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He heard the widow's heaven-breathed prayer of praise,
TO A FRIEND,
TOGETHER WITH AN UNFINISHED POEM.
Thus far my scanty brain hath built the rhyme
She loved me dearly, and I doted on her!
mute thoughts are sad before His throne,
* I utterly recant the sentiment contained in the lines
Of whose omniscient and all-spreading Love
it being written in Scripture, “ Ask, and it shall be given you;" and my human reason being, moreover, convinced of the propriety of offering petitions as well as thanksgivings to Deity.-S. T. C., 1797.
TO THE NIGHTING LE.
SISTER of love-lorn Poets, Philomel !
wretched Bards address thy name,
LINES ON A FRIEND
WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER INDUCED BY CALUMNIOUS
EDMUND! thy grave with aching eye
scan, And inly groan for Heaven's
outcast-Man! 'Tis tempest all or gloom : in early youth If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth We force to start amid her feigned caress Vice, siren-hag ! in native ugliness ; A Brother's fate will haply rouse the tear, And on we go in heaviness and fear! But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower Some pigmy Folly in a careless hour, The faithless guest shall stamp the enchanted ground, And mingled forms of Misery rise around: Heart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast, That courts the future woe to hide the past; Remorse, the poisoned arrow in his side, And loud lewd Mirth, to Anguish close allied: Till Frenzy, fierce-eyed child of moping pain, Darts her hot lightning-flash athwart the brain. Rest, injured shade! Shall Slander squatting near Spit her cold venom in a dead Man's ear? 'Twas thine to feel the sympathetic glow In Merit's joy, and Poverty's meek woe; Thine all, that cheer the moment as it flies, The zoneless Cares, and smiling Courtesies. Nursed in thy heart the firmer Virtues grew, And in thy heart they withered ! Such chill dew
Wan Indolence on each young blossom shed;
that rolled around in asking gaze, And tongue that trafficked in the trade of praise. Thy follies such! the hard world marked them well ! Were they more wise, the proud who never fell ? Rest, injured Shade! the poor man's grateful prayer On heaven-ward wing thy wounded soul shall bear. As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass, And sit me down upon its recent grass, With introverted eye I contemplate Similitude of soul, perhaps of— fate. To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assigned Energic Reason and a shaping mind, The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part, And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart. Sloth-jaundiced all! and from my graspless hand Drop Friendship’s precious pearls, like hour-glass sand. I weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows, 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 crowned ? Tired Sentinel! 'Mid fitful starts I nod, And fain would sleep, though pillowed on a clod!