 My soul will soar 
 To happier shore, 
 And holier reg-ions of the bless'd explore. 
 
 Then I no more shall weep, 
 
 O'er mis'ry's, numerous sons, 
 Who, worthy of a better fate. 
 Have sunk to pen'ry's low estate, 
 AVhere shine no prosp'rous suns, 
 But, fear and dread, 
 With silent tread, 
 Perpetual disturb their aching head. 
 
 How few in this bad world, 
 
 Whom I can call my friends ; 
 Scarce one, I lind, that cares for me. 
 All from my humble presence flee ; 
 And when life's journey ends. 
 But one, (I fear), 
 Will shed a tear. 
 And weep, and say, a form belov'd lies here!
 
 54 DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 Our hopes are flitting- dreams, 
 
 Which cease when we awake ; 
 Dear was the antic phantom kind, 
 Dancing- across the devious mind : 
 But, when our slumbers break, 
 The antic sprite. 
 Quick takes its flig-ht, 
 And disappointment clouds our expectations brig-lit. 
 
 And what are joys obtain'd, 
 But beams of subtle lig-ht;-- 
 As meteors dance athwart the sky, 
 Lighting- the world below, on hig-h. 
 Then vanish into nig-ht, 
 So pleasure g-ay 
 Does pass away, 
 And tells us, we are wending- to our house of clay. 
 
 Then g'o, thou antic joy. 
 
 From thee my mind I sever ; 
 Thoug-h thou hast never blest my sig-ht. 
 In brig-hter worlds of radiant lig"ht. 
 Where all is peace, where is no nig-ht, 
 I wish to dwell for ever ; 
 Hail holy King- ! 
 Teach me to sing- 
 Tliy praise, and plume for heaven my spirit's wing.
 
 VERSES 
 
 Lo ! yon stars are g-leaming-, 
 Rays from each are teeming", 
 On this world, that's beaming- 
 With their radiant lisfht. 
 
 Men are now reposing-. 
 Free from g-rief, are dozing-, 
 I, no one opposing-. 
 Feel the calm of nig-ht. 
 
 The Zephyr's softly blowing-, 
 The mild brook's g-ently flowing ; 
 None, save me, is knowing-, 
 Its meand'ring- course. 
 
 O'er yon forest, beating-, 
 Rolls the thunder fleeting-, 
 Peal on peal, repeating- 
 God's stupenduous force.
 
 56 YEUSES, 
 
 Now it's thickly raining': 
 Stars are quickly waninsr; 
 1, from lore abstainiri"-, 
 Seek mv wonted rest. 
 
 And W'hile, calmly sleeping-, 
 Free from wo and weeping, 
 God shall kind be keeping- 
 Peace within my breast. 
 
 He knows, whose heart is pining- 
 Under care, confining- 
 All his thoughts, repining 
 At pale misery's wound. 
 
 How sweet the hour of slumber. 
 Lessening cares, large uumber. 
 And the fears, which cumber 
 All in life's wide bound.
 
 TIIK 
 
 LAM) OF CANAAN 
 
 The Land of Canaan, is, hu most lUciarij men, 
 considered iyptcal of that z^orld, Heaven, to zchich uU 
 aspire, and zchich the munificent God liat prepared for 
 all such as love Him. All nations have had an idea of 
 future existence. But it is in the Bible only that tee 
 can find a correct knozcledge of Eternal Happiness. 
 
 riuil! lioly land of joy and peace, 
 Where sin and wo shall ever ceu>;c, 
 Where kaowledye ever shall increase, -- 
 
 Our minds exj)and,-- 
 Hni) happy day that brings us ease, 
 
 In Can'an's land. 
 
 H
 
 58 THE LAAD OF CANAAN. 
 
 Wars and tumults, sin and strife, 
 And disappointment always rife, 
 And all the ills that checker life, 
 
 By fate's command, 
 Shall end; and joys shall ever thrive, 
 
 In Can'an's land. 
 
 Anxious cares no more annoy, 
 
 Ever ceases sensual joy, 
 
 And friendship reig'ns without alloy. 
 
 And bribery's hand, 
 Light, life, and peace adorn the sky. 
 
 Of Can'an's land. 
 
 The widow's tears, the orphan's moan. 
 The dying- miscreant's dying g-roan, 
 Shall terminate before the throne. 
 
 Of Heaven g^rand : 
 Ah! then I shall not be alone. 
 
 In Can'an's land. 
 
 i shall not weep departed friends. 
 For in the world that never ends 
 They live, o'er them so gently binds 
 
 The willow bland, 
 On hopeful wings my spirit wends, 
 
 'I'o Can'an's land,
 
 TO A 
 
 V R 1 E N D 
 
 AN ODK. 
 
 Ante ■ ex ul , 
 
 Aut Ararim Parthus bibet ant germania Tigrim, 
 Quam nostro illius labatur pectore vultus, ,^ . 
 
 O friend belov'd I companion dear ! 
 Prop of my youth, and riper year, 
 
 When cares our vitals sieze ; 
 How oft from city's din we've walk'd. 
 And, arm in arm at midnig-ht, talk'd. 
 And stray'd, where vice has never stalk'd, 
 
 O'er ^dens/inhale the breeze.
 
 60 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Stern fortune's frowns, mild fortune's smile, 
 Which does life's wand'rcrs oft beg-uile. 
 
 We neither knew nor fear'd ; 
 Nurs'd on the lap of jolly ease, 
 Riess'd witli the kiss of smiling" peace, 
 Dandled on shrew'd protection's knees, 
 
 We then, with care, were rear'd. 
 
 Ile.'traint had hid her watchful head; 
 Oitr Mothers, hush'd among- the dead, 
 
 Enjoy'd the calms of sleep ; 
 But the maternal lessons, g-iven, 
 Pointing- oiu" puerile feet to heaven, 
 Sev'ring' our minds from vice's leaven. 
 
 Would make us, mutual, weep. 
 
 I'reedom o'er us iier mantle threw, 
 Vol h;-x'e ny^ slili the riglit piu'sue, 
 
 'J'iie Jiisi, tl'.e kind, the g-ood; 
 Vve wiincier'd, wliere, and when, we pleased 
 Of irading'' care, and sorrow eas'd; 
 i>ir(> varied, us l)Ut little (eaz'd ; 
 
 We !i\ "d in !i:ipp,\ mood.
 
 TO A FRIEND, 61 
 
 Wo to the tyrant, or the foe, 
 
 That pindrd, with haughty scorn, our toe, 
 
 Treading' on freedom's land; 
 Dearer to us, than splendid halls, 
 Their banquets, and their painted walls. 
 The haunts of revelry, and brawls, 
 
 Was freedom's friendly hand. 
 
 And thou. Dread Power who reig'n'st on hig-h, 
 Decking", with silver studs, the sky. 
 
 And reig-ning". Lord of all. 
 Wast witness to our pious strain, 
 Our tears o'er sin, and mis'ry's train, 
 O'er pleasure vile, the fatal bane, 
 
 Which holds the vile in thrall. 
 
 O days of bliss ! fled as the ray, 
 Guiding" the pilgrim in his way, 
 
 Before the g-loom of nig'ht ; 
 Ye came, as angrels from the skies. 
 To bless with beauty's sig'hi, my eyes. 
 Then, as a radiant meteor Hies, 
 
 Ye ;>traig-lit obscur'd mv siirlit.
 
 62 TO A IRIEND. 
 
 Oft when, the moon, emerg-'d from shade^ 
 Bestrew'd with her mild beams, the j>ladc 
 
 In which we lov'd to walk, 
 The hero, patriot, and king:, 
 And poets, who in metre sing:, 
 Flying: aloft on fancy's wing:, 
 
 Have g-raced our nig^htly talk. 
 
 How do 1 wisli thy lieart divine, 
 AVere here to mingle sweet with mme. 
 
 Pining- 'neath many a wo, 
 Once, as two streams they mix'd in onc^ 
 And thus united, us'd to run, 
 And, as their gentle course began, 
 
 Thv never ceas'd to flow. 
 
 But ah ! tlicy are asunder torn. 
 Thine at its ease, but mine is worn. 
 
 With cares, which all annoy; 
 Juno to thee does wealth dispense; 
 Apollo has furnish'd thee with sense, 
 I'm writliing- in the pang''> intense 
 
 Of fear, without one joy
 
 {{) A FPvIEND. 63 
 
 Little tliou know'st my earliest friend, 
 What care, what fear, what tears attend, 
 
 A student's hapless course; 
 Errors, thou know'st he may imbibe; 
 We little trust the hungry scribe. 
 Who writes for hire, or else a bribe. 
 
 Or fame, which may be worse. 
 
 Little thou heed'st, 'tis hard to please, 
 A world, reclining at its case, 
 
 And oft to bards— a foe : 
 If thou can'st make the surges, still, 
 Can'st turn the sand to purling rill, 
 Or make the winds obey thy will. 
 
 Then I can please, I know. 
 
 Oh! that to me by will of Heaven, 
 To rise above tame fear 'twere given, 
 
 I'd smile, and say, I'm free, 
 I'd love, but cautious, trust to man, 
 I'd smile on life's, unstable plan, 
 Like thee, with perseverance, scan 
 
 The way to liberty.
 
 (54 ro A IRIEND. 
 
 Farewell, farewell! my most lov'd frieucj. 
 'Tis thine o'er smifing- seas to wend, 
 
 In search of wealth and fame. 
 Me other scenes pursue, and 'g-uile ;— 
 Long" may'st thou joy in fortune's smile ; 
 Ere long", perchance, the sounding- aisle, 
 
 Will sing-, in death, my name.
 
 TO MV 
 
 TVIOTllFJl 
 
 IN ITEAVKN. 
 
 O Spirit of my I\Iother dear, 
 Whether in this, or loftier sphere. 
 
 Thou dost, secure reside, 
 Releas'd from every painful thought ; 
 Rais'd to the world, with <rlory fraught: 
 By thee thy every fear's forg-ot, 
 
 O'er me thou dost preside. 
 
 Oh! when the world allures a<!tray. 
 My feet, from virtue's lo\ely way. 
 
 And liu'es to vice's road. 
 I'll think ou thy maternal care, 
 The rules for me thou didst prepare, 
 For me thy pious, faithful, prayer. 
 
 Thy earnest vows to God. 
 I
 
 Of) TO MY MOTIIKFi. 
 
 Oil! 1 roll 1(1 laiicy lliou iirt here 
 AVipin*2: nway the infant tear, 
 
 Once wont to dim my eye. 
 Hut it is fancy's roving" flig'ht, 
 Throug"h boundless realms of sullen niirht. 
 Pnrsuinir, far, a nameless sprite, 
 
 Tiiroug-h clouds of darken'd skv. 
 
 And yet maternal fondness, now, 
 Calms, and cheers my pensive brow, 
 
 A.nd <>"ives me past delig-ht; 
 :Methinks thou own'st my solitude. 
 And seest my tearful sorrows rude, 
 And eke my melanchoiy mood, 
 
 Aly pensive days ;aid niirhts. 
 
 Hard was lliy lot. iii\ Mdliier dear. 
 Forgive, for^JA'o tlie filial tear. 
 
 The tribute of tjiy son, 
 And wfieu liiis frai;ile b(!dy dies. 
 And, from its nidive dust, shall rise 
 111 lo\e, thee in eternal skies. 
 
 Ijcsoiid llie rollinir miii.
 
 AIA1U\ER'S ODK. 
 
 Once on the calm sea yently sailing-, 
 
 Nor lig-htiiigs flashed, mild was the day: 
 
 The rushing- Boreas ceas'd their wailing-, 
 As I steer'd mv skiff to the bav. 
 
 Nor threat'ning- wind, nor angrv billow, 
 Ruftled the bosom of" the dee}): 
 
 My banner wav'd, as waves the willi)-vv. 
 Over the g-ra\e, in which miseries ^lecM). 
 
 Dear to my heart was the hallov/'d morning, 
 I saw, with g-lee, my long--lef't shore: 
 
 'Twas then 1 vow'd, wealth, honor, scorning 
 I'd never leave my lov'd land more. 
 
 Dear was the hour, when, sweetly smiling, 
 iNIy Mary press'd me to her heart : 
 
 Then, then, 1 vow'd the vulgar reviling'; 
 I'd ne\er lYom my Mary pari.
 
 68 THE mariner's ode. 
 
 Now near the shore, I coast. for pleasure, 
 While far the stately g'alley rides. 
 
 In search, I ween, of Indian treasure, 
 Borne on the strength of furious tides.
 
 THE 
 
 SOUL 
 
 Wliere soars tlie spirit, wlien it leaves its clay? 
 
 To what strange region, does it wing- its flig-ht ? 
 Or does it pace the walks of heavenly day? 
 
 Or sink in g-looms of rayless, unpierc'd, nig-ht? 
 
 Can it descry the pleasures, left behind? 
 
 Or feel the passions of our mortal race? 
 Weeps it the wife, belov'd, or kindred kind, 
 
 Flying-, with lig-htning--speed, thro' pathless space? 
 
 For us it feels not, whether pleas'd, or g-ricv'd. 
 Unknown t' impressions of imperfect sense : 
 
 Of earthly fear, and earthly dust reliev'd, 
 It blends w^ith light, and sees omnipotence. 
 
 At one broad view it sees the passing- croud 
 Of noisy mortals, hunting- joys, below, 
 
 But sees unmov'd; pale sorrow's g-loomy cloud, 
 Cannot inwrap the soul in human wo.
 
 70 THi; SOUL. 
 
 As the pure sun-beam pierces cloudy da\ , 
 The spirit pierces night, and starless shade . 
 
 Invested with the robe of heavenly ray, 
 Its powers decay not, nor its beauties fade. 
 
 And far as space extends its trackless way. 
 The spirit sees, and flies on airless wing- : 
 
 Darkness to it, is as the sunny day. 
 It does thro' all, its airy fancy fling*. 
 
 It is not bound by time, nor native place. 
 
 All is eternity, a wide immense; 
 With one broad step it strides o'er endless space, 
 
 Striding- thro' murky storms, and dark clouds dense. 
 
 Yet in its flig-ht it leaves no track behind; 
 
 But it sees all thing's from the birth of time: 
 A spirit only, knows its sister-mind, 
 
 And the sweet musing's of the soul sublime. 
 
 Oh ! is it seen to leave its clayey dust, 
 
 Or haunt the lone house, as the vulg'ar sa\ . 
 
 No mortal eyes may see a mortal bust. 
 But who beholds the soul's unbodied rav '
 
 MNES. 
 
 Supposed lo hai-e been spoken, by-^—ut the grave of 
 a Lady, vchom he zcas on the point of marrying. 
 
 Oh! all was still, when, standing- near 
 
 That grave, I saw the moon arise ; 
 And, as she fiU'd her noble sphere. 
 Then trembled in mine eye the tear,— 
 The burden of my sig^hs. 
 
 Brig-ht orb of nigrht— pale lamp of heaven, 
 
 Thou view'st a wanderer ^riev'd, and tir'd: 
 To guide his foot-steps thou wast g"iven. 
 Now, while his heart with grief is riven, 
 He's 'neath this elm retir'd. 
 
 And thou art witness to the wo 
 
 Which, darkly, clouds his fev'rish brain i 
 The world is empty, vain, and low ; 
 Since she is dead, where shall I g-o 
 
 Some solid bliss to gain.
 
 72 LINKS, 
 
 Ofi! Avlj;tl ;ui awful void is made. 
 By death's relentless, cruel hand : 
 
 I seek the wood, I seek the shade; 
 
 Ttic lawn, the hill, tiie <ilen, the g'lade 
 With me weep death's command. 
 
 I\Iary the silent orb of night, 
 
 Is shining- round thy early tomb; 
 Ah! sainted Maid! thy spotless sprite, 
 Flies thro' the bound of heavenly lig-hl : 
 Remote from mortal g-loom. 
 
 Why did not death, with equal hand. 
 
 Bury us both in that still grave? 
 Why I deceiv'd by vain hopes bland*' 
 Time does to me his scorn dispand, 
 And lurements, deprave. 
 
 I'll turn from thee my hopeless thoug-ht. 
 
 And seek thy help O! Lord, my God! 
 Thou, tho' my life with ills is fraug-ht, 
 Can'st gTant that ease my soul has sought. 
 'Neath thy afflicting- rod.
 
 TO A 
 
 FRIEND 
 
 Bob Clarke, believe this log-ic-truth. 
 That I've not many friends ; 
 
 And some of them, of poisonous tooth, 
 Are little above fiends. 
 
 And yet I've some as firm as earth. 
 
 Who me do never shun; 
 And these w^ere stanch friends from my birth 
 
 And thou, Bob Clarke, art one. 
 
 To these I'll ever faithful be. 
 For those I'll weep and sig-h; 
 
 Than I should e'er relinquish thee, 
 I own, I'd looner die. 
 
 K
 
 74 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Nor will I ever mistrust thee; 
 
 Sooner this vital spark. 
 Shall vanish in eternity. 
 
 And leave thee here, Bob Clarke. 
 
 Thee, the votary of pleasure. 
 
 Now I leave in easy mood, 
 I, tho' not for Tyrian treasure, 
 
 Stray athwart the roaring- flood. 
 
 Then friends belov'd, farewell, farewell! 
 
 Do as you please my foes; 
 I'm steel'd ag-ainst dread mis'ries fell, 
 
 I smile at human woes. 
 
 Shouldst thou, Bob Clarke, ne'er hear of me 
 
 Let this thy memory whet. 
 If I'm o'erwhelm'd in turbid sea, 
 
 1 died much in thy debt.
 
 TO A 
 
 PARTRIDGE 
 
 O'er many a hedge, and g"len, and fertile Held, 
 On the dense fluid air, thou, Bird, hast flown, 
 
 [n many a hickless day, thou hast conceal'd, 
 From g-unner rude, thy form, and all thy own. 
 
 But wing's, nor fluid air, nor watchful eye, 
 Nor sedg-e could hide thee from the g-unner's dart : 
 
 Ah ! fatal day I at last the hour draws nig-li, 
 Wlien his shots quiver in thy noble heart. 
 
 And yet I, least of all, thy fate should mourn. 
 Since thou hast g-raced the board of lonely bard ; 
 
 Should my song- live, in verse thou wilt be shown, 
 And thus thou'lt have a poet's small reward.
 
 LINES, 
 
 On the much lamented death of Her Royal Highness 
 
 Charlotte, Augusta, Princess of JVales and of Saxe 
 
 Cobourg. 
 
 O Royal ofl'spring- of unequal'd power, 
 
 Delig-litful promise of our glory fair! 
 How was the rose-bud, in untimely hour, 
 
 Nip'd as it fill'd with fragrant sweets, the air! 
 
 liorn to adorn with every g-race the realm, 
 
 Which thou shouldst rule without tyrannic sway, 
 
 Skill'd, as the pilot wise, to ply the helm, 
 To raise thy British son's to g-lory's day. 
 
 Pear model of perfection's virtuous power, 
 Of virg-in innocence, and virtue's worth; 
 
 All Britain weeps the dire ill-fated hour, 
 
 That saw Ihy bier,— But Iriump'd at thy birth.
 
 LINES. 77 
 
 How deoT the ;v,o"'i! when to iLc d cr 1 3d, 
 
 0\v-: CJlaT■l^^t;,^'^ 1,^ u:y :-.cl it,; :\\ec-i,n3S2 there. 
 
 In thy fail- bo. cm Oi'<, lie laid ?us '-c-'d.— 
 A Noble Prince, mosi- worthy cf the rair. 
 
 Thy British subjects chant the nuptial song-, 
 
 In hope, that Heaven would grant to Britain, soon 
 
 A royal infant, thy worth to prolong-, 
 
 And make us love thy memory for the boon. 
 
 The joyous Mother's heart-blood danc'd with joj^ 
 Hope shed her mildest dews around her soul, 
 
 And promis'd, for her throes, a royal boy, 
 To g-uard our Isle from Tyranny's control. 
 
 Her g-uardian Ang-el leaves the ambient skies, 
 To place the crown upon her royal head ; 
 
 But ah! another Ang-el instant flies, 
 
 And stays his hand,— The royal Lady's dead. 
 
 Weep, weep ye British sons ; the g-reatest loss 
 
 Ye ever did, or ever will sustain, 
 Has overwhelm'd your land, the princely corse 
 
 Ts carrying- to the awful tomb inane. 
 
 So this world's dig-nity does pass away ; 
 
 Read it in youth's decay, and crowns laid low; 
 AYealth, fame and power, and honor's fickle sway 
 
 To death, and dread omnipotence must bow.
 
 THK 
 
 LiTTL!- ORPHAN. 
 
 Pity the orphan bo\ — 
 
 A beg'g"ar at your door: 
 The frost and snow are biting- chill. 
 And I am hung-ry, cold and ill, 
 A wanderer, and poor ; 
 And on the world, 
 Am helpless hurled, 
 Where vice and danirer's wiles are wide unfurled. 
 
 I had a mother, once. 
 
 Affectionate and kind, 
 Who g-ratified each infant need. 
 And nurtured, fond, her favorite seed ; 
 Exposed to blasting- wind. 
 Whose blasting- breeze, 
 Which sears the trees, 
 Has nipped, while in their bud, my iiope* of peac
 
 THE LITTLE ORPHAN. 79 
 
 I had a father, too, 
 
 Who loved his earliest born ; 
 And tho' severe, he yet was mild 
 To smooth the roug-h path of his child— 
 The object now of scorn; 
 Ah ! who, with joy, 
 The orphan boy 
 Protects, and saves from penury's annoy? 
 
 My parents too had wealth, 
 
 When fortune on them smiled, 
 But soon the icy blast of fate, 
 Bereaved them of their bless'd estate, 
 Which once their hours beguiled, 
 Now never g-ay. 
 From day to day, 
 I still must beg- throug-hout life's dreary way. 
 
 My parents both are g"one. 
 
 The way of all the earth. 
 Me they have left a wanderer here. 
 In a dark world of wo and fear,— 
 Away with impious mirth. 
 Whose joys, tho' sweet, 
 Are swiftly fleet: 
 And disappointment, thee we ever meet.
 
 80 THE LITTLE ORPHVN. 
 
 Then O thou frowning- world, 
 
 Thou may'st thy griefs inflict, 
 Thy shafts of veng-eance soon will ceaie, 
 I soon shall dwell in heavenly peace. 
 For heaven does me protect ; 
 At the world's scoff 
 I only laugh. 
 For lo ! my blooming- hopes will never be cut off.
 
 81 
 
 SLEEP. 
 
 O gentle, downy sleep. 
 
 Who own'st the sons of bliss. 
 O'er them thou dost thy soft vest >pre;vi,, 
 And in thy bosom husii their head, 
 Exempt from dark distress ; 
 Dost in repose 
 Their eye-lids close, 
 And steel their hearts against life's numrous woes 
 
 O why on hasty wini^ 
 
 Dost thou, sleep, fly from mc? 
 
 Wh\, like a trembling", frighted lamb. 
 
 Seeking- thro' devious lawns its dam, 
 
 Dost thou my soft bed flee? 
 
 Why, cheerless, quite, 
 
 Throughout the night, 
 
 Dost thou lea\e me awake, till I behold the light ^ 
 
 L
 
 82 ^ILKliP, 
 
 The smutched artificer. 
 
 Of robust, healthy frame. 
 Invites thee to his homely lair, 
 That's free from wo, and weeping- care. 
 And g-uilt's destructive blame ; 
 To him, with few, 
 Thou'rt kind, and true, 
 Thou lav'st his temples with thy balmy dew. 
 
 The ship boy on the slirouds, 
 Where dangers do preside, 
 Amidst the roaring- of the deep. 
 Feels thy soft hand press him to sleep. 
 But me thou dost deride, 
 In vain, I dare 
 With ardent prayer, 
 Prav thee to husli my head, o'erwhelm'd with care. 
 
 Then go thou freakish maid 
 
 Who lovest to be<f uile : 
 \et not with me thou art displeas'd 
 But ^rrief, of which were I once eas'd. 
 On me thou'dst lovely smile ; 
 Thou'dst kill the fest, 
 That eats my breast, 
 And hush me in thy g-entlearms to rest.
 
 SLEEP. 83 
 
 Away then fickle sleep ; 
 
 But come, thou, pleasant thoug-ht, 
 Come, then, while care does shroud my skies, 
 And sleep escapes my unclos'd eyes, 
 Me with thy charms be caug-ht ; 
 O thought benig-n, 
 With joy divine. 
 Around my brow a wreath of bliss entwine.
 
 84 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Ye, wlio on downy pillows rest, 
 Witli nature's bounties largely bless'd, 
 With g-orgeous vestments splended, warm, 
 Untroubled by the wintry storm, 
 Steel not your hearts, in this cold hour, 
 Ag-ainst the wretched, hungry poor ; 
 Nor drive the wand'rer far away, 
 O'er worlds, and snow-top'd hills to str 
 
 Tlie thinly covered cottage low 
 
 Is strip'd by nortliern winds. 
 And biting frost, and driving snow, 
 
 Congeal the cottage-liinds, 
 The little fhlldren, cold, unfed, 
 
 Salute the embers fainl and few; 
 A stone their stool, and straw their betl;— 
 
 Sweet sleep avoids the haples* crew.
 
 LINES. 
 
 Where g-or^oous tapestries display 
 The pomp of power, refinement's sway, 
 Luxuriant feasts, and wanton joys, 
 ,\nd thrilling- songs, uproarious noise, 
 A sigii for wo, not often dwells, 
 Nor feeling- lang-uag-e often tells , 
 The pain it feels for man, opprersVl, 
 Devoid of peace, devoid of rest. 
 
 The cliilling- pang-, which rends the heart, 
 
 Of misery's lone sons, 
 Thrills thro' my soul;— affliction's smart 
 
 Obscures life's chang-ing- suns. 
 PerchuRce relentless misery's hand, 
 
 Up-'-^d with this direful night, 
 May ua. 'en out the tardy sand 
 
 Of . ome poor unfed, cheerless, wiglit. 
 
 Perchance, in many a humble cot 
 Dwells, in obscurity forg'ot, • 
 
 Full many a hind of genius fine 
 Endued with musings of the Nine, 
 Endued with philosophic lore. 
 Endued with wisdom's sacred power : 
 And virtue's gift, and heavenly ray, 
 Well formed to cheer our gloomy da} ; 
 But left, alas! without a sigh. 
 In poverty, and want to die. 
 
 Stormy Eurus cease to howl, 
 Peeling thunders cease to roll, 
 
 $5
 
 S6 LINES. 
 
 Rushing showers cease to pour, 
 
 Gloomy midnig-ht cease to lower ; 
 
 Luna shed thy lovely light, 
 
 Gild with silver beams the nig-ht. 
 
 Festive revellists, let your minds. 
 
 While now loudly roar the winds, 
 
 Pity and relieve the poor, 
 
 Hear their cry before your door. 
 
 Fortune, ever faithful mild, 
 
 Smiles upon thee, comfort's child, 
 
 Lavishes on thee her rapt'rous kiss, 
 
 Forgives thee, kindly, when thou dost amiss. 
 
 Smiles upon thy festal board. 
 
 Day and night preserves thy hoard, 
 
 Gives thee peace, and pleasure gay. 
 
 And turns thy night to shining day, 
 
 And when death assails thy breast, 
 
 Hushes thee in death's arms to rest. 
 
 While penury and moody thought, 
 
 And proud disdain, with dire spleen fraught, 
 
 Pursue the bard thro' every stage 
 
 Of life, from youth to tott'ring age. 
 
 He, in heart-consuming care. 
 
 In vagrant hope, and dire despair. 
 
 Drags out, in mis'ries and dismays, 
 
 His sleepless night and hopeless days. 
 
 Ah! when will man protect the bard. 
 
 And give him his well-earn'd reward. 
 
 And flee the wretched poor to save. 
 
 And snatch him from an early grave.
 
 87 
 
 EPIGRAM, 
 
 'on liberty hall," falsely so called. 
 
 Know thoug-htless friend, the' this is freedom's hall, 
 Whoever enters here, will drink of Gall ; 
 Tho' Wealth's its Inmate, wealth perchance may rust. 
 But should it not, your reputation must. 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 Come cheerful health's inspirer g:ay, 
 Who strewest our path with noontide-ray, 
 
 And calm'st the troubled breast; 
 For thou in woodland bowers dost dwell 
 Where the lone hermit has his c^U, 
 
 The dome of cheering rest,
 
 88 pf.Acii. 
 
 The \ocal music of the gi-o\e. 
 
 Transports my soul to peace, 
 The cooing" ring--dove's tale of love. 
 Becalms my soul to ease, 
 As fearful, and tearful, 
 
 I sliun the noise of life; 
 O Peace come, with ease come. 
 And free me from its strife. 
 
 Sweet source of meditation calm, 
 AVho smil'st at woe, and fear's alarm, 
 
 iuspire my thoug-iitful heart, 
 Witl knowledg-e, temperance, and truth. 
 And feelin<r pity's g-entlest ruth, 
 
 Th.al wc-eps for others smart. - 
 Let twiulviing- stars and eve's still calm, 
 
 And (,'■' (""-fragrant dews. 
 Tj^i> Ihw!)'.- dark shade, and flow'ret's balm. 
 
 Now. oidy be my muse. 
 
 Not i^-iory, all g'ory, 
 
 With all its, poi.'ip' of fame. 
 
 Shall stain here, my muse dear 
 Of virtue's peaceful name. 
 Peace, dost thou dwell without a frown 
 Heiieath the brow which w^ears a crown. 
 
 Unstained with carking" care? 
 Or in tl ■■ p -^ant's htunble cot, 
 r. : . u if: ind:^ naknowii, forgot. 
 
 \V;^;r^ roves not dread despair?
 
 89 
 
 WOiMAN. 
 
 Woman, tho' oft I tray, I cannot tell, 
 Why you were made so delicately fair ; 
 
 There is discovered in your eye a spell, 
 
 That fills with raptured bliss, or dread despair. 
 
 You hold the warrior in your witchery's power, 
 Tho' you are often faithless and untrue ; 
 
 The sword kills often in untimely hour, 
 Unhappy man, and woman so do you. 
 
 M
 
 90 
 
 MY 
 
 D O G . 
 
 My Dog is far more faithful than the man 
 
 Whose heart's unmoved by pity's mild control ; 
 
 'IMidst adverse fortune, want, and sickness wan, 
 My dog will tend his lord from pole to pole. 
 
 But nHui's to man the sorest surest ill, 
 
 80 sang- the *bard of plaintive, lasting-, fame; 
 
 Yes man to gratify his envious will. 
 
 Will crush man's worth, his dignity and name. 
 
 The star of grenius may sink in nig"ht, 
 
 And virtue seek its last hope in tlie ^rave ; 
 
 \^'ant may obscure lo\ed learning-'s radiant lig"ht, 
 But who will save the bard from early g-rave. 
 
 Poor Dash, should I still live, thou'lt have a friend, 
 And should I die, I trust thy second lord, 
 
 Will thee protect from want; will thee defend. 
 And g^ive thee dry straw-bed and wholesome board. 
 
 •Dr. Young.
 
 1)1 
 
 I AM E. 
 
 What then is brilliant fame, 
 
 With all its pomp of praise ? 
 A radiant gem of fleetinor lig'ht, 
 That shines until the clouded night 
 Appears, and then decays ; 
 The sullen breeze, 
 Rushing- with ease, 
 Destroys poor man's renown, and short lived peace? 
 
 And popular applause, 
 
 Thou phantom, g^aily fine ! 
 He who in thy ebb confides, 
 Never knew thy charging- tides, 
 Nor ever does divine, 
 That tho' to day, 
 He winds his way. 
 To morrew men forsake, and all hopes decay^
 
 92 FAME. 
 
 I, who have felt thy frown, 
 
 Now curse my thirst of fame, 
 Derided by the applauding- crowd. 
 Who once to me in deference bowe(i, 
 And hailed my honored name, 
 I, now, O! praise! 
 Throug-hout my days. 
 Will seek no more thy honorary bays.
 
 93 
 
 1. 1 N E S 
 
 Dear is that hand, whose g-enerous pulse, 
 
 In union beats with mine ; 
 Dear is that heart whose g-enerous throb 
 
 For me beats love divine. 
 
 Dear are those eyes which, meeting- mine, 
 
 Shed sweet affection's tear. 
 Dear are those cheeks, whose modest blush. 
 
 The lovely rose does bear. 
 
 Dear are those lips, so kind, so true. 
 Which speak no words unkind, 
 
 No pointed satires, poisonous g"ibes. 
 Which sting- my peaceful mind. 
 
 Oil! may that heart, so soft, so mild, 
 
 Cong-enial with my own. 
 Still beat with mine in love and truth, 
 
 And beat with mine alone.
 
 94 
 
 LYDIA 
 
 Dear g-irl I own thee, lovely fair, 
 
 For beauty's perfect self is thine, 
 Thy melting eye of thoug-htful care. 
 
 Thy melancholy brow divine. 
 Thy turg-id sigh for dire distress, 
 
 Thy trembling tear for human wo. 
 Invite from me a fond caress. 
 
 But pausing prudence whispers— no. 
 
 But virtue, wlien thy beauteous frame. 
 
 Shall blend with atoms infinite, 
 Will hold unstained her spotless fame, 
 
 Thro' this drear world of adverse night, 
 Dear girl, then, generous, feeling, wise, 
 
 Still cultivate thy fertile mind. 
 Which, when thy beauteous person dies, 
 
 Soars 'bove this world, unwise, unkind.
 
 95 
 
 AN ODE 
 
 Ah ! can'st Ihou ease my spirit 
 
 Of all its weeping" care, 
 Can worth or far-famed merit, 
 
 Exempt me from despair? 
 Dark woodland shades, and solitude, 
 
 In vain I seek for ease below ; 
 Still g-loomy fears, distracting, rude, 
 
 Shroud me in £rrief and wo. 
 
 Now nature's lost her pleasures, 
 
 And youth its witchery's bloom, 
 And hopes of fame and treeisures, 
 
 Lig-ht not my sullen gloom ; 
 I'm griev'd, yet cannot tell thee why, 
 
 I love the world, and yet I hate; 
 My smile's the hiding- of my si^h,-- 
 
 My sie-h for adverse fate.
 
 IK) AN ODE. 
 
 I love to be in solitude, 
 
 Yet weep to be alone. 
 Yet life's g-ay scenes and sorrows rude, 
 
 Disturb my soul I own ; 
 Oh! were it mine to spend my days. 
 
 Amidst thy smiles, my early friend. 
 Delighted with thy melting" gaze, 
 
 My days in peace I'd spend. 
 
 I heard a dire uprearious noise, 
 
 Proceeding from that stately dome. 
 The din of wassailers whose joys, 
 
 Keep nightly watch with Luna's roam. 
 Give me a dwelling in some latent vale, 
 Where I mav shun man's ways and o'er him wail. 
 
 My soul abhors this troublous state, 
 
 My blood turns chill at what I see, 
 Man's his own murderer, his hate, 
 Destroys his fellow's small felicity. 
 Good being ! from thy holy throne look down, 
 I' pen this world, nor crush it by thy frown.
 
 97 
 
 SV MPATIIV. 
 
 Wr illeiL to a jyersait xcho sarcastically said, '\'jcs, you 
 are a man of feeling.'''' 
 
 Yes, tho' the tig-er's blood pervades thy veins, 
 And the rude lion's heart throbs in thy breast, 
 Tho' thou wast nurtured in the g-loomy shades 
 Of senseless ig-norance, and pampered sloth, 
 Tho' thy dull soul was dipped in fervid Styx, 
 And made insensible to pity's power, 
 Tho' sympathetic tears, for human wo, 
 Should inundate this hapless universe. 
 And thou, unmoved, shouldst see the g-eneral flood, 
 Yet thou shalt know, howe'er reluctantly, 
 That I'm most poig-nantly "a man of feeling-." *" 
 If thou hadst seen me at my midnig-ht lamp, 
 The fervid tears which burned my feverish cheek, 
 Hadst known the horrors which 1 felt by day, 
 The agitating dreams I felt by night, 
 Hadst seen me give away the scanty pence 
 That nig-gards coldly gave me for hard toil. 
 To some poor rag-ged wretch, who, with a flute, 
 v
 
 l^S SV.MFATIIV. 
 
 Or crazy bagpipes, playiny at my door. 
 
 Honestly propped up his meagre corse, 
 
 (But I must say a truce to charity), 
 
 TiiOU wouldst have owned, perfidious man, 
 
 That I'm most poig-nanlly "a man of feeling-'' 
 
 Vci, feeling- is the air which I inliale, 
 
 The honied necfar which I love to drink; 
 
 And rhould the day arrive, when pity's touch 
 
 Has ceased to kindle in my soul a flame 
 
 Of hearl-felt feeling- for unhappy man, 
 
 'f'hcn let me be conveyed to death's dark vault, 
 
 I'nplticd, nnlamented, and unblessed. 
 
 Well I remember, when a careful child, 
 
 To read of Giants hug-e, and Fairy-scenes, 
 
 Of cruel murders, and the ill-fated fair, 
 
 Of wars, in which poor mothers with their imps 
 
 Died by the falchion of the murderous foe, 
 
 Would, leaning- on a tender mother's breast, 
 
 Whose loss 1 little knew I soon should weep, 
 
 Fill my little heart with tenderest grief,-- 
 
 And the still tear would jrlisten in mine eye. 
 
 And when the solemn bier, in mortal pomp. 
 
 Was borne, respectfully to the dread tomb, 
 
 I keen'ij felt to see the mourners weep, 
 
 And wished I could have tendered them relief. 
 
 \q>, I was nurtured in the school of tear*. 
 
 In infancy I saw much of distress, 
 
 But only saw the shadow of the bust, 
 
 But now I see th« fatal bust it»«lf.
 
 SYMPATHV. 91) 
 
 Nursed in the lap of fortune, kind to thee, 
 Thou knowest not to sympathize, to feel. 
 Thy selfish eye may Hash disdainful fires 
 On him, who has nor ma'^'nanimity 
 To stifle every si;.rh that rends the breast, 
 And every tear that shows he's but a mnu ; 
 Yet still it is a pardonable fault, 
 To feel, or for one's self, or bleedini;- friLTi'i.'>. 
 Fate never smiled on me bsit to deceive; 
 But always g-ave to thee tliy wished-for g-ood. 
 'Tis thine to live in luxury and slotii; 
 But )nine to live in penury and toil- 
 Toil not of body, but of mind, th;> worst of toil. 
 Sleep lulls thee in her arms to soft n'po.'u; 
 From me with coy xrrimace she, iiasty, tlie.'^. 
 I, wiiile thou art hushed, with pipe anH. book, 
 Or smoke, or read av\"ay the hours ol' sleep, 
 AVithout a friend to solace or reprove me. 
 True, I've friends, ---Itank Heaven O/r the lioon,-- 
 But then they are, alas! v,-tiere I am not. 
 Thou, being- rich, hast many watcld'u! s^iisioii-^ 
 But none with watchful eye atiend niv beck. 
 Ah! foolish elf, this brood of unclean birds 
 Corrupt thy wife, thy cliildren, and i]\y .daves, 
 They curse thee, too, vrlien tiirne;:! !)o!i'tid tUy back. 
 But tho' I'm poor, my spirit, nnconiiiied, 
 Soars 'bove tiie troubles of this gTo veiling' world. 
 To reg-ions, where tlie g-oddess. Genius, 
 Flashes her soft beams on the ravished .;ouJ. 
 
 But tho' I'm poor, I'm inder)eudeiit lr;o, 
 
 And tho' I'm weak esiong-li to fed, I'm yet a ma:* 
 And I can feel, wiili wortliv an^-er feel.
 
 100 SYMPATHY* 
 
 The vile indigriity, thou liast cast on me. 
 
 Go, impious man! and herd with brutes, 
 
 Or join the brutal savages of Afric's coasts. 
 
 Forg-ive my warmth; 'tis most praise-worthy warmth 
 
 For thou hast stung- me to the very soul. 
 
 The biting- sarcasms of rancorous men, 
 
 Who only live to hurt, not help, mankind. 
 
 Disturb not ever thy secure repose : 
 
 On me unhappily, keen g-ibes inflict 
 
 A wound more deadly than the viper's tooth : 
 
 And thou art last to cicatrize my heart. 
 
 Ah! thou '•= - * * hast wronged me nuich. 
 
 'Twas not enougli to ^teal my competence, 
 
 To Inirl me on a world most merciless. 
 
 But thou must make more foul thy dirty hands. 
 
 By fixing- on my front, lucid heretofore. 
 
 The brand of injured reputation. 
 
 Cur'o on tliy murderous and lying- g-uiles! 
 
 Oh! shameless rubber of th' defenceless poor ! 
 
 Tlie worth thou hadst not, thou dost vilely hate. 
 
 "The very lig-litning-" spared the laural-bran( ii, 
 
 Which tiiou, witli sacrileg-ious hands, ha>t thi>'\ed 
 
 And mang-led from my unassuming- brow. 
 
 And think'st thou me insensible to this? 
 
 S'lould 1 not feel tliy deleterious g-ibes. 
 
 The very rock would roll down tears of blood, 
 
 And make, for human misery, this earth 
 
 A standing- pool of feeling-'s piteous tears. 
 
 Have I not c;iuse to be a man of feeling-.'' 
 Hear'st thou Ihc din that rushes from von d 'Dh-.
 
 SYMPATHY. 101 
 
 And echoes thro' the welkeji's trackless bound, 
 Was it the clang-or ot'tlie hostile enemy 
 O'er some famed city rased to its deep base? 
 Or widows doUcate deplorine- husbands slain? 
 O fair! ye well may hate the din of war, 
 And dread the falchion of the brutal foe. 
 In ^ain with infants at your breasts, with tears 
 Just like your eyes, so brig-ht, so melting- kind, 
 With melting- cries, that rend the very heavens. 
 Ye pray the victor, drunk with human g"ore. 
 To spare your wretched lives, and to unclench 
 The hand that holds his scymitar profane. 
 No— that sound proclaims inebriation. 
 Declares at homo, a wife in penury, 
 In all that makes this world a scene of strife. 
 Her little imps untutor'd and unwarmcd. 
 r.'iihappy wife ! who art tlie monster's slave, 
 Accept the only solace I can g-ive-- 
 Thc humble tribute of a feeling- tear. 
 Tlie man that treats a worthy woman ill, 
 I'd send to herd among- instinctive brutes. 
 
 I'll tell thee, loo, of what thou art quite reckless, 
 
 That, disg-usted with mankind, whose deadly scorn 
 
 Has made me coyer than the modest maid, 
 
 Who, prudently, eludes the pimping- elf, 
 
 I hardly can enjoy these rapturous scenes, [race. 
 
 With whicli high Heaven has blessed the human 
 
 The \ery joy>. and pleasure* of our slate.
 
 102 SYMPATHY. 
 
 Become imbittered now by self- fell spleen. 
 The very flame of friendship's ardent love 
 Which, lightening- my heart, fills me with bliss, 
 Fatig-ues me often, and I wish to be alone. 
 The warbling- choristers, the woodland shades, 
 The grove, the glen, and river-flowered banks, 
 The turgid waves which lash the unmoved rock, 
 And the melodious sounds of evening's breeze, 
 Those ponderous orbs of varied flashing light. 
 Just as ten thousand worlds on wasting fire, 
 And the still whirl of this our native sphere, 
 Fill me with vast amazement, and delight, 
 But melancholy's soft, and melting hand, 
 Spreads her dark veil of sombre thoughtfulne^s 
 All o'er my mind~my mind of thoughtful care. 
 Which, bent on other musings, frequently 
 Passes, unnoticed, these phenomena. 
 And broods upon its own, and others' cares. 
 And tho' the dazzled multitude should bow, 
 And render highe;-t di^-aities, to me renowned, 
 Altho" the vv-ovld, in unison should weave 
 A pcet-wrcath, and t'lx it on my brov,-, 
 And place my enrthly stafc, tiu'o' life, in bliss, 
 In gorgeous dignity, and splendid joy, 
 Yet then my soul in >-eir-consuniing care, 
 Would feel a most dire aching vacur.m, 
 TnlilUd by all tlie dignity on earth. 
 Am i then without hope, and earthly joy, 
 No— 'tis bliss to be a man of feci/ n^. 
 And I had rather spend a gloomy night, 
 in solemn thoii;:-li(, ;;i.d silent -;olitude.
 
 SYMPATHY. 103 
 
 Drinking- deep draug-hts of lucid learning", 
 
 Than in the blaze of splendid pomp and show. 
 
 Of pompous dress, and festive luxury, [lir'st 
 
 Where thou wast nurtured, and where now th«u 
 
 A splendid blank in wide society. 
 
 I feci for thee, poor man ! most keenly feel ; 
 
 For never has the poor man, help'd by thee. 
 
 Implored eternal blessing's on thy head. 
 
 Tho' bounteous nature has, each passing- year, 
 
 Enrich'd thee with all g-oodly earthly bliss, 
 
 Thou hast not relieved the hungry poor. 
 
 Nor cicatrized the heart, that bleeds for wo. 
 
 And when the hired mourners weep thy death 
 
 With sycophantic tears, the g-enerous heart 
 
 With tenderest grief, will keenly feel to thiak 
 
 Thee worthless of a g-enerous feeling- tenr.
 
 104 
 
 TO THE 
 
 FIRST SWALLOW 
 
 SEEN IN SPRING. 
 
 Thou pleasing- messentrer of Spring-! 
 
 Thou'rt welcome to my native shore; 
 Rest here, sweet bird ! tliy weary wing-, 
 
 Since land and surg-e thou'st travell'd o'er. 
 I'd rather see thee sport along-, 
 
 And lig-htly skim the waters clear. 
 Than listen to the sweetest song-, 
 
 That could be warbled to mine ear ; 
 For thou dost tell of blooming- flowers. 
 
 Of pleasant woods and valleys g-reen, 
 Of breezes soft and gentle showers, 
 
 And smiling- summer's cheering- sheen, 
 So I rejoice to see thee fly, 
 Thus g"aily 'neath the clear blue sky, 
 
 m V
 
 105 
 
 SONNETS, 
 
 Supposed to have been addressed by James the Fifth, of 
 Scotland, to the Four Vendomes. 
 
 Vendome! the lustre of thine eye is fled, 
 
 Thy cheek is pale, like Autumn's dying" leaf, 
 Whilst with a secret and cureless g-rief 
 
 Thou pinest— soon the tomb will be thy bed. 
 And thou wilt mingle with the silent dead, [wave, 
 
 And spring's sweet flow'rs, alas! too soon will 
 In mourning clusters o'er thy marble grave. 
 
 And drooping willows mournfully shall weep. 
 And those who thro' the sacred place may wend 
 
 Will sigh as o'er thine urn they silent bend, 
 And lightly tread least they disturb thy sleep. 
 
 And there is one whose grief will never end— 
 Whose fervid love for Thee will never cease 
 Till in the tomb, like Thee, he sleeps in peace. 
 
 H. F. 
 
 o
 
 106 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 Over yon fleecy cloud the Sun does smile, 
 As if in g-ladness on this beauteous scene 
 Of fields and woods of many shaded green. 
 The nig-hting-ale's harmonious song: the while 
 Does sweetly echo from the distant g"rove, 
 Like the soft serenade of watchful love. 
 There is a soothing calmness in the air, 
 Which to the wounded bosom speaketh peace. 
 And bids its ang-uish for a moment cease. 
 As nothing- should be sad on eve so fair.— 
 Who can e'er gaze upon the sun's decline. 
 And see him like a splendid globe of fire. 
 Behind the gloom of deep blue mists retire. 
 And not to musing all his soul resign ? 
 
 H. I
 
 107 
 
 SATIUE. 
 
 Scribe of a g-loomy front, and darker hair, 
 Hanging- in curls, so lady like, so fine, 
 
 For others' woes a stranger to all care, 
 
 'Tis prov'd, at least, thou carest not for mine. 
 
 Thou, sprig of vulgar wit, though mean and low, 
 Art like most punsters in their thirst of fame ; 
 
 Thou over shoot'st the mark, or quite below. 
 Thou giv'st to common sense, an empty name. 
 
 Well thou may'st eulogize the proud and great. 
 And grin at humble merit not thy own ; 
 
 Thou lovest more the viands of the plate. 
 Than classic elegance, and genius' throne.
 
 108 A SATIRE. 
 
 Apollo's sonship true thou canst not claim, 
 Parnassion wreaths will never bind thy brow, 
 
 If low buffoonery can raise thy fame, 
 
 Thou'lt doubtless have the rustic's rural bow. 
 
 If cruel Moloch reign'd in these our days. 
 
 No doubt he'd have thee for his first-born son; 
 
 But Moloch never wore a lady's stays, 
 
 Nor thought a man's destruction "pleasant fun." 
 
 Thou art well skill'd thy tresses spruce to show. 
 And spread thy fingers delicate and wan, 
 
 That, some rude rustic, witli a hasty bow, 
 Might think tltee really woman not a man. 
 
 In vain perfumes and soap and labor'd care, 
 And dentifrices, and the purling rill. 
 
 Are us'd to make thee delicate and fair,— 
 Emblem of Mulciber thou must be still. 
 
 The piercing cry of wo sliall rend the heaven. 
 And orphan-grief shall fill the world with tears, 
 
 But thy steel'd heart will never once be riven, 
 For human misery with all its fears. 
 
 Forward to lead the gentle fair in dance, 
 
 Or please the maiden, with an amorous ode,— 
 
 Who, fainting, as it were, in mimic-trance. 
 Requires thy melody's enchanting mode.
 
 A SATIRE. 109 
 
 Her thou canst entertain with puerile glee, 
 
 Canst praise her tresses, and the charmer charm. 
 
 Admire her china, and pour out her tea, 
 And recognise tlie <rentle miss's arm. 
 
 Man-woman, learn to act tiio part of men, 
 And leave the lovely fair to act their part. 
 
 Knowledge, and active life a man should ken, 
 But softness decorates the female heart. 
 
 Long mayst thou glory in thy "punic faith," * 
 With dexterous deception, wanton, laugh, 
 
 And o'er another's ruin, ev'n till death, 
 
 IMayst thou, in Bacchanalian t toasting, quaff. 
 
 But still, thou shouldst divine, that keen remorse. 
 Will grasp thy vitals, with an iron-hand. 
 
 That, for thy crimes, wrong'd justice mighty force, 
 Will print upon thy front a deatliless brand. 
 
 •Punic faith, or integrity, was proverbial, especially at Rome, 
 It was, I believe intended to signify, that a Carthaginian had no 
 sooner given his word for the performance of a contract, than he 
 broke it. Whether the person in question be a descendant of 
 punic ancestors or not, I shall not now attempt to determine. 
 This I do know, he is not too much enamoured of his word. Some 
 of the old Roman wags would, perhaps, had tbey been here, have 
 considered him of punic extraction But some of my readers 
 will rather ask. Is he not an Hibernian ? If he is I wish heartly, 
 he would come under the descipline of St. Patrick, who was a 
 pretty fellow in his day. 
 
 + Report which I hope is not true, says that this polite dandy, 
 was over a glass of grog— grog ! oh! fie! you should'nt say grog ! 
 dandies call it negus, well negus be it then,— very merry at my 
 expense, even when my heart was bleeding at every pore, for the 
 lying c;dumnies, which he and his 'dirty pack' had heaped upon 
 me, oh ! fie! i-; this Christian, or Heathen, or Turkish, conduct?
 
 110 
 
 ON THE j)EATH OK AN UM'ORTLNATK 
 
 P O E T . 
 
 Yes, 'twas the Deathwail of the lonely bard. 
 
 Stretching- on his lonely couch, so drear, forlorn. 
 Whom men, who should have rescued him, discard 
 
 And leave, a monument of scorn ; 
 I knew the evening-'s sullen breath. 
 Conveyed the awful sounds of Death ; 
 The pallid Moon withdrew her lig-ht. 
 
 And far behind a cloud she stole away ; 
 The twinkling- star-beams failed to cheer the nig-ht, 
 
 For cloud-wrapt was their ray. 
 
 Succeeded by a death-like hottsoj the wind 
 
 Gave forth a dying- shriek to moody nig-ht; 
 The owlet, who forbodes events unkind, 
 
 Screeched to the moon's dull lig-ht; 
 The winding--sheet spread all abroad, 
 The death-watch struck the sounding- board, 
 A phantom flitted thro' the room, 
 
 And sweetest music charmed the listening- ear, 
 The music of g-ood sprites, who g-uard his tomb. 
 
 And bless the minstrel's bier.
 
 DEATH OF A POET. Ill 
 
 As on his dying couch he lay 
 Neg-lected, he was wont to say, 
 iMy sleepless nights, my unblessed days, 
 ^ly penury, and scorned, poetic bays. 
 
 And long-neglected lay. 
 Have broken down my spirit, heir to dole, 
 
 And cramped the passions of my soaring mind; 
 Consumption's pang still rankles in my soul, 
 
 And hurries me to death's abode unkind ; 
 No dear domestic blisses solace me, 
 
 Nor kiss from my pale cheek the hectic tear. 
 No artless children weep their dying sire, 
 No faithful servant, prays that I may be 
 Wrapt in ethereal fire. 
 
 Yes thou ill-fated bard canst tell their fate. 
 
 Who, raptured, court the solemn muse of song; 
 Their acute grief, their melancholy state, 
 
 Scorned of the vulgar throng. 
 Who never feel the acute smart. 
 Of secret grief, which fills the heart, 
 A luxury of pious tears. 
 
 For who is raptured at the joys of those. 
 Who spend, in apathy and noise, their years, 
 
 Unblessed with true repose?
 
 112 
 
 FRAGMENT, 
 
 On the death of the Rev. Thomas Spencer, who teas 
 
 drozcned, while bathing at Liverpool, aged 
 
 twenty years and six months. 
 
 Bear me, kind Providence, to his honored bier, 
 There let me feel, there let the glistening- tear 
 Fall on the hallowed spot, where lies the dust 
 Of all that's g^ood, of all that's kind and just. 
 And, Heavenly sire, be this my only fame. 
 To emulate his worth, and love his name ; 
 No feigned affection swell my feeling- soul. 
 No sycopliantic tears of feigried grief roll ; 
 But like the simple rustic's, let mine be 
 The tears of love, of heart-felt charity. 
 And as his hallowed sprite sliall Hit around 
 The hallowed sepulchre's most solemn g-round, 
 And importune kind Heaven, in holy prayer, 
 For me a wanderer, a pilgrim there,
 
 TKACMENT. 113 
 
 Mftv T, kind Providence, admire the grace, 
 Wliich saves the g-ood man, and protects his race, 
 And robes with awe, tho' all is dark'ning g-loom, 
 The humble visitant of Spencer's tomb. 
 When merg-ed from nig-htly shades the silver moon. 
 Hiding- majestic to her solemn noon, 
 VVlien ce;iscs rill the city's frantic din, 
 And all the noise of customary sin, 
 There in his face I'll trace the vivid g-low. 
 Which marked his heart-felt piety below. 
 His simple dress, fine form, and melting* look, 
 Which drew a feeling- tear from hearts of rock, 
 The tear which glistened in his manly eye, 
 For man erratic destined soon to die. 
 And as he flits away, in shades of nig-ht, 
 To holy regions of unclouded light, 
 Would that my soul, emaculate, forgiven, 
 Could stretch its wings, and blend with him i» 
 heaven.
 
 114 
 
 o I) i: . 
 
 TO T)t:f:i,fNK 
 
 ,S!o\v!j, \t\it .•-urcty. .-is tlto bl;r/.t' 
 
 Vriiic!! stefils away the a"fiS€HJUS oil. 
 Whose ff^ndly melanclioly rays 
 
 Have ciieeiv'd my studiou? niidnig-ht toil. 
 Thou pale decline, purloin'st away, 
 
 My vital powers— my vital breath, 
 AndirivVt, by jrradual decay, 
 
 Thv victim to the monster, death. 
 
 Thou bland deceiver, liirht'st the eye. 
 
 And diest the cheek with yoiithful bloom, 
 Tlion. least suspected when most niirh, 
 
 Giv'st hope, tho' }nwns the caverned tomb: 
 Yet 1 would slowly wear away. 
 
 And sieze one space to be forg-ivcn ; 
 Grant nie, kind Heaven, relig-ion's ray, 
 
 To ii'uide mv feet to hoiv hen\en.
 
 AX ODE. 
 
 Aw:. v. cl\^'ay cnchanlhii:- earth; 
 
 All hiiii yo scenes uf cha.'ste clellg-lit, 
 j.c^vithed upon the iiuin of worth, 
 
 In reg-ioiis of unsullied lig"lit; 
 To tliose, wlio watch my dyin^^ bed, 
 
 Whose ?yes their ardent frlendsliip tolj. 
 While rai'inj^ up my fainting- head, 
 
 "^lav 1 I aw fiine to m^x i':irewell. 
 
 115
 
 116 
 
 DEVOTION 
 
 A HVilN. 
 
 In ih^ s\vt ft ftir of eve, wlieii li'c .-iiii u. (ttM'iiiiuJL;', 
 And tii)piii.ii- llie clouds with the piu'fde ul" l>lo!i(l, 
 
 And my spirit is under vexjition repining', 
 
 J'll }i;i*te 1() rep-jse in the shs.cies ofthe v^ood. 
 
 I'll hfisto to tlie slope of the g\i^i[ \n tlie <'^ r'lii:!:^-. 
 
 When tiie n^i-e of tlie city i> hu.vlie;! V-> i'.'ji.iM-; 
 In holy dt'votion, my spirit eniivcjiin.';. 
 
 I'll iiUsli the complainings of iif^^u'i-Hiulii:;^- rft.'Oi. 
 
 The son.-Tfs of the ciioi'fsters. sinu-is:.;-. --> v,\;-!>;]v. 
 
 To hoHe.jt Heaven for bo'.rnties inil'jid. 
 Shall te;;ch me to trii-1 to Jeho\;di. ( 'M);pl(i;-ly, 
 
 I'oi' iaiV'ty. wliile pacing' liii> 'wiideiii,:;' W'lrlrj
 
 DE\OTIO\. 117 
 
 Alone, and remote IVoin all vice ind confusion. 
 Beloved by lafiier, my heave .. - \ 
 
 All g-aiety's scenes ! will deeiii 
 
 Ob.strncting' the .si^'hs w^hich , ^ _ end. 
 
 As (he devv'-drop, dislils on the love. . a-. 
 
 His g-race sliall diifil on my paivsionicri^j &oui; 
 To celestial reg'ions, where tlic weary reposes, 
 
 My sprite shall ascend, far outstrippSn;;- tjie pole.
 
 118 
 
 II O I T 
 
 A party is a irrievous j)e->t, 
 
 A very deadlij evil, 
 The master of the house, and guc^l. 
 
 To each are merely civih 
 
 Affection's test is rarely known,— 
 
 A sympathetic tear, 
 But form and etiquette alone, 
 
 In every form appear. 
 
 The g-entlemen, so truly wise, 
 Distract you with their prate ; 
 
 And each puts on a specious ^ruisc, 
 To hide his proper state.
 
 \ Korr. 119 
 
 M'ho Indies lauyh wlien they should sij'h, 
 And weep wh.en they should smile; 
 
 And hH toirether talk so hig-h, 
 Voii hear them full a mile. 
 
 Yi;iu-'re I'oi-ced to amuse the g-entle fair, 
 
 Or else their pretty eyes 
 Will fill your breast with anxious care, 
 
 Ar.d fear, and turg-id sighs. 
 
 So many dishes sate a sao-e, 
 
 And all, except a g-lutton, 
 Who grins at salads and spinage. 
 
 And hates plain chops of mutton, 
 
 To meet a rout of saucy fops, 
 And pert affected belles. 
 Is worse than eating mutton-chops 
 
 Alone, where silence dwells. 
 
 Now one must dance, then one must sing-. 
 
 Another keep his station, 
 And give a toast for some famed king", 
 
 Or patriot of the nation. 
 
 Then let me have my own fire-side, 
 
 My quiet home and book, 
 My friends, who faithfully abide. 
 
 And Coela's melting' look.
 
 120 
 
 A 
 
 To thee I come O Lord, my Cotl, 
 
 Thy mercy mild to seek : 
 Yet shame and g-uilt, both dire, forebode 
 
 My soul's eternal wreck. 
 
 Bnt is there not in mercy's arms 
 
 For me, a rebel, room? 
 Why then these fears, and dread alarms, 
 
 When Jesus whimpers come? 
 
 I own, O Sa\iour, I have spurned 
 
 Thy mercy, rich and free, 
 And is it then for ever turned 
 
 Away from wretched me ?
 
 A HYMN. 121 
 
 My heart, resembling- midnif,^ht drear. 
 
 Is ig'norant--impure; 
 And yet some twinkling- rays appear: 
 
 Let these my bliss secure. 
 
 These be my g-uide, as once a star 
 
 Guided the mag-ic feet. 
 To David.5 city, Jesus there. 
 
 My "nig-hted soul will meet.
 
 122 
 
 THE 
 
 SEA BOY. 
 
 'Twas dark, the Moon had veiled her silver light, 
 Ashamed to flash her beams upon the elf, 
 
 Who iron-hearted, steeled, in drunken plig-ht, 
 Could spurn the modelled imag-e of himself. 
 
 The sea-breeze g-ently curled the ocean's surge, 
 The sea-fowl coarse, had saug-ht their rocky bod, 
 
 The ebbing- tide had found its utmost verg-e, 
 And from the shore precipitately fled. 
 
 The artless child, penurious and forlorn. 
 With simple prattle asks his sire for bread, 
 
 The villian kicks the boy with ruffian scorn, 
 From off the pier, and leaves him there for dead
 
 THE SEA BOY. 123 
 
 Fierce from their caves the rushing- Boreas brcuk. 
 One faithful wave restores on shore the child ; 
 
 The callous rocks in sullen echoos speak, 
 And thunder veng-eance on the parent wild. 
 
 The ruddy child, with accents of distress. 
 Calls out for aid ; a lady hears him weep. 
 
 And, printing on his cheek a fond caress, 
 
 She kindly saves him from t!ie yuwnhiy de^p. 
 
 O g-entle Lady, be thy kindness blessed 
 
 By all on earth, by all who dwell in heaven. 
 
 In thee the hapless urchin found a rest, 
 
 For liim thv noble heart was i>T:eved and riven. 
 
 As rolls the earth, rock'd by volcjinic fu'ej, 
 The brutal parent reels to brothel rado, 
 
 There drinks away the hours, nor once enquires 
 For the poor child, he irave to ocean's -lood. 
 
 Some years elapse, when by unerring- fate. 
 The boy is destined to explore the deep ; 
 
 And by that Providence which rules our state. 
 He and his sire meet in the self-same ship. 
 
 He often ;=ees his son yet cannot tr.-irs' 
 
 Ris semblance in the lu'chiu's robust foi"!:! : 
 He rather curses him, (O dire disg-raco,) 
 
 As sailors arc ac'CU'-^oincd in a sforrn.
 
 124 THE SEA BOV. 
 
 But He who rules the ocean's trackless bound, 
 And holds in man, or takes away his breath. 
 
 Transfixes in his breast a cureless wound 
 
 Of fell disease, that soon forebodes his death. 
 
 As roll the surg-es o'er the shattered ship. 
 
 His crimes all rush and stagnate in his soul, 
 "I drowned my son," he cries,— loud roars the deep, 
 
 And thro' the heavens the pealing- thunders roll. 
 
 The v-'ccping- boy, who heard his sire's acclaim, 
 And meeldy tendered him his feeble aid, 
 
 Said, "I'm your son, i am the very same. 
 
 Whom you kicked from the pier and left for dead !'' 
 
 Now shame and fear, now liope and quick surprise, 
 
 And secret joy, all ag-itate his heart, 
 A Hood of tear-, streams from his sunken eyes. 
 
 Which for a time bcg'uile dcatli's poisoned dart. 
 
 The boy too weeps, the father seeks God's grace; 
 
 I'lic weeping" boy most earnest prays, that God 
 >V};o i'Cnt his son to regrdate our ways. 
 
 Would pardon him thro' Chri.-t's atoning" blood. 
 
 A ray of hope irradiate.^ his mind. 
 
 No more he hears the thunderbolts of hca\ci! •, 
 
 His crime, thro' Jesus' mediation kind, 
 i.', blotted out. and fliuiliv foririvcn.
 
 125 
 
 RELIGION, 
 
 When wrapt in the pleasures of sin, 
 
 And far from my natal abode, 
 When fond of the world's horrid din. 
 
 And far from the knowledg-e of God; 
 I, ardent, pursued happiness, 
 
 For which, I thoug^lit mortals were born, 
 But found the world full of distress, 
 
 And man made to sorrow and mourn. 
 
 I scrutinized, strictly, the g-reat, 
 
 And found them unhappy as I, 
 And learned, that there is not a state 
 
 Quite free from perplexity's sig-h. 
 To the lone peasant's cottag-e I hied, 
 
 And asked if true pleasure dwelt there. 
 But learned, as the poor inmates sig-hed, 
 
 Tiiat thci) were the victims of care.
 
 126 RELIGION. 
 
 One old man was happy and gay, 
 
 When fortune upon him did shine, 
 But he fell to misfortune a prey, 
 
 And the pleasures he once deemed divine 
 ".My wealth, wife, and children are gone," 
 
 He said, and a sig-h rent his breast, 
 "For them I am destined to mourn, 
 
 Till death brinirs me heavenlv rest." 
 
 So I found that religion's before, 
 
 All the riches and honors of life, 
 Religion, when this world's no more 
 
 Delivers from sorrow and strife. 
 Religion! thou ornament meek, 
 
 Dispised by. the wits of the age, 
 Thy joys are a balm to tlie weak, 
 
 A solace to peasant and sage. 
 
 Thy joy cicatrizes tlic lieart. 
 
 When btung by the fang of reiiinr^e, 
 Removes from the \ittils the .^mart. 
 
 Inflicted by penury's force. 
 Religion, so pure, so divine. 
 
 Proceeds from the parent of light, 
 Can the sjiirit >o darkened refine, 
 
 And cli?i:c tiic prim horrors of uiglif.
 
 RELIGION. I2'i 
 
 The poor man that's taiig-ht of the Lord, 
 
 Without liuman learning- may trace, 
 'J'he truths which are held in God's word, 
 
 And be tilled with ineffible grace. 
 And relig"ion will solace his mind, 
 
 In penury's horrible g-loom; 
 Rcli.'iion, thro' fortiine unkind, 
 
 Will be his safe-gruard to the tomb. 
 
 THE END.
 
 Printed by A. Lvsn, Fakenthim, JSTorfolk.
 
 
 FREDEGAR, 
 
 THE BARON'S PALL; 
 
 WITH OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY EDWARD BAYLIS. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY G. VIRTUE, IVY LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW; ANO 
 SOLI) BY H. HARRISON, 41, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND 
 
 MDCCCXXVI.
 
 C. Bi'iMi^, Printer, Duke Streft, 
 Liut'oliiN Inn Fields.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Fredegar, Canto 1 1 
 
 Frediigar, Canto II ' 65 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh 125 
 
 Defamation 147 
 
 The Bud in embryo blooming 148 
 
 To the Memory of Lord Byron 153 
 
 Resignation 158 
 
 Liberty 159 
 
 The Freeman's War-Song IGl 
 
 Love 161. 
 
 To Ellen on her Birth-Day 167 
 
 My Son 171 
 
 To the Memory of George the Third 175 
 
 The Battle ISO 
 
 Despair — Rapture 18;j 
 
 The Vow 18S 
 
 Sympathy ' 190 
 
 The Fibher 191 
 
 England 194
 
 OR, 
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 
 
 CANTO I.
 
 ST:.MMARy. 
 
 The introduction — tlie grot — the approach of Lewellhyn and his 
 father — Zelinda discovered — tlie magic intiucnce of woman — t)iu 
 lover's anxiety — liis doujjts — the request — his fatlier's liesitation — 
 early impressions — female hap'jiness — Lewellhyn's agony of mind — 
 his denouncement of the efficacy of ancestry to assuage him — his 
 father's avowal of Zelinda's worth and beauty — the lover's dark 
 suspicions — their effect — the father's terrific menace — Lewellhyn'.i 
 wrath — the Baron's concession — the reconciliation — the insidiousness 
 of human nature — the Baron's reminiscences of the past — his proofs 
 of affection — Lewellhyn's compunction — the alternative — the meeting 
 — Lewellhyn's absent deportment — Zelinda's duubts — the separation 
 — Zelinda alone — the Baron's contemplations — the darkness of his 
 purpose — his approach to Zelinda — her apprehensions — his declara- 
 tion of love — her indignant rejection — the bugle .'-umnions — lMr;un, 
 the slave, advances — Zelinda entreats — the Baron i> nbdurate- — lu.r 
 appeal — its impotence — the abduction.
 
 FREDEGAR, 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 L 
 
 1 HERE are scenes of delight, there are feelings of woe, 
 There 's a paradise blended with sadness below ; 
 Creation itself is all teeming with joy — 
 God gives it perfection, man mixes alloy : 
 AU-br'ght as the sun — ever-blooming as spring — 
 All-excursive as mind on fancy's wild wing — 
 Too long in approaching — too rapid in flight — 
 Would be life's career, were the heart ever light. 
 But oft by the efforts, confided in most 
 For graspir\g at bliss, is felicity lost;
 
 4 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 The soul is elated — the brain is disturb'd — 
 Ambition, awaken'd, disdains to be curb'd; 
 Away wings fair virtue — vice poisons the rest — 
 And crime leaves a blank, or a hell, in the breast. 
 Though dark be the tale, though terrific the deed. 
 To the Muse is the task, all-chequer'd, decreed 
 To paint the last gasp of villainy o'er, 
 And beauty and innocence wrench'd from its pow'r. 
 
 [1. 
 
 Here is a sweet, sequester'd grot, 
 
 A lonely, an erichanting sjiot. 
 
 Where with his fairest ! dearest ! oft 
 
 Lewellhyn, wrapt, delights to rove — 
 Ilast thou e'er heard the warblers soft ? 
 Hast thou e'er seen the bower of love ? 
 Come ! here the songsters sweetest prove! 
 Come! here the soul most bounds aloft. 
 In transports, too divine for guile, 
 The world's restraint, and measured smile!
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 
 
 Zeliiida waits expectant here — 
 Lewellhyii and his sire draw near. 
 
 in. 
 
 " Behold that eye ! that form ! that mien ! 
 What graces there divinely dwell ! 
 Was beauty e'er more beauteous seen ? 
 'Tis young Zelinda — mark her well." 
 
 Le\\ellhyn spoke; his sire survey'd 
 The distant, unsuspecting maid. 
 He saw — he felt — he own'd the truth 
 Of all his son had said forsooth : 
 
 He view'd — one gaze was not enough — 
 He view'd again — again — again ! 
 
 His looks not coldly passing off — 
 His years alone were on the wane ; 
 He look'd — a bright assemblage broke 
 
 Of all that 's lovely on his eye, 
 
 Of all that 's deem'd supreme on high,
 
 6 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 Or e'er by tongue enraptured spoke 
 As breathing charms and ecstacy ! 
 
 He gazed — admired — could half invoke 
 
 Eternal blessings at each look ! 
 
 For woman, budding into beauty, 
 Blooming in youth, and chaste in duty, 
 Is everywhere, o'er every breast, 
 A talisman to make us blest ; 
 And, fairy-work of fair creation ! 
 Claims in return man's adoration. 
 
 IV. 
 
 He look'd — was it a look of love ? 
 
 Sure age had quench'd that passion quite- 
 Was it not ardour far above r 
 
 A saint-like, tranquil, pure delight, 
 Which heaven itself might own, approve ? 
 Such as a tender father might 
 Bestow on such a pleasing sight, 
 If innocent before him stood 
 The only blossom of his blood !
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 
 
 lie look'd — Lewellhyn deem'd his sire 
 Look'd love, without a lover's lire — 
 Was pleased, without cue selfish thought, 
 Yielding to woman, what man ought, 
 
 A secret homage, warm, sincere, 
 Which only matchlessness can win. 
 
 He watch'd — he weigh'd — with tremhling fear, 
 And high-impassion'd joy within. 
 The every turn, the every gaze, 
 lie cast towards that glowing blaze 
 Of his heart's meteor-magnet star, 
 Who stood so brilliant — and not far ! 
 For now his youthful pulse beat fast, 
 Now was the crisis come at last, 
 To ask — to urge — to gain consent 
 To realise love's sentiment. 
 
 V. 
 
 He burn'd to hear his father speak — 
 To grant him one approving word ;
 
 8 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 The anxious, silent pause to break. 
 In praise of her his soul adored. 
 Roused were his hopes, and keen his glance — 
 Mysterious fate! — his sire askance 
 Abruptly turn'd his- aged head. 
 Lewellhyn marvell'd — swiftly sped 
 A dread foreboding tlirough his breast — 
 Yet why? — it was a dream at best; 
 
 He would not doubt — he fear'd no harm- 
 
 Zelinda was as pure as fair; 
 A virtue beam'd in every charm — 
 And safe is virtue every where; 
 He would not doubt — 
 
 " My sire! my friend! 
 Thou author of my being ! bend 
 
 Thine ear to me, and say, oh say ! 
 If there be ought in form or mind 
 Of stubborn or repulsive kind, 
 In my Z(-linda, that away
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 
 
 Thy dear regard should thus be turn'd ; 
 As if thou loved not — nay, if spurn'd 
 Her — yes — the life! the all to me! 
 From whom 1 cannot — must not — be !" 
 
 VL 
 
 His sire turn'd round ; but still was mute — 
 
 His heart had not a word to spare ; 
 If thou couldst probe that bosom's root, 
 Oh, what tumultuous throbs were there! 
 His voice Lewellhyn paused to hear — 
 The only answer was a tear. 
 Hush'd was his moody-silenced tongue. 
 
 But on his cheeks expression sat ; 
 The drop — ^^just shed — proclaim'd how strong, 
 And sensitive, his nature yet! 
 His vivid eye seem'd fired anew, 
 As through it this last herald flew 
 
 Of sense and soul, of joy and weeping ; 
 
 Stealing its course — deep — troublous — creeping — 
 
 Through manhood's into feeling's keeping.
 
 10 FllEDECiAU; OU 
 
 At length his utt'rance came again — 
 
 " My son ! a father's pause is brief, 
 
 When speaks an only child in pain, 
 
 And asks — when he can give — relief. 
 Tlien hear — a parent's faithful voice 
 Is proud to own — applaud — your choice ; 
 Zelinda seems — you frown — well, is 
 The hand-maid self of human bliss ! 
 So sweet a maid ennobles thee — 
 A daughter such will honour me." 
 
 VII. 
 
 " If such the feelisigs of my sire, 
 Whence, may I humbly dare inquire, 
 Arose thiit tear, e'en sad, if tender :" 
 
 '' It was, my son ! — but u hy desire 
 To stir my inmost being's fiie: — 
 It was — no ! no ! — I cannot render 
 A gonuine reason why it liow'd : 
 It was unask'd. unN0u;ih(. botnu'd —
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 11 
 
 A tribute — due to loveliness, 
 Which ne'er was more, should ne'er be less. 
 I weep not that thy love is near, 
 I weep not that the maid is dear ; 
 Oh, would that now propitious were — 
 To thy heart's wibh — tl;e flame you bear ! 
 Oh would, that ere this sun decline. 
 The sweet Zelinda could be thine ! 
 
 I weep — because 'tis joy to weep, 
 
 Which shews my joy indeed is deep — 
 
 A transport of profound delight, 
 
 By tears — burst — welcomed — into sight! 
 
 Couldst thou but know — couldst thou but see — 
 
 The grief — the bliss — that thrills in me, 
 
 Thou wouldst not ask why wet my check — 
 
 For down thine own a drop would break ; 
 
 Thou too wouldst own a kindred woe, 
 
 A sympathetic — nameless — glow."
 
 12 FllEDEGAR; OR, 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " / too would own a kindred woe — 
 
 My sire! but rapture beams on me; 
 No cause of sorrow do I know— 
 I muse but on felicity : 
 For yonder stands my loveliest treasure ! 
 Key of my life! my pride! my pleasure ! 
 Oh, when I think — look — speak of her ! 
 Can e'en one sigh — one plaint — occur? — 
 
 And wouldst thou bid this transport cease ? 
 
 Paternal love must wish it more; 
 Thy frown alone can ])last my peace — 
 Thy frown ne'er seen — deserved — before. 
 I ask not what thou canst not give — 
 Health — fame — and length of days to live; 
 These only on our God depend — 
 To God for tliese must prayers ascend ! 
 I ask not what will cost thee ought — 
 Not e'en the labour of a lhou"lit :
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 13 
 
 I ask — what thou canst scarce deny, 
 If thou art sire, and son am I — 
 Not earthly pomp of wealth or land, 
 With slaves to tremble at command ; 
 
 My riches are already found — 
 They centre in yon spotless maid ; 
 
 In her my every wish is bound — 
 
 Ambition — greatness — life — are stay'd ; 
 I only ask her for my bride — 
 Speak — speak — my sire! — am I denied? — " 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Lewellhyn, I am bound to hear 
 
 What thou wouldst sue — what I can grant; 
 Nor needst thou entertain a fear 
 
 That thou — what I can give — shalt want. 
 If only on my word remain'd 
 For all thou seekst to be attain'd — 
 That word were sjiveu — ay! if death 
 That instant '•eal'd my closing ])reath !
 
 14 fuf:degai{ : on, 
 
 But wondrous are earth's cliequer'ti ways — 
 Pause ere thou treadst the appallhig maze ! 
 'Tis well to glow at beauty's smile — 
 But see thou buildst thy peace the while 
 On basis firm, which may defy 
 The tempests of the stormiest sky : 
 For after seasons often pay 
 The sDatch'd-at raptures of a day ; 
 AVhich please — when fiery passions play : 
 But shock — when reason comes to sway." 
 
 X. 
 
 Fredegar's heir stood list'ning still ; 
 
 His open brow spoke strange surprise 
 His father saw the awaken'd thrill 
 Sit in his soul-fix'd looks and eyes; 
 But chaugfd he not his earnest strain — 
 Just stoii[)M— and then burst forth ;igain —
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 15 
 
 " Fii nature's dawn, when warm and glowinii;, 
 In lovely unsuspecting teens, 
 
 The youthful heart commences flowing 
 Through life's gay precarious scenes — 
 That happy moment when we see 
 The world not in reality ; 
 
 When all above — around — below — 
 
 Heav'n — ocean — earth — and men — and tilings — 
 
 Are clothed in a celestial glow — 
 Are rooted in eternal springs ; 
 Clouds, storms, and rocks, and dangers hidden. 
 Frowns, coldness, hatreds, strifes forbidden — 
 Oh then the first — the best — impression, 
 The happiest — noblest — for possession ; 
 The earliest felt — the soonest lost — 
 A vernal bud, unnipt by frost — 
 Is to enjoy with pure delight 
 Whatever charms the ear or sight! 
 To sei/e, without a fear or doubt, 
 ICvery bb^-^iuii sti(\\M al'.out!
 
 IG FR EDEGAR: OR, 
 
 To think — and act — and plan — and say — 
 Artless and swift, at nature's sway, 
 Whatever first pervades the heart — 
 Whatever can a joy impart! 
 Regardless of the checks and tears, 
 ^^ hich wrinkle on the march of years. 
 
 XI. 
 
 " So feels Zelinda, beauteous maid! 
 By whom thy fate, thy life is sway'd. 
 She 's gay and artless, kind and loved. 
 Approving all — by all approved ; 
 She seldom sighs, she never grieves — 
 The world smiles on her — she believes 
 Its smiles are true, its charms are pure. 
 Ah, destined ever to endure! 
 
 From day to day, from hour to hour, 
 She traces sweetly o'er and o'er, 
 Joy's every scene, joy's every power;
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 17 
 
 Still pleased from flower to flower to range, 
 And happy still in every change. 
 She trembles not for grim to-morrow, 
 She mars not bliss with boding sorrow ; 
 Iler sun beams gaily, and she deems 
 No lurking storm, no dark'ning cloud 
 Are near, to spread a sable shroud 
 O'er that which so ecstatic seems ! 
 The bliss she feels is bliss indeed, 
 From doubts, and cares, and sorrows freed! 
 'Twere cruel to predict its close — 
 'Tw{>re monstrous e'er to interpose 
 A word — a thought — to dim the rays 
 Of transport, which around her blaze. 
 But, oh my son — I speak it not 
 
 To wound thy soul, or dim thy joy — 
 God brighter grant your mutual lot! 
 
 Guard her and thee, my only boy ! — 
 But haj)piness uncertain is — 
 
 Nay, seraph woinaiTs siniliiig even
 
 18 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 Cannot secure us paradise, 
 
 Or bless us with eternal heav'n." — 
 
 XII. 
 
 Upon Lewellhyn's listening ear 
 
 Too harshly broke those accents drear ; 
 
 Which breathed a sadness, boded woes, 
 
 By him unfelt, to him unknown : 
 He ponder'd — in an instant rose — 
 He fancied — yes ! — the cause alone — 
 The only cause — the reason why — 
 His sire thus augur'd misery; 
 'Twas that Zelinda — warm and young, 
 Open of soul, and free of tongue — 
 
 He fear'd — when weightier cares should come- 
 A wife's restraint, a mother's love — 
 Might in young scenes still sigh to rove, 
 And make a wilderness of home, 
 Ardour beam'd in his eyes — 
 Oi\ his father he ya/ed :
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. !9 
 
 And delight's energies 
 His inmost spirit raised. 
 Oh godlike 's the task, 
 '^ When lingers a doubt, 
 The truth to unmask, 
 And point virtue out ! 
 A duty, which we all applaud, 
 An effort, worthy of a god ! 
 A duty, dearest to a lover, 
 An effort then divine all over ! 
 
 His bosom swell'd — his passion lent 
 A power to make him eloquent: 
 Enchantment thus, indeed, to vent 
 The admiration, which was pent 
 Within his burning soul for her 
 Who was his life's best monitor. 
 
 XIIL 
 
 '' Thanks! thanks! my sire! that thus thy cares 
 Are turii'd to every cause, whicli boars
 
 20 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 A secret reference to my joy : 
 Such caution shews a father's breast, 
 All-beating, to secure a blest, 
 
 Unruffled haven for his boy. 
 But for Zelinda fear thou naught — 
 She 's pure in deed — as pure in thought. 
 Think not, that there on earth is aught, 
 
 Which can a heart like hers decoy 
 From virtue — which is happiness 
 To her, all bright in loveliness — 
 Which fate, in its worst fickleness, 
 
 Can neither lessen nor destroy. 
 Think not in brilliant gems and dress — 
 
 In flowing silks, and rich display- 
 Unsentimental gaudiness, 
 
 And equipages idly gay — 
 She, like the myriads of her sex. 
 Whom trifles can delight or vex, 
 Condenses every good supreme — 
 The paradise of every dream !
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 21 
 
 Think not, in baubles such as these — 
 These pageantries of vacant ease — 
 Are centcr'd — realised — confined — 
 Her dignity and peace of mind. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Oh think not, that with restless zeal 
 
 She follows every noisy mirth! 
 
 Forgetting her paternal hearth — 
 
 That lovely spot, which summons forth 
 
 The holiest ecstacy on earth ! 
 Think not, she can a pleasure feel 
 To which but folly lends its seal ; 
 Which is but empty gloss and vapour, 
 The fleeting glitter of a taper ! 
 
 Think not she hunts from scene to scene, 
 Life's veriest straws, life's veriest toys; 
 
 Nor lets a moment intervene 
 
 From vain pursuit of vainest joys —
 
 22 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 No — dearer far the calm retreat, 
 
 The ivied cot, the mossy seat, 
 
 Whence worldlings flee — where fondly meet- 
 In all the warmth of kindness pure, 
 In all the strength of virtue sure — 
 Friends to each other long allied, 
 Friends dearer made, the oft'ner tried! 
 That hallow'd union — great — divine — 
 Which only noble souls can join ; 
 Ever by the world mistaken. 
 Never by the world yet shaken. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Oh couldst thou, in the shadowy grot, 
 
 Where each to each our vows are plighted- 
 Where, from discordant noise remote. 
 
 We, in each other wrapt, delighted, 
 Oft sit — converse — unbosom — share 
 Our souls and every feeling : there —
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 23 
 
 Touch'd with emotions from above, 
 With music-making, melting love ! 
 Oh couldst thou, sire, but lend thy listening ear, 
 At that sweet spot, when none beside are near! 
 Catch the soft sounds, which from Zelinda flow. 
 Her cheek suffused in beauty's blushing glow ! 
 Oh couldst thou see her, confident in truth, 
 Warm in affection, innocent in youth ! 
 List to her accents of the world and men — 
 Uncheck'd — unfeign'd — all soul — and freedom then ! 
 Oh couldst thou hear, and watch, and closely see 
 The maid, as she is seen and known by me! 
 Weigh every word, in every sentence find 
 A woman's heart, with more than manhood's mind! 
 Thou wouldst not doubt, thou wouldst no longer dread 
 That she could change, when years and years are fled ! 
 
 She greatly is, my gen'rous sire, 
 
 All thou couldst wish, all I desire; 
 
 Deem not she e'er can altcr'd be — 
 
 I ask in her my life of thee !"
 
 24 FREDEGAR: OR. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 This utter'd — and Lewellhyn stood, 
 All motionless, to hear his doom : 
 
 His father was in thoughtful mood, 
 Rapt in involuntary gloom. 
 
 " Still silent! — then no more am I 
 Thy hope — thy heir — thy progeny ! 
 No more in me — I dread, I feel 
 
 A rebel spirit in me rise — 
 'Tis hard — 'tis cruel to conceal 
 Love's disappointed agonies ! — 
 
 No more in me Oh that I e'er 
 
 Should live from thee such thing to bear ! — 
 No more in me you own, behold 
 Fredegar's heir — my woes are told ! 
 The representative, indeed, 
 
 Of lands and honours old and great, 
 Sees now, to blessings cannot lead, 
 Or princely birth or mighty ^(atc !
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 25 
 
 You doom two kindred souls to sever — 
 
 Vain are all glories then to me — 
 If I must sigh and pine for ever. 
 What then to me is ancestry ? 
 I give all greatness to the wind, 
 If it vouchsafe not peace of mind. — " 
 
 XVIL 
 
 He paused; and in his father now 
 Emotions struggled deep and long : 
 
 Who seem'd most anxious to bestow- 
 But feign'd it would alas, be wrong — 
 What ask'd his son ! 
 
 " Lewellhyn, thou — 
 I must — since thou insist'st — allow, 
 Hast rightly — wisely — nobly — chosen, 
 Thy love and fate to twine and close in 
 The fair and beauteous, dear and mild, 
 LantarnuinS gentle — only — child !
 
 26 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 I ne'er beheld, I never knew — 
 Heav'n knows my very soul speaks true- 
 A maid more comely to the view, 
 A maid more worthy to inspire 
 A youth with love's resistless fire, 
 And vanquish him with soft desire ! 
 To fix his eye but to admire — 
 To chain his heart but to adore 
 At once — for life — for evermore ! 
 I honour — yes ! my son — revere — 
 Nor deem the avowal insincere — 
 The loveliness, the virtues, worth 
 Of her, who boundless summons forlli 
 A fiery, heav'nly flame in thee — 
 A curbless swell of ecstacy. 
 Of all on earth, would I alone — 
 Though diadem and sceptred throne 
 Were doom'd her rivals for thy love — 
 Ilor only would my voice approve.
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 27 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " I've seen her oft — I've watch'd her long — 
 Oft has my scrutinising eye 
 Essay 'd — unpitying — to espy 
 In her some female blemish strong. 
 Oh, not that I am prone to find 
 Errors in any e'er combined, 
 And — least of all — in womankind ' 
 I only wish'd, by prying stealth, 
 
 For thy dear sake, to understand, 
 If she — as much by worth — as wealth — 
 Were worthy of thy plighted hand. 
 For I would nobly have thee wed 
 A maid — more virtuous — than high-bred. 
 I've traced her steps — I've scann'd her ways, 
 And all I know confirms her praise. 
 I say not this to feed thy flame — 
 Already too intense to tame ; 
 I say it not to tool the ire 
 Which rosp, just now, against thy sire- —
 
 28 FREDf:GAR; OR, 
 
 I say it — as I will aver 
 
 IIow much there 's beautiful in her ! 
 
 But pause, my son ! — " 
 
 This sentence fell 
 On his son's ear, like funeral knell. 
 His piercing looks — his troubled air — 
 A wounded spirit lingering there — 
 Express'd more keen, than language could, 
 The fever thrilling through his blood, 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Oppose me yet !" — Lewellhyn cried - - 
 His accents were half-wrathful toned — 
 
 " Have I then ask'd to l)e denied ? 
 
 And must my choice 1)e chock'd — disown'd ? 
 And check' d — disown'd — by whom ? — by thee ! 
 Souls of the just ! and can it be ? 
 Delirium seizes on my brain — 
 Oh my too agonising pain ! 
 Thou bidst inc pause, e'en wliilc you praise 
 The worth and ilianns my love (]isj)lay.s :
 
 THK liAROxN'S FALL. 29 
 
 She is — thou owii'st — a beauteous maid, 
 
 Worthy of all the vows I've paid — 
 
 Worthy of e'en Fredegar's heir — 
 
 Thy son — whom yet thou bidst despair ! 
 
 What may this mean ? — it is — it is — 
 
 A mystery — a more than this — 
 
 A father's — hold ! — may I impute — 
 
 No ; rather stand I ever mute — 
 
 A wish, a thought, an aim unkind, 
 
 'Gainst thee, to blast my peace of mind r 
 
 Yet bear, bear with me ! — hence — away ! 
 Man could not plan it — heaven permit — 
 
 What seems my frenzied brain to say? 
 That thou — start not — thyself art smit — 
 Oh false, unjust, most foul suspicion ! 
 A dream wing'd on a demon's mission ! 
 Art suiit with — gracious Power above ! — 
 That same Zelinda whom I love — 
 Adorest her — seek'st her — to entwine 
 Her fate, by Gorgon knot, to !hine !
 
 30 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 Oh then faren ell the boon I ask ! 
 For thee to grant 's too great a task — 
 And I — can I my passion smother ? 
 I'll die — ere see her wed another 1 
 
 XX. 
 
 ' I'll die—" 
 
 A most horrific frown, 
 Most dark, and stifled vengeance breathing, 
 Glanced from his sire : which scem'd to drown, 
 By its fierce lightning Hash all-seathing, 
 The memory of past affection, 
 And burst the links of their connexion ; 
 As thus Lewellhyn's lips betray'd 
 The awfulness of doubt, which prcy'd 
 Upon his half-bewilder'd mind. — 
 
 ^' Dare — at the peril of thy life — 
 To rouse my anger into strife ! 
 
 Thou too — a^ all Imve found — shait tin.!
 
 THE BARON'S FALF.. 31 
 
 In me — if once provoked — a foe 
 Who will not, unrevenged, forego 
 
 An insult : — but thou art my son — 
 A name thou hast dishonour'd now — 
 That moment, when thou daredst avow 
 Thy fears of me, with wrathful brow — 
 That moment were atonement done 
 Thy impious, lurking, dread upon ! 
 That very instant, ingrate ! here — 
 Swift as thy speech — were made thy bier!" — 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Lewellhyn trembled not — could brook — 
 
 Impatiently — each word, each look, 
 
 Of ire and vengeance, deep and high, 
 
 Stamp'd on his father's tongue and eye. 
 
 Ilis arm was strong — aroused his pride — 
 
 His sabre rested at his side — 
 
 Defiance Hnger'd ou his ear — 
 
 " Out, out, my hladf' ! — why should I fear?''
 
 32 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 Oh righteous Heaven ! he touch'd the hilt, 
 Then dropp'd it — for the touch was guilt ! 
 
 A father's blood no — no away ! 
 
 His conscience shudder'd with dismay. 
 Yet, was it like a father so 
 To menace him with mortal blow ? 
 The awful thought confused his soul 
 A mystery o'ercast the whole. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Though great his wrath, though great the cause 
 Which summon'd his proud passion forth — 
 
 Threaten'd indeed — with death ! to pause 
 From giving his ideas birth ! 
 Yet greater still was Nature's force 
 To check his hand, prevent remorse ; 
 Greater than all, 'hove ev'ry start 
 Of rage, was nobleness of heart 
 In him, the bold, the <^en'rous youth 
 Who tohl — had aliur'st fall'ii for trufli.
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 33 
 
 He quickly turn'd, about to leave, 
 
 Him, whom he deem'd now only hated ; 
 He wish'd not — tried not — to retrieve 
 The love, once cherish'd, now abated 
 Betwixt them — never to return, 
 Long as either heart should burn : 
 Of death on son a father's threat 
 Was never sanction'd — pardon'd — yet. 
 Ingrate ! — perdition to the slur ! 
 From what — save hate — could it occur ? 
 He quickly turn'd, about to go — 
 
 No look he gave, no word was spoken ; 
 A wretchedness he seem'd to show 
 
 For feelings wounded, fondness broken. 
 His father view'd his sullen mood — 
 To sever thus might not be good ; 
 It was the soul's worst solitude — 
 Brooding o'er wrongs, perchance in blood 
 To end, as tempests end in flood.
 
 34 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The Baron — that proud name which shone 
 From gorgeous coronet alone — 
 
 Revolved within himself awhile ; 
 And must it be — and must he go 
 No friend — if not indeed a foe ? 
 
 I've hitherto but known his smile — 
 His frown seems dangerous — 
 
 " My son, 
 Heed not thy father's hasty tone : 
 My anger — though severely shown 
 In words — evaporates anon 
 In words again ; as quickly gone 
 As utter'd — ever inoffensive — 
 Harmless to all — if reprehensive." 
 
 Lewellhyn's eye spoke brighter things, 
 His venjTeance-deathiness was vanish'd
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 
 
 Aad if his soul's keen hariowings, 
 
 Pang'd to the coiej were not yet banish'd, 
 His bitterness of wrath was sooth'd — 
 liis brow — if not his heart — was smooth'd. 
 If still he feit an anguish deep, 
 Anger, at least, was luU'd to sleep. 
 
 A parent's grief, for words unkind, 
 
 Swift sweeps resentment from the mind : 
 
 E'en while the venom left behind 
 Is agony the most severe — 
 Intensely felt — the worst to bear! 
 
 The sire perceived, with partial joy, 
 
 The gen'rous temper of the boy; 
 
 Oh not that he regarded — fear'd — 
 
 The fiery impulse which appear'd 
 
 In his proud mien ! but that he yet 
 
 Might find a place — a time — to let 
 
 This haughty youth, when lone, unguarded 
 
 Experience his lage— retarded —
 
 36 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 Not crush'd ! — whose noble nature more 
 Exposed him to insidious pow'r. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Oh, human nature, blush! behold a scene 
 
 Where love is feign'd, and dreadful hate is working! 
 Behold a savage, in whose stifled mien 
 
 A monster smiles, while hell itself is lurking ! 
 Oh, that malignity is so expert ! 
 So skill'd in all the arts most sure to hurt! 
 That inexperienced virtue can impart 
 No safety-anchor to an honest heart! 
 
 Who can be guarded 'gainst the faithless charms. 
 
 Which cling around false friendship's cursed caresses ? 
 The soul enchanted, dreams not of alarms — 
 For every blessing given, it doubly blesses. 
 Primeval heav'n ! there only must the young — 
 The great of mind — the undisguised of tongue — 
 Kxpect, from this vile mabs of dread deceit, 
 A smooth, uiibuUied, ;^ciiial path to heat !
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 37 
 
 There only must you hope, Lewellhyn, too, 
 To shun the dangers which now crowd on you ; 
 Your youth — your love — your valour — honour — all 
 Are wrapt in peril — waken ere you fall ! 
 Watch well your sire — if he deserve that name, 
 Who inj'ring you, must brand himself with shame ; 
 Watch well — enough ! — no more must now be told — 
 Let time and destiny the rest unfold. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Forgive, my boy, my warring tongue — 
 
 [ would not have thy feelings wrung 
 To anguish, by a speech of mine; 
 
 From me thou never yet hast known 
 
 Till now, e'en from thy cradle down, 
 A word — an act — to make thee pine. 
 I've ever been, in deed and thought, 
 To thee — as ever parent ought — 
 Kind, indulgent, doting, free — 
 A father, over land and sea!
 
 38 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 When thy dear mother — rest her soul! 
 Now o'er her ashes zephyrs roll — 
 Left me — 'midst death, and pangs, and tears, 
 The guardian of thy infant years — 
 
 To her I swore — poor dying thing! 
 
 While my shock'd bosom wept her fate- 
 
 Thy helpless days with care to bring 
 Up to manhood's riper state — 
 I swore — that vow I've firmly kept, 
 With anxiousness which never slept — 
 To rear thee with a parent's love. 
 For her dear sake, now blest above ! 
 I will not boast — thou best canst tell 
 If I've discharged my duty well — 
 
 Thou best must know, if I've redeem'd 
 The pledge to saint expiring giv'n — 
 
 Look at thy sire — could I have dream'd 
 That we to strife should e'er be driv'n ? 
 Thou sure must know, that I am still 
 Thy father— guardian — fri.'ud ! — and wil),
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 39 
 
 To life's remotest — latest — span, 
 Protect and bless thee all 1 can ! 
 
 XXVL 
 
 " 1 swear that I have been thy friend — 
 
 I swear that 1 will still be so ; 
 The love I bear thee cannot end, 
 
 No — though thou swear'st thyself my foe ! 
 Oh thou, the foster'd of my breast ! 
 Though wounding — still 'bove all, caress'd! 
 Say, can 1 wish a day to live. 
 
 If I must thus be fear'd by thee ? 
 Shun — hate me ! — I will bear — forgive — 
 Yet shalt thou not meet hate from me : 
 This — be I e'er so lost — unblest — 
 
 This never — by my vow ! shall be. 
 Thou — thou — 
 
 Thy frown is iled — I see — 
 Oh, my most noble, gallant son! 
 The memory of thy wrath ia gone."
 
 40 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 " My sire, I grieve — " 
 
 " Enough, my boy ! 
 Words, at such time, would be alloy 
 To feelings, which but ill accord 
 With language, when the soul but speaks ! — " 
 
 " — I grieve — " 
 
 Lewellhyn's utt'rance breaks 
 In pauses long — 
 
 " Oh, cease — forbear — 
 This hour my doubly noble heir ! 
 I ask not — nor on me shalt thou 
 Another sorrowing word bestow 
 For ruffled heart, and clouded brow ! 
 
 XXVIi. 
 
 " What is there in the world indeed, 
 To me, or to my pow'r decreed,
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 41 
 
 I would not to thy wish resign ? 
 Thou ask'st Zelinda — Hcav'ns ! like steel, 
 Thrust at my life, the sounds 1 feel, 
 
 Which said — 1 burn'd to make her mine ! 
 I — I — but thou hast read the lie. 
 
 To that insinuation sad, 
 Impress'd by indignation high 
 In my too fiercely lighted eye — 
 Confirming me but less than mad ! 
 Hence recollection! I will show — 
 As thou ere long shalt doubtless know — 
 That I — suspected thus ! — no — ne'er 
 With thy bright flame can interfere. 
 'Tis true, I cannot — why ? — ask not — 
 Consent for thee to tie that knot ; 
 I grieve, alas ! — but flee, my son. 
 Thy good success yet hangs on one, 
 Who, if he grant thy life's request, 
 And bless thee with his maiden dear, 
 I, in my silentness, will rear 
 A prayer to heav'n that both be blest!
 
 42 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 Flee, flee, my son ! — Lantamum's lord, 
 Of lineage noble, famed of sword. 
 May all thou seek'st and hopest accord! 
 
 Hence, hence! — he is my friend — he soon— 
 Though I must not — may grant thy boon : 
 Away! exert a lover's zeal, 
 Vain may not be thy urged appeal ! 
 Haste, haste ! my boy ! Zelinda's day. 
 And thine of rapture lights the way. — " 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " Dream I — live I — can it be? — " 
 Exclaim'd Lewellhyn : — 
 
 " Yes, haste, ilee!— " 
 Replied his sire ; — " Go, claim the hand 
 Of her, who makes a fairy land 
 Of earth to thee !— " 
 
 " Ar.d can it bo ? and wilt thou not- 
 The aciion cannot he forijnt—
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 13 
 
 And wilt thou not retain in mind 
 The rashness of my passion blind r 
 I feel — I see — 
 Thou 'rt kind to me ! 
 But I — thou couldst not but discover — 
 By love and folly variquish'd over — 
 I touch'd — though I could not unsheathe 
 My sabre — was it for thy death ? 
 And wilt thou pardon ? — " 
 
 " Hence, my son ! 
 Away — away! Zelinda beckon'-; 
 Nor love, nor beauty yet was won, 
 By him, who too minutely reckons. 
 Ill one thing heed me — let her turn 
 Not hence, till thou thy fate shalt learn. — " 
 
 -" One only breath I'll pause — to tell 
 My errand's cause, and clasp farewell 1 — " 
 
 ^' Away
 
 44 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 The word no sooner said 
 Than rush'd he to the expecting maid ; 
 Enchantment strew'd the way before — 
 He fled to meet — embrace — adore ! 
 One look of hers — a smile — a word 
 With sweetness fraught — with transport heard- 
 Were more to him, more wish'd, more valued, 
 Than all beside on earth most hallow'd ! 
 lie rush'd — already on his ear 
 Her voice, in fancy, whisper'd near — 
 He rush'd — a moment more will bring 
 Them each to each on rapture's wing — 
 They meet ! they meet ! — ecstatic time ! 
 With hearts absorb'd in love sublime. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 She chided not for long delay ; 
 He spoke not of his own dismay : 
 She fancied every good supreme ; 
 lie half IiuIuUm (I too in the dream —
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 45 
 
 Though something whisper'd it would flee, 
 As came it, in a fantasy : 
 
 For there was heaviness severe; 
 
 A dread — which yet could hope; a fear, 
 
 Not desp'rate — yet sad ; a drear, 
 Uneasy something at his breast, 
 Which, though it daunted not, opprest ; 
 Restraining not a smile in him, 
 Yet rendering his smile more dim. 
 
 On all his father's words he ponder'd — 
 Their recent interview how strange ! 
 
 It was his first request — he wonder'd 
 What his sire could disarrange? 
 For why could he not give consent ? — 
 This was a dire presentiment ! 
 And why besought he him to leave 
 Zelinda here, till he should heave, 
 To her fond sire, his tender prayer 
 To gain his child and heiress fair ?
 
 46 FREDF.GAR; OR, 
 
 His frown too — and his voice tiial dared 
 Him, when his feelings he declared — 
 This indeed was language new, 
 Which hung upon his mind's review. 
 Deep flush'd it on him — he'd depart 
 To light the burden of his heart — 
 He'd go — that minute — at a breath ; 
 For doubting thus was worse than death ! 
 He'd go — alone — would bold pronounce 
 His misery, and ask at once, 
 His only charm beneath the sun — 
 Zelinda, his most lovely one ! 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Such were his thoughts, so quickly rushing 
 Already was his spirit there: 
 
 High hope was in each feature flushing, 
 [mpaticnce flutter'd in his air. 
 
 From her, his wish'd, his plighted bride,
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 47 
 
 His being's stay! his boing's guide! 
 
 He, in his vision, turn'd aside. 
 She saw — she fear'd — was hurt — could tell, 
 That all — though known not — was not well ! 
 A sad foreboding through her ran. 
 Her transport ceased — her grief began ; 
 Of every woe that 's most accursed, 
 To dread and not to know the worst. 
 
 '' Scarce look — not speak — absorb'd like this — 
 This burning, but this speechless kiss! 
 What means this silence ? — what this mood 
 Of thoughtfulness? — they bode no good! 
 Speak ! speak, Lewellhyn ! oh, thy brow 
 Is throbbing, as I kiss it now ! — " 
 
 " I go, my love! to plead my all; 
 I hasten to thy father's hall ! 
 I go — when next thou look'st upon 
 Lewellhyn. thou and he arc one!
 
 48 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 I go anon — adieu ! — I flee — 
 My father bids — to plead for thee ! 
 But shortly now, and I shall call 
 Thee mine, whatever may befal — 
 No more to fear, no more to sever, 
 To live, and love, and smile for ever! 
 Adieu ! — " 
 
 lie said — embraced — and flew — 
 Too quickly was he out of view ; 
 Zelinda in amazement stood, 
 Dear, lonely, lovely, and subdued! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Afar, the Baron on the scene 
 
 Look'd with an eye no kindness beaming 
 Hate, passion, vengeance, rush'd between, 
 O'erpow'ring pity : nor redeeming 
 Affection, entertaiii'd before 
 For young Lewtllhya — loved no more !
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 49 
 
 Korgotten were the clays of yore, 
 His friendship now was stifled o'er! 
 Nay ; lionour, mercy, justice too — 
 
 The glory of mankind — at this 
 Atrocious moment, fiercely Hew, 
 
 Ilell-wing'd, to crime's all-cursed abyss ! 
 Across his brain 
 Again, again, 
 Terrific. — ceaseless — unrelenting — rush'd 
 A fiery thrilling 
 Of lust, blood-spilling; 
 Uhichj ere it could be satiated — hush'd, 
 Zelinda must be seized — Lewellhyn crush'd! 
 Tremendous musings through him stole, 
 Dark and unsparing as his soul ! 
 He view'd their meeting — watch'd the time, 
 When they should part, to plunge in crime ; 
 Ilis demon lip — his haughty form — 
 l?reatli'd only rage — show'd only storm. 
 
 £
 
 50 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 Scarce indeed could he restrain 
 
 From bursting their short vows asunder ; 
 For all his madness — all his pain — 
 
 His monstrous joys — were hov'ring yonder, 
 In those unconscious, happy two! 
 The loved — the hated — to his view ! 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Breathe out your transports few and fast ! 
 This interview shall be your last ; 
 And yet I loved Lewellhyn once — 
 It boots not — I that boy renounce ! 
 
 I feel a passion through me dart — 
 A fire pervade my ev'ry vein — 
 Which must — I cannot now restrain — 
 Be absolute in all its reigti, 
 Whate'er I do — whoe'er may smart! 
 But why, when I was forced to hear 
 Lewtllhyn's buit, escaped a tear:
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 51 
 
 My eyes are dim, could weep e'en yet, 
 
 Although my heart is iron-set! 
 
 Mayhap 'twas conscience — loathsome thing ! 
 
 Off! off! a coward's only sting ! 
 
 The bold in deed, the brave of sword, 
 
 Must spurn and trample on the word. 
 
 But is not his a holy flame ? 
 
 Is mine too righteous ? — huvsh the name ! 
 
 By dastards be these scruples made — 
 
 I am not — will not be — dismay 'd ! 
 
 Still I could wish — what idle whim ! 
 
 A diff'rent choice had fall'n to him ; 
 
 Or that this roused, this burning breast 
 
 Had — hence remorse ! — heav'n knows the best ! 
 
 And yet his youth — his birth — his mother — 
 
 Crime mail me ! — aid me but to smother 
 
 Remembrances within me stirring, 
 
 Most hideous, and unsought recurring ! 
 
 He loves Zelinda — matchless creature ! 
 
 How exquisite in form and feature 1
 
 52 FREDEGAR; OR. 
 
 I must — why waver I — this hour 
 Secure and keep her by my power. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " They part ! they part ! — the crisis sw ift 
 
 Is gath'ring now, when I must lift 
 
 My voice, my thoughts, my hopes, my arm — 
 
 Mayhap through peril and alarm — 
 
 To gain the idol of my soul — - 
 
 Zelinda! — I defy control. 
 
 One moment now of virtuous curbing, 
 Could I but self-command retain, 
 
 Might save, indeed, me pangs perturbing, 
 And shield me from an odious stain. 
 And shall I pause r — away the thought I 
 Success with life is nobly bought ; 
 Whom fear I: who shall dare oppose ? 
 Are there than rivals fiercer foes ? 
 L;uuariiuin"< lord is great and strong, 
 Warriors and vassals round liim thiong ;
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 53 
 
 Fredegar too perchance is great, 
 And heroes guard his castle gate ; 
 Then heav'n decide betwixt us both — 
 The father's wrath — the lover's oath. 
 
 " They part! they part! — Lewellhyn Hies — 
 There lovely stands my sacrifice! 
 
 He goes — he little dreads the storm 
 
 Now brooding 'gainst liim in this heart ! 
 She stands — how angel-like her form ! 
 
 Oh more than woman fair thou art! 
 They part ! they part !— Lewellhyn's pace 
 Removes him swiftly from the place ! 
 He flies — now he is absent quite ! 
 Far out of hearing, out of sight ; 
 
 Zelinda fearless stands alone — 
 
 My spirit up ! my ardour on ! 
 
 This hour — this hour — she is my own ! — "
 
 54 FREDEGAR: OR, 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Dreamless, unprepared, was she; 
 Unwarn'd, by watchword dread, to llee 
 From lurking harm, from perjured foe, 
 From ruthless guilt, from direst woe ; 
 While in her gentle bosom beat 
 Anticipations fond to greet. 
 Ere long, Lewellhyn — swift to bless 
 Her ear with tidings of success. 
 
 How sweet the prospect all around ! 
 
 How bright the sky ! perfumed the aii ! 
 What solitude ! what peace profound ! 
 
 All nature seem'd a charm to wear. 
 Could murd'rous crime, or harrowing care. 
 
 Where only heav'n appear'd to bloom, 
 With lurking, trait'rous footsteps dare, 
 All-merciless intrude ? and doom 
 To god-like happiness a gloom ? 
 To lover's ecstacy a tomb ? 
 Oh tremble, unsuspecting fair!
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 55 
 
 She view'd the Baron drawing near — 
 
 A stranger was she yet to fear ; 
 
 He was the sire of him, whose name 
 
 Aroused her very soul to llame ; 
 
 'Twas right — though she — she knew not why — 
 
 Loved not too well that Noble's eye ; 
 
 Not fondness — only duty — bade 
 
 This sentiment possess the maid ; 
 
 'Twas right that she, howe'er constrain'd, 
 Advanced to greet him on the way — 
 
 Sure nought like danger near her reign'd ? 
 Yet own'd she could but feel dismay. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 He nearer came — she now could mark 
 His Hurried gait, his visage dark ; 
 What — what perturb'd her ? — Mercy, grant 
 Thy gracious aid ! — a purpose gaunt 
 Dwelt in his air, his eye, his face, 
 Most terrible in such a piece !
 
 56 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 He coiriGS — sure he can mean no harm? 
 
 Yet in his presence what alarm! 
 
 He comes — Oh would some bower were won 
 Invisible, where she might run, 
 And this too-dreaded meeting shun ! 
 
 " Oh haste, Lewellhyn ! haste, my love ! 
 
 My trembling bosom pants for thee ; 
 This is the time for thee to prove 
 Thy valour, and thy faith to me ! 
 Haste ! haste ! if thou wouldst save — defend — 
 My life — thy bride — from omen'd fiend ! — " 
 
 Impetuous was this prayer deliver'd. 
 In silence, to the untelling breeze ; 
 
 And idly, as her pale lips quiver'd, 
 Essay'd she to appear at ease !
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 57 
 
 XXXVL 
 
 He comes! — she cannot — will not — meet 
 The Baron — 
 
 " — At thy angel feet, 
 Behold — he cried — thy vassal now, 
 Prostrate, to pour to thee his vow ! — " 
 
 Words cannot tell, thought scarce conceive, 
 
 The wild amaze, the mad'ning ire, 
 Which in her bosom 'gan to heave, 
 Soon as she heard Lewellhyn's sire. 
 A bitter scorn flash'd from her eye — 
 Insulted virtue's majesty ! 
 No accent deign'd she to return. 
 Nor glanced she on him but to spurn : 
 Her silence told the intruder more. 
 Than language ever breath'd before, 
 How much in him she dared abhor.
 
 58 FREDEGAU; OR, 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Indignant — as from meanest foe — • 
 Unansw'ring, she resolved to go. 
 The Baron, with infuriate clasp, 
 Confined her in his lawless grasp. 
 
 "Thou go'st not hence! — Zelinda, stay — 
 I will not wrong thee — list — I pray — 
 Hear but my tale of passion ! hear 
 To me how thou art lovely ! dear ! 
 Say but the word — enchanting maid! 
 I am thy slave — thou art obey'd !" 
 
 With scorn ineffable she view'd 
 The Baron, as he prostrate sued : — 
 
 " Then hence, thou serpent ! hence from me ! 
 Monster — begone I — wretch smile o:; th^e!
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 59 
 
 Death's icy arms — away ! disgrace 
 
 To manhood, and the human race ! — 
 
 Shall sooner blast, than — " 
 
 Wounded pride, 
 
 And kindled wrath, the rest supplied. 
 Half kneeling — half erected — he, 
 
 Madden'd with passion, heard her not, 
 But still her mantle grasp'd : 
 
 " Agree — 
 Life — all — is thine ! to soothe my lot. — " 
 
 XXXVIIL 
 
 Keen and more keen, the lightning blast 
 Of boundless rage, flew deep and fast 
 Through her fair bosom : — vain indeed 
 With ruffian force to intercede ! 
 
 " Know'st thou — " with high-born look she cried, 
 And voice, accustom'd to decide —
 
 60 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 " Knovv'st thou Lantarnum's daughter? — dread 
 
 The fate which waits thy hateful head ! 
 For never will my sire forego, 
 
 Nor I forgive — " 
 
 The 13aroii rose — 
 No more he wish'd to hear or know ; 
 
 But drew resolve to speedy close. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 With bugle horn, conceal'd till now, 
 lie blew a signal, shrill but lou' : 
 
 " — IIo 1 Evram, forth !— " 
 
 Well Evram knew, 
 
 Soon as that echoing signal Hew, 
 
 A deed of wrong he had to do : 
 Though what, base slave! he could not Jell, 
 Till summon'd by his tyrant fell. 
 Evram, the minion of his crimes. 
 His follower throunh all hauiit.s and times,
 
 THE BARON'S FALl.. 61 
 
 Furlli, at the instant of the sound, 
 Started, like ambush-lurking hound, 
 From shrubbery dense, which grew around. 
 With pistols full was charged his belt, 
 A ghastly blade glared in his hand ; 
 lie waited only for command — 
 Then chains, or wounds, or death, were dealt 
 On all — on any — whom his lord 
 Might tix on, by his dooming word. 
 Nought then his fierceness could restrain — 
 An angels self might shriek in vain ! 
 
 XL. 
 
 Soon as Zelinda's glancing eye 
 Observed the bravo hurrying nigh — 
 His rufBan form, his scowling look. 
 
 His arms, his purpose, and his might — 
 Heroic courage then forsook 
 
 Her breast ; she shudder'd at the sight.
 
 62 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 Hush'd was then her haughty tone — 
 A woman's tears appeal'd alone ! 
 She saw no hopes of mercy there, 
 She pleaded to avert despair, 
 
 Her guiltless knee she lowly bended, 
 Her plaintive voice like seraph raised — 
 
 " Forgive, if I have thee offended ! 
 Spare ! spare ! — " 
 
 The Baron silent gazed. 
 But to her anguish not attended — 
 He ever crush'd the unbefriended ! 
 
 " Evram ! — your aid ! — " the minion stood, 
 As if compassion touch'd his blood, 
 While thus his lord commanded loud — 
 
 *' Evram — your aid ! — " 
 
 The word again 
 Was thunder'd, and obey'd amain.
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 63 
 
 Tficy seized her quick — she struggled — pray'd, 
 No help was near, no force delay'd. — 
 
 " Lewellhyn ! father! Heav'n ! I call 
 For aid— farewell— I fall— I fall !— " 
 
 Away they wrest her from the scene ; 
 
 One mad'ning scream — the strife was o'er! 
 And where the dreadful deed had been, 
 
 Nature bloom'd lovely as before.
 
 OK, 
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 
 
 CANTO II.
 
 St'iMxMARY 
 
 Laiitanuiin Hall — the cliifftaiii's (ibjectinii^ u> Lr\Mllli\ iiV Miit 
 • — liis susiiicioiis of Freclcirar — I^fwellhyn's iiuliijuatioii — dra\\>. lii> 
 sword against tlie cliieftaia — the chieftain's admiration ot his raloui 
 — bestows on liim his daughter — Evrani enters — expt)ses the villain} 
 of the Baron — Lewellliyn's hon-or — the chieftain's wrath — the sound 
 to arms — Lewellliyn's secret approach to Fredeuar castle — his re- 
 ception — and return — the troo})S — their advance to Fredeirar — the 
 ajjproach of a female — the bloody dagger — Zelinda — her frenzy — the 
 battle — the Baron missing — Zelinda's narrative — Evram wounded — 
 conducts them to the seciet cavern — the Baron discovered dying — 
 his declaration — Lewellliyn's mother found — the chieftain recomiises 
 lier — the departure t'roin the seci-et cavern — the lady's restoration to 
 her rights— Lcwellhyii proclaimed Baron — the conclusion — and the 
 moral.
 
 I II E D E G A 
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 
 
 CANTO H. 
 
 I. 
 
 jt\'V length is gain'd Lantarnuiu llali, 
 
 All ancient pile by heroes reai'd: 
 Its present chief was loved by all, 
 Not noble less, l)ecause endear'd. 
 Lewellhyn fervent, breathless came. 
 To plead his suit, confess his flame ; 
 In silence — as his tale he told — 
 
 The list'ning chieftain seem'd to muse 
 
 "• 1 will not from thy hopes withhold —
 
 68 FREDEGAR: OR, 
 
 I would not so thy ^vorth abuse — 
 That she, whom thou art pleased to choose, 
 May, ere yon sun has often roll'd. 
 Be by thy love and fsite controll'd. 
 But she — Lewellhyn, well know'st thou — 
 Is all of kindred left me now ; 
 
 My only child — my stay — my life — 
 Since, oh that too-afilictinr; stroke ! 
 Her mother and my beauteous wife, 
 
 From earth to heav'n too early broke !" 
 
 He said, and dash'd a tear away ; 
 For fresh in memory was the blou 
 Of destiny, v, hich doom'd his woe, 
 
 And dimm'd, till then, his happiest day! 
 
 " I will not that she leave me yet. 
 In her my peace is deeply set ; 
 And in her presence, when I fret 
 Affection's rapture-broken reign,
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 69 
 
 My lonely anguish I forget, 
 And realise the past again ; 
 But, oh Leweilltyn, in me trust — 
 She only shall be thine — she must!" 
 
 ir. 
 
 Wrung was Lewellhyn to the core, 
 
 He heard, till he could hear no more. 
 
 The chieftain saw the secret rise 
 
 Of keen vexation in his eyes ; 
 
 He would not wound that valiant youth, 
 
 He would not stamp on him uncoutli, 
 
 Dark, irretrievable despair : 
 'Tis kind to clothe unwelcome truth 
 In language, which may haply soothe, 
 
 And shed a hope on darkest care ; 
 But there are times when facts should speak, 
 Though at the tale a heart should break. 
 He saw — he fear'd — would fain arrest 
 The tumult risiiu; in his breast : —
 
 70 FRKDEGAU; OR, 
 
 " Porchanoe, Lewellhyn — up! bo true! 
 
 Why thus dejected hang thy head? 
 Thou deem'st that I, if friend, would rue 
 The cause which to thy grief has hid. 
 Perchance thou deem'st me selfish? — no! 
 That thought of me thou must forego : 
 Were he, whom thou supposest friend — 
 
 Nay more — thy very sire by blood ; 
 Whom T — my whims oft wayward tend — 
 Suspect to thee nor friend nor good ; 
 But friend or foe — allied or not — 
 Were he like thee, then were forgot, 
 VVere buried in o1)livion's sleej), 
 Silent as death at midnight deej), 
 The doubts — the tales^lhe crimes — which sonnt 
 On rumour's tongue against him round. 
 
 Thou glow'st with ire — I like that frown — 
 Ere thou hear'st all 'twill calm]> down : 
 For truth is l)oJd and will be known :
 
 THE HARON'S FALL. 71 
 
 This momrnt — wore liis name but free 
 
 Of calumny, as loid's should be — ■ 
 
 This moment should Lintarnum see 
 
 Zelinda, blest by — blessing — thee ! 
 But I — her parent — friend — her all — 
 Shall I forebode, nor ward her fall? 
 This moment — were no whispers heard 
 Of guilt accomplish'd, shame incurr'd, 
 Against Fredegar — once a place 
 Where flourish'd an illustrious race — 
 This moment shonldst thou gladly say 
 That self my actions could not sway. 
 Within thine arms I'd proudly dare 
 Confide my child, and bless her there! 
 But shall I — should I— will [ — never! 
 Wliile hangs a doubt^ — that child deliver! — " 
 
 IlL 
 
 " And doubt'st thou ? what ?" 
 
 Ijewellhyn wildly cried, 
 Desp'rate of love, suspected, and denied: — ■
 
 72 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 "And doubt'st thou ? what? whose honour? and whose 
 
 fame? 
 Fredegar's? — by yon heav'ns, take back the shame! 
 On thee I dare, my once most honor'd friend, 
 Whom once I loved, wouhl die ere I'd offend — 
 On thee, tlie father — Oh that check ! that thought i 
 Of her whose image on my brain is wrought — 
 On thee, dispenser of my good or ill. 
 My bliss or anguish poising on thy will — 
 I dare, regardless of all selfish weal. 
 Though foes we're made to measure steel with steel- 
 Retort the monstrous, unprovoked disgrace 
 Thou hear'st — belicv'st — repeat'st — against my race. 
 Take ])ack the shame ! undaunted hear from me 
 The tales of crime now echoed back on thee ! 
 Reckless of life, midst all the storms of fate, 
 I'll bear thy wrath, but not deserve thy hate ; 
 Thou shalt not say — so Truth my words maintain ! 
 I woo thy kindness on a father's stain ; 
 Man — Nature — Clod — and tlioii mighl'si sj-iun n;r iieiiCf , 
 Could f be guilty of the cursed olfence i
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 73 
 
 But no — Lantarnum ! not for all there is 
 
 Divine in beauty, or supreme in bliss; 
 
 Not for the loveliest smiles, which can decoy — 
 
 For heav'n itself s eternity of joy — 
 
 Will I, like coward, tacitly allow 
 
 A blot to circle round my father's brow ! 
 
 I deem'd thee once a chieftain bold, refined ; 
 
 Noble by birth, but nobler far in mind: 
 
 I deem'd thee once, that scarce existing good — 
 
 That miracle on earth — a friend faith-plighted ; 
 Who, in the hour of need, would firm have stood 
 
 To crush the tongue of scandal when it blighted. 
 The charm is broken — thou hast now belied 
 The trust all glorious I could once confide; 
 Where 's now thy friendship ? -what to me its worth : 
 Thy iut'rest 's touch'd, and drags thy baseness fortli ! 
 Frown on, proud chief! I scorn thy stormy mood — 
 Thy harrowing words are thrilling through my biood ! 
 If thou wert valiant — tender of thy fame, 
 Why hide till now my tainted father's shame?
 
 74 PllEDRGAU: OU, 
 
 Why to tliy castle, as thy good comi>oor, 
 
 Admit him oft, and make thy shives revere? 
 
 Was this like valour? this a hero's pride? 
 
 My slander'd sire such meanness had defied ; 
 
 Base as he is, his baseness has a bound — 
 
 In nougVit ungenerous will he e'er be found ; 
 
 False he may be^ — but never to his friend ! 
 
 To teach him tliat, thou must thy counsel lend : 
 
 From thee, more skill'd. must he acquire the art 
 
 To crowd the lips with falsehoods of the heart ! 
 
 And oh the cruel, ruthless chosen time, 
 
 To blast my ra])tures with reports of ciime! 
 
 I hither came — but buri(!d i)e my grief, 
 
 Since thou may'st sce-ffit, stern, insultins^ chief! 
 
 r hither came, undoubtinj; and elate. 
 
 To seek from thee (l;e life-key of my fate; 
 
 [ dreaniM — I hoped — my dreams and hopes are rone ! 
 
 To gain from thee thy daughter as my own : 
 
 1 little fear'd resistance to my claim — 
 
 I could not dread denial to my fiame !
 
 TJIK BARON'S FALL. 75 
 
 Zelinda, too, in uncontroH'd delight — 
 What death to her that we must disunite ! 
 For me awaits ! what task for me to tell 
 The awful tidings of our sad farewell ! 
 And can i bear it? proud Lantarnum, say — 
 Demand a proof, that proof will I display ; 
 And can I bear it ? sunder'd and distrcss'd, 
 To live and love— in life and love unblest? 
 Say, h?ughty lord ! I only wait to hear — 
 Name but the proof, and all thy doubts I'll clear. 
 r>ut hold !— Fredcgar's heir 'twill ill befit 
 To blind caprice, like minion, to submit ; 
 Though for thy daughter I must ever burn, 
 The art of humbling I have yet to learn. 
 Farewi'll! and know that I thy power despise — 
 Fredegar's son his father's foe defies !" 
 
 IV. V 
 
 The basest wretch — the coldest heart — 
 l^oves not to be disd^ in'd or dared ;
 
 76- FREDEGAR; OR. 
 
 Self-pride takes instant, fierce ^olarm; 
 The gauntlet 's down — outstretch'd 's the arm, 
 For instantaneous fight prepared — 
 To hurl defiance on the dart 
 Of vengeance, unrelax'd and strong, 
 And bitter as the imputed wrong. 
 Aflection's self can scarcely hide 
 The wish to fight for injured pride : 
 The father 'gainst his child will rise — 
 The son will burst through Nature's tics — 
 To vindicate, in mortal strife, 
 Their honour — dearer far than life ! 
 
 Yet there are times, tiiough few perchance, 
 'Tis pleasing to behold a loved, 
 A gen'rous youth, to passion '.nove;!, 
 And darting forth a fiery gl 'ucc : 
 Betraying thus the slumbering prime 
 Of nobleness of soul sublime — 
 Till then, despair'd of; or, at l)est, 
 Suspected, till ^o bright corifest.
 
 TIIK BARON'S FALL. 77 
 
 V. 
 
 Lantarnum, as Lewellhyn spoke 
 
 In tone so bearding unci so high — 
 Jle, from whose lips before, ne'er broke 
 A word wliich miglit disdain imply — 
 Felt — not resentment; not delight — 
 Not angry hate — not rage to smite — 
 An approbation, much as now 
 His heart's forbearance would allow. 
 
 "Farewell!"— Lewellhyn uttev'd last, 
 And bent his steps on quick retreat; 
 The chieftain cried — 
 
 " None hence have passM — 
 Shall pass — who thus presume to greet 
 The ruler of this ancient hall — 
 Where I will reign alone, or — fall! — "
 
 78 FU ED KCi All; on, 
 
 ]h: said; — Lowtllhvii stood uiuiiovt-d, 
 Conteinptuous smiling at the ihreal ; 
 The gallant chieftain but approved 
 The intrepid scorn his menace met — 
 For always will the brave revere 
 The brave — best i)roved by dangers near. 
 
 " Thou hither earnest to gain my child— 
 Wouldst thou depart my deadly foe : 
 And wouldst thou not be unbeguiled ? 
 And her and thy true welfare know r 
 Think not I heed thy chaiing rage — 
 Think not that 1 would it assuage ; 
 I smile to see thy mightless arm — 
 It threatens — but it means no harm I 
 Thus warriors, long to perils known, 
 Smile at a beardless hero's frown. 
 Yet 1 would not, by silence, have — 
 Thou knowst, Lewellhyn, this of old-
 
 THK BA HORN'S FALL. 79 
 
 My name suspected by the bnive, 
 IVJy valour challenged by the bold. 
 The truly great will gladly meet 
 
 The doubts, which e'en a child may raise ; 
 
 For reputatiou is so tender, 
 A breath will tarnish, quench its bla/e. 
 Hence, this the time for me to render 
 Thy word for word, thy feat for feat ; 
 And though thy campless years compete 
 But ill with my more field-worn frame ; 
 And though the deed be rash perchance, 
 I will, if thou durst lift a lance 
 ^Mth me, exalt thee into fame: 
 For he, whom I select as foe. 
 Finds death and glory in my blow. 
 Retract then all thou said'st withal — 
 Retract or die! — defend or fall! 
 Unshealh thy sabre! be it shown 
 That thou 'rt Fiedci^ar's heir alone, 
 And not the C()\\ aid Baron'^ son I — "
 
 80 IREDEGAR: Oil, 
 
 VI. 
 
 Quick as the word, Leneilhyn drew 
 
 His glitt'ring sabre from its sheath — 
 A coward ! — wild the accent flew 
 Across his brain, with blast of death! 
 Zelinda — love- — hence! gone — adieu ! 
 A coward — and his father too! 
 This moment niust the aggressor pay 
 His life to wash the stain away! 
 
 Lantarnum but look'd on — with eye 
 Unruffled by the storm he made : 
 Tardy was he in strife to vie, 
 
 Unscabbarded was not his blade. 
 He stood all brave in warrior pride, 
 Whose very look the foe defied ; 
 He stood — the most undaunted might, 
 Admiring, venerate the sight-
 
 THE BARON'S FALL, 81 
 
 In attituclcj too proud for fear, 
 No trembling trepidation near ; 
 Wliiclij while it dared the assailant's ire. 
 Could rev'rence — not revenge — inspire. 
 Lewellhyn's arm rose not to smile; 
 An awe, unmix'd with fear, he felt, 
 As on the chieftain keenly dwelt 
 
 llis looks. Lantarnum weigh'd aright, 
 
 The movements in his bosom stirring : — 
 
 '' Most noble youth ! — " he cried — " I plight — 
 To thy false kinsman unreferring 
 To thee my lovely daughter! — speed — 
 Conduct her hither! — now I need 
 Not doubt that thou illustrious art, 
 Since thou canst act a hero's part ! 
 Ay, be thou wrong'd — be thou betray 'd — 
 Thy biith conceal'd — thy rights delay'd — 
 1 swear to thee a chief's regard! 
 Go — bring Zelinda ! I award —
 
 82 FREDEGARj OK. 
 
 And ere this day — " 
 
 VII. 
 
 " May hapiy close, 
 
 Long trusted friends may meet as foes ! — " 
 
 So Evram cried, who, ent'ring, caught 
 The words which last the chieftain said 
 
 Lantamum's eye with wrath was fraught — 
 Indignant he the sUive survey'd : — 
 
 " Presuming knave ! what wouldst thou here ? 
 Thy errand — speak ! or dread this spear ! — " 
 
 Amazed, Lesvellhyn at liis feet 
 
 Perceived his father's menial low ; 
 For seldom was he doom'd to go 
 
 Beyond the castle's lone retreat : — 
 
 " Who sent thee hillier ? Evram, say — 
 My sire ? for what ? pause not — obey ! — ""
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 83 
 
 Swift as the mandate was his word — 
 
 " No tidings bring I from my lord ; 
 I come not here with his consent — 
 I come not here on shiv'ry bent ! — " 
 
 He said — and on the minion's face 
 A virgin Hash of freedom broke ; 
 
 Then first he soar d above disgrace — 
 The shave was lost — the man awoke I 
 No longer on the ground he knelt, 
 No longer was oppression felt ! 
 He started up — as if in him 
 A flame long pent, till then but dim, 
 Burst forth with overpowering light, 
 To sweep away his soul's dark night ! 
 
 " I come, self-led, to save the brave — 
 Lantarnum's and Fredegar's heir !
 
 84 IREDEGAU: OR, 
 
 Your honour calls — believe a slave 
 Your arms are summon'd by despair 1 
 The shrieks of virtue now are breaking ! 
 His passion is a tyrant wreaking ! 
 A monster triumphs — beauty cries — 
 Away ! this hour may save — arise !" 
 
 vin. 
 
 Was this the language of a wretch r 
 
 One, bound till then in thraldom's sway? 
 Whose loftiest efforts could not stretch 
 Beyond the power to hear — obey : 
 The chieftain and Lewellhyn heard, 
 Incredulous, his every word : 
 
 " Madman ! — '' Lantarnum cried — " at once 
 The meaning of thy speech pronounce ! — " 
 
 " Madman ! — " re-echoed Evram loud, 
 As if that term he disailow'd :
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 85 
 
 Then instant check'd tho flash of fire, 
 Which shot from his half-mastering ire : — 
 
 " A slave — a madman— sad and long — 
 The minion of a tyrant's nod — 
 
 A worse — a knave ! for ev'ry wrong 
 Prepared — despite of man and God ! 
 flave I, e'en from my earliest years, 
 Been known — a dastard thing of fears ! 
 1 must not tell — you would not hear — 
 The all I've done — was forced to bear ! 
 But worse than me — more deep in guilt, 
 For crimes accomplish'd, blood oft spilt — 
 Is he—" 
 
 " Mean'st thou thy lord ? — my sire ? — " 
 
 Lewellhyn cried with vengeance dire ; 
 While pitiless 'gainst Evram's breast 
 His weapon's point that moment press'd,
 
 86 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 " One deed, at least" — he said — " I'll do, 
 Undaunted e'en with death in view, 
 Which crime shall stain not, blood imbrue ! 
 One truth I'll tell, though soon as said, 
 On me thy deadliest blow be laid — 
 
 That villain is — Fredegar ! Strike !" 
 
 As lightning flew" Lewellhyn's arm — 
 As swift — but not in ruin like ; 
 
 The chief preserved the slave from harm 
 
 " Strike — strike ! and thou'lt my fate bewail — 
 Strike ! and thou'lt lose a dreadful tale ! 
 My life — though long a load to me — 
 Of boundless use may prove to thee ; 
 Thy doom hangs on it — but heed not ; 
 Strike — strike ! and seal with mine thy lot." 
 
 IX. 
 
 " My (loom liang on tliy villain fate ! — "
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. S7 
 
 •' Ay- — but there is not time to tell — 
 
 I could a history now relate 
 
 Of secrets dark, and intrigues fell. 
 Which might, perchance, e'en thee compel 
 
 Thy filial firmness to abate, 
 
 And shudder at the Baron's hate !" 
 
 Lewcllhyn, in an alter'd mood, 
 Dropt at his side his blade of blood ; 
 Emotions painful o'er him came — 
 
 ^^ What mystery 's this the slave would name :" 
 
 His manly brow with thought was clouded, 
 His breast with omens dire was crowded. 
 The chieftain saw the crisis rise 
 Of doubt and anguish in his eyes ; 
 Nor grieved he; for Fredegar long 
 lie hated for suspected wrong.
 
 88 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 Lewellhyn's lips were framed to seek, 
 Quiv'ring and pale, the awful truth — 
 
 That moment Evram chanced to speah, 
 And break the silence dread, uncouth : 
 
 " Too long" — he cried — " have I been bound 
 To tremble when my tyrant frown'd ; 
 Too many feats of wrong I've done — 
 And still had plunged in — but for one ! 
 The last — the most abhorr'd of all ! 
 Which made my coward nature quake ! 
 And all my sense of shame awake ! 
 I hear e'en now the victim's call — 
 Away ! avert the monstrous deed ! 
 
 The crime 's performing while I speak ! 
 With arms and valour intercede — 
 
 The Baron heeds not beauty's shriek ! 
 Away ! — Lantarnum — save thy child! — " 
 
 " ^Iv child! — " oxcliiim'd the chieftain wild —
 
 TIIK BARON'S FALL. 89 
 
 " Away ! — Zelinda's in his power, 
 Imprlsou'd in his stroni^est tower! 
 I hither came to tell — to save — 
 Away ! — and, foremost of tlie brave, 
 Allow thy guide to be a slave! — " 
 
 4 
 
 X. 
 
 To arms ! to arms! the bustle trim^, 
 Full far and near, an echoiuir twang ; 
 To arms ! to arms ! from man to man 
 The rousing signal wildly ran ! 
 Already are the warriors near — 
 
 The buckler, shield, and belt are on ; 
 The noble steed, for high career, 
 Prances in briijlit ca{)arison : 
 Amnzenient mute in ev'ry one — 
 Thougli ready for his chieftain dear 
 To fight, and make his faith appear 
 Invincible till death — prevail'd ; 
 As seldom had the war-notes hail'd.
 
 90 FREDF.GAII: Oil, 
 
 P'or many a passing, peaceful year, 
 Lantarnum's brave but slumb'ring ear. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Wild in distraction, 'midst the din 
 
 Of warlike preparation, went 
 Lewellhyn — .secretly to win 
 
 His father's cattle : and prevent — 
 f f told that slave a fiend-like lie — 
 All, save the trait' rous wretch to die ! 
 He went — appalling was the sight! 
 
 The gates were closed — the walls were mann'd 
 Expectant, and prepared for fight — 
 Defended by a daring band. 
 An entrance he demanded ; — " OlT! — " 
 The sentry of the outer post. 
 Not wont his lord thus to accost, 
 Exclaim'd in loud, defying scoff. 
 
 Well was it that the boastful knave, 
 On rampart liiiih, stood from the brave, 
 Or he had found an instant grave !
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 91 
 
 Yes, all was true, which Evram said — 
 His father — false? had he betray'd ? 
 Oh God ! — horrific was the shock ! 
 Words only would his anguish mock ! 
 Zelinda — scarce could reason bear 
 The agony — imprison'd there ! 
 And what beside ? — he must not think — 
 While pausing, she might aidless sink ! 
 
 Be ruin'd in the bloom of charms! 
 
 And perish in unhallow'd arms ! 
 
 Despair and vengeance in him burn'd — 
 
 Lost — tortured — madden'd — he return'd ! 
 
 XH. 
 
 From rank to rank the chieftain flew. 
 With vigour, which no curbing knew; 
 Jlis energy — his high command — 
 His fiery look^ — intrepid zeal — 
 Spread awe and courage through his band, 
 Resolved to bleed at his appeal,
 
 92 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 Or rush to victory on 1 
 Now bared was ev'ry liero's steel — 
 Now plighted was each warrior's hand 
 And heart, by each and all to stand, 
 
 Till fell'd and crash'd the foe should feel 
 Revenge for injuries doiie ! 
 For silence beckon'd then the chief, 
 To tell his wrongs in language brief; 
 Deep hush'd throughout was all the line, 
 Soon as he waved the well-known sign : — 
 
 ^ Prepare — '' he cried — " to-day for slaughter ! 
 Fredegar holds my only daughter!" 
 
 No more he said, nor more required 
 His followers, to be inspired. 
 Soon as the words were heard around, 
 Tumultuous cheers from all resound ; 
 Forth shout they plaudits long and loud — 
 Woe to Fredegar! base and proud !
 
 THE iiARON'S FALL. 93 
 
 Zelinda ! hangs on ev'ry breatli — 
 Zellnda ! victory ! or deatli ! 
 
 Their baiuiers broadly are unfurl'd — 
 
 The tyrant from liis lofty site 
 Of wickedness, must now be hurl'd, 
 By valour's delegated might ! 
 Or, in she field glorious, 
 Assail'd, but victorious : 
 To mercy dead. 
 With murder red, 
 Still live a curse upon the world ! 
 F"oremost — as the aspiring guide 
 To lead the way — unknown beside 
 To all — where at this dreadful hour 
 Zelinda pined in secret tower — 
 
 Was Evram, the self-rescued, placed. 
 Lewellhyn trembled at delay — 
 The chieftain urged — the troops obey ! 
 With lightning haste the ground is paced — 
 So lightly, scarce a stud is traced :
 
 94 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 Lantarnum hall is left behind — 
 The steeds are reinless as the wind : 
 The bands are silent as the tomb — 
 Their thoughts are on the strife to come ! 
 For at the verge of battle hour, 
 The most renown'd are wont to pour 
 A secret prayer to Ilim on high, 
 Whose arm can guard from peril nigh. 
 
 XIll. 
 
 A verdant plain is quickly pass'd, 
 
 Where, far as keenest eye could ken, 
 
 The arch-suspended Jieav'ns cast 
 A bright ethereal boundary then. 
 Here, baply, many a wretch has sigh'd ! 
 Here, haply, many a warrior died ! 
 It boots not — it is past — afar. 
 And boundless, rush the notes of war ! 
 The strength to strike — the heart to bleed — 
 What else (ontiiiii the hero's creed?
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 95 
 
 A copsewood now is lii the view, 
 
 Where dense behind, in sombre pride, 
 Fredegar castle, glimpsing through, 
 To pressing hosts may chance betide 
 The dvv ellitig of the gloomy great — 
 The dull security of fate ! 
 
 The chargers' iioofs now clattering ring. 
 Vibrating through the echoing wood : 
 Soon — soon — their speed shall deadly bring 
 Their riders to the scene of blood. 
 
 The wood is clear'd ; now, gently raised 
 
 On sloping mount, Fredegar 's seen ; 
 While on the ramparts, armour-cased. 
 Are visible its guards between. 
 Oh Thou above, look on the fray ! 
 Man bears for man no love to-day ! 
 
 Who comes ? — from narrow shaded pass, 
 Around the caslle"s further walls?
 
 96 FRED EG A 11: OR, 
 
 A female? — with a dirk, alas ! 
 
 She 's dimly seen — and madly calls ! 
 On her this instant ev'ry eye 
 Is fix'd : — she hastes — approaches nigh : 
 Distress is pictured in her air — 
 ller shrieks are pregnant with despair ! 
 
 She comes ! she comes ! — Lantarnum Hies 
 
 Heart-rended by her distant cries ; 
 
 With young Levvellhyn by his side, 
 
 Whose very soul from anguish sigh'd ! 
 She comes — 
 
 " My child ! — my lovely daughter !' 
 As in his arms he wildly caught her, 
 Exclaim'd the chief: — 
 
 Lewellhyn could 
 No utt'rance find, so pierced he stood 
 With agony. — 
 
 The troops around, 
 In mute astonishment are bound I
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 97 
 
 XIV. 
 
 She came — she shrlek'd — and died away ; 
 
 " My sire — " scarce had she power to say. 
 
 Disorder'd was her graceful dress, 
 
 Dishevell'd was her auburn hair ; 
 Her cheek was pale with deathiness, 
 Though still how beautiful and fair! 
 Pulsation, trembling, almost left 
 The maiden, of sensation 'reft. 
 Oh mark her eye ! it opes — it rolls — 
 It shuts — convulsion deep controls, 
 All-absolute — her frame — her heart, 
 By reason-overpowering smart! 
 
 Lantarnum's grief — Lewellhyn's love — 
 A father's soothing — lover's prayers — 
 Could not her lips to language move — 
 Could not, with all their pious cares,
 
 98 FliEDEGAii; Oi{, 
 
 Awaken her to hear! 
 And breathes she not ? — she starts — her eye 
 On Evram — anxious standing by — 
 Is fix'd — as if in hideous dream ! 
 She recognised him with a scream. 
 
 Which thrill'd the slave with fear. 
 That moment had a warrior arm 
 Despatch'd this object of ahirm. 
 Had not the chieftain, swift to save, 
 Preserved the now defenceless slave ! 
 The shook, though fierce, recall'd to life — 
 Existence steadiest is in strife- 
 Her deathy paleness fades away, 
 And memory resumes its sway ; 
 L-^wellhyn blest the change so bright — 
 How evanescent his delight ! 
 
 She chanced to gaze upon the dirk. 
 
 Which fell unnoticed by her side ; 
 
 It was with blood, still reekinii, dyed- 
 All-mantled with Destruction s \w>rk !
 
 TIfE BARON'S FALL. 99 
 
 A ghastly tremor through her ran — 
 Her mad'ning frenzy now began ; 
 She seized the dagger — 
 
 " — Spare ! — " she cried — 
 " Hence ! — murd'rer of Lantarnum's pride ! 
 Resign — hence — no ! God — mercy — save ! 
 An early — but unsullied grave ! 
 A woman's honour! ruffian — there! — '' 
 
 She said, and pierced the trackless air! — 
 Lewellhyn's doubts to horror grew ; 
 The chief could not his dread subdue — 
 The dread to think that his loved daughter 
 JTad mingled thus in scenes of slaughter. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Impatient stood the troops for war; 
 The word — and then. Fredi^gar, woe !
 
 100 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 High brandish'd was each scimitar — 
 For just the cause, and dire the foe ; 
 The word — but utter'd by their chief, 
 Soon would they venge their hate and grief: 
 Their hate and grief to witness here 
 Their Lidy's wrongs — too great to bear ! 
 Allow their valour but its bent — 
 Soon would they scale yon battlement, 
 And teach the tyrant to relent! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 '' On — on ! — " Lantarnum fiercely cried — 
 " In combat be your courage tried ! 
 Nor let a vassal liege return, 
 Till yonder topmost turret l)urn ! — " 
 
 He said — -impetuous as bis voice 
 The heroes rush with clanging noise ; 
 Already liave the foremost scaled 
 The walls, defended by the assail'd :
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 101 
 
 Now blood is spilt — and shrieks arise! 
 The death-blow falls — the wounded dies ! 
 More dread and dread the skirmish grows — 
 Now breast to breast are met the foes ! 
 They fall and fall! but will not flinch — 
 The ground 's contested inch by inch ! 
 Dispersed around 's a mournful mass ! 
 The dying and the dead, alas ! 
 On — on ! — amidst the hideous fray 
 The hostile bands retreat away ! 
 They flee ! they flee! — the day is won ; 
 Lantarnum's dread revenge is done ! 
 The din of triumph now proclaims 
 The topmost turret whelm'd in flames ! 
 
 XVIL 
 
 From rank to rank Lantarnum flew 
 To seek the Baron 'midst his crew ; 
 
 Lewcllhyn sought him 'mong the slain — 
 " Fredecar !" — ran" from tow'r to tow'r :
 
 102 FREDEGAll; OR, 
 
 He hears them not — their search is vain — 
 He 's absent at this awful hour! 
 He knows not of his wrested povv'r — 
 Perchance he'll wish it not again — 
 Perchance no more a despot reign ! 
 But forth, Fredegar ! warrior, come ! 
 Nor shrink from thy unprosp'rous doom ! 
 The Baron came not at the call — 
 If certain — secret — was his fall. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Zelinda heard the loud acclaim, 
 
 It waked her as from trance of death ; 
 " In vain — " she cried-—" you shout that name- 
 
 The Baron ceases now to breathe! 
 
 He fell this fatal hand beneath ! 
 That dagger, as it red became. 
 
 Found in his cruel heart a sheathe ! — " 
 
 " What says my child ? — ''
 
 THE ILVROjX'S FAi.L. 103 
 
 '' Oh father, blaiuo — 
 Bhime not the deed ! — my life — my fame — 
 Impended on the blow ! — " 
 
 Lewcllhyn, horror-shuddering stood — 
 
 " — And has thy hand been raised to feud ? 
 
 And hast thou shed my father's blood ? — 
 
 Zelinda! — worst of woe! — " 
 
 " He 's not thy fatiier !'^ wildly shriek'd 
 
 The maid, as if her heart would break — 
 '' Almighty wrath has been but wreak'd ; 
 
 He 's not thy sire ! — my arm, though weak, 
 
 Has mighty been, for honour's sake! 
 It is not woe to rid the earth 
 
 Of one, who blasts it but with crime ! 
 His ruthless steel was lifted forth 
 
 To sully — crush me, in my prime! 
 He sought my love — I but complain'd ! 
 He thrcaten'd — 1 his threats disdain'd!
 
 104 FREDEGAR: (,>R, 
 
 Yon dirk he placed against my breast — 
 • — Yield — or thy soul shall sink to rest ! — ' 
 With terror — in despair — and tears — 
 INIy prayers for mercy pierced his ears ; 
 
 He dash'd the weapon on the ground — 
 
 Assumed again his hateful theme ; 
 Oh God ! with supernat'ral bound, 
 
 1 seized it ! — struck ! a purple stream — 
 I know no more — gush'd from the wound I 
 I lied — and has he not been found r 
 In cavern — but I know not where — 
 He thrust me — and lies bleeding there ! 
 It was a dismal, hideous cell, 
 Well suited for design so fell : 
 And on my spirit bodings swell 
 That there a captive 's doom'd to dwell. 
 In misery — from light of day I 
 In '■olitude — ^from all away ! 
 For on my ear, when fiercest raged 
 The Raioa's ])as?ion unassuagod —
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 105 
 
 Deep — piteous — melting — holloM — low- 
 At intervals, burst sounds of woe ! 
 
 And in my bitt'rest grief he said — 
 To chase of hope the every ray ! 
 
 That so secure the haunt was made, 
 So labyrinthal, secret lay, 
 But one — beside himself — e'er found 
 An entrance to the cavern ground ; 
 And he so firm, so valiant was, 
 He'd perish than betray the pass ! 
 I could not trace the spot again — 
 Too madly troubled was my brain 
 To mark it ! but, Lewellhyn, try — 
 Find him who has the secret nigh. 
 All, all confirms the Baron base — 
 Confirms — thou art not of his race ! — " 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A murm'ring noise of tongues is heard — 
 '• — Conduct me lo my rightful lord !
 
 106 FREDEGAH; OK, 
 
 To young Lewcllhyn, brave and great, 
 The owner of this princely state ! — " 
 
 Kxclaim'd a voice ; — then bleeding came. 
 Late sadly wounded in the fray, 
 Evram — supported on his way. 
 He enter'd ; — " Let me now proclaim — 
 He cried — " since strife and chains are o'er, 
 Thee—" 
 
 " Guide me to my father's tower — 
 
 Replied liewelihyn — ^" v\eli know'st tliou, 
 The secret haunt where rests ho now." 
 
 XX. 
 
 They pass the castle's outer gate — 
 Around it waved a forest dense : 
 There points he out a massy stone, 
 On which green velvet moss had grown ; 
 So sim})le, none could guess from hence 
 'I'hat 'neath it slej)t a tale of fate.
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 107 
 
 They lift it — soon the myiit'ry clears, 
 A ilight of steep-rock steps appears ; 
 Close Evram they attend as guide — 
 Zelinda, as she enter'd, sigh'd ! 
 Descended, they the stone replace, 
 13y hidden spring, most hard to trace. 
 Now are excluded sun-beams bright, 
 Lamps furnish a sepulchral light ; 
 They one by one, a silent throng, 
 Proceed the passage drear along. 
 On either side are doors which lead, 
 Perchance, to chambers of the dead ! 
 They still proceed — how sad ihat moan ! 
 A fellow-creature's dying groan ! 
 They halt — a secret spring again 
 Their guide detaches from its chain ; 
 That instant, op'ning to the right, 
 Flew wide a door conceal'd from sight. 
 A second passage, long and drear, 
 As if eternal death reiiiu'd here I
 
 108 FREDEGAR: OR, 
 
 Is enter' (1 — not a word is spoken, 
 The tomb-like silence is not broken ! 
 Save by the agonies of woe, 
 Which louder and more frequent grow ! 
 With sudden shock now Evram treads — 
 A trap -door falls, which darkly leads 
 To narrow entrance, where around 
 The instruments of death abound ! 
 This pass'd — they reach a spacious room, 
 W'hich num'rous cluster'd lamps illume. 
 No object is discover'd here, 
 But fills the tender mind with fear ! 
 The good man seeks no gloomy cave 
 To shun the light in living grave ! 
 What horrible sojourn is this : 
 Of infamy what dread abyss? 
 
 How agonising are the sighs, 
 
 Which in this wretched prison rise ! 
 
 They look — Fredegar wounded lies! 
 
 He bleeds — groans — gasps — and all but dies
 
 THE BAIION'S FALL. 109 
 
 XXL 
 
 Lewellhyn, shock'd, rush'd to his aid — 
 
 Lantarnum melted at the scene — 
 How trembling stood the avenging maid ! 
 E'en Evram felt an anguish keen ; 
 Though wretch, assassin, he had been 
 The follower of the Baron — laid 
 
 Now dust-low in his crime's career — 
 He could not e'en refuse a tear 
 To consecrate his master's bier, 
 And hail Heaven's pardon on his shade ! 
 
 XXIL 
 
 Soon as the Baron's languid gaze 
 The unexpected group surveys, 
 
 A paly keenness fills his eye ; 
 His ghastly form he strives to raise 
 With dreadful elTort from its place 
 
 Of suff'ring; vain — there must he lie !
 
 HO FREDEGAtl; 0I{, 
 
 Too stiff on him Death's icy hnnd 
 Was fix'd, alas, for him to stand ! 
 He spoke — how alter'd his bold tone ! 
 The warrior's daring voice was gone ! 
 How weak his accent ! mark his face — 
 What dread convulsions there to trace ! 
 With deep emotion all attend 
 To hear the prelude of his end : 
 
 " Lewellhyn, I have brief to live — 
 Just time to ask thee to forgive! 
 Thee — thee — who, but for cursed ambition, 
 Had witness'd not my — shame — perdition ! 
 But death hangs on me — Oh, my wound ! 
 I perish — and no mercy 's found ! 
 Thee have I wrong'd — I scarce can say 
 JIovv much — my pulse ebl)S fast away ! 
 Look on me — and ])ehold on guilt 
 Heaven's awful bjovv of justice dealt!
 
 THE BARON'S FAf.L. Ill 
 
 I am not — shudder not — Oh hell ! 
 I must — remorse ! my baseness tell ! 
 I am not, uijured youth ! thy sire ; 
 Revenge is thine — repress thy ire ! 
 Oh would that I had told the worst — 
 Ere I tell all, life's strings will burst! 
 Fredegar castle is not mine — 
 //, and the lands around, arc thine. 
 Grant m<-'rcy but few moments more. 
 Then will my shame and pangs be o'er ! 
 
 " Thy father's friend was I in arms — 
 When raged the battle's fierce alarms, 
 lie, trusting in my honour — ill 
 Did I his boundless faith fulfil — 
 Should war's disastrous sweeping doom 
 Consign him to an early tomb — 
 Confided thee, his child and heir, 
 And thy wrong'd mother, to my care,
 
 112 FREDEGx\R; OR, 
 
 Tempted by wealth — I know not what — 
 False dreams of greatness through me shot : 
 When battle's shrieking murders llow'd, 
 By stealth I shed thy father's blood ! 
 I — I — this hand — " 
 
 Lewellhyn's frame 
 Trembled, as broke this tale of shame. 
 The Baron saw — 
 
 " Oh check me not!" 
 
 He feebly said — " Death soon will blot, 
 With vengeance on my guilty head, 
 The crimes which to my greatness led ! 
 I — I — this hand — yon slave knows all ! 
 Thy mother — I've not strength to call — 
 Lives !— " 
 
 " — My mother lives : where — say where ? — " 
 The Baron points to duuiieon stair.
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 113 
 
 '' Yes, — Evram — God — the rest unfold ! 
 
 My sight grows dim — my blood thrills cold ! 
 
 Zelinda — pardon ! thy just blow — 
 
 Lewellhyn ! chieftain ! — but bestow — 
 
 Thou murder'd friend — forgive ! I crave — 
 
 Speak — speak ! thy pardon from the grav«^ ! 
 
 Lewellhyn — oh thy sire ! farewell ! — 
 
 His cry for vengeance shouts my knell ! 
 
 Oh death, one pause — this wound ! — this heart ! — 
 
 Unpitied, unbeloved, I part 
 
 From — pangs! despair! — Oh God, relieve — 
 
 Do thou — " 
 
 — The Baron ceased to grieve ; 
 That moment wing'd his soul from strife, 
 And thus he struggled out of life. 
 
 xxriL 
 
 There cold he lies ! ye basely great, 
 Whose honours llourish but on wrong,
 
 114 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 Look on, and from this tyrant''^ fate, 
 
 Dread Heaven's woe-frowning wrath ere lonij ! 
 With sombre pace they quit the room, 
 Absorl)'d in strange surprise and gloom — 
 And is it fancy ? can it be? 
 They hear the moans of misery ! 
 
 Before them Evram leads the way, 
 Stilling the anguish of his wound : 
 
 Soon halts he ; but a breath's delay — 
 lie strikes — and there is seen rebound 
 Backwards a massy dungeon door. 
 They pass — is she who stands before, 
 
 Of form so slender, cheek so pale, 
 
 With haggard look, with tatter'd dress, 
 
 So maniac-like, so timid, frail. 
 
 So woe-begone in wretchedness — 
 Is she a woman? she whom chain.'M — 
 Whom years of solitude and pains — 
 Jlave scarcely h ft a lingering feature 
 To stanij) on \\vi a soul-born crcatiiic !
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 1)5 
 
 Is she a woman? she whose frame 
 fs fetter'd with the gyves of shame — 
 Sunk — buried — from the living world ! 
 From every friend in dungeon hurl'd ! 
 Begirt with all the marks of crime ! 
 All desolate — all dead to time ! 
 Whoni but the prospect of each morrow 
 Affrightens with a keener sorrow ! 
 Is she a woman ? — At her feet, 
 Prostrate — in abjectness complete — 
 
 Soon as he reach'd her— Evram 's cast ; 
 
 " Forgive — " he cried — '' the unhappy past ! 
 
 The day of freedom 's come at last ! 
 The horrors of this place are o'er — 
 Thy foe — the Baron, is no more!" 
 
 He said, and forthwith burst the chain, 
 Which bound the lady there till then.
 
 116 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 How gazed Lantarnum on that face — 
 To memory started by-gone dajs ; 
 Though oft Fredegar's former lord 
 And he, in bitter strife had warr'd, 
 
 Yet well he knew his consort fair — 
 
 'Twas she ! 'twas she ! now standing here ! 
 
 His voice was ready to declare — 
 His sword to guard — her title clear 
 To proud Fredegar's vast estate, 
 Too long enthrall'd by tyrant fate. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 From darkest woe to vast delight — 
 From dreariest gloom to rapture bright; 
 From almost mad'ning, whelming urief, 
 To ecstacy beyond belief, 
 
 The lady woke; she could not speak ! 
 
 Her transport — language could not ])aiiit ;
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 117 
 
 Despair away was seen to break — 
 On silent knee, o'erjoy'd she bent. 
 To thank that God, from whom alone 
 Comes aid, when ev'ry hope is flown ! 
 Then finds she utt'rance : — 
 
 " —Tell— is one—" 
 She cried — " appease this anxious breast ! 
 From ruin saved ? — survives my son ? 
 My child — Lewellhyn ! — am I blest ?" 
 
 " He lives — " the slave exclaim'd with joy — 
 
 " This is my lord ! thy only boy ! 
 
 Whom, when a babe, o'er lands afar, 
 
 I brought — where fell his sire — from war ! — " 
 
 With frantic haste, and wild caresses, 
 
 She caught — embraced — and held her son ; 
 
 And wiped, with her dishevell'd tresses, 
 The tears, their rapturous cheeks upon.
 
 118 FREDEGAR : OR, 
 
 Long was it ere affection spoke — 
 
 Long was it ere their sense awoke : 
 
 The heart — the soul — the mind — the feelings — 
 
 Were eddying in Joy's magic reelings ! 
 
 — ''■ And is it thou ? — '' the parent cried — 
 Caress'd again — and bless'd — and sigh'd : 
 
 — " My mother ! my wrong'd parent ! — this — " 
 Lewellhyn breathed — '' indeed is bliss !" — 
 
 Zelindu lent her hallowing tears — 
 And soul-subdued the chieftain hears! 
 
 XXVL 
 
 Away from this horrific cell — 
 Thi^ demon haunt, where groans but dwell ! 
 They pass, to where the Baron lies. 
 
 In welt' ring gore was stretch'd the corse : 
 It met the lady'^ shudd'rinu eyes — 
 She gazed — how frantic htr discourse !
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 119 
 
 — " Oh monster! where 's my murder'd lord? 
 Thy martyr'd friend ! my all-adored ! 
 Wretch ! wretch ! — " 
 
 She shriek'd, with madness half — 
 And ended in hysteric laugh. 
 Her son, distracted by the sight, 
 Convey'd her from this den of fright. 
 
 XXVIL 
 
 They re-ascend the trap-door through, 
 They go the passage drear along ; 
 
 The pond'rous stone is clear'd away — 
 Forth bursts the dazzling light of day ! 
 Soon as that orb, which shines among 
 Creation's works, llash'd on her view — 
 She, piteous captive ! whom for years — 
 Long, hapless years, of night and tears ! 
 No cheering smiles — no rays — no sun — 
 No friendly looks — had beam d upon!
 
 120 FREDEGAR; OR, 
 
 O'erpower'd by the glorious glare — 
 
 Ecstatic, more than tongue could measure. 
 
 Knelt down — adoring — trembling there — 
 In the sweet pangs of boundless pleasure ! 
 Now to the weeping eye 's betray'd 
 The havoc, time and grief have made 
 On her— not yet unlovely — frame ! 
 The victim of stern guilt and shame! 
 Oh, 'twas a melting, mournful sight ! 
 IJut Jleav'n avenged her wrongs aright. 
 
 xxvni. 
 
 The stone 's replaced, and through the wood 
 The group their ray less course pursued ; 
 Fredegar's turrets tow 'ring rise — 
 Tie lady views them from afar! 
 The same — the very same — they are, 
 Unchanged — familiar to her eyes — 
 The same, as when her murder'd lord 
 'J'here rightful wjivid his glitt'ring sword!
 
 THE BARON'S FALL. 121 
 
 They reach it — many a warrior knew 
 Their lady, as she nearer drew. 
 She started on their dubious sight. 
 Like phantom from eternal night! 
 Long since they deem'd her in the grave, 
 In lands beyond her native wave ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The story told — the Baron's guilt — 
 Her woes — the tyrant's heart's blood spilt — 
 From wall to wall, from tow'r to tow'r. 
 Is loudly haii'd the lady's pow'r! 
 Proud shouts of triumph rend the air ! 
 Lewellhyn reigns the Baron there ! 
 Zelinda gains her plighted lover, 
 And all Lantarnum's doubts are over ! 
 
 Thus ends the tale in happy close. 
 And hence a grateful feeling flows.
 
 122 lilEDEGAR; OR, 
 
 Pause, reader ! weigh this moral true, 
 Fit for the great and lowly too — 
 Though guilt a transient sway may bear, 
 The virtuous never should despair; 
 For insecure is crime at best. 
 Unquiet in its cahnest rest ; 
 And God above oft walks the earth 
 To rescue helpless, injured worth.
 
 i$ti0tenaneou0 Poang.
 
 ON 
 
 SIR W4LTER RALEIGH. 
 
 Illustrious Raleigh ! star on hlstVy's page! 
 Exalted name that gilds the brightest age ! 
 Oh, that departed time could but return ! 
 That life could bound — awaken'd — from the urn ! 
 That virtue only were design'd to bloom ! 
 And guilt alone allotted to the tomb '. 
 How many an eye would then be spared a tear! 
 How many a sigh the M'orld would cease to hear ! 
 The dismal warrant — the ill-omen'd breath — 
 Surcharged with power, and merciless with death ; 
 The monarch's mandate — the avenger's blow — 
 The law's mock majesty, so fierce in woe —
 
 126 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 Would, awe-check'd, be but tardy then, 
 
 To seal th<^' faults and fates of fellow men ; 
 
 And thou, oh Raleigh ! in thy glory's prime. 
 
 In fame immortal, and without a crime! 
 
 Had never known — nor fear'd — nor fled — nor felt — 
 
 That blow, most cruel! by a despot dealt, 
 
 Which ruthless doom'd thee from the earth to sever, 
 
 And dimm'd thy country with regret for ever^. 
 
 Thy studious soul, in Learning's classic shade, 
 A daring grasp at bound Ie'-> greatness made , 
 There, Fancy bright'ning in its magic sphere, 
 Proclaim'd to theo a new :i!id vast career. 
 Struck by a god-like fire, (hou couldst not brook 
 To be but great in glory o'er a book ! 
 Though young — heroic; ere thy early teens 
 Had blended scarcely in life's infant scenes. 
 Thy giant spirit threw aside the l)oy — 
 Disdaining from the cradle childish iov !
 
 Slli WALTER RALEIGH. 127 
 
 ^natch'd hold of manhood — caught a warrior's glow — 
 
 And number'd every tyrant as thy foe ! 
 
 With eye undaunted, and with pitying heart, 
 
 With arm uplifted for the weakest part, 
 
 Rush'd — when the bigot's hatred was incurr'd, 
 
 When sufl'ring shriek'd, and by the world was heard — 
 
 To aid the cause of freedom and of good, 
 
 And rescue helplessness from scenes of blood ! 
 
 Yes, Raleigh ! thine was doom'd to be a course 
 Of patriot conduct 'gainst despotic force! 
 Lived there a soldier, braver e'er than tliou ? 
 Of tend'rer feelings ? of more dauntless brow ? 
 The first to rouse thee — when oppression rang ! 
 The last on earth — to deal a needless pang! 
 Amazed we read of warlike actions past — 
 How transient is such lustre found at last! 
 We read of dread Crusades — of triumphs long — • 
 Of knights and chiefs, tremendous in the wrong!
 
 128 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 Of cross and crescent, in eternal feud — 
 Crime after crime — war after war renew'd! 
 Ah, list appalling of relentless strife ! 
 Sad heartless slaughter-work of human life ! 
 But thou, oh Raleigh, wert but famed alone 
 For making Mercy's sacred cause thine ow n ! 
 
 Aspiring hero ! soon as ceased to lour 
 The gloomy terrors of the battle hour ; 
 When ceased the martial, spirit-stirring drum 
 To summon millions to the camp and tomb ; 
 When not a host was left to be arranged — 
 When not a wrong remain'd to be avenged ; 
 When crush'd and punish'd, fetter'd or destroy'd. 
 The rebels yielded, and no more annoy 'd : 
 When weak and wounded, in one long repose 
 The panting universe made truce with foes- — 
 Then, mighty genius! o'er the fields of war 
 Thy fame and virtues were jjroclaim'd afar!
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 129 
 
 From tongue to tongue the exalting echo spread, 
 
 'Midst countless prayers and blessings on thy head ! 
 
 A rush impetuous in thy praise began, 
 
 Which ne'er shall end, while truth is dear to man — 
 
 Or just posterity, with strengthen'd tone, 
 
 Can feel and crown thy glories one by one ! 
 
 But say, oh Nature, what in man creates 
 That fame, which triumphs over times and states? 
 Which, though his dust be scatter'd and unknown. 
 Adorns the age, he lived in, with renown ? 
 A glowing land-mark, studded o'er and o'er 
 With blazing brightness of the worth of yore, 
 To point the path which leads to deeds sublime. 
 And rouse up men to gild a future time ! 
 Say, shines such glory on a warrior's sword ? 
 Can feats of death dare challenge such reward ? 
 Can he, whose arm but brandish'd murd'rous steel — 
 Whose car was deaf to pity's soft appeal — 
 
 K
 
 130 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 Whose eye flash'd wrath, and gladdeii'd o'er the slain, 
 
 Ferocious smiled, and sought for strife again — 
 
 Laid many a father in his manhood low — 
 
 Plunged many a loved one in the weeds of woe — 
 
 Threw babes and orphans on the world's cold scorn, 
 
 Despised, unaided, shunn'd — because forlorn! 
 
 Can he — presumptuous! scourger of his race I 
 
 Aspire in fame to an immortal place ? 
 
 Hope as a guide in greatness to be view'd ? 
 
 And rank exalted with the nol)ly good ? 
 
 P'orbid it, Mercy! injured world arise! 
 
 Condemn the monster by thy wounds and cries ! 
 
 Speak out thy execrations loud and long, 
 
 And spurn the wretch, wlio would be great l)y wrong! 
 
 Renew thy > bricks, record thy -jtreaming tears, 
 
 And ask if crimes should stain the tide of years? 
 
 Assert divini- li!imanit3' of mind. 
 
 And curse the band that injures human kind ! 
 
 Ask, if eternity of praise be his, 
 
 Who-e lifi' and ;!•, tioii- •■■.r^ ?. biuu- l*. bli^s :
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 131 
 
 All, no ! the justest warriors but proclaim 
 A specious pretext for some selfish aim ; 
 They speak, in terms indelible, of hate, 
 Of power despotic, and of views elate — 
 Without one feeling to our natures dear. 
 Without one virtue, worthy to revere ; 
 Their lives — one course of cruelty and pride. 
 And only great, if guiltless thousands died ! 
 
 Was such, brave Raleigh, thy unhappy fate ? 
 
 W^crt thou but form'd to be in bloodshed great? 
 
 Couldst thou, a conqueror on the ensanguined field, 
 
 To foes and prayers alike disdain to yield ? 
 
 Enraged and flaming, could thy furious eye 
 
 But flash fierce joy to watch thy victims die ? 
 
 Of temper savage, to thy steely ears 
 
 Weresweetbut groans and shrieks 'midst wounds and tears? 
 
 For what wert thou ambitious of command — 
 
 To stir but feuds, and desolate the land ?
 
 132 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 Were there no triumphs — no applause — for thee, 
 
 When cities ceased to burn, and foes to flee ? 
 
 Heardst thou but music in the demon ball ? 
 
 Feltst thou but rapture at the battle's call ? 
 
 Were all thy hopes — resolves — attempts — success — 
 
 Condensed, alas, in carnage and distress? 
 
 Aim'dst thou alone, in dark and crimson'd dye. 
 
 To stamp thy claims to immortality ? 
 
 Were thine but laurels blushing deep with gore, 
 
 For men to curse, and mercy to deplore ? 
 
 Oh say, wert thou unquiet but in war? 
 
 Spurn'dst thou the notes which breathed not strife afar ? 
 
 Hadst thou no genius for the arts of peace, 
 
 No gentle taste for sentimental ease ? 
 
 No generous wish — no mighty strength of mind, 
 
 To reason men to thoughts and deeds refined ? 
 
 Hadst thou no prospect of immortal fame, 
 
 But in the record of eternal shame ? 
 
 No tale to cast on Time's long-rolling Hood, 
 
 But that thou lived — all-hated ])v the good .'
 
 SIR VVAl.TER RALEIGH. 133 
 
 Illustrious Raleigh ! injured, niartyr'd shade! 
 
 The tvorld starts forth, when doubts like these are made ; 
 
 Not Britain only — hallowing nations come 
 
 To pay their homage at a hero's tomb ; 
 
 Kneel round thy urn, thy vast exploits declare, 
 
 And honour him — a tyrant would not spare ! 
 
 Though at the trumpet's blast thy arm was bared, 
 
 That silenced — Learning then thy ardour shared ; 
 
 Wrapt in the Muses, from thy vivid lyre 
 
 Burst forth a soldier's and a poet's fire ; 
 
 Thy warring sword became a glowing pen, 
 
 Thou changed from conquering — to instructing — men ! 
 
 Who, wondrous Raleigh ! could thy gifts deny — 
 
 Save those, who were not blest with mental eye 
 
 To view the brilliancy by genius wrought. 
 
 And catch the mass of soul which hangs on thought ? 
 
 Shakespeare and Spenser, hand in hand with thee 
 
 Together bloom'd — bright gems of poesy !
 
 134 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 Lasting and valued, on Time's gathering tide 
 Thy " Annals of the World " are known to glide ; 
 The truths there told, the learning there display 'd, 
 Disclose a Livy in our Raleigh's shade. 
 What lore historic ! judgment how profound ! 
 W^hat art! what sense ! profusely there abound ! 
 Through every page a light is seen to shine, 
 And taste and wisdom brighten every line. 
 
 Oh golden days ! oh times of rich display ! 
 When genius flourish'd 'neath a woman's sway ; 
 Then merit triumph'd, then the wise were heard, 
 The good ennobled, and the best preferr'd. 
 Thou, Raleigh, then couldst lift thy manly voice, 
 Defeat the envious, and o'er power rejoice ; 
 Touch'd by thy eloquence, how many stood 
 By theo to reason and delight subdued ! 
 A burning thrill hung on thy every word, 
 The man without — the soul within — were stirr'd !
 
 SIR VVALTEU RAJ.EIGH. 135 
 
 Thy honest hearers thuiider'd forth applause, 
 Admired thy talents, and espoused thy cause ; 
 While foil'd — abash'd — detested — and afraid — 
 The accuser trembled at the storm he made ! 
 The very wrongs, by which he hoped to rase 
 Thy beaming greatness, tending to its blaze ; 
 Confounding envy at its want of might 
 To plunge in darkness what is born for light. 
 
 Lnhallow'd pride! how oft a slave to thee, 
 Does god-like genius bend its suppliant knee ! 
 Blest with a sun of soul, a world of wit. 
 Bright sparks — unquenchable — if once but lit ! 
 llow oft the owner, in his lustre lost, 
 Forgets himself, though but a man — at most ! 
 How oft, in lofty flights, he spurns the crowd, 
 To whom like hearts — not talents — are allow'd ! 
 Disdains the feelings of his liumblcr kind, 
 If uncndow'd with mightiness of mind!
 
 136 SIR WALTER RAJ.EIGII, 
 
 Imputing, not to God — to them alone, 
 The want, they cannot help, yet blush to own ! 
 How oft, in consciousness of strength, he claims 
 The ready homage of obscurer names ! 
 While, vainly great, he thinks that he repays. 
 By smiles of arrogance, their meed of praise ; 
 Conceives that he, high-gifted and elate, 
 Surpass'd by none, and stamp'd for ever great, 
 May, in his bright pre-eminence of parts. 
 His vast supremacy o'er lowlier hearts. 
 Fail, unaccused — as if indeed by right — 
 In all the sympathies of earth's delight! 
 Forget his nature, and, high-toned, contend 
 That fame alone is being's only end ! 
 Constrain the softer movements of the breast, 
 The gentler weaknesses by which we're blest ! 
 Laugh with a look of scorn, a cynic's eye. 
 At all that 's tender in humanity ! 
 Like Swift — like Johnson — triumph as he spurns, 
 Dead to rebounding scorn's more keen returns !
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 137 
 
 Nay, e'en from beauty shrink, displeased, away, 
 xAnd libel love and woman, in dismay ! 
 Despise himself, if he, in soften'd hour. 
 Could sing of Sappho, and confess her power ! 
 Or own, that passion yields, that man can know. 
 Rapture more pure, more exquisite below. 
 Than, oh the chasten'd smile which Ellen gives. 
 Whence beams a heaven, in which a spirit lives ! 
 
 Oh, matchless Raleigh! man of gentlest mood ! 
 
 In genius mighty, and by nature good ! 
 
 Thy intellectual energies how vast ! 
 
 By generous warmth of soul alone surpass'd. 
 
 Let haughty greatness look and learn from thee — 
 
 Thou splendid model of what worth should be! 
 
 That talents, though gigantic, cannot lead, 
 
 Without dear sympathy, to bliss indeed ; 
 
 That learning linds accession of renown 
 
 In every word and act of kindness shown ;
 
 138 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 Combines endearment with deserved applause, 
 And woos alTection into glory's cause ! 
 Whereas the daring autocrat of fame, 
 Who deems soft courtesy beneath his aim, 
 Finds in our admiration, deeply mix'd, 
 Disgust and pity — absolute and fix'd ! 
 
 Yes, thine, oh Raleigh, was the pleasing art 
 To raise the mind, and to endear the heart ! 
 One moment saw thee wrapt in studious lore — 
 The next, a votary at Beauty's bower ! 
 Thy form, thy manners, elegant and chaste ; 
 Thy wit — replete in wealth, refined in taste, 
 For thee created, whcresoe'er thou went, 
 A general burst of friendly sentiment ! 
 Who could behold thee with regardless eye? 
 Tumultuous fondness rose with thee but r.igh ! 
 Thy sumptuous mantle, strew'd along the ground, 
 A princess in thy favour firmly l)ound ;
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 139 
 
 Oil thee a smile of majesty she threw, 
 
 And thou vrert Courtier — Statesman — Scholar, too ! 
 
 In vain, howe'er, the charms of courts and ease, 
 
 And monarch's patronage, more strong than these, 
 
 Essay'd alluring, oh thou towering heart ! 
 
 A curb upon thy wand'rings to impart! 
 
 To fascinate thee with thy native soil, 
 
 And rescue thee from dangers and from toil ! 
 
 Thy lofty aims to unknown regions soar'd, 
 
 Thou grasp'd — in fancy — realms yet unexplored ; 
 
 Claim'd for thy sov'reign lands and wealth immense. 
 
 And hoisted England's standard as their fence. 
 
 Vast were thy prospects, dangerous thy sch(!mes, 
 By some deem'd madness, and by some but dreams ; 
 Thy keener eye, thy bolder mind alone. 
 Could view thy plans no sooner form'd than done. 
 'J'hy venturous barks were launch'd upon the main — 
 Few thought tliey e'er would reach a port again!
 
 140 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 O'er stormy seas they plough'd their searching way — 
 
 How keenly anxious rose each dawning day ! 
 
 No land as yet had burst upon the sight — 
 
 The day had pass'd — and yet another night ! 
 
 Intrepid bravery reign'd in all thy crew, 
 
 Hope long deferr'd could change not hearts so true ! 
 
 Rocks hid below — nor tempests heard on high — 
 
 Ingulphing billows — nor a threr.t'ning sky — 
 
 Could, for an instant, by their awful sway, 
 
 Force men so firm, to shrink or disobey ! 
 
 Nerved by their leader's glance — their Raleigh's skill- 
 
 Their minds were tutor'd to contempt of ill ; 
 
 Like thee, they pledged to reach unbounded climes, 
 
 Or leave their fates — deplored by other times ! 
 
 Momentous voyage ! big with nameless good ! 
 Spread o'er the world — from year to year renew'd ! 
 Auspicious Providence, who rules the sea. 
 Through storms and terrors, traced a path for thee :
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 141 
 
 Ordain'd that thou, though resolute to roam 
 
 'Midst toils and deaths, shouldst safely reach thy home ! 
 
 Shouldst lead thy crew, exulting and unhurt, 
 
 To peace and plenty, by thy bright desert ! 
 
 And stamp thy country, throughout the earth, 
 
 The queen of waves, the fauie-crown'd isle of worth ! 
 
 Afar — afar, thy coming swift was spread, 
 
 And anxious thousands to the beach were led — 
 
 Vi'hat curious products ! what exotics strange ! 
 
 By thee were brought, descriptive of thy range. 
 
 What massy plate ! what richly glitt'ring ore ! 
 
 — 'Twas gold ! 'twas gold I — the crowd could view na more! 
 
 Their praise — their av'rice — their hopes — delight, 
 
 Broke instantaneous at the magic sight; 
 
 Instinctive ardour for discovery rose — 
 
 No more could billows bound, could winds oppose; 
 
 New worlds were open'd, new impressions gain'd. 
 
 Which pleased, which tempted, roused, and were obtain'd.
 
 142 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 Unbounded gratitude, oh Raleigh, fiow'd 
 To thee, unrivali'd, for the good bestow'd ! 
 Ill-fated Kames attuned his Roman lyre. 
 Heroic Chapman breathed a poet's fire ! 
 Thy sov'reign came to hail thee to thy land, 
 Extoird, rewarded, crown'd thee on the strand ! 
 And grateful Commerce, mingling in the throng, 
 Proclaim'd her exultation proud along! 
 
 Oh human happiness, how casual, brief ! 
 A summer's blossom, and an autumn's leaf ! 
 What dreadful crisis now was gathering near ? 
 Lo, Raleigh's chains — a prelude to the bier ! 
 Thy days of fortune and of fame had been — 
 Thou droop'dst in glory when thou lost thy queen ! 
 When she, the patroness of genius, died, 
 Thy doom was seal'd, thy valour was denied ; 
 Thine was no life for envy to endure — 
 Thy mind too vast, thy principles too pure !
 
 sill WALTER HA LEIGH. 143 
 
 \ Tho moment oflfer'd, in a despot's sway, 
 
 Their wrath to satiate, and their fears allay ; 
 
 With fierce delight, with man-degrading ire, 
 
 With more than demon's skill, than fiend's desire ; 
 
 With vengeance— horrible for tongue to name I 
 
 With guilt — unparallcl'd in deeds of shame ! 
 
 They, heartless sland'rers ! whom no truths could move, 
 
 To whom no innocence could sacred prove; 
 
 Whose iron breasts were to injustice wed, 
 
 To lionour — country — gratitude — were dead ! 
 
 'Gainst thee, the ornament that blest their times, 
 
 Whose bright example should have check'd their criir.c, 
 
 Design'd — determin'd — ah, enforced — that thou 
 
 Shouldst hide, in grated cell, tliy laurell'd brow ! 
 
 IIow changed was destiny ! was man to thee ! 
 How yieldedst thou to Fate's so stern decree ! 
 Thy form imprison'd, though thy spirit still 
 Career'd to realms beyond the sphere of ill!
 
 144 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 Thy words, thy works, converted into scorn ! 
 
 Thy prospects blighted, and thy feelings torn ! 
 
 Say, injured Raleigh, what a heart like thine 
 
 Could teach 'midst pangs and insults, not to pine ? 
 
 Say, what of Heaven, oh what on earth, could teach 
 
 Thy hopes, though fetter'd, still 'bove chains to reach ? 
 
 What views sublime, what super-human power, 
 
 What magic impulse at the sorrowing hour, 
 
 Could, through thy dungeon's darkness, form for thee 
 
 A sun to light thee to posterity : 
 
 Say, what could soothe the anguish of thy breast r 
 
 What lull thy just resentment into rest ? 
 
 Oh, what could charm, 'midst menace and 'midst jeers, 
 
 The dreary hours of twelve long captive years? 
 
 What brighten life's last taper to the close. 
 
 And make thee smile, despite of wrongs and foes ? 
 
 — Rejoice, oh Virtue, view a model here. 
 
 Of all that 's noble — all we should revere ! 
 
 'Twas conscious innocence, high-minded, pure — 
 
 In self, in Providence, in man -ecure :
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 145 
 
 A resignation — which no griefs could shake, 
 
 A magnanimity — no wrongs could break. 
 
 Which bade thee, Raleigh, 'midst tremendous strife, 
 
 Despise the harrow ing littleness of life ! 
 
 Repose thy claims of happiness above, 
 
 And look for justice from a God of love! 
 
 Woe to the hour, which saw thee free again ! 
 
 It whisper'd peace, and foster'd hopes in vain ! 
 
 A proud, licentious monarch sigh'd for gold — 
 
 lie look'd to thee for mines of wealth untold. 
 
 Again thy barks to climes unknown must press. 
 
 Thy life, thy fortune hingeing on success ! 
 
 Oh, hapless tidings — thy brave son was slain ! 
 
 Thy crews were vanquish'd, and no ore could gain ! 
 
 Could Nature bear it ? could such vengeance be ? 
 
 Thou reach'dst thy land, where linger'd death for thee! 
 
 Scarce hadst thou time, ill-fated Raleigh, then 
 
 To pray to Heaven, and make thy peace with men ; 
 
 Scarce time to nerve thee 'gainst the cruel blow, 
 
 Scarce time to take farewell of e'en thy woe!
 
 146 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 Thy bleeding head lay sevcr'd on the ground, 
 x\nd groans, and tears, and horror spread around! 
 
 Oh crime accursed ! ingratitude most base ! 
 
 Eternal record of most foul disgrace ! 
 
 Was such the man for tyranny to crush ? 
 
 Think of his death, ye Absolutes ! — and blush ! 
 
 Thou tampering tyrant ! thou malign of mind ! 
 
 Round whose stern heart no manly feelings twined ; 
 
 Thou sceptred pedant ! to whose memory wave 
 
 Disgust and execraticu o'er thy grave — 
 
 To thee, by every tongue — to every shore — is born<' 
 
 Loud universal infamy and scorn ! 
 
 A blow, unpitying soul ! by thee was given, 
 
 To be rewarded and avenged in heaven ! 
 
 While to the world is seal'd the truth divine, 
 
 That worth, like Raleigh's, shall for ever shine ; 
 
 That genius over power, and chains, and time, 
 
 Shall llourish — ever hallow'd and snl)lime.
 
 DEFAMATION. 147 
 
 D E F A M A T r O N. 
 
 All, scandal oft, by many a story, 
 Annihilates the best won glory ! 
 Consigns the spirit, good and great, 
 A victim to relentless hate! 
 Yes, he who ha])ly ne'er unfitted 
 
 His character for noblest w^ays, 
 Through calumny, has oft transmitted 
 
 The bloom and beauty of his days 
 To an unyielding grave ! 
 And far from home — far, far remote — 
 Lingering — hopeless — and forgot — 
 Allow'd the storm to wave 
 In silence o'er his gentle head ; 
 Till bursting hence, untimely sped 
 
 To heaven, what Heaven gave- 
 A spirit pure, a spirit just, 
 !ni!Uor!ai in ilic verv diist I
 
 148 THE BUD IN EMBRYO BLOOMING. 
 
 THK 
 
 BUD IN EMBRYO BLOOMING. 
 
 The hour, which gives to ought perfection, 
 
 Marks on earth decay began ; 
 Then beauty fades — then cools affection — 
 
 Then droops the flower — and falls the man ! 
 'Vond Nature's limits nought can bound — 
 
 The rose must die, when most perfuming ; 
 Hence, magic is the sweetness found 
 
 Wrapt in the bud in embryo blooming.
 
 THE BUD IN EMBRYO BLOOMING. 149 
 
 Joy expected 's joy uncloying — 
 
 Anticipation stamps the charm ; 
 To dream of bliss is bliss enjoying — 
 
 At flattering thoughts the heart will warm. 
 With treasures richest — hopes the best — 
 
 The moment present is but glooming ; 
 A something void, a something blest, 
 
 Lurks in the bud in embryo blooming. 
 
 Scarce from the cradle have we travell'd, 
 
 Our notions of the world but scant, 
 Than bold, we wish to have unravell'd 
 
 The future — big with every want! 
 Thus times and seasons wander on, 
 
 With hoping still, and still presuming j 
 And still the dearest blessings known 
 
 Sleep in the bud in embryo blooming. 
 
 Behold yon mother, fond caressing 
 Her helpless, speechless, darling boy !
 
 laO THE BLD IN EMBRYO BEOOMING. 
 
 Of whom she speaks not but with blessing, 
 On whom she looks not but w ith joy ! 
 
 Delightful are the throbs she feels ! 
 A hope assuaging — hope illuming, 
 
 Pervades her bosom, and reveals 
 
 Bliss in her bud in embryo blooming ! 
 
 Say, canst tViou not a smile discover? 
 
 A something listless in that youth ! 
 His heart is llutt'riug, round him hover 
 
 Dreams of beauty, love, and truth ; 
 Yes, fair Eliza charms his soul — 
 
 Enchanting passion ! soft! consuming! 
 Heavenly winging moments roll, 
 
 And crown the bud in embryo blooming ! 
 
 Cold is the heart which ne'er indulges 
 A secret wish for deathless fame ; 
 
 Which, pleased with charms that earth divulges 
 In a sho) t life, and passing name.
 
 THE BUD IN EMBRYO BLOOMING. 151 
 
 Of ought beside ne'er deigns to dream, 
 
 Weak — unambitious — unassuming ! 
 To glory dead, whence raptures beam 
 
 E'en in the bud in embryo blooming. 
 
 See genius, by a world too scorning. 
 
 Check' d — neglected — injured oft ! 
 Close many an eve, rise many a morning, 
 
 To hope — be humbled ; strive — be scoil'd ! 
 But still he feels a something strong. 
 
 To soften every evil dooming- — 
 Ilis soul to glory, o'er each wrong. 
 
 Bounds — in the bud in embryo blooming ! 
 
 Dark is the sky, convulsed the ocean ! 
 
 How far the port! the rocks how nigh ! 
 The sailor shrieks with sad emotion ! 
 
 The vessel crashes ! all must die ! 
 But Mercy looks — the winds abate — 
 
 The laud is reach'd — lo, friends are coming!
 
 152 THE BUD IN EMBRYO BLOOMLN'G. 
 
 Thus blessings oft, 'midst deadliest fate, 
 Burst from the bud in embryo blooming. 
 
 And when life's brief career is closing — 
 
 Its noonday verging into night — 
 How great the hope to own ! repose in ! 
 
 That — after death — on man delight 
 Awaits, eternal and divine ! 
 
 The thought enraptures ! every glooming 
 Doubt is hush'd ! — we soar — we shine — 
 
 We grasp at Heaven in embryo blooming !
 
 LORD BYRON. 153 
 
 TO THE 
 
 MEMORY OF LORD BYRON. 
 
 England's mightiest genius ! whither 
 
 Is thy deathless spirit fled ? 
 Wing'd above to fields of ether? 
 
 Glory crowxi'd — to glory led ? 
 
 Where 's that lyre, which late resounded, 
 Magic, through th' admiring earth ? 
 
 From whose heart-wild chords rebounded 
 Strains, which roused creation forth ? 
 
 Where 's that lyre ? — silent !• — broken ! — 
 Hapless loss ! all nature weeps ! 
 
 Be no sounds but sorrow spoken! 
 Chaunt the dirge — the poet sleeps !
 
 154 1.0 RD BYRON. 
 
 Chaunt the dirge — Oh Campbell, chauiit it- 
 Thou cuust strike immortal notes! 
 
 Wake ! — thy noblest fire is wanted — 
 Touch thy harp, whence glory fioats. 
 
 Ah ! the harp of Hope yet sleepeth ! 
 
 Rise, oh Moore, and mourn thy friend ! 
 While the grief-struck world but weepeth, 
 
 Let thy strains of woe ascend ! 
 
 Moore, too, silent ! — Rogers, Avake thee ! 
 
 Bard of Memory ! sound his praise ; 
 Remember him, who once could make thee 
 
 Thrill with his enchanting lays. 
 
 Rogers hears not ! — Scott, arise thee ! 
 
 Child of fancy ! lord of song ! 
 Let the tender theme entice thee — 
 
 Sound an anthem, loud and long.
 
 LORD BYHON. 156 
 
 Wake th)' muse, sublime — for Byrou ! 
 
 Swell a kindred spirit's fame! 
 Rouse, great bard ! thy minstrel siren, 
 
 At the echo of his name ! 
 
 All are silent ! blank of nature ! 
 
 Who shall sound the mighty's dirge ? 
 Rise, thou world — speak every creature — 
 
 Bear his name from surge to surge ! 
 
 Far and far, to climes remotest, 
 
 Spread the noble theme sublime ; 
 Which — while millions sink unnoticed — 
 
 Still shall live, renew 'd by Time. 
 
 But, oh memory ! agonising 
 
 Scenes, great shade ! imprint thy past ! 
 Can a bosom, sympathising. 
 
 Muse, nor sighs of sorrow cast ?
 
 136 LORD BYRON. 
 
 Years of bliss, in fancy cherish'd 
 On the key-stone of a smile, 
 
 Ceased — were dimm'd — for ever perish'd- 
 In a vision, big with guile. 
 
 Hope indulged — too early blighted — 
 Purely felt and fann'd by thee, 
 
 When thy buoyant soul delighted 
 In life's eddying ecstacy — 
 
 Love, which first thy kindness lighted — 
 Love, which first thy folly chill'd — 
 
 Now — with thee — are gone — benighted ! 
 Save in 07ie — for ever still'd ! 
 
 But, oh Byron, though asunder 
 Here thy very heart was torn, 
 
 May'st thou gain a mansion yonder, 
 Where but God and love sojourn !
 
 LORD BYRON. 167 
 
 England's mightiest genius ! whither 
 Is thy deathless spirit lied ? 
 
 WingM above to fields of ether ? 
 Glorv crown'd — to <jlory led ?
 
 158 KKSI(;\AT[ON 
 
 K E S I G N A T 1(> N 
 
 JIow trifling is the world's disgust, 
 When God and conscience bid us trust I 
 A few short hours of freedom less 
 Can lead to no vast wretchedness; 
 'Tis not a dungeon makes a sin, 
 'Tis not a dungeon pangs within ; 
 A dungeon leads not worth astray, 
 A dungeon wrests not bliss away ! 
 'Midst every ill — in chains — distress — 
 Virtue itself is happiness !
 
 LIBERTY. 159 
 
 LIBERTY. 
 
 When sinks, 'nealh western waves, the sun away, 
 
 Can tyrants, million'd, summon light and day ? 
 
 Strong as his lord is not the fetter'd slave 
 
 To end eternity, or wake the grave ? 
 
 And since on earth the mightiest raightless be, 
 
 Like time shall last man's birth-right to l)e free. 
 
 As soon the despot, in an ocean shell 
 
 May bid proud empires rise — proud nations dwell, 
 
 As hope to prove, that, led by partial whim, 
 
 God forni'd mankind to serve but things like him; 
 
 Or prove to noble minds, thai life contains 
 
 A chanu like fieedom, or a curse like chains.
 
 160 LIBERTY. 
 
 Freedom to man is heav'n's almighty gift, 
 Though stript of all; he's rich — with this but loft ; 
 Tis Nature's clearest, longest-lasting friend — 
 Its noon — eternity ; in God — its end : 
 'Tis man's best — earliest — spirit-speaking good, 
 Stamp'd on his soul — and charter'd in his blood ! 
 
 'Midst hills and rocks, where verdure never smiled. 
 Where rudest Nature bears her hardiest child. 
 Pure in each rough, uncultivated breast, 
 The spark concentrates, and the owner's blest : 
 Babes — peasants — mountaineers — imbibe the flame. 
 And far and wide its boundlessness proclaim.
 
 THE FRKEIVIAN'S WAH-SONC. 161 
 
 THE FREEMAN'S WAR-SONG. 
 
 A«akk! arise! rush to the field, 
 
 On mounted steed— with war-chad ^hiehl 
 
 Tht> dawn appears — ere eve sliall close, 
 
 O'er toils and dangers, pow'r and foes, 
 
 We'll nobly live or bravely die, 
 
 For God — ai\d home — and liberty ! 
 
 Our hope is in our trusty steel, 
 
 Our courage is our last appeal ! 
 
 Our hearts are true — our cause is strong — 
 
 Severe our sufferings — vast our wrong ! 
 
 We'll rush, and strike, and dauntless cry 
 
 Our God — our home — and libertv !
 
 162 
 
 THE FREEMAN'S VVAR-SONG. 
 
 iVovv is not an hour to sleep — 
 
 Hostile bands around us heap ; 
 
 Wake, mothers ! rouse your sons to arms ! 
 
 Sires ! for your children brave alarms ! 
 
 Hear tlie tocsin — warriors fly, 
 
 For God — and home — and liberty ! 
 
 Flames and torture — wrath and raiii^ — 
 Chains, and every dreadful doing ; 
 Loss of honour, name, and nation — 
 Horrors — death — and desolation, 
 Await us, if we dare belie 
 Our God — and home — and liberty ! 
 
 iiy the souls our Maker aaxe us 1 
 Mf'ii nor demons >hall enslave us ! 
 rhc foe approaches — suii-ul th<' drum ! 
 Xow, patriots, on ! — the h^ur is come I 
 Fix — li\ the [)eiil-'.puininij ej, e 
 On (jod — and houu — and liberty 1
 
 THE FREEMAN'S WAR-SONG. 163 
 
 Soe, the tyrants fall before us ! 
 Oil again — the daj 's victorious ! 
 Hear the groans of thousands bleeding — 
 Hear the shrieks for mercy pleading ! 
 Pass these — e'en these — unheeded by, 
 For God — and home — and liberty ! 
 
 Strike, till oppression's strife be o'er! 
 'IMll prostrate foes can strike no more! 
 Till great and glorious peace prevail, 
 Triumphant o'er the battle-wail ! 
 On — on ! and ever shout on high 
 Our God— and home^ — and liberty ! 
 
 Awake! arise! rush to the held! 
 
 liush — light — and fall, but never — yield ! 
 
 O'er all the host of human woes — 
 
 O'er toils — -o'er dangers — power — and foes — 
 
 Let freemen nobly lire, or die — 
 
 I"\)r (jod — -and home — and libeitv !
 
 164 
 
 l.OVE. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Mark ! side by side — soul answering soul 
 
 In warmth, afifection, and in truth— 
 l^nbiass'd by the world's control — 
 
 A gentle pair, of equal youth ! 
 The) have not vow'd — but long to vow 
 
 The oath, which rivets — ne'er to sever ; 
 That fairy knot — that, rapturous now. 
 
 Love fondl) hopes may last for ever ! 
 
 As loitering on, absoj bM the} are 
 In thousand, dear encL.a. ting joys ; 
 
 W hicli, save to hearts eiiamcui''d, wear 
 A kin to more than childish tovs ;
 
 LOVE. 166 
 
 Which well the coldly wise may scorn, 
 
 Which only lovers can endure — 
 As what but fancy can adorn 
 
 Such trifles with delight so pure ? 
 
 Pleased with themselves, the living scene 
 
 On every side, but teems with bliss ; 
 How bright ! how beautiful ! serene! 
 
 The glowing landscape round them is ! 
 The meanest thing — if man dare style 
 
 Ought mean which nature's God pourtrays — 
 Seems with the self-same joy to smile. 
 
 Which in their fluttering bosoms plays. 
 
 Oh, wouldst thou — who can — circumscribe 
 
 The grand omnipotence of Love ? 
 Who say — thus deep it shall imbibe ? 
 
 Thus far — but farther not — shall rove? 
 Love has no wilderness : with those 
 
 We dote on, every spot appears
 
 166 LOVE. 
 
 A paradise : their presence throws 
 
 A charm, which e'en the desert wears. 
 
 Oh Love ! sweet moments ! if mankind 
 Could revel thus their years aw ay , 
 
 In ecstacy so great, refined- 
 Then earth w ere heaven, and life a day ! 
 
 How terrible 'twere then to die ! 
 To perish, though to live again I 
 
 Our first — last — longest — heaviest — sigh 
 Would rise, to part from transport's reign.
 
 TO KLl.b:X ON HER HI 11111- DAY. 167 
 
 TO ELLEN ON HER BIRTH DAY. 
 
 Fkiend of my soul 1 my life's best stay ! 
 
 Thou more than happiness to me! 
 As musing on thy natal day, 
 
 My heart with rapture beats for thee ! 
 O'er what sweet hopes have we two ponder'd, 
 Through what soft scenes have we two wander'd, 
 
 Since, oh that moment we first met — 
 That hour, when first our bosoms knew 
 
 A sympathy — unalter'd yet — 
 Which time has tried, and still proves true ! 
 
 How exquisite our transports then ! 
 
 I think — they come again ! again !
 
 68 TO ELLEN OX JIER BIRTII-DAV 
 
 Dear to my heart! thou couldst not deem, 
 \\'hen usher'd first on life's career — 
 
 Thou scarce canst tell, how much 1 dream 
 And feel of joy. with thee so near! 
 
 Thy natal day heams gladly — brightly! 
 
 The moments, rich with smiles, pass lightly ! 
 I love to think of years gone by, 
 
 I love to think when thou wert young ; 
 Rememberest thou tl;e heaving sigh, 
 
 'i'lie lingering look, the filtering tongue, 
 ^^'e fondls — purely — keenlv felt, 
 When })assion taught our souls to melt? 
 
 Blest l)e ihf -tar tliat hail'd tliee forth ! 
 
 Benignant was thy Sire aljove ! 
 His hov'ring sj)iril watch'd thy birth, 
 
 And lound thtc sli«'d his guardian love ! 
 'J'hy innocenee by liim was heeded, 
 Th} helples.sne>- toi men} jdeaded !
 
 TO ELLEN ON IIEK lilRTH-DAY. 169 
 
 Oh Ellen, with a grateful breast, 
 Attuned to thine, I kneel to heaven ; 
 
 Return my prayers for one so blest, 
 For life so spared, and joy so given ! 
 
 Emotions «acred through me play, 
 
 As thus ! Itail thy jiatal day ! 
 
 Oil doublv, doubly dear to me- 
 
 Thou sharer! soother of my doom ! 
 Art thou become, as fond 1 see 
 
 Our little pledges round us bloom ! 
 Bonds of our love — what bliss they render! 
 'I'ies — how divine ! on earth — how tender! 
 
 In thee, how blest a friend they find ! 
 For them, how boundless is thy love ! 
 
 With me they feel n warmth of mind — 
 Like me their hearts are taught to move 
 
 In prayers to heaven, that rapture may 
 
 Ream ever on thv natal dav !
 
 170 TO ELLEN OX JIEI{ BlllTli-DAY 
 
 Rich be thy sum of bliss in store ! 
 
 Together may our years be spent ! 
 Each happier, dearer, than before. 
 
 Increasing in love's sentiment ! 
 Oh be thy life one stream of pleasure ! 
 Of heavenly source, of endless measure ! 
 
 And when the vital spark shall break — 
 When nature fails — and lleets the breath, 
 
 Mayst thou to wondrous glory wake, 
 Triumphant o'er the grasp of death ! 
 
 Oh mayst thou in Elysium stay, 
 
 In an eternal natal day !
 
 MY SON. 171 
 
 MY SON. 
 
 My son, thou art, to this fond breast, 
 My all that 's valued, all that 's blest; 
 When on my lap, unconscious why, 
 Upon me gazed thy sweet blue eye ; 
 And when thou softly slept, my child. 
 Serene, as if an angel smiled, 
 From that first hour within me rose 
 Raptures, a parent only knows. 
 
 Thou wert my endless source of joy ! 
 My pledge of love! my darling boy ! 
 No morning ho[)e, no ev'ning prayer, 
 Po-ses.'r'd mv thoii'ihts. liut tiiou utit th-.Tt
 
 \7^Z MY SOX. 
 
 And when thou iirst vverl woni to trace, 
 With (.ott'ilng haste, my every pace ; 
 Hang on niy gown, and lisping be 
 In language only known to me — 
 Then I beheld thee with a pride, 
 Which all, save parents, but deride. 
 
 Whate'er 1 said, thou wert my theme ; 
 Of thee 1 still would talk, would dream. 
 1 found in all thy childish ways 
 A something worthy of my praise ; 
 And when to blooming manhood rear'd. 
 Close by my side, my son appear'd, 
 Then to the full, my tlutt'ring bosom 
 Believed matured its loveliest blossom. 
 
 Engaged in fancying sweets for thee 
 Anticipation still would be ; 
 1 deem'd that heaven's best oft'ring here 
 Was love — when w edded and sincere ;
 
 MY SON. 173 
 
 Tliought of my own — thy father's — joy, 
 And hail'd like blessings for my ])oy. 
 Delightful wish ! my son ! my son ! 
 Bv thy nflfpction pleas'>d and won, 
 To thee — to us — Maria beams 
 The excellence of all our dreams. 
 
 And rapture .^till o'er nil my soul, 
 Without alloy, exerts control, 
 When, pleased around me, I survey 
 Thy children at their wanton play ; 
 Their artless gambols — coyish ways — 
 Remind me of thy earliest days. 
 
 I kiss and bless them pat and toy — 
 
 And recognise in each my boy. 
 
 Attach'd to earth by ties so dear, 
 The thought of parting starts a tear 1 
 Yet, peace my spirit ! e'en in this — 
 Sad hour indeed ! — I augur bliss :
 
 174 
 
 MY SON. 
 
 Ah, then my son will, by his woe, 
 Tell how I loTed — was loved — below ! 
 As thy first pillow was my breast, 
 On thine I'll sigh, and sink to rest : 
 Supremely blest, within thine arms 
 I'll bound to Heav'n, o'er Death's alarms.
 
 (iEORGE THE THIRD. 175 
 
 ON AN EQUESTRIAN STATUE 
 
 KRECTED A1- ITVEUPOOL, OX THE 3(}t/t SEFPEMHEU, 1822, 
 TO THE MEMORY OE GEORGE THE THIRD. 
 
 As kings are mortal, kings like men must fall 
 Benealh the stroke, Avhich Nature dooms to all ; 
 If no majestic virtues — left behind — 
 Exalt them 'bove the common of their kind, 
 liike them they live — the beings of an hour ! 
 Like them — they perish, and are heard no more ! 
 
 The gaudiest pageant cannot long supply 
 
 The uaut of worth in those, who, seepter'd, die ;
 
 176 GEOliGi: THE THIRD. 
 
 The mightiest monarch— after death — has here 
 
 No power to move the meanest soul with fear j 
 
 Spontaneous — tlien — our ^orrovv or our hate 
 
 Laments or loatiies the memories of the great ; 
 
 Their actions only — good or evil — can 
 
 Then claim the tear^ or rouse the scorn of man. 
 
 No bribe can tempt earth's most degraded slave, 
 
 To praise a wretch a day beyond the grave ; 
 
 No power suppress the sympathetic woe, 
 
 We feel for those who lived endear'd below ; 
 
 That woe, which Britons, unseduced and free, 
 
 Still cherish, George, with pious love, for thee ! 
 
 Though years have roU'd — though many a sun has set, 
 
 Since thy career — how dear thy memory yet! 
 
 Thy native goodness, thy unsullied fame, 
 
 Survive thy death, and consecrate thy name. 
 
 Who is so pure — in nature so divine — 
 
 In whom but beauties, with no faults, combine?
 
 GEORGE THE THIRD. 177 
 
 'Twere insult — worse — inalevolence, to say 
 
 That thou wert perfect in thy brightest day. 
 
 \ et something great — a principle sublime, 
 
 For ever blest, through every age and clime ; 
 
 A something lovely — which to all endears 
 
 The noble soul, in whom it e'er appears— 
 
 With happy inliuence, sure, through lleav'n combined, 
 
 To make thy name thus hallow'd by mankind. 
 
 Departed monarch ! to thy mouldering urn. 
 With sad delight, remembrance loves to turn ! 
 Throughout the isle — 'mongst all — there seems to be 
 A sacred reverence when they mention thee ; 
 And scarce a foe, 'mong all thy subjects, reigns, 
 To dim thy virtues by imputed stains. 
 Though cold thy ashes — though thy power is done^ — 
 Thy sceptre fallen — and thy grandeur gone — 
 E'en now, when but the influence of worth 
 Again could swell thy praises nobly forth ; 
 
 N
 
 178 GEORGE THE THIRD. 
 
 When none dares say, thai rivil motives aid 
 To raise this tribute to thy hallow 'd shade ; 
 When truth — when honour — and when kind regard- 
 Alone to virtue could this pledge award; 
 E'en now — afar from London's wondrous spot, 
 Where thou wert cherish'd — canst not be forgot; 
 Afar from those, 'mongst whom thy brilliant days 
 Of glory passed, and ended in thy praise — 
 At rising Liverpool, where but thy name — 
 As great as blest — could wake a generous flame; 
 YeSj here — where scarce thy footsteps ever stray'd 
 To hear the plaudits, which to thee were paid — 
 A proud memorial — as superb as art 
 Could form, to sliow the ardour of the heart — 
 Of chaste ecjuestrian elegance, is rear'd, 
 To tell our children how thou wert revered ! 
 
 'Tis no presumptuous monument, forsooth, 
 Designed to triumph o'er forgotten truth ;
 
 GEORGE THE THIRD. 179 
 
 To show what genius, what gigantic skill, 
 
 Can mould, achieve, and beautify at will ; 
 
 It stands — will stand for ages yet to be — 
 
 A pledge of love and reverence to thee ! 
 
 To teach raankind — when kings and empires fall — 
 
 When fate impairs — o'erwhelras — and sinks them all — 
 
 The longest-lasting monument on earth 
 
 Is self-erected by a life of worth.
 
 180 THE BATTLK. 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 The armies meet — dread doubts infest, 
 And chill the hardiest soldier's breast ; 
 How soon to light ! mayhap to die ! 
 E'en in the lap of victory ! 
 The thought ap])als — soon, soon it flies! 
 Glory coaimands — the foe defies ; 
 The warriors rush, by warriors led — 
 Hear, hear tlie dying ! view the dead ! 
 
 In carnage pass'd the eve away, 
 
 On horrors dawn'd the rising day ; 
 
 The slaugliterM fill the reeking plain, 
 
 The conquering — concjuer";!— Jion romplain !
 
 THE n.VVTLK. 181 
 
 Tliere ever lies, forever ])erish'c], 
 Souls nobly ijreat and dearly cherish'd! 
 A truce to arms ! — friends — foes — attend 
 To recognise each fallen friend. 
 
 Impatient relatives — afar 
 
 From monstrous, murder-stirring war — 
 
 In horrible suspense await 
 
 To learn each tender kinsman's fate. 
 
 The rumour spreads- — the battle 's o'er — 
 
 Brave thousands fought to fight no more ! 
 
 Brave thousands bleeding, groaning, cry 
 
 To see their native homes, and die! 
 
 The blood-enroll'd gazette appears — 
 
 Alas the hopes, the doubts, the fears! 
 
 Oh, whence that shriek! — " My son is slain! — " 
 
 The mother cries with mad'i'.ing pain ; 
 
 " My husband 's kill'd ! my dear! my life! — " 
 
 Exclaims the frantic, widovv'd wife :
 
 182 THE BATTLE. 
 
 " Our father comes ! — " the children deem — 
 She hears, and answers with a scream. 
 
 From the fair hand, by which 'twas guided, 
 
 The lover's pen unconscious glided ; 
 
 She snatch'd it, while her heart was burning, 
 
 To haste her lover's safe returning — 
 
 It dropt, when she was doom'd to hear 
 
 Her Edwin stretch'd upon the bier ; 
 
 Her latest reason dwelt on love. 
 
 She lives — her reason dwells above. 
 
 Full many a mighty hero fell, 
 And bade the warring world farewell ; 
 Left on the earth, from which they parted. 
 Friends loving, changeless, broken-hearted ! 
 But peace to war's horrific sounds ! 
 The more remember'd, more it wounds; 
 May only those, 'midst slaughtering rattle, 
 Hence perish, who provoke the battle !
 
 D 1<:S P A r H 11 A PT L' 1^ E. 1 83 
 
 [)ESPA 111 RAPTURE. 
 
 J MUST bid thee adieu, 
 With distracted emotion ; 
 
 For thou shrink'st from my view- 
 Thou lepel'st my devotion. 
 
 Couhl J rivet thy love, 
 
 In return to aft'ection, 
 I might happily prove 
 
 The delights of perfection ; 
 
 But thou deigii'st not to smile — 
 Think'st thou cruelty duty?—
 
 184 DESPAIR RAPTURE. 
 
 Though I hinguisli the while, 
 In despair for thy beauty. 
 
 'Twas the boast of my youth — 
 'Twas the hope of my bosom — 
 
 That united in truth, 
 
 ^Ve together should blossom. 
 
 And how oft — but how blind ! 
 
 Have I dream'd of caresses : 
 When my too-doatiiig mind 
 
 Little augur'd distresses. 
 
 What disturbs my poor brain ? 
 
 What wild visions are starting ? 
 ^^ ere these moments, then, vain ? 
 
 Can it be? — are we parting? 
 
 Is it fancy, my love? — 
 
 A sweet look will relieve me;
 
 DESPAIR RAPTURE. 185 
 
 Through kind mercy above — 
 By my pangs — undeceive me ! 
 
 Nay, relent — spare that frown, 
 AVith which now thou appearest ! 
 
 I'ivery blessing is gone — 
 
 Hopes have Hed that were dearest. 
 
 Wert thou kind — I were blest ; 
 
 Thou art not — we are parted ; 
 Thou may'st smile on the rest — 
 
 I depart broken-hearfed ! 
 
 Ere a sun may have set — 
 
 From the instant we sever, 
 I may chance cease to fret — 
 
 May have perish'd for ever ! 
 
 And then upon my early tomb, 
 May virgin-planted flowrets bloom —
 
 186 DESPAIR RAPTURE. 
 
 An emblem to the world and thee, 
 How sad was destiny to me ! 
 Though thou — no ! no ! — I cannot bear 
 To think that thou'lt withhold a tear! 
 Perchance, thou'lt come in silent gloom, 
 And mourn my youthful, hapless doom ! 
 
 Why tremble, love ? what heedest thou ? 
 How changed thy look! how pale thy brow ! 
 Delirious rapture! — what! a tear, 
 Of sympathy, escapes my dear! 
 A smile 1)eside — a smile divine, 
 I scarce dared hope would e'er be mine ; 
 And more — yet more ! — yes, in my arms 
 I own — I clasp — thy fairy charms! 
 
 Away! away I — my anguish cease ! 
 My thoughts are calm'd — my soul 's at peace 
 The storm has been — the storm is o'er — 
 Th(^ mad'ninij frenzy of an hour !
 
 DESPAIR RAPTURE. 187 
 
 The pangs I felt — no more I feel, 
 The binded wound forgets the steel : 
 I know but bliss — but love's effusions, 
 Its raptures — magic — and delusions! 
 
 Come, Fancy, now, in sunshine bright, 
 Carouse in dreams of chaste delight! 
 Range far and wide, and fearless borrow 
 Whate'er may crush the thought of sorrow ; 
 This hour I live — this hour I know 
 That seldom truant — absent woe ! 
 Career ! career ! — my spirit 's freed — 
 For since I'm loved — I'm blest indeed !
 
 188 
 
 THE VOW 
 
 THE VOW 
 
 TiiY beauty how bright, and bewitching to me ! 
 
 On which, unalloy'd, I incessantly gaze ; 
 My hopes — my existence — are center'd in thee, 
 
 Thou pride of my soul! and thou theme of my praise ! 
 Thou hast oft heard me sigh, when fondly perceiving 
 
 A smile of endearment encircle thy brow ; 
 And well mightst thou know that this breast then was 
 heavino; 
 
 For ever to bind thee to me by a vow. 
 
 No verbal ex])ressions of love, I confess, 
 
 To speak a return, have escaped from my fair ;
 
 THE VOW. 189 
 
 'V et thy treiiibliugs and looks revecil not the less. 
 That the passion 1 feel^ thou canst not but share; 
 
 Thy cheek chastely blushing, and thus condescending, 
 As oft as I urge thee, consent to bestow. 
 
 Unfolds to me well what emotions contending 
 Beseech thee to list, and unite in my vow. 
 
 Away then thy doubts — cease thy blushing alarms — 
 
 Our souls harmonize, and our sympathies too; 
 Confiding and loving, flee ! flee to my arms ! 
 
 Ever press'd to my bosom, and dear to my view ! 
 Oh, heed not the Morld, which delights but in scorning 
 
 All objects so beauteous, so blameless as thou ! 
 Let us haste, even now, in our youth's blooming morning, 
 
 To pledge — and when pledged — keep unsullied our
 
 190 SYMPATHY. 
 
 SYMPATHY 
 
 Too well exalted bosoms know, 
 That sued-for favours ne'er bestow 
 A joy so great, as keen the grief 
 To supplicate, and need relief. 
 However mild the balm applied — 
 However dear the person tried — 
 The mildest balsam is too rough, 
 The dearest friend not dear enough, 
 To pacify a wound so deep, 
 And lull the aching thoughts asleep : 
 Then think how M-retched those must be. 
 Who ask in vain for sympathy !
 
 THE FiSllEK. 191 
 
 THE FISHER. 
 
 Hard his lot, distressing, killing, 
 
 Who, 'midst tempests, strives for bread ; 
 
 Who, with bosom constant thrilling, 
 Is, 'midst perils, born and fed ! 
 
 Hush! ye cruel winds, be milder ! 
 
 Gently breathe each fanning breeze ! 
 Hush, ye billows ! and no wilder 
 Toss upon the foaming seas ! 
 
 ]jO, the Fisher, bawling, toiling, 
 
 Sits and plies his little bark! 
 Now on mountains — now recoiling — 
 
 Far from home, and home's fair mark I
 
 192 THE FISHER. 
 
 Ah, his wife portends the danger! 
 
 " — Father ! — " cry his babes on shore ; 
 " — Husband, come ! — " her fears derange her- 
 
 " Come ! we are not hungry more !'' 
 
 Vain their j)rayers and hopes delusive, 
 
 Ruin triumph.-) in the storm ; 
 Loud and crashing — dread — confusive, 
 
 Death presents his horrid form ! 
 
 Still the heavens appear more clouded — 
 Swift the sea-bird courts the rock ; 
 
 Night lolls on— the skies are shrouded — 
 Not a power to break the .-.hock! 
 
 Now o'er earth the growling thunder 
 
 Threat'ning rolls, surcharged with grief; 
 
 Lightning darts, and torn itsunder 
 Nature shriek-, and sues relief!
 
 THE FISHER. 193 
 
 Oh, the Fisher ! help him — save him — 
 
 Vain his hopes to reach the land ! 
 Courage fails — the waves encave him — 
 
 Mercy — Mercy ! stretch thine hand ! 
 
 Jjong his consort, wild, atlVighted, 
 
 Waits the hour that wafts him home ; 
 
 Footsteps come — she springs delighted ! 
 — Heavens ! she screams to hear his doom ! 
 
 Yes — he toil'd upon the ocean, 
 
 Steer'd — entreated — founder'd — died ! 
 
 Pity, Friendship, Love's emotion, 
 Weep the victim of the tide!
 
 194 ENGLAND. 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 England, rejoice ! from age to age thy fame 
 
 Has spread — is spreading still. Oft may have chanced 
 The navigator bold, in his proud aim 
 
 At earthly eminence, to find — entranced 
 
 By the magic scene — a land advanced 
 To Nature's best perfection ! but as thine, 
 
 A land so great ! on such ho never glanced ; 
 'I'hy beauties may be match'd — outshone ; but fine 
 The race that match thy sons, and godlike that outshine. 
 
 FIMS.
 
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