A SONG. THOU art not false, but thou art fickle, To those thyself so fondly sought; Are doubly bitter from that thought: "T is this which breaks the heart thou grievest, Too well thou lov'st-too soon thou leavest. The wholly false the heart despises, And spurns deceiver and deceit; But she who not a thought disguises,' Whose love is as sincere as sweet,When she can change who loved so truly, It feels what mine has felt so newly. To dream of joy and wake to sorrow Is doom'd to all who love or live; And if, when conscious on the morrow, We scarce our fancy can forgive, That cheated us in slumber only, To leave the waking soul more lonely, What must they feel whom no false vision, But truest, tenderest passion warm'd? Sincere, but swift in sad transition, As if a dream alone had charm'd? Ah! sure such grief is fancy's scheming, And all thy change can be but dreaming! ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE ORIGIN THE «Origin of Love!»-Ah why And shouldst thou seek his end to know My heart forebodes, my fears foresee, He'll linger long in silent woe; But live-until I cease to be. Think that, whate'er to others, thou Oh, God! that we had met in time, Our hearts as fond, thy hand more free; When thou hadst loved without a crime, And I been less unworthy thee! Far may thy days, as heretofore, This heart, alas! perverted long, Itself destroy'd might there destroy, To meet thee in the glittering throng, Would wake presumption's hope of joy. Then to the things whose bliss or woe, Like mine, is wild and worthless all, Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness, Since not by virtue shed in vain, For me they shall not weep again. Though long and mournful must it be, The thought that we no more may meet; Yet I deserve the stern decree, And almost deem the sentence sweet. Still, had I loved thee less, my heart Had then less sacrificed to thine; It felt not half so much to part, As if its guilt had made thee mine. Quaff while thou canst-another race, ON THE DEATH OF SIR PETER PARKER, BART. A mourner o'er the humblest grave; And triumph weeps above the brave. For them is sorrow's purest sigh O'er ocean's heaving bosom sent: All earth becomes their monument! A tomb is theirs on every page, An epitaph on every tongue; Grows hush'd, their name the only sound; While deep remembrance pours to worth The goblet's tributary round. A theme to crowds that knew them not, Who would not share their glorious lot? And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be; And early valour, glowing, find A model in thy memory. But there are breasts that bleed with thee Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell. Where shall they turn to mourn thee less? When cease to hear thy cherish'd name? Time cannot teach forgetfulness, While griefs full heart is fed by fame. Alas! for them, though not for thee, They cannot chuse but weep the more; Deep for the dead the grief must be Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before. TO A LADY WEEPING. WEEP, daughter of a royal line, A sire's disgrace, a realm's decay; Ah, happy! if each tear of thine Could wash a father's fault away! Weep-for thy tears are virtue's tears Auspicious to these suffering isles; And be cach drop, in future years, Repaid thee by thy people's smiles! March, 1812. FROM THE TURKISH. Alas! they could not teach thee thine. But not to bear a stranger's touch; Let him, who from thy neck unbound Restring the chords, renew the clasp. SONNET. TO GENEVRA. THINE eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair, And the wan lustre of thy features-caught From contemplation-where serenely wrought, Seems sorrow's softness charm'd from its despairHave thrown such speaking sadness in thine air, That-but I know thy blessed bosom fraught With mines of unalloy'd and stainless thoughtI should have deem'd thee doom'd to earthly care. With such an aspect, by his colours blent, When from his beauty-breathing pencil born, (Except that thou hast nothing to repent) The Magdalen of Guido saw the morn Such seem'st thou-but how much more excellent! With nought remorse can claim-nor virtue scorn. SONNET. TO GENEVRA. Tay cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe, While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush, At once such majesty with sweetness blending, INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG. WHEN Some proud son of man returns to earth, The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit! Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808. FAREWELL. FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky. "T were vain to speak, to weep, to sigh: Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word-Farewell!-Farewell! These lips are mute, these eyes are dry; But in my breast, and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by, The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, Though grief and passion there rebel; I only know we loved in vain I only feel-Farewell!-Farewell! BRIGHT be the place of thy soul! In the orbs of the blessed to shine. As thy soul shall immortally be; And our sorrow may cease to repine, When we know that thy God is with thee. Light be the turf of thy tomb! May its verdure like emeralds be: There should not be the shadow of gloom In aught that reminds us of thee. Young flowers and an evergreen tree May spring from the spot of thy rest: But nor cypress nor yew let us see; For why should we mourn for the blest? While that placid sleep came o'er thee Even its praises must offend thee, But by sudden wrench, believe not Still thine own its life retaineth Still must mine, though bleeding, beat, And the undying thought which paineth Is-that we no more may meet, These are words of deeper sorrow Than the wail above the dead; Both shall live, but every morrow Wake us from a widow'd bed. And when thou wouldst solace gather, When our child's first accents flow, Wilt thou teach her to say « Father!» Though his care she must forego? When her little hands shall ་་ press thee, Those thou never more mayst see, Even my soul forsakes me now. Torn from every nearer tie, Sear'd in heart, and lone, and blighted- TO ***. WHEN all around grew drear and dark, In that deep midnight of the mind, When fortune, changed-and love fled far, And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, Thou wert the solitary star Which rose and set not to the last. Oh blest be thine unbroken light! That watch'd me as a seraph's eye, And stood between me and the night, For ever shining sweetly nigh. And when the cloud upon us came, Which strove to blacken o'er thy rayThen purer spread its gentle flame, And dash'd the darkness all away. Still may thy spirit dwell on mine, And teach it what to brave or brookThere's more in one soft word of thine, Than in the world's defied rebuke. Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree, Still waves with fond fidelity Its boughs above a monument. The winds might rend-the skies might pour, But there thou wert-and still wouldst be Devoted in the stormiest hour To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me. But thou and thine shall know no blight, The kind-and thee the most of all. Then let the ties of baffled love Be broken-thine will never break; Thy heart can feel-but will not move; Thy soul, though soft, will never shake. And these, when all was lost beside, Were found, and still are fixed, in theeAnd bearing still a breast so tried, Earth is no desert-even to me. ODE. [FROM THE FRENCH.] WE do not curse thee, Waterloo! grave As then shall shake the world with wonder Never yet was seen such lightning, Showering down a fiery flood, Turning rivers into blood.' The chief has fallen, but not by you, When the soldier citizen Till lone tyranny commanded? And thou too of the snow-white plume! On thy war-horse through the ranks, There, where death's brief pang was quickest, Of the eagle's burning crest (There, with thunder-clouds to fan her, See Rev. chap. viii, verse 7, etc. The first angel sounded, and there followed bail and fire mingled with blood, etc. Verse 8. And the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea; and the third part of the sea became blood, etc. Verse 10. And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp; and it fell upon a third part of the rivers, and upon the fountains of waters." Verse 11. And the name of the star is called Wormwood: and the third part of the waters became wormwood, and many men died of the waters, because they were made bitter. 2 Murat's remains are said to have been torn from the grave and burnt. |