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The morn, the noon in play he pass'd,
In all the pomp of eastern state, But when the shades of evening came,
In all the eastern glory gay, No parent brought the due repast,
He bade, with native pride elate, And faintness seiz'd his little frame.
Each flower of humbler birth obey. By nature urg’d, by instinct led,
0, that the child unborn might hear, The bosom of a flower he sought,
Nor hold it strange in distant time, Where streams mourn'd round a mossy bed, That freedom e'en to flowers was dear, And violets all the bank enwrought.
To flowers that bloom'd in Britain's clime! Of kindred race, but brighter dies,
Through purple meads, and spicy gales, On that fair bank a Pansy grew,
Where Strymon's' silver waters play, That borrow'd froin indulgent skies
While far from hence their goddess dwells, A velvet shade and purple hue.
She rules with delegated sway.
With bigh demand and haughty mien: The stranger wonder'd to behold,
But equal claim a rival brought, And to its bounteous Losom flew,
A rival call’d the Meadow's Queen. Not fonder haste the lover speeds,
" Iv climes of orient glory born, At evening's fall, his fair to meet;
Where beauty first and empire grew; When o'er the hardly-bending meads
Where first unfolds the golden morn, He springs on more than mortal feet.
Where richer falls the fragrant dew: Nor glows his eyes with brighter glee,
“ In light's ethereal beauty drest, When stealing near her orient breast,
Behold,” he cried, “ the farour'd flower, Than felt the fond enamour'd bee,
Which Flora's high commands invest When first the golden bloom he prest.
With ensigns of imperial power ! Ah! pity much his youth untry'd,
“ Where prostrate vales, and blushing meads, His heart in beauty's magic spell !
And bending mountains own his sway, So never passion thee betide,
While Persia's lord his empire leads, But where the genial virtues dwell.
And bids the trembling world obey ; In vain he seeks those virtnes there;
“ While blood bedews the straining bow, No soul-sustaining charms abound :
And conquest rends the scatter'd air, No honey'd sweetness to repair
'Tis mine to bind the victor's brow, The languid waste of life is found.
And reign in envy'd glory there. Ao aged bee, whose labours led
“ Then lowly bow, ye British flowers! Thro' those fair springs, and meads of gold,
Confess your monarch's mighty sway, His feeble wing, bis drooping bead
And own the only glory yours, Beheld, and pitied to behold.
When fear flies trembling to obey." “ Fly, fond adventurer, fly the art
He said, and sudden o'er the plain, That courts thine eye with fair attire;
From flower to flower a murmur ran, Who smiles to win the heedless heart,
With modest air, and milder strain, Will smile to see that heart expire.
When thus the Meadow's Queen began : " This modest flower of humbler hue,
" If vain of birth, of glory vain, That boasts no depth of glowing dyes,
Or fond to bear a regal name, Array'd in unbespangled blue,
The pride of folly brings disdain, The simple clothing of the skies
And bids me urge a tyrant's claim : " This power, with balmy sweetness blest, “ If war my peaceful realms assail, May yet thy languid life renew:"
And then, unmov'd by pity's call, He sail, and to the Violet's breast
I smile to see the bleeding vale,
Or feel one joy in Nature's fall,
Pursue her queen with gen'rous strife,
Nor leave the hand of lawless power
Such compass on the scale of life. THE QUEEN OF THE MEADOW “ One simple virtue all my pride! AND THE CROWN IMPERIAL. The wish that flies to inis'ry's aid;
The balm that stops the crimson tide, From Bactria's vales, where beauty blows
And heals the wounds that war has made." Luxuriant in the genial rar; Where Aowers a bolder gem disclose,
Their free consent by zeplıyrs borne, And deeper drink the golden day.
The flowers their Meadow's Queen obey;
And fairer blushes crown'd the morn,
And sweeter fragrance fill'd the day.
The Ionian Strymon."
? The property of that flower.
“ 'Tis Nature pleading in the breast,
Fair memory of her works to find;
She claims the monumental mind.
Would thus the letter'd sage explore,
And on the doubtful sculpture pore?
Through death's dim walks to urge his way,
And lead oblivion into day?
Unmov'd, to range through death's domain :
Her children's story told again.
If haply near these haunts he stray;
That bloom to cheer his lonely way."
THE WALL-FLOWER. ** Why loves my flower, the sweetest flower
That swells the golden breast of May, Thrown rudely o'er this ruin'd tower,
To waste her solitary day? " Why, when the mead, the spicy vale,
The grove and genial garden call, Will she ber fragrant soul exhale,
Unheeded on the lonely wall? * For never suure was beauty born
To live in death's deserted shade! Come, lovely flower, my banks adorn,
My banks for life and beauty made." Thus Pity wak'd the tender thonght,
And by ber sweet persuasion led, To seize the hermit-flower I sought,
And bear her from her stony bed. I sought-but sudden on mine ear
A voice in hollow murmurs broke, And smute my heart with holy fear
The Genius of the Ruin spoke. “ From thee be far th’ungentle deed,
The honours of the dead to spoil, Or take the sole remaining meed,
The flower that crowns their foriner toil! " Nor deem that flower the garden's foe,
Or fond to grace this barren shade; "ris Nature tells her to bestow
Her honours on the lonely dead. « For this, obedient zephyrs bear
Her light seeds round yon turret's mould, And undispers’d by tempests there,
They rise in vegetable gold. " Nor shall thy wonder wake to see
Such desert scenes distinction crave; Oft hare they been, and oft shall be
Truth's, Honour's, Valour's, Beauty's grave. “Where longs to fall that rifted spire,
As weary of th' insulting air;
The lover's sighs are sleeping there.
Borne dowo by some tempestuous sky, And many a slumbering cottage round
Startles-how still their hearts will lie! “ Of them who, wrapt in earth so cold,
No more the smiling day shall view, Should many a tender tale be told;
For many a ter.der thought is due. “ Hast thou not seen some lover pale,
When evening brought the pensive hour, Step slowly o'er the shadowy vale,
And stop to pluck the frequent flower ? “ Those flowers he surely meant to strew
On lost affection's lowly cell;
Forgotten, from his hand they fell. “ Has not for thee the fragrant thorn
Been taught her first rose to resign? With rain but pious fondness borne
To deck thy Nancy's honour'd shrine !
A gaily-painted Tulip stood,
Survey'd her beauties in the flood.
Might nothing meet the wistful eye,
In streaks of fairest symmetry.
Ah me! that pride with beauty dwells !
And thus in empty fancy swells :
Fair painting of a hand divine !
The hues of Heav'n alone are mine!
Ye weeds, that boast the name of flowers ?
Unmeet for tribes so mean as yours !
Associate with the shrubs of Earth?
Respect her beauties and her birth.
Shalt thou my shining sphere invade?
Obscur'd beneath thy dusky shade !”
Shall we thy moment's bloom adore?
The meanest flower bas merit more.
Shall last along the changing year;
And bid the smiling Spring appear.
“ The violet, that, those banks beneath,
Through those fair scenes we'll wander wild, Hides from thy scorn its modest head,
And on yon pastur'd mountains rest; Shall fill the air with fragrant breath,
Come, brother dear! come, Nature's child ! When thou art in thy dusty bed.
With all her simple virtues blest. “ E'en I, who boast no golden shade,
The Sun far-seen on distant towers, Am of no shining tints possess'd,
And clouding groves and peopled seas, When low thy lucid form is laid,
And ruins pale of princely bowers Shall bloom on many a lovely breast.
On Beachb'rough's airy heights shall please. " And he, whose kind and fostering care
Nor lifeless there the lonely scene; To thee, to me, our beings gave,
The little labourer of the hive, Shall near his breast my flowrets wear,
From fower to flower, from green to green, And walk regardless o'er thy grave.
Murmurs and makes the wild alive, “ Deluded flower, the friendly screen
See, on that flowret's velvet breast That hides thee from the noon-tide ray,
How close the busy vagrant lies ! And mocks thy passion to be seen,
His thin-wrought plume, his downy breast, Prolongs thy transitory day.
Th'ambrosial gold that swells his thighs ! " But kindly deeds with scorn repaid,
Regardless, while we wander near, No more by virtue need be done:
Thrifty of time, his task be plies ; I now withdraw my dusky shade.
Or sees he no intruder near? And yield thee to thy darling Sun.”
And rest in sleep bis weary eyes? Fierce on the flower the scorching beam
Perhaps his fragrant load may bind With all its weight of glory feil;
His limbs ;-we'll set the captive free-The Rower exulting caught the gleam,
I sought the living Bee to bind, And lent its leaves a bolder swell.
And found the picture of a Bee. Expanded by the searching fire,
Attentive to our tribing selves, The curliog leaves the breast disclos'd;
From thence we plan the rule of all; The mantling bloom was painted higher,
Thus Nature with the fabled elves And every latent charm expos’d.
We rank, and these her sports we call. But when the Sun was sliding low
Be far, my friend, from you, from me, And ev'ning came, with dews so cold;
Th’uvhallow'd term, the thought profane, The wanton beauty ceas'd to blow,
That life's majestic source may be And sought her bending leaves to fold.
idle fancy's triping vein. Those leaves, alas! no more would close; Remember still, 'tis Nature's plan Relax'd, exhausted, sick’ning, pale,
Religion in your love to find; They left her to a parent's woes,
And know, for this, she first in man
Inspir'd the imitative mind.
Pleas'd with the pencil's mimic power,
That power with leading hand she shows,
And paints a Bee upon a flower.
Mark, how that rooted mandrake wears
His human feet, his human hauds ! This waste of flowers that palls the eye ;
Oft, as his shapely form ho rears, The walks of Nature's wilder reign
Aghast the frighted ploughman stands. Shall please in plainer majesty.
See where, in yonder orient stone,
She seems e'en with herself at strife,
While fairer from her hand is shown
The pictur'd, than the native life.
Helvetia's rocks, Sabrina's wares,
Still many a shining pebble bear,
Where oft her studious band engraves " This is a species of the orchis, which is found
The perfect form, and leaves it there. in the barreu and mountainous parts of Lincolushire, Worcestershire, Kent, and Herefordshire. O long, my Paxton), boast ber art; Nature has formed a bee apparently feeding on And long her laws of love fulfil: the breast of a flower with so much exactness, To thee she gave her hand and heart, that it is impossible at a very small distance to To thee, her kindness and her skill! distinguish the imposition. For this purpose she has observerl an economy different from what is The well-known fables of the Painter aod the found in most other flowers, and bas laid the Statuary that fell in love with objects of tbeir petals horizontally. The genius of the orchis, or own creation, plainly arose from the idea of that satyrion,she seems professedly to have madeuse of attachment, which follows the imitation of for her paintings, and on the different species has agreeable objects, to the objects imitated. drawn the perfect forms of different insects, such 3 Au ingenious portrait-painter in Rathbone as vees, lies, butterflies, &c.
Whatever charms the ear or eye,
All beauty and all harmony; THE WILDING AND THE BROOM. If sweet sensations these produce, Ix yonder green wood blows the broom; I know they have their moral use; Shepherds we'll trust our flocks to stray.
I know that Nature's charms can move
The springs that strike to virtue's love.”'
THE MISLETOE AND THE PASSION. We'll learn to breathe the tender vow,
In this dim eave a druid sleeps,
Where stops the passing gale to moan; Who left her smiling works imprest
The rock he hollow'd o'er him weeps, In characters that cannot fade ;
And cold drops wear the fretted stone. That he might leave his lowly shrine,
In this dim cave, of diff'rent creed, Tho' softer there the seasons fall
An hermit's holy ashes rest :
The school-boy finds the frequent bead,
Which many a formal matin blest,
That truant-time full well I know,
When here I brought, in stolen hour,
The druid's magic misletoe,
The holy hermit's passion-flower.
Pensive I laid, in thought profound.
Issued, and froze me to the ground. His drowsy cells, and yields us to the day.
I hear it still-dost thou not bear?
Does not thy haunted fancy start?
The sound still vibrates through mine ear,
The horrour rushes on my heart, Of Autumn, gathers heedful-Thee whose rites At Nature's shrine with holy care are paid Unlike to living sounds it came, Daily and nightly, boughs of brightest green, Unmix'd, unmelodis'd with breath; And every fairest rose, the god of groves, But, grinding through some scrannel frame, The queen of flowers, shall sweeter save for thee. Creak'd from the bony lungs of death. Yet pot if beauty only claim thy lay,
I hear it still—“ Depart,” it cries; Tnpefully trifling. Fair philosophy,
" No tribute bear to shades unblest : And Nature's love, and every mortal charm
Know, here a bloody druid lies,
Who was not nors'd at Nature's breast,
- Associate he with demons dire, With truth resistless, beaming from the source
O'er human victims held the knife, Of perfect light immortal-Vainly boasts
And pleas'd to see the babe expire, That golden Broom its sunny robe of flowers: Smild grimly o'er its quiv’ring life. Fair are the sunny flowers; but, fading soon “Behold his crimson-streaming hand And fruitless, yield the forester's regard
Erect !-his dark, fix'd, murd'rous eye!” To the well-loaded wilding-Shepherd, there In the dim cave ) saw bim stand; Behold the fate of song, and lightly deemn
And my heart died—I felt it die. Of all but inoral beauty."
I see him still-Dost thou not see “Not in vain"
The haggard eye-ball's hallow glare? I hear my Hamilton reply.
And gleams of wild ferocity (The torch of fancy in his eye)
Dart through the sable shade of hair? " 'Tis not in vain,” I hear him say, "That Nature paints her works so gay ;
What meagre form behind bim mores,
With eye that rues th' invading day;
that Yet still we love her lavish bloom.
The mind to pale remorse a prey?
What wretched-Hark--the voice replies,
“ Boy, bear these idle honours hence ! Along the dark wood scatter day.
For, here a guilty hermit lies, “Of moral uses take the strife;
Untrue to Nature, Virtue, Sense. Leave me the elegance of life.
“ Though Nature lent him powers to aid
The moral cause, the mutual weal ; William Hamilton of Bangour.
Those powers he sunk in this dim shade,
The desp’rate suicide of zeal. TOL, XYI.
FOR THE COUNTY OF SOMERSET.
“Go, teach the drone of saintly haunts,
Despising still, their freeborn souls unbroke, Whose cell's the sepulchre of time;
Alike the Gallic and Ligurian yoke. Though many a holy hymn he chants,
Yet while the patriot's gen'rous rage we share, His life is one continu'd crime.
Still civil safety calls us back to care ;
To Britain lost in either Henry's day, “ And bear them hence, the plant, the flower
Her woods her mountains one wild scene of prey ! No symbols those of systems vain !
Fair Peace from all her bounteous rallies fled, They have the duties of their hour;
And Law beneath the barbed arrow bled. Some bird, some insect to sustain."
In happier days, with more auspicious fate,
Dread of his foes, but to his subjects dear,
Their laurell'd prince with British pride obey,
His glory shone their discontent away.
With care the tender flower of love to sare,
And plant the olive on Disorder's grave,
He caught the fav’riug calm and falling tide,
THE APPOINTMENT, AND ITS PURPOSES.
To cherish peace, to cultivate respect; DEAR SIR,
The rich from wanton cruelty restrain, A roem written professedly at To smooth the bed of penury and pain ; your request, naturally addresses itself to you. The hapless vagrant to his rest restore,
The distinction you have acquired on the subject, The maze of fraud, the haunts of theft explore ; and your taste for the arts, give that address The thoughtless maiden, when subdu'd by art, every kind of propriety. If I have any particu- To aid, and bring her rover to her beart; Jar satisfaction in this publication, beside what Wild riot's voice with dignity to quell, arises from my compliance with your commands, Forbid unpeaceful passions to rebel, it must be in the idea of that testimony it bears Wrest from revenge the meditated barm, to our friendship. If you believe that I am more
For this fair Justice rais'd her sacred arm; concerned for the duration of that than of the
For this the rural magistrate, of yore,
ANCIENT JUSTICE'S HALL.
Oft, where old Air in conscious glory sails,
On silver waves that flow thro'smiling sales,
THE AUTHOR. In Harewood's groves, where long my youth was Somersetshire,
laid, April 25, 1774.
Unseen beneath their ancient world of shade,
In Gothic guise such mansion bave I found.
Nor lightly deem, ye apes of modern race,
Ye cits that sore bedizen Nature's face, In Richard's days, when lost his pastur'd plain,
Of the more manly structures here ye view; The wand'ring Briton sought the wild wood's
They rose for greatness that ye never knew ! With great disdain beheld the feudal bord, [reign,
Ye reptile cits, that oft have mov'd my spleen,
With Venus, and the Graces on your green ! Poor life-let vassals of a Norman lord;
Let Plutus, growling o'er his ill-got wealth,
Let Mercury,the thriving god of stealth,
The shopman, Janus, with his double looks,
But, spare my Venus, spare each sister Grace,
Ye cits, that sore bedizen Nature's face. His bow upstrung, his little household laid, Some brave forefather; while his fields they would lay the realms of Sense and Nature
Ye royal architects, whose antic taste, share,
waste ; By Saxon, Dane, or Norman, banish'd there! And think he tells thee, as his soul withdraws,
Forgot, whenever from her steps ye stray, As his heart swel's against a tyrant's laws,
That folly only points each other way ;
Here, tho' your eye no courtly creature sees; The war with fate, though fruitless to maintain, To guard that liberty he lov'd in vain.
Snakes on the ground, or monkies in the trees; Were thoughts like these the dreams of ancient Yet let not too severe a censure fall, Peculiar only to some age, or clime? [time?
On the plain precincts of the ancient hall. And does not Nature thoughts like these impart, of Thibet's dogs, or China's perroquets;
For tho' no sight your childish fancy meets, Breathe in the soul, and write upon the heart? Ask on their mountain yon deserted band,
Tho' apes, asps, lizards, things without a tail, That point to Paoli with no plausire hand;
And all the tribes of foreign monsters fail;