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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!



nitens, et roboris expers Turget et insolida est: at spe delectat.-Ovid.

Thy smiles I note, sweet early flower,
That peeping forth thy rustic bower
The festive news of earth dost bring,
A fragrant messenger of spring!
But tender blossom, why so pale?
Dost hear stern winter in the gale?
And didst thou tempt th' ungentle sky
To catch one vernal glance and die ?
Such the wan lustre sickness wears,
When health's first feeble beam appears ;
So languid are the smiles that soek
To settle on thy care-worn cheek!
When timorous hope the head uprears,
Sull drooping and still moist with tears,
If, through dispersing grief, be seen
Of bliss the heavenly spark serene.



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 lily on its stem;

O leave the rose upon the spray;
O leave the elder bloom, fair maids !

And listen to my lay.
A cypress and a myrtle-bough

This morn around my harp you twined,
Because it fashion'd mournfully

Its murmurs in the wind.
And now a tale of love and woe,

A woful tale of love I sing ;
Hark, gentle maidens, hark: it sighs

And trembles on the string.
But most, my own dear Genevieve,

It sighs and trembles most for thee!
O come and hear the cruel wrongs

Befell the Dark Ladie!

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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.)
All Christian Papishes to pay
That this unhappy conjuror may,
Instead of Hell, be put in Purgatory,-

For then there's hope ;-
Long live the Pope ! 1805.

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,
Have lived on easy terms, together
Yet if as soon as it is light,
O Rain! you will but take your flight,
Though you should come again to morrow,
And bring with you both pain and sorrow;
Though stomach should sicken, and knees should

I'll nothing speak of you but well.
But only for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!
Dear Rain! I ne'er refuse to say
You're a good creature in your way.
Nay, I could write a book myself,
Would fit a parson's lower shelf,
Showing how very good you are.-
What then? sometimes it must be fair,
And if sometimes, why not to-day?
Do go, dear Rain ! do go away!
Dear Rain! if I've been cold and shy,
Take no offence! I'll tell you why.
A dear old Friend e'en now is here,
And with him came my sister dear;
After long absence now first mel,
Long months by pain and grief beset
With three dear friends! in truth, we groan
Impatiently to be alone.
We three you mark! and not one more!
The strong wish makes my spirit sore.
We have so much to talk about,
So many sad things to let out;
So many tears in our eye-corners,
Sitting like little Jacky Horner-
In short, as soon as it is day, :
Do go, dear Rain! do go away.
And this I'll swear to you, dear Rain!
Whenever you shall come again,
Be you as dull as e'er you could;
(And by the bye 't is understood,
You're not so pleasant, as you 're good ;)
Yet, knowing well your worth and place,
'I'll welcome you with cheerful face;
And though you stay a week or more,
Were ten times duller than before ;
Yet with kind heart, and right good will,
I'll sit and listen to you still ;
Nor should you go away, dear Rain!
Uninvited to remain,
But only now, for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away.





I know it is dark; and though I have lain
Awake, as I guess, an hour or twain,
I have not once open’d the lids of my eyer,
But lie in the dark, as a blind man lies.
O Rain! that I lie listening to,

You're but a doleful sound at best :
I owe you little thanks, 't is true

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,


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;
She hid it not, she bared the breast,
Which suckled that divinest babe;
Blessed, blessed were the breasts
Which the Saviour infant kiss'd :
And blessed, blessed was the mother
Who wrapp'd his limbs in swaddling clothes,
Singing placed him on her lap,
Hung o'er him with her looks of love,
And soothed him with a lulling motion.
Blessed! for she shelter'd him
From the damp and chilling air ;-
Blessed, blessed! for she lay
With such a babe in one blest bed,
Close as babes and mothers lie!
Blessed, blessed evermore,
With her virgin lips she kiss'd,
With her arms, and to her breast,
She embraced the babe divine,
Her babe divine the virgin mother!
There lives not on this ring of earth
A mortal that can sing her praise!
Mighty mother, virgin pure,
In the darkness and the night
For us she bore the heavenly Lord.


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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.

The rose that blushes like the morn

Bedecks the valleys low;
And so dost thou, sweet infant corn,

My Angelina's 100
But on the rose there grows a thorn

That breeds disastrous woe;
And so dost thou, remorseless corn,
On Angelina's toe.


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