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And He the glitter of the Dew Scatters on the Rose's hue. Bashful, lo ! she bends her lead, And darts a blush of deeper red!
From the pomp of scepter'd state,
Too well those lovely lips disclose
THE SIGH. 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.
TO A YOUNG ASS. ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT. 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. But what thy dulled spirits hath dismay'd, That never thou dost sport along the glade? And (most unlike the nature of things young) That earthward 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 thrill'd with filial pain To see thy wretched mother's shorten'd chain ? And truly, very piteous is her lotChain'd to a log within a narrow spot Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen, While sweet around her waves the tempting green!
And when, along the waves of woe,
And though in distant climes to roam,
Still, Mary! still I sigh for thee.
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT. Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care ; The opening bud to Heaven convey'd
And bade it blossom there.
Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
LINES WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS, ROSS.
FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF THE « MAN OF ROSS.» PICHER than miser o'er his countless hoards, Nobler than kings, or king-polluted lords, Here dwelt the Man of Ross! O Traveller, hear! 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-breathed prayer of praise, He mark'd the shelter'd orphan's tearful gaze, Or where the sorrow-slirivell'd captive lay, Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noon-tide ray. Beneath this roof if thy cheer'd moments pass, Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass :
DOMESTIC PEACE. Tell me, on what holy ground May Domestic Peace be found? Halcyon Daughter of the skies, Far on fearful wings she flies,
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 Anguisha close allied : But if, like me, through life's distressful scene
Till Frenzy, fierce-eyed child of moping pain,
Darts her hot lightning flash athwart the brain.
'T was thine to feel the sympathetic glow And dream of goodness, thou hast never felt!
10 Merit's joy, and Poverty's meek woe;
The zoneless Cares, and smiling Courtesies.
Nursed in thy heart the firmer Virtues crew,
And in thy heart they wither'd! Such chill dew Once more, sweet Stream! with slow fool wandering Wan Indolence on each young blossom shed; near,
And Vanity her filmy net-work spread, I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.
that rollid around in asking gaze, Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours
And tongue that traffick'd in the trade of praise. With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers
Thy follies such ! the hard world mark'd them well! (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn)
Were they more wise, the proud who never fell? My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn.
Rest, injured shade! the poor man's grateful prayer For not through pathless grove with murmur rude On heaven-ward wing thy wounded soul shall bear. Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude;
As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass, Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well,
And sit me down upon its recent grass, The Hermil-fountain of some dripping cell!
With introverted eye I contemplate Pride of the Vale! thy useful streams supply
Similitude of soul, perhaps of-Fate! The scatter'd cots and peaceful hamlet nigh.
To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assign'd The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks
Energic Reason and a shaping mind, With infant uproar and soul-sooibing pranks,
The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part, Released from school, their liule hearts at rest,
And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart. Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast.
Sloth-jaundiced all! and from my graspless hand The rustic here at eve withi pensive look
Drop Friendship's precious pearls, like hour-glass sand. Whistling lorn dirties leans upon his crook,
weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows, Or, starting, pauses with hope-mingled dread
A dreamy pang in Morning's feverish doze.
Is this piled earth our being's passless mound?
Tell me, cold grave! is Death with poppies crown'd ?
And fain would sleep, though pillow'd on a clod!
TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A POEM ON THE
Much on my early youth I love to dwell,
I heard of guilt and wonder'd at the tale!
Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing.
Aye as the star of evening flung its beam
lu broken radiance on the wavy 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 toml).
Where'er I wander'd, Pity still was near, And inly groan for Heaven's poor outcast-Man! Breathed from the heart and glisten'd in the tear: 'I' is tempest all or gloom : in early youth,
No knell that tolld, but fill'd my anxious eye,
And suffering Nature wept that one should die! 2
Thus to sad sympathies I soothed my breast,
Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West : And on we go in heaviness and fear!
When slumbering Freedom roused with high disdain,
With giant fury burst her triple chain!
I Lee Boo, the son of Abba Thule, Prince of the Pelew Islands,
care over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the small-pox, Heart-fretling Fear, with pallid look aghast,
and is buried in Greenwich church-yard.-See KEATE's Account. That courts the future woe to liide the past;
· Souibey's Retrospect,
Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd; Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul
Wilder'd with meteor fires. Ah spirit pure!
That error's mist had left thy purged eye :
So might I clasp thee with a mother's joy!»
Thouge roused by that dark Vizir, Riot rude Fallen is the oppressor, friendless, ghasily, low,
Have driven our Priest o'er the ocean swell; And my heart aches, though Mercy struck the blow.
Though Superstition and her wolfislı brood With wearied thought once more I seek the shade,
Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell; Wbcre peaceful Virtue weaves the myrtle braid.
Calm in his halls of brightness he shall dwell! And 0! if eyes whose holy glances roll,
For lo! Religion at his strong behest Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul;
Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell, If smiles more winning, and a gentler mien
And flings to earth her tinsel-glittering vest, Than the love-wilder'd Maniac's brain hath seen
Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy; Shaping celestial forms in vacant air,
And Justice wakes to bid the Oppressor wail If these demand the empassion'd poet's care
Insulting aye the wrongs of patient Folly: If Mirth and softened Sense and Wit refined,
And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won, The blameless features of a lovely mind;
Meek Nature slowly lifts her matron veil
To smile with fondness on her gazing son!
When British Freedom for a happier land
Spread her broad wings, that flutter'd with affricht,
(Thy censer glowing with the hallow'd flame)
A hireless Priest before the insulted shrine,
And at her altar pour the stream divine
Of unmatch'd eloquence. Therefore thy name
Her sons shall venerate, and cheer thy breast
With blessings heaven-ward breathed. And when the
Of Nature bids (hee die, beyond the tomb My heart has thanked thee, Rowles! for those soft strains | Thy light shall shine : as sunk, beneath the West, Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring
Though the great Summer Sun eludes our gaze,
Still burns wide Heaven with his distended blaze,
It was some Spirit, SHERIDAN! that breathed Their mild and manliest melancholy lent
O'er thy young mind such wildly various power! A mingled charin, such as the pang consign'd
My soul hath mark'd thee in her shaping hour, To slumber, though the big tear it renewed;
Thy temples with Hymmettian flow'rets wreathed : Bidding a strange mysterious Pleasure brood
And sweet thy voice, as when o'er Laura's bier Over the wavy and tumultuous mind,
Sad music trembled through Vauclusa's glade; As the great Spirit erst with plastic sweep
Sweet, as at dawn the love-lorn serenade
That wafts soft dreams to Slumber's listening ear.
Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beams dance
Meanings of Scorn and Wil's quaint revelry!
Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance As late I lay in slumber's shadowy vale,
The Apostale by the brainless rout adored, With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise,
As erst that elder Fiend beneath great Michael's sword.
O what a loud and fearful shriek was there,
As though a thousand souls one death-groan pour'd! Yet never, Burke! thou drank'st Corruption's bowl ! Ah me! they view'd beneath a hireling's sword The stormy Pity and the cherished lure
Fallen Kosciusko! Through the burthen'd air
pauses the tired Cossack's barbarous yell Of triumph) on the chill and midnight gale Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell The dirge of murdered Hope! while Freedom pale Bends in such anguish o'er her destined bier, As if from eldest time some Spirit meek Had gathered in a mystic urn each tear That ever on a Patriot's furrow'd cheek Fit channel foiind; and she had draind the bowl In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul!
this tatter'd vest
young man's arm! I'll melt these frozen dews That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast. My Sara too 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 turp'd from rich man's doors, And called them Friends, and healed their noisome
As wlien far off the warbled strains are heard
SONNET. Tuou bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile, And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness. Why didst thou listen to Hope's wlrisper bland? Or, listening, why forget the healing tale, When Jealousy with feverish fancies pale Jarr'd thy fine fibres with a maniac's hand? Faint was that Hope, and rayless !--- Yet 't was fair 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!
TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ROBBERS. »
Thou gentle Look, that didst my
soul beguile, Why hast thou left mc? 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; Of joys, that glimmered in Ilope's twilight ray, Then left me darkling in a vale of tears. O pleasant days of llope-for ever gone! Could I recall you!-- But that thought is vain. Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone To lure the fleet-wing'd travellers back again : Yet fair, though faint, their images shall gleam Like the bright rainbow on a willowy stream.
Schiller! that hour I would have wish'd to die,
aloud in a wild ecstasy!
Pale Roamer through the Night! thou
poor Forlorn! Remorse that man on his death-bed
COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT ASCENT OF
BROCKLEY COOMB, SOMERSETSHJRE, MAY 1795. With many a pause and oft-reverted eye I climb the Coomb's ascent: sweet songsters near Warble in shade their wild-wood melody: Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear. Up scour the startling stragglers of the Flock That on green plots o'er precipices browze : From the forced fissures of the naked rock The Yew-tree bursts! Beneath its dark green bouglis
IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER.
('Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white)
IMITATED FROM OSSIAN. Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats, I rest :--and now have gain'd the topmost site.
Toe stream with languid murmur creeps, Ah! what a luxury of landscape meets
In Lumin's flowery vale : My gaze! Proud Towers, and Cots more dear to me,
Beneath the dew the Lily weeps,
Slow-waving to the gale.
u Cease, restless gale!, it seems to say,
Nor wake me with thy sighing !
The lionours of my vernal day
On rapid wing are flying.
Who late beheld me blooming:
His searching eye shall vainly roam
The dreary vale of Lumin.»
With eager gaze and wetted cheek
My wonted liaunts along, And fain to her some soothing song would write,
Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek Lest she resent my rude discourtesy,
The Youth of simplest song,
The voice of feeble power ;
And dwell, the Moon-beam of thy soul, Last night as I my weary head did pillow
In Slumber's nightly hour.
THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHOMA. « From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal boast,
How long will ye round me be swelling,
Oye blue-tumbling waves of the Sea ?
Not always in Caves was my dwelling, As night-closed Floweret to the orient ray,
Nor beneath the cold blast of the Tree. My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey."
Through the high-sounding halls of Cathlóma
In the steps of my beauty I strayed; But Love, who heard the silence of my thought,
The Warriors beheld Ninathóma, Contrived a too successful wile, I ween:
And they blessed the white-bosom'd Maid! And whisper'd to himself, with malice fraught, Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen:
A Ghost! by my cavern it darted! To-morrow shall he ken her alter'd mien!,
In moon-beams the Spirit was drestHe spake, and ambush'd lay, till on my bed
For lovely appear the departed The morning shot her dewy glances keen,
When they visit the dreams of When as l'gan to lift my drowsy liead
But, disturb'd by the Tempest's commotion, Now, Bard! I 'll work thee woe!» the laughing Elfin
Fleet the shadowy forms of Delightsaid.
Ab cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean !
To howl through my Cavern by Night. Sleep, softly-breathing God! his downy wing Was fluttering now, as quickly to depart; When twang'd an arrow from Love's mystic string,
IMITATED FROM THE WELSH. With pathless wound it pierced him to the heart. Was there some magic in the Elfin's dart?
ly, while my passion I impart,
You deem Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance?
words untrue, For straight so fair a Form did upwards start
O place your hand upon my heart(No fairer deck'd the Bowers of old Romance)
Feel how it throbs for you! That Sleep enamour'd grew, nor moved from his sweet trance!
Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim
Jn pity to your Lover! My Sara came, with gentlest look divine;
That thrilling touch would aid the flame
It wishes to discover.
TO AN INFANT.
sprang from Heaven! Such joys with Sleep did 'bide, Au cease thy tears and Sobs, my little Life! That I the living Image of my Dream
I did but snatch away the unclasp'd Knife: Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sighd
Some safer Toy will soon arrest thine eye 0! how shall I behold my Love at even-tide!» And to quick Laughter change this peevish cry!