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Amid the paly radiance soft and sad,
She meets my lonely path in moon-beams clad.
With her along the streamlet's brink I rove;
With her I list the warblings of the grove ;
And seems in each low wind her voice to float,
Lone-whispering Pity in each soothing note!

No more your sky-larks melting from the sight
Shall thrill the attuned heari-string with delight-
No more shall deck your pensive Pleasures sweet
With wreaths of sober hue my evening seat.
Yet dear to Fancy's eye your varied scene
Of wood, hill, dale, and sparkling brook between
Yet sweet to Fancy's ear the warbled song,
That soars on Morning's wings your vales anong

Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! obey
The powerful spell, and to my haunt repair.
Whether on clustering pinions ye are there,
Where rich snows blossom on the myrtle trees,
Or with fond languishment around my fair
Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her hair;
O heed the spell, and hither wing your way,
Like far-off music, voyaging the breeze !

Scenes of my Hope! the aching eye ye leave, Like yon bright hues that paint the clouds of ere! Tearful and saddening with the sadden'd blaze, Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze, Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend, Till chill and damp the moonless night descend


Spirits ! to you the infant Maid was given,
Form'd by the wondrous alchemy of heaven!
No fairer maid does Love's wide empire know,
No fairer maid e'er heaved the bosom's snow.
A thousand Loves around her forehead fly;
A thousand Loves sit melting in her eye ;
Love lights her smile—in Joy's red nectar dips
His myrtle flower, and plants it on her lips.
She speaks! and hark that passion-warbled song-
Still, Fancy! still that voice, those notes prolong,
As sweet as when that voice with rapturous falls
Shall wake the soften'd echoes of Heaven's halls !

As late each flower that sweetest blows
I pluck'd, the Garden's pride!
Within the petals of a Rose
A sleeping Love I spied.

Around his brows a beamy wreath
Of many a lucent hue;
All purple, glow'd his cheek, beneath
Inebriate with dew.

I softly seized the unguarded Power,
Nor scared his balmy rest;
And placed him, caged within the flower,
On spotless Sara's breast.

O (have I sigh’d) were mine the wizard's rod,
Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful god!
A flower-entangled arbor I would seem,
To shield my Love from noontide's sultry beam:
Or bloom a Myrtle, from whose odorous boughs
My love might weave gay garlands for her brows.
When twilight stole across the fading vale,
To fan my love I'd be the Evening Gale;
Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest,
And flutter

my faint pinions on her breast!
On Seraph wing I'd float a Dream by night,
To soothe my Love with shadows of delight:
Or soar aloft to be the Spangled Skies,
And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes!

But when unweeting of the guile
Awoke the prisoner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile,
And stamp'd his faery feet.

Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight
Subdued the impatient boy!
He gazed! he thrillid with deep delight!
Then clapp'd his wings for joy.

“ And O! he cried—“Of magic kind What charm this Throne endear! Some other Love let Ven.s find I'll fix my empire here."

As when the Savage, who his drowsy frame
Had bask'd beneath the Sun's unclouded flame,
Awakes amid the troubles of the air,
The skiey deluge, and white lightning's glare-
Aghast he scours before the tempest's sweep,
And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep :-
So toss'd by storms along Life's wildering way,
Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day,
When by my native brook I wont to rove,
While Hope with kisses nursed the Infant Love.


One kiss, dear Maid! I said and sigh'd
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss ?
Can danger lurk within a kiss ?

Dear native brook! like Peace, so placidly
Smoothing through fertile fields thy current meek!
Dear native brook! where first young Poesy
Stared wildly-eager in her noontide dream!
Where blameless pleasures dimple Quiet's cheek,
As water-lilies ripple thy slow stream!
Dear native haunts! where Virtue still is gay,
Where Friendship’s fix'd star sheds a mellow'd ray,
Where Love a crown of thornless Roses wears,
Where soften'd Sorrow smiles within her tears;
And Memory, with a Vestal's chaste employ,
Unceasing feeds the lambent flame of joy!

Yon viewless Wanderer of the vale,
The Spirit of the Western Gale,
At Morning's break, at Evening's close
Inhales the sweetness of the Rose.
And hovers o'er the uninjured bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigor to the Zephyr's wing
Her nectar-breathing kisses fling;

And He the glitter of the Dew
Scatters on the Rose's hue.
Bashful, lo! she bends her head,
And darts a blush of deeper red!

From the pomp of sceptred state,
From the rebel's noisy hate.
In a cottaged vale She dwells
Listening to the Sabbath bells!
Still around her steps are seen
Spotless Honor's meeker mien,
Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
Sorrow smiling through her tears,
And, conscious of the past employ,
Memory, bosom-spring of joy

Too well those lovely lips disclose
The triumphs of the opening Rose ;
O fair! O graceful! bid them prove
As passive to the breath of Love.
In tender accents, faint and low,
Well-pleased I hear the whisper'd “ No!"
The whisper'd " No"—how little meant !
Sweet falsehood that endears consent !
For on those lovely lips the while
Dawns the soft-relenting smile,
And tempts with feign'd dissuasion coy
The gentle violence of Joy.




Poor little foal of an oppressed race!
I love the languid patience of thy face:
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy ragged coat, and pat thy head.
Bat what thy dulled spirits hath dismay'd,
That never thou dost sport along the glade ?
And (most unlike the nature of things young)
That earth ward still thy moveless head is hung?
Do thy prophetic fears anticipate,
Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate ?
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches

Which patient merit of the unworthy takes ?”
Or is thy sad heart thrillid with filial pain
To see thy wretched mother's shorten'd' chain ?
And truly, very piteous is her lot,
Chaind to a log within a narrow spot
Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting green!

When Youth his faery reign began
Ere sorrow had proclaim'd me man;
While Peace the present hour beguiled,
And all the lovely prospect smiled ;
Then, Mary! 'mid my lightsome glee
I heaved the painless Sigh for thee.
And when, along the waves of woe,
My harass'd heart was doom'd to know
The frantic burst of outrage keen,
And the slow pang that gnaws unseen;
Then shipwreck'd on life's stormy sea,
I heaved an anguish'd Sigh for thee!
But soon reflection's power impress'd
A stiller sadness on my breast ;
And sickly hope with waning eye
Was well content to droop and die :
I yielded to the stern decree,
Yet heaved a languid Sigh for thee!
And though in distant climes to roam,
A wanderer from my native home,
I fain would soothe the sense of Care
And lull to sleep the Joys that were !
Thy Image may not banish'd be-

Still, Mary! still I sigh for thee.
June, 1794.

Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
Pits—best taught by fellowship of woe!

For much I fear me that he lives like thee,
Half famish'd in a land of luxury!

ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
How askingly its footsteps hither bend ?

Death came with friendly care ;
It seems to say, “ And have I then one friend ?" The opening bud to Heaven convey'd,
Innocent Foal! thon poor despised forlorn!

And bado it blossom there.
I hail thee brother-spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the dell
Of peace and mild equality to dwell,
Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his Bride, LINES WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS
And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!

ROSS. How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,

FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF THE “MAN OF ROSS." And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay! Yea! and more musically sweet te me

RICHER than miser o'er his countless hoards, Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,

Nobler than kings, or king-polluted lords, Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest

Here dwelt the man of Ross! O Traveller, hear! The aching of pale fashion's vacant breast! Departed merit claims a reverent tear.

Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health,
With generous joy he view'd his modest wealth ;

He hears the widow's heaven-breath'd prayer of


He mark'd the shelter'd orphan's tearful gaze,
TELL me, on what holy ground

Or where the sorrow-shrivelld captive lay,
May Domestic Peace be found ?

Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noontide ray.
Balcyon Daughter of the skies,

Beneath this roof if thy cheer'd moments pass, Far on fearfiil wings she flies.

Fill to the good man s name one grateful glass



To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul, Remorse, the poison'd arrow in his side,
And Virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl.

And loud lewd Mirth, to anguish close allied :
But if, like me, through life's distressful scene, Till Frenzy, fierce-eyed child of moping pain,
Lonely and sad, thy pilgrimage hath been; Darts her hot lightning Nash athwart the brain.
And if thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught, Rest, injured shade! Shall Slander squatting near
Thou journeyest onward tempest-toss'd in thought; Spit her cold venom in a dead Man's ear?
Here cheat thy cares! in generous visions mell, "Twas thine to feel the sympathetic glow
And dream of goodness, thou hast never felt ! In Merit's joy, and Poverty's meek woe;

Thine all that cheer the moment as it flies,
The zoneless Cares, and smiling Courtesies.
Nursed in thy heart the firmer Virtues grew,

And in thy heart they wither'd! Such chill dew LINES TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A

Wan indolence on each young blossom shed;

And Vanity her filmy net-work spread,

With eye that rollid around, in asking gaze, ONCE more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wander- And tongue that traffick'd in the trade of praise. ing near,

Thy follies such! the hard world mark'd them well I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.

Were they more wise, the proud who never fell? Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours

Rest, injur'd shade! the poor man's grateful prayer With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers

On heavenward wing thy wounded soul shall bear (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn)

As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass, My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn. And sit me down upon its recent grass, For not through pathless grove with murmur rude With introverted eye I contemplate Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude ; Similitude of soul, perhaps of Fate! Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well, To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assign'd The Herinit-fountain of some dripping cell! Energic Reason and a shaping mind, Pride of the Vale! thy useful streams supply The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part, The scatter'd cots and peaceful hamlet nigh. And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart. The eläin tribe around thy friendly banks Sloth-jaundic'd all! and from my graspless hand With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks, Drop Friendshi's precious pearls, like hour-glass Released from school, their little hearts at rest,

Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast. I weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows,
The rustic here at eve with pensive look

A dreamy pang in Morning's feverish doze.
Whistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook,
Or, starting, pauses with hope-mingled dread

Is this piled earth our being's passless mound:
To list the much-loved maid's accustom'd tread :

Tell me, cold grave! is Death with poppies crown'd She, vainly mindful of her dame's command,

Tired sentinel! 'mid fitful starts I nod, Loiters, the long-fill'd pitcher in her hand.

And fain would sleep, though pillow'd on a clod!
Unboastful Stream! thy fount with pebbled falls
The faded form of past delight recalls,
What time the morning sun of Hope arose,
And all was joy; save when another's woes
A transient gloom upon my soul imprest,
Like passing clouds impictured on thy breast. TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A POEM ON
Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon,

Or silvery stole beneath the pensive Moon:
Ah! now it works rude brakes and thorns among, Much on my early youth I love to dwell,
Or o'er the rough rock bursts and foams along ! Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell,

Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale,
I heard of guilt and wonder'd at the tale!
Yet though the hours flew by on careless wing,

Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing.

Aye as the star of evening flung its beam

In broken radiance on the wary stream, WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER INDUCED BY CALUM. My soul amid the pensive twilight gloom

Mourn'd with the breeze, O Lee Boo!* o'er thy tomb

Where'er I wander'd Pity still was near, EDMUND! thy grave with aching eye 1 scan, Breathed from the heart and glisten'd in the tear. And inly groan for Heaven's poor outcast-Man!

No knell that tuld, but fill'd my anxious eye, "Tis tempest all or gloom: in early youth,

And suffering Natme wept that one should die !t If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth, We force to start amid her feign'd caress

Thus to sad sympathies I soothed my breast, Vice, siren-hag! in native ugliness ;

Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West : A brother's fate will haply rouse the tear,

When slumbering Freedom roused with high disdair And on we go in heaviness and sear!

With giant fury burst her triple chain! But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower Some pigmy Fody in a careless hour, The faithless guest shall stamp the enchanted ground • Lee Boo, the son of Abba Thule, Prince of the Pelew IslAnd mingled forms of Misery rise around :

ande, came over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the

small-pox, and is buried in Greenwich church-yard.-Seo Keate's Ileart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast,

Account. That courts the future woe to hide the past;

† Southey's Retrospect.


Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd ; Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul
Her banner: like a midnight meteor, flow'd ;

Wilder'd with meteor fires. Ah spirit pure'
Amid the yelling of the storm-rent skies!

That error's mist had left thy purged eye:
She came, and scatter'd battles from her eyes! So might I clasp thee with a mother's joy!
Then Exultation waked the patriot fire,
And swept with wilder hand the Alcæan lyre.
Red from the tyrant's wound I shook the lance,
And strode in joy the reeking plains of France !

Fallen is the oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low,

THOUGH roused by that dark Vizir, Riot rude And my heart aches, though Mercyʻstruck the blow. Have driven our Priest over the ocean swell With wearied thought once more I seek the shade, Though Superstition and her wolfish brood Where peaceful Virtue weaves the myrtle braid.

Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell ; And 0! if eyes whose holy glances roll,

Calm in his halls of brightness he sball dwell. Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul;

For lo ! Religion at his strong behest If smiles more winning, and a gentler mien

Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell, Than the love-wilder's Maniac's brain hath seen

And flings to earth her tinsel-glittering vest, Shaping celestial forms in vacant air,

Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy ; If these demand the impassion's poet's care

And Justice wakes to bid the Oppressor wail. If Mirth and soften'd Sense and Wit refined,

Insulting aye the wrongs of patient Folly: The blameless features of a lovely mind;

And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won, Then haply shall my trembling hand assign

Meek Nature slowly lists her matron veil
No fading wreath to beauty's saintly shrine.

To smile with fondness on her gazing son!
Nor, Sara! thou these early flowers refuse-
Ne'er lurk'd the snake beneath their simple hues ;
No purple bloom the child of nature brings

From Flattery's night-shade; as he feels, he sings.
September, 1792.

WHEN British Freedom for a happier land
Spread her broad wings, that flutter'd with affright,

ERSKINE! thy voice she heard, and paused her flight

Sublime of hope! For dreadless thou didst stand SONNET.

(Thy censer glowing with the hallow'd flame)

A hireless Priest before the insulted shrine,

And at her altar pour the stream divine
Content, as random Fancies might inspire,
If his weak harp at times, or lonely Tyre

Of unmatch'd eloquence. Therefore thy name He struck with desultory hand, and drew

Her sons shall venerate, and cheer thy breast Some soften’d tones to Nature not untrue.

With blessings heavenward breathed. And when Boroles.

the doom

Of Nature bids thee die, beyond the tomb My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles! for those soft Thy light shall shine : as sunk, beneath the West, strains,

Though the great Summer Sun eludes our gaze,
Whose sadness soothes me, bike the murmuring Still burns wide Heaven with his distended blaze.
Of wild-becs in the sunny showers of spring!
For hence not callous to the mourner's pains
Through youth's gay prime and thornless path I
went :

And when the mightier throes of man began,
And drove me forth, a thought-bewilder'd man!

It was some Spirit, SHERIDAN! that breathed lheir mild and manliest melancholy lent

O'er thy young mind such wildly various povier! A mingled charm, such as the pang consign'd

My soul hath mark'd thee in her shaping hour, To slumber, though the big tear it renew’d;

Thy temples with Hymettian flow'rets wreathed: Bidding a strange mysterious Pleasure brood

And sweet thy voice, as when o'er Laura's bior Over the wavy and tumultuous mind,

Sad music trembled through Vauclasa's gla lo; As the great Spirit erst with plastic sweep

Sweet, as at dawn the lovelorn serenade
Moved on the darkness of the unform'd deep.

That wafts soft dreams to Siumber's listening Buit
Now patriot rage and indignation high
Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beam


Meaning of Scorn and Wit's quaint revelry!

Writhes from the bosom-probing glance

The Apostate by the brainless rout adored, As late I lay in slumber's shadowy vale,

As erst that elder fiend beneath great Michael's sword With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise, I saw the sainted form of Freedom rise : She spake! not sadder moans the autumnal gale * Great Son of Genius! sweet to me thy name,

SONNET. Ere in an evil hour with alterd voice Thoan badst Oppression's hireling crew rejoice, O Wiat a loud and fearful shriek was there, Blasting with wizard spell my laurellid fame. As though a thousand souls one death-groan pour'd Yei never, Burke! thou drank'st Corruption's bowl! Ah me! they view'd beneaih a hireling's sword The stormy Pity and the cherish'd lure

Fallen Kosciusko! Through the burihend air с


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(As pauses the tired Cossack's barbarous yell

Of tri imph) on the chill and midnight gale
Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell

SWEET Mercy! how my very heart has bled The dirge of murder'd Hope! while Freedom pale To see thee, poor Old Man and thy gray hairs Bends in such anguish o'er her destined bier, Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one cares As if from eldest time sume Spirit meek

To clothe thy shrivell'd limbs and palsied head. Had gather'd in a mystic urn each tear

My Father! throw away this tatter'd vest That ever on a Patriot's furrow'd cheek

That mocks thy shivering! take my garment-use
Fit channel found ; and she had drain'd the bowl A young man's arm! I'll melt these frozen dews
In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul! That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast

My Sara 100 shall tend thee, like a Child:
And thou shalt talk, in our fire-side's recess,
Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretchedness.

He did not so, the Galilæan mild,

Who met the Lazars turn'd from rich men's doors,

And call'd them Friends, and heal'd their noisogie As when far off the warbled strains are heard

That soar on Morning's wing the vales among,
Within his cage the imprison'd matin bird
Swells the full chorus with a generous song:
He bathes no pinion in the dewy light,

No Father's joy, no Lover's bliss he shares,
Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight;

Thou bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress His Fellows' freedom soothes the Captive's cares :

Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile, Thou, FAYETTE! who didst wake with startling voice Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness.

And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while Life's better sun from that long wintry night, Thus in thy Country's triumphs shalt rejoice,

Why didst tnou listen to Hope's whisper bland ? And mock with rapiures high the dungeon's might: Or, listening, why forget the healing tale, For lo! the morning struggles into day,

When Jealousy with feverish fancies pale And Slavery's spectres shriek and vanish from the Jarr’d thy fine fibres with a maniac's hand?

Faint was that Hope, and rayless !—Yet 'twas fair ray!

And soothed with many a dream the hour of rest:
Thou shouldst have loved it most, when most opprest
And nursed it with an agony of Care,

Even as a Mother her sweet infant heir

That wan and sickly droops upon her breast!
l'Hou gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile,
Why hast thou left me? Still in some fond dream
Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile!

As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam :
What time, in sickly mood, at parting day

I lay me down and think of happier years ; SCHILLER! that hour I would have wished to die,
Of joys, that glimmer'd in Hope's twilight ray. If through the shuddering midnight I had sent
Then left me darkling in a vale of tears.

From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent O pleasant days of Hope-for ever gone!

That fearful voice, a famish'd Father's eryCould I recall you !-But that thought is vain. Lest in some after moment aught more mean Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone

Might stamp me mortal! A triumphant shout
To lure the fleet-wing'd travellers back again: Black Horror scream'd, and all her goblin rout
Yet fair, though faint, their images shall gleam Diminish'd shrunk from the more withering scene!
Like the bright rainbow on a willowy stream. Ah Bard tremendous in sublimity!

Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood
Wandering at eve with finely frenzied eye
Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood!

Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood:

Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy!
PALE Roamer through the Night; thou poor Forlorn!
Remorse that man on his death-bed possess,
Who in the credulous hour of tenderness

Betray'd, then cast thee forth to Want and Scorn!
The world is pitiless: the Chaste one's pride,

COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT ASCENT OP Mimic of Virtue, scowls on thy distress:

BROCKLEY COOMB, SOMERSETSHIRE, MAY, 1795 Thy loves and they, that envied thee, deride: With many a pause and ofl-reverted eye And Vice alone will shelter wretchedness!

I climb the Coomb's ascent : sweet songsters near O! I am sad to think, that there should be

Warble in shade their wild-wood melody:
Cold-bosom'd lewd ones, who endure to place Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear.
Foul viterings on the shrine of Misery,

Up scour the startling strugglers of the Flock
And force from Famine the caress of Love ; That on green plots o'er precipices browse :
May He shed healing on the sore disgrace, From the forced fissures of the naked rock
He, the great Comforter that sults above ! The Yew-tree bursts! Beneath its dark-green boughs

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