FAREWELL, ye lucid streams and mountains hoar,
Where oft by fair Emilia's side I stray'd;
Farewell each flow'ry lawn, each fragrant shade,
For I must tread your verdant haunts no more;
Condemn'd to wander on a distant shore:
Yet the dear image of the lovely maid
Lives in my heart by Fancy's hand pourtray'd,
Though every joy and every hope is o'er.
But, oh! ye pangs that rend this tortur'd breast,
Mine be ye all-her gentle bosom spare ;
Eternal exiles from that heav'n of rest
Be piercing anguish and corroding care;
May sweet Content remain a constant guest,
And Peace for ever dwell an inmate there.
WRITTEN AT EAGLEHURST, IN THE NEW FOREST, HANTS, OCTOBER 10, 1790.
Britannia's Fleet majestic ride!
Where, as her flags in many a fold
Float high in ether's ambient tide,
Warm Courage beams from every eye,
Stern Indignation's pulse beats high,
And, kindling at the warlike sight,
Vengeance, with firm but temperate voice,
Responsive to a Nation's choice,
Demands the promis'd fight.
How mild the sun's meridian's rays!
How blue the Heavens! how soft the breeze
That o'er the waving forest plays,
And gently curls the rippling seas!
But soon November's wint'ry hour,
Arm'd with the Tempest's tyrant power,
Shall rouse the clouds' embattled host,
Sweep from the woods their leafy pride,
And dash the wave's infuriate tide
Against the howling coast!
So in each Ship's stupendous womb,
Now gently floating on the deep,
Peaceful, as in the silent tomb,
The Demons of Destruction sleep;
But wak'd by War's terrific roar,
Prompt o'er each desolated shore
Their heli-directed flight to urge,
And leading Slaughter's horrid train,
With hecatombs of warriors slain,
To load th' empurpled surge!
What though at proud Iberia's chiefs
The spear of vengeauce Britain aims,
Shall she not mourn a people's griefs,
Their dying sons, their weeping dames?— Nor shall she ev'n with tearless eye
Yon gallant Navy e'er descry
Returning o'er the western flood,
For, ah! the laurel's greenest bough
That ever crown'd Victoria's brow
Is surely ting'd with blood!
Though blaze the splendid fires around,
Though Arcs of Triumph proudly rise,
Though Fame her loudest pæan sound,
And notes of conquest rend the skies,
Alas! in some sequester'd cell
Her slaughter'd lover's funeral knell
In every shout the virgin hears!
And as the strain of victory flows,
More swell the widow'd matron's woes,
And faster fall her tears!
Though from this cliff while Fancy views
Yon squadrons darken half the main,
She dress in Glory's brightest hues
The pride of Albion's naval reign,
Yet, as Reflection's mirror shows
Th' attendant scene of death and woes,
Th' exulting hopes of conquest cease,
She turns from War's delusive form
To deprecate th' impending storm,
And breathes her vows for Peace.
TELL me, *******, good and fair,
Why you urge me thus to swear?
Say, what oaths are strong to bind
Changes of the feeble mind?
Say, what promises can tie
Rovings of the vagrant eye?
Trust not bonds so weak as these,
Arm'd with every power to please;
Cheeks that glow like opening day;
Eyes where humid lightnings play;
Locks, in auburn curls, that break
Lovely o'er your ivory neck.
Or should these to keep me fail,
Truth and Virtue must avail;
Gentle Meekness, void of art,
Sense to charm and fix the heart:
Whom such merits can't retain,
Vows and oaths would hold in vain.
WHERE Tweed's pellucid waters glide
Through Tiviot's verdant glades,
Close by the brink whose shelter'd side
The pliant osier shades,
Montgomery dwelt, a noble youth
Of Cambria's ancient race;
But, ah! his sires' unsullied truth
Was paid with foul disgrace.
Hence exil'd from their native hills,
They sought a stranger land,
And fix'd beside the silver rills
That water Scotia's strand;
Honour'd by Caledonia's lord,
His wars they often wage;
And oft Montgomery's youthful sword
Had stemm'd the battle's rage.
His dome one lovely sister grac❜d,
Matilda, heavenly fair;
In ringlets to her slender waist
Soft flow'd her nut-brown hair.
Through the long sable lash her eyes
Their azure beams disclose;
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