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To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul, Remorse, the poison'd arrow in his side,
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 flash athwart the brain.
Thine all that cheer the moment as it flies,
And in thy heart they wither'd! Such chill de's LINES TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A
Wan indolence on each young blossom shed;
And Vanity her filmy nel-work spread,
With eye that rollid around, in asking gaze, ONCE more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wander- And tongue that traffick'd in the trade of praise. ing near,
Thy follies such! the hard world mark'd them well I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.
Were they more wise, the proud who never fell ? Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours Rest, injur'd shade! the poor man's grateful prayer With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers
On heavenward wing thy wounded soul shall bear (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn)
As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass, My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn. And sit me down upon its recent grass, For not through pathless grove with murmur rude With introverted eye I contemplate Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude; Similitude of soul, perhaps of Fate! Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well, To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assign'd The Hermit-fountain of some dripping cell! Energic Reason and a shaping mind, Pride of the Vale! thy useful streams supply The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part, The scatter'd cots and peaceful hamlet nigh. And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart. The ellin tribe around thy friendly banks Sloth-jaundic'd all! and from my graspless hand With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks, Drop Friendshi--'s precious pearls, like hour-glass Released from school, their little hearts at rest,
sand. Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast. I weep, yet stoop not! the saint anguish flows, The rustic here at eve with pensive look
A dreamy pang in Morning's feverish doze.
Is this piled earth our being's passless mounds To list the much-loved maid's accustom'd tread :
Tell me, cold grave! is Death with poppies crown'd She, vainly mindful of her dame's command, Tired sentinel! 'mid fitful starts I nod, Loiters, the long-fill'd pitcher in her hand.
And fain would sleep, though pillow'd on a clod! Unboastful Stream! thy fount with pebbled falls The faded form of past delight recalls, What time the morning sun of Hope arose, And all was joy; save when another's woes A transient gloom upon my soul imprest, Like passmg clouds impictured on thy breast.
TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A POEM ON Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon,
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
Where first, 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, 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 tomb
Where'er I wander'd Pity still was near, EDMUND! thy grave with aching eye 1 scan, Breathed from the heart and glisten'd in the tear And inly groan for Heaven's poor outcast-Man! No knell that willd, but fill'd my anxious eye, "Tis tempest all or gloom: in early youth,
And suffering Nature wept that one should die !1 If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth, We force to start amid her feign'd caress
Thus to sad sympathies I soothed my breast, Vice, siren-hag! in native ugliness ;
Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West : A brother's fate will haply rouse the tear,
When slumbering Freedom roused with high disdair. And on we go in heaviness and fear!
With giant fury burst her triple chain! But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower Some pigmy Foly in a careless hour, The faithless guest shall stamp the enchanted ground • Lee Boo, the son of Abba Thule, Prince of the Pelew 11And mingled forms of Misery rise around :
andy, came over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the Heart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast,
small-pox, and is buried in Greenwich churchryard.- See Keate's
Account. That courts the future woe to hide the past;
t Southey's Retrospect.
Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd ; Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul
That error's mist had left thy purged eye:
THOUGH roused by that dark Vizir, Riot rude And my heart aches, though Mercy struck the blow. Have driven our Priest over the ocean swell With wearied thought once more I seek the shade, Though Superstition and her wolfish brood Where peaceful Virtue weaves the myrtle braid.
Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell; And 0! if eyes whose holy glances roll,
Calm in his halls of brightness he shall dwell Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul;
For lo ! Religion at his strong behest If smiles more winning, and a gentler mien
Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell, Than the love-wilder'd Maniac's brain hath seen
And flings to earth her tinsel-glittering vest,
Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy ;
And Justice wakes to bid the Oppressor wail,
Insulting aye the wrongs of patient Folly: The blameless features of a lovely mind ;
And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won, Then haply shall my trembling hand assign
Meek Nature slowly lifts her matron veil
To smile with fondness on her gazing son!
When British Freedom for a happier land
ERSKINE! thy voice she heard, and paused her fligbt
Sublime of hope! For dreadless thou didst stand SONNET.
(Thy censer glowing with the hallow'd Aame) A hireless Priest before the insulted shrine,
And at her altar pour the stream divine Content, as random Fancies might inspire,
Of unmatch'd eloquence. Therefore thy name If his weak harp at times, or lonely Tyre He struck with desultory hand, and drew
Her sons shall venerate, and cheer thy breast Somo soften'd tones to Nature not untrue.
With blessings heavenward breathed. And when Bowles.
Of Nature bids thee die, beyond the tomb My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles! for those soft Thy light shall shine : as sunk, beneath the West, strains,
Though the great Summer Sun eludes our gaze,
It was some Spirit, SHERIDAN! that breathed
O'er thy young mind such wildly various power! A mingled charm, such as the pang consign'd
My soul hath mark'd thee in her shaping hour, To slumber, though the big lear it renewid;
Thy temples with Hymettian 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 gla lo; As the great Spirit erst with plastic sweep
Sweet, as at dawn the lovelorn serenade
That wafts soft dreams to Slumber's listening out
Meaning of Scorn and Wit's quaint revelry!
Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance
The A postate by the brainless rout adored, As late I lay in slumber's shadowy vale,
As erst that elder fiend beneath great Michael's sword With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise,
saw the sainted form of Freedom rise : She spake! not sadder moans the autumnal gale * Great Son of Genius! sweet to me thy name,
SONNET. Ere in an evil hour with alter'd voice Thou badst Oppression's hireling crew rejoice, O What a loud and fearful shriek was there, Blasting with wizard spell my laurelld fame. 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 sworl The stormy Pity and the cherish'il lure
Fallen Kosciusko! Through the burthen'd air
(As pauses the tired Cossack's barbarous yell
SWEET Mercy! how my very heart has bled The dirge of murder'd Ilope! while Freedom pale To see thee, poor Old Man! and thy gray hairs Bends in such anguish o'er her destined bier, Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one cares As if from eldest time some Spirit meek
To clothe thy shrivell'd limbs and palsied head. Had gather'd in a mystic urn each tear
My Father! throw away this tatter'd vest That ever on a Patriot's furrow'd cheek
That mocks thy shivering! take my garment-use
My Sara too shall tend thee, like a Child:
He did not so, the Galilæan mild,
Who met the Lazars turn'd from rich men's doors,
And call'd them Friends, and heal'd their noisome As when far off the warbled strains are heard
Thou bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress His Fellows' freedom soothes the Captive's cares :
Reasoning I ponder with a scornful sinile, Thou, Fayette! who didst wake with startling voice and probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while Life's better sun from that long wintry night,
Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness. Thus in thy Country's triumphs shalt rejoice,
Why didst inou listen to Hope's whisper bland? And mock with raptures high the dungeon's might: When Jealousy with feverish fancies pale
Or, listening, why forget the healing tale,
Faint was that Hope, and rayless!—Yer 't was fair ray!
And soothed with many a dream the hour of rest:
Even as a Mother her sweet infant heir
That wan ans' sickly droops upon her breast!
TO THE AUTHOR OF THE “ ROBBERS."
From the dark dungeon of the tower uime-rent O pleasant days of Hope-for ever gone!
That fearful voice, a famish'd Father's cryCould I recall you But that thought is vain. Lest in some after moment aught more mean Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone
Might stamp me morial! A triumphant shout
Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood
Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood :
Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy!
Pale Roamer throngh the Night; thou poor Forlorn!
COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT ASCENT OF The world is pitiless: the Chaste one's pride, BROCKLEY COOMB, SOMERSETSHIRE, MAY, 1795. Mimic of Virtue, scowls on thy distress : Thy loves and they, that envied thee, deride:
With many a pause and oft-reverted eye And Vice alone will shelter wretchedness!
I climb the Coomb's ascent: sweet songsters near O! I am sad to think, that there should be
Warble in shade their wild-wood melody : Cold-hosom'd lewd ones, who endure to place
Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear. Fcul offerings on the shrine of Misery,
Up scour the startling stragglers of the Flock And force from Famine the caress of Love ; That on green plots o'er precipices browse : May He shed healing on the sore disgrace,
From the forced fissures of the naked rock He, the great Comforter that rules above ! | The Yew-tree bursts! Beneath its dark green boughs
IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER
(Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white) Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats,
IMITATED FROM OSSIAN. I rest and now have gain'd the topmost site.
THE stream with languid murmur creeps, Ah! what a luxury of landscape meets
In Lumin's flowery vale:
Slow-waving to the gale.
« Cease, restless gale!" it seems to say,
“ Nor wake me with thy sighing ! The honors of my vernal day
On rapid wing are flying.
« To-morrow shall the Traveller come LINES
Who late beheld me blooming :
The dreary vale of Lumin."
With eager gaze and wetted cheek
My wonted haunts along, One quill withouten pain yoluck'd might be !
Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek For O! I wish my Sara's frowns to flee,
The Youth of simplest song.
But I along the breeze shall roll
The voice of feeble power;
And dwell, the moon-beam of thy soul, wight!
In Slumber's nightly hour.
THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHOMA
How long will ye round me be swelling, boast,
O ye blue-tumbling waves of the Sea ? Rejected Slumber! hither wing thy way;
Not always in Caves was my dwelling,
Nor beneath the cold blast of the Tree. But leave me with the matin hour, at most! As night-closed Floweret to the orient ray,
Through the high-sounding halls of Cathlóma
In the steps of my beauty I stray'd ; My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey.”
The Warriors beheld Ninathòma, But Love, who heard the silence of my thought,
And they blessed the white-bosom’d Maid! Contrived a too successful wile, I ween:
A Ghost! by my cavern it darted ! And whisperd to himself, with malice fraught
In moon-beams the Spirit was drest“ Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen :
For lovely appear the departed To-morrow shall he ken her alter'd mien!"
When they visit the dreams of my rest! He spake, and ambush'd lay, till on my bed
But, disturb'd by the Tempest's commotion, The morning shot her dewy glances keen,
Fleet the shadowy forms of DelightWhen as I 'gan to lift my drowsy head
Ah cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean! “Now, Bard! I'll work thee woo!” the laughing
To howl through my Cavern by Night. Elfin said. 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.
IF, while my passion I impart, Was there some magic in the Elfin's dart ?
You deem my words untrue, Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance ?
O place your hand upon my heart, For straight so fair a Form did upwards start
Feel how it throbs for you! (No fairer deck'd the Bowers of old Romance) That Sleep enamour'd grew, nor moved from his Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim, sweet trance !
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.
An 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 sigh'd- Some safer Toy will soon arrest thine eye, "O! how shall I behold mv Jove at eventide !" And to quick Laughter change this peevish »
You roused each gentler sense As, sighing o'er the Blossom's bloom, Meek Evening wakes its soft perfume
With viewless influence.
Poor Stumbler on the rocky coast of Woe,
And hark, my Love! The sea-breeze moans
In bold ambitious sweep,
With mimic thunders deep.
Dark reddening from the channell'd Isle* (Where stands one solitary pile
Unslated by the blast)
Rude cradled on the mast.
O thou that rearest with celestial aim
Even there—beneath that light-house tower-
Ere Peace with Sara came,
And watch the storm-vex'd flame.
But why with sable wand unbless'd
Dirn-visaged shapes of Dread?
And hovers round my head!
The tears that tremble down your cheek, Shall bathe my kisses chaste and meek
• The Ilolmes, in the Bristol Channe.