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ON AN AMOROUS DOCTOR. From Rufa's eye sly Cupid shot his dart, And left it sticking in Sengrado's heart. No quiet from that moment has he known, And peaceful sleep has from his eyelids flown; And opium's force, and what is more, alack ! His own oration's, cannot bring it back: In short unless she pities his afflictions, Despair will make him lake his own prescriptions.
TRANSLATION. DEPART in joy from this world's noise and strife To the deep quiet of celestial life! Depart! - Affection's self reproves the tear Which falls, O honour'd Parent! on thy bier ;Yet Nature will be heard, the heart will swell, And the voice tremble with a last Farewell!
TO A PRIMROSE,
(THE FIRST SEEN IN THE SEASON.).
nitens, et roboris expers Turget et insolida est: at spe delectat.-Ovid.
Thy smiles I note, sweet early flower,
INTRODUCTION TO THE TALE OF THE
DARK LADIE. The following poem is intended as the introduction to a somewhat longer one. The use of the old ballad word Ladie for Lady, is the only piece of obsoleteness in it; and as it is professedly a tale of ancient times, I trust that the affectionate lovers of venerable antiquity, as Camden says, will grant me their pardon, and perhaps may be induced to admit a force and propriety in it. A heavier objection may be adduced against the author, that in these times of fear and expectation, when novelties explode around us in all directions, he should presume to offer to the public a silly tale of old-fashioned love: and five years ago, I own I should have allowed and felt the force of this objection. But alas! explosion after explosion has succeeded so rapidly, that novelty itself ceases to appear new; and it is possible that now, even a simple story wholly uninspired with politics or personality, may find some attention amid the hubbub of revolutions, as to those who have remained a long time by the falls of Niagara, the lowest whispering becomes distinctly audible.
O leave the rose upon the spray;
And listen to my lay.
This morn around my harp you twined,
Its murmurs in the wind.
A woful tale of love I sing ;
And trembles on the string.
It sighs and trembles most for thee!
Befell the Dark Ladie!
EPILOGUE TO THE RASH CONJUROR.
IN NETHER STOWEY CHURCH.
AN UNCOMPOSED POEM.
LETUs abi; mundi strepitu curisque remotus,
Lætus abi! cæli qua vocat alma quies. Ips Fides loquitur, lacrymanque incausat inamen,
Quæ cadit in restros, care pater, cineres. Heu! tantum liceat meritos hos soliere ritus Et longum tremula dicere voce, vale !
We ask and urge—(here ends the story.)
For then there's hope ;-
PSYCHE. The butterfly the ancient Grecians made The soul's fair emblem, and its only nameBut the soul escaped the slavish trade of mortal life !-For in this earthly frame Ours is the reptile's lot, much toil, much blame, Manifold motions making little speed, And to deform and kill the things whereon we feed.
COMPLAINT. How seldom, Friend ! a good great man inherits Honor or wealth, with all his worth and pains! It sounds like stories from the land of spirits, If any man obtain that which he merits, Or any merit that which he obtains.
REPROOF. FOR shame, dear Friend! renounce this canting strain! What would'st thou have a good man to oblain? Place-titles-salary--a gilded chainOr throne of corses which his sword hath slain Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends! Hath he not always treasures, always friends, The great good man —three treasures, love, and light, And calm thoughts, regular as infant's breath ;And three firm friends more sure than day and night, Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.
Since body of mine and rainy weather,
AN ODE TO RAIN.
COMPOSED BEFORE DAY-LIGHT, ON THE MORNING
APPOINTED FOR THE DEPARTURE OF A VERY WORTHY, BUT NOT VERY PLEASANT VISITOR, WHOM IT WAS FEARED THE RAIN MIGHT DETAIN.
I know it is dark; and though I have lain
You're but a doleful sound at best :
For breaking thus my needful rest, Yet if, as soon as it is light, O Rain! you will but take your flight, I'll neither rail, nor malice keep, Though sick and sore for want of sleep. But only now for this one day, Do go, dear Rain ! do go away! O Rain! with your dull two-fold sound, The clash hard by, and the murmur all round! You know, if you know aught, that we, Both night and day, but ill agree : For days, and months, and almost years, Have limp'd on through this vale of tears,
TRANSLATION OF A PASSAGE IN OTTFRIED'S METRICAL PARAPHRASE
OF THE GOSPELS. « This Paraphrase, written about the time of Cħar. Jemagne, is by no means deficient in occasional pas sages of considerable poetic merit. There is a flow. and a tender enthusiasm in the following lines (at the conclusion of Chapter V.), which even in the translation will not, I fatter myself, fail to interest the reader. Ottfried is describing the circumstances im. mediately following the birth of our Lord."— Biog. Lil vol. i. p. 203.
Mourn for the universal woe,
With solemn dirge and falt'ring tongue; For England's Lady laid full low,
So dear, so lovely, and so young. The blossoms on her tree of life
Shone with the dews of recent bliss; Translated in that deadly strife,
She plucks its fruit in Paradise. Mourn for the prince, who rose at morn
To seek and bless the firstling bud Of his own rose, and found the thorn
Its point bedew'd with tears of blood. Mourn for Britannia's hopes decay'd ;
Her daughters wail their deep defence, Their fair example, prostrate laid,
Chaste love, and fervid innocence !
She gave with joy her virgin breast;
O Thou! who mark'st the monarch's path,
To sad Jeshurum's sons attend ! Amid the lightnings of thy wrath
The showers of consolation send! Jehovah frowns !-- The Islands bow,
The prince and people kiss the rod! Their dread chast'ning judge wert thou Be thou their comforter, oh God!
" Most interesting is it to consider the effect, when the feelings are wrought above the natural pitch by the belief of something mysterious, while all the images are purely natural; then it is that religion and poetry strike deepest." Biog. Lil. vol. i. p. 204.
Bedecks the valleys low;
My Angelina's 100
That breeds disastrous woe;