« AnteriorContinuar »
And when, along the waves of woe,
Poor little foal of an oppressed race!
But soon reflection's power imprest
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.
FOR IERLY THE HOUSE OF THE « MAN OF ROSS. »
Ricoer than miser o'er his countless hoards,
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 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 flashı aihwart the brain.
In Merit's joy, and Poverty's meek woe;
The zoneless Cares, and smiling Courtesies.
Nursed in thy heart the firmer Virtues grew,
And in thy heart they wither'd! Such chill dew Once more, sweet Stream! with slow foot 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 band 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 scalier'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-soothing 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 diities leans upon
weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish tlows, Or, starting, pauses with hope-mingled Jread
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 ? Unboastful Stream! thy fount with pebbled falls Tired sentinel! mid fitful starts I nod, The faded form of past delight recalls,
And fain would sleep, though pillow'd on a clod! What time the morning sun of Hope arose, And all was joy; save when another's woes A transient gloom upon my soul imprest,
TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A POEM ON THE Like passing clouds impictured on thy breast.
Much on my early youth I love to dwell,
Where beneath the echoing cloisters pale,
Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing.
Aye as the star of evening flung its beam
In broken radiance on the wavy stream,
My soul amid the pensive twilight gloom
Mourn'd with the breeze, O Lee Boo!'o'er thy tomb. EDMUND! thy grave with aching eye I scan,
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: 'T' is tempest all or gloom : in early youth,
No knell that tolld, but fill'd
anxious eye, If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth,
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, But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower
With giant fury burst her triple chain!
"Lee Boo, the son of Abba Thule, Prince of the Pelew Islands,
came over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the small-pox, Heart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast,
and is buried in Greenwich church-yard.--See KEATE's Account. That courts the future woe to liide die past;
· Southey'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 :
Though 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 wolfish brood With wearied thought once more I seek the shade, Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell; Wbere 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 affright,
(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 thee die, beyond the tomb My heart has thanked thee, Bowles! 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 mapliest melancholy lent
O'er thy young mind such wildly various power! A mingled charın, 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 Wit's quaint revelry! As late I lay in slumber's shadowy vale,
Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance
The Apostate 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 bow!! 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 found; and she had draind the bowl In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul!
SONNET. Sweet Mercy! how my very heart has bled To see thee, poor Old Man and thy grey hairs Hoar with the snowy blast : while no one cares To clothe thy shrivelled limbs and palsied head. My Father! throw away this latter'd vest That mocks thy shivering! take my garment-use A young man's arm! I'll melt thicse frozen dews That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast. My Sara too shall tend thee, like a Child: And thou shall 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 turo'd from rich man's doors, And called them Friends, and healed their noisome
As when far off the warbled strains are heard
Thou bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress
Tuou gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile, Why hast thou left me? Still in some fond dream
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 Hope'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.
TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ROBBERS. » Schiller! that hour I would have wish'd to die, If through the shuddering midnight I had sent From the dark dungeon of the lower time-rent That fearful voice, a famished Father's cryLest in some after moment aught more mean Might stamp me mortal! A triumphant shout Black Ilorror scream'd, and all her goblin rout Diminish'd shrunk from the more withering scene! Ah Bard tremendous in sublimily! 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!
('Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white)
IMITATED FROM OSSIAN.
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.
« Cease, restless gale!, it seems to say,
Nor wake me with thy sighing!
On rapid wing are flying.
« To morrow shall the Traveller come
Who late beheld me blooming : O Peace! that on a lilied bank dost love
His searching eye shall vainly roam
The dreary vale of Lumin.»
With eager gaze and wetted cheek
My wonted haunts 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, Rejected Slumber! hither wing thy way;
ye blue-tumbling waves of the Sea ? But leave me with the matin hour, at most!
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 Nipathóma, Contrived a too successful wile, 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 my rest! When as l'gan to lift my drowsy lead
But, disturb'd by the Tempest's commotion, Now, Bard! I 'll work thee woe!» the laughing Elfin Fleet the shadowy forms of Delightsaid.
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?
Ip, while my passion I impart,
You deem Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance?
my 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
In pity to your Lover!
That thrilling touch would aid the flame My Sara came, with gentlest look divine;
It wishes to discover.
TO AN INFANT.
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!