MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

TO A BOY,

WITH A WATCH.

Written for a Friend.

Is it not sweet, beloved youth,

To rove through Erudition's bowers,
And cull the golden fruits of truth,
And gather Fancy's brilliant flowers?

And is it not more sweet than this,

To feel thy parents' hearts approving, And pay them back in sums of bliss

The dear, the endless debt of loving?

It must be so to thee, my youth;
With this idea toil is lighter;

This sweetens all the fruits of truth,
And makes the flowers of fancy brighter?

The little gift we send thee, boy,

May sometimes teach thy soul to ponder, If indolence or syren joy

Should ever tempt that soul to wander.

'Twill tell thee that the winged day

Can ne'er be chain'd by man's endeavour;

That life and time shall fade away,

While heaven and virtue bloom for ever!

FRAGMENT OF COLLEGE EXERCISES.

"Nobilitas sola est atque unica virtus.”—Juv.

MARK those proud boasters of a splendid line,
Like gilded ruins, mouldering while they shine,
How heavy sits that weight of alien show,
Like martial helm upon an infant's brow;

Those borrow'd splendours, whose contrasting light
Throws back the native shades in deeper night.

Ask the proud train who glory's shade pursue,
Where are the arts by which that glory grew ?
The genuine virtues that with eagle gaze
Sought young Renown in all her orient blaze!
Where is the heart by chemic truth refined,
The exploring soul, whose eye had read mankind?
Where are the links that twined with heavenly art
His country's interest round the patriot's heart?
Where is the tongue that scatter'd words of fire?
The spirit breathing through the poet's lyre?
Do these descend with all that tide of fame
Which vainly waters an unfruitful name?

THE SAME,

"Justum bellum quibus necessarium, et pia arma quibus nulla nisi in armis relinquitur spes."-Livy.

Is there no call, no consecrating cause,

Approved by Heaven, ordain'd by nature's laws,
Where justice flies the herald of our way,

And truth's pure beams upon the banners play?

Yes, there's a call sweet as an angel's breath
To slumbering babes, or innocence in death;
And urgent as the tongue of heaven within,
When the mind's balance trembles upon sin.

Oh! 'tis our country's voice, whose claim should meet
An echo in the soul's most deep retreat;
Along the heart's responding string should run,
Nor let a tone there vibrate-but the one!

On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee; Who now would rather trust that smile, And die with thee than live without thee! Fare thee well!

Fare thee well! I'll think of thee,

Thou leav'st me many a bitter token;

For see, distracting woman! see,

My peace is gone, my heart is broken!

Fare thee well!

SONG.

ON THE BIRTHDAY OF MRS

Written in Ireland.

Of all my happiest hours of joy,

And even I have had my measure, When hearts were full, and every eye

Has kindled with the beams of pleasure!

Such hours as this I ne'er was given,
So dear to friendship, dear to blisses;

Young Love himself looks down from heaven,
To smile on such a day as this is!

Then oh my friends, this hour improve,
Let's feel as if we ne'er could sever!

And may the birth of her we love

Be thus with joy remember'd ever!

Oh! banish every thought to-night
Which could disturb our soul's communion!

*To the Scotch air, "Gala Water."

Abandon'd thus to dear delight,

We'll e'en for once forget the Union!
On that let statesmen try their powers,
And tremble o'er the rights they'd die for;
The union of the soul be ours,

'Bove every union else we sigh for !

Then oh my friends, &c.

In every eye around I mark

The feelings of the heart o'erflowing; From every soul I catch the spark

Of sympathy, in friendship glowing! Oh! could such moments ever fly;

Oh! that we ne'er were doom'd to lose 'em ; And all as bright as Charlotte's eye,

And all as pure as Charlotte's bosom.

But oh my friends, &c.

For me, whate'er my span of years,
Whatever sun may light my roving;
Whether I waste my life in tears,

Or live, as now, for mirth and loving!
This day shall come with aspect kind,
Wherever fate may cast your rover;
He'll think of those he left behind,
And drink a health to bliss that's over!
Then oh my friends, &c.

TO A LADY,

WITH SOME MANUSCRIPT POEMS,

On leaving the country.

WHEN, casting many a look behind,

I leave the friends I cherish herePerchance some other friends to find, But surely finding none so dear

Haply the little simple page,

Which votive thus I've traced for thee, May now and then a look engage,

And steal a moment's thought for me.

But, oh! in pity let not those

Whose hearts are not of gentle mould,

Let not the eye that seldom flows
With feeling tear, my song behold.