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TO A LADY.

ON HER SINGING.

THY song has taught my heart to feel

Those soothing thoughts of heavenly love, Which o'er the sainted spirits steal

When list'ning to the spheres above!

When, tired of life and misery,

I wish to sigh my latest breath,

Oh, Emma! I will fly to thee,

And thou shalt sing me into death!

And if along thy lip and cheek

That smile of heavenly softness play, Which, ah! forgive a mind that 's weak,So oft has stolen my mind away;

Thou 'It seem an angel of the sky,

That comes to charm me into bliss: I'll gaze and die-who would not die, If death were half so sweet as this?

A DREAM.

I THOUGHT this heart consuming lay
On Cupid's burning shrine:

I thought he stole thy heart away,
And placed it near to mine.

I saw thy heart begin to melt,
Like ice before the sun;
Till both a glow congenial felt,
And mingled into one!

WRITTEN IN A COMMON-PLACE BOOK,

CALLED THE BOOK OF FOLLIES;»

In which every one that opened it should contribute something.

TO THE BOOK OF FOLLIES.

THIS tribute 's from a wretched elf, Who hails thee emblem of himself! The book of life, which I have traced, Has been, like thee, a motley waste Of follies scribbled o'er and o'er, One folly bringing hundreds more. Some have indeed been writ so neat, In characters so fair, so sweet, That those who judge not too severely Have said they loved such follies dearly! Yet still, O book! the allusion stands; For these were penn'd by female hands; The rest,-alas! I own the truth,Have all been scribbled so uncouth, That prudence, with a withering look, Disdainful flings away the book. Like thine, its pages here and there Have oft been stain'd with blots of care; And sometimes hours of peace, I own, Upon some fairer leaves have shown, White as the snowings of that Heaven By which those hours of peace were given.

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T was not the death-bird's cry from the wood,
Nor shivering fiend that hung in the blast;
T was the shade of Helderie-man of blood-
It screams for the guilt of days that are past!

See how the red, red lightning strays,

And scares the gliding ghosts of the heath! Now on the leafless yew it plays,

Where hangs the shield of this son of death!

That shield is blushing with murderous stains;

Long has it hung from the cold yew's spray; It is blown by storms and wash'd by rains, But neither can take the blood away!

Oft by that yew, on the blasted field,

Demons dance to the red moon's light; While the damp boughs creak, and the swinging shield Sings to the raving spirit of night!

TO MRS

YES, Heaven can witness how I strove
To love thee with a spirit's love;
To make thy purer wish my own,
And mingle with thy mind alone.
Oh! I appeal to those pure dreams
In which my soul has hung on thee,
And I've forgot thy witching form,
And I've forgot the liquid beams
That eye effuses, thrilling warm-
Yes, yes, forgot each sensual charm,
Each madd'ning spell of luxury,
That could seduce
my soul's desires,
And bid it throb with guiltier fires.-
Such was my love, and many a time,
When sleep has given thee to my breast,
And thou hast seem'd to share the crime
Which made thy lover wildly blest;
Een then, in all that rich delusion,
When, by voluptuous visions fired,

My soul, in rapture's warm confusion,
Has on a phantom's lip expired!

E'en then some purer thoughts would steal
Amid my senses' warm excess;

And at the moment-oh! e'en then
I've started from thy melting press,
And blush'd for all I've dared to feel,
Yet sigh'd to feel it all again!-
Such was my love, and still, O still
I might have calm'd the unholy thrill :
My heart might be a taintless shrine,
And thou its votive saint should be:
There, there I'd make thee all divine,
Myself divine in honouring thee.
But, oh! that night! that fatal night!
When both bewilder'd, both betray'd,
We sunk beneath the flow of soul,
Which for a moment mock'd control;
And on the dangerous kiss delay'd,
And almost yielded to delight!
God! how I wish'd, in that wild hour,
That lips alone, thus stamp'd with beat,
Had for a moment all the power
To make our souls effusing meet!

That we might mingle by the breath

In all of love's delicious death;
And in a kiss at once be blest,
As, oh! we trembled at the rest!
Pity me, love! I'll pity thee,
If thou indeed hast felt like me.
All, all my bosom's peace is o'er!

At night, which was my hour of calm,
When from the page of classic lore,
From the pure fount of ancient lay,
My soul has drawn the placid balm
Which charm'd its little griefs away;
Ah! there I find that balm no more.
Those spells, which make us oft forget
The fleeting troubles of the day,
In deeper sorrows only whet
The stings they cannot tear away.
When to my pillow rack'd I tly,
With wearied sense and wakeful eye,
While my brain maddens, where, O where
Is that serene consoling prayer,
Which once has harbinger'd my rest,
When the still soothing voice of Heaven
Has seem'd to whisper in my breast,

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He should have stay'd, have linger'd here, To calm his Julia's every woe;

He should have chased each bitter tear, And not have caused those tears to flow.

We saw his youthful soul expand
In blooms of genius, nursed by taste;
While Science, with a fostering hand,
Upon his brow her chaplet placed.

We saw his gradual opening mind
Enrich'd by all the graces dear;
Enlighten'd, social, and refined,
In friendship firm, in love sincere.

Such was the youth we loved so well,

Such were the hopes that fate denied— We loved, but, ah! we could not tell

How deep, how dearly, till he died!

Close as the fondest links could strain, Twined with my very heart he grew; And by that fate which breaks the chain, The heart is almost broken too!

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But you told me that passion a moment amused,
Was follow'd too oft by an age of repenting;
And check'd me so softly that, while you refused,
Forgive me, dear girl, if I thought 't was consenting!

And still I entreated, and still you denied,

Till I almost was made to believe you sincere ; Though I found that, in bidding me leave you, you sigh'd,

And when you repulsed me, 't was done with a tear.

In vain did I whisper, «There's nobody nigh;»

In vain with the tremors of passion implore; Your excuse was a kiss, and a tear your reply

I acknowledged them both, and I ask'd for no more.

Was I right?-oh! I cannot believe I was wrong.
Poor Fanny is gone back to Timmol again;
And may Providence guide her uninjured along,
Nor scatter her path with repentance and pain!

By Heaven! I would rather for ever forswear

The Elysium that dwells on a beautiful breast, Than alarm for a moment the peace that is there, Or banish the dove from so hallow'd a nest!

A NIGHT THOUGHT.

How oft a cloud, with envious veil, Obscures yon bashful light, Which seems so modestly to steal Along the waste of night!

"T is thus the world's obtrusive wrongs Obscure with malice keen

Some timid heart, which only longs
To live and die unseen!

ELEGIAC STANZAS

Sic juvat perire.

WHEN wearied wretches sink to sleep,

How heavenly soft their slumbers lie! How sweet is death to those who weep,

To those who weep and long to die!

Saw you the soft and grassy bed,

Where flow'rets deck the green earth's breast? "T is there I wish to lay my head,

'Tis there I wish to sleep at rest!

Oh! let not tears embalin my tomb,

None but the dews by twilight given!

Oh! let not sighs disturb the gloom,

None but the whispering winds of Heaven!

THE KISS.

GROW to my lip, thou sacred kiss,

On which my soul's beloved swore

That there should come a time of bliss

When she would mock my hopes no more;

And fancy shall thy glow renew,

In sighs at morn, and dreams at night, And none shall steal thy holy dew

Till thou 'rt absolved by rapture's rite. Sweet hours that are to make me blest,

Oh! fly, like breezes, to the goal,

And let my love, my more than soul, Come panting to this fever'd breast; And while in every glance I drink

The rich o'erflowings of her mind, Oh! let her all impassion'd sink,

In sweet abandonment resign'd, Blushing for all our struggles past, And murmuring, « I am thine at last!»>

ΤΟ

WITH all my soul, then, let us part,

Since both are anxious to be free; And I will send you home your heart, If you will send back mine to me.

We 've had some happy hours together, But joy must often change its wing; And spring would be but gloomy weather, If we had nothing else but spring.

'Tis not that I expect to find

A more devoted, fond, and true one, With rosier cheek or sweeter mindEnough for me that she's a new one.

Thus let us leave the bower of love,

Where we have loiter'd long in bliss; And you may down that path-way rove, While I shall take my way through this.

Our hearts have suffer'd little harm
In this short fever of desire;
You have not lost a single charm,
Nor I one spark of feeling fire.

My kisses have not stain'd the rose

Which Nature hung upon your lip; And still your sigh with nectar flows For many a raptured soul to sip.

Farewell! and when some other fair

Shall call your wanderer to her arms, "T will be my luxury to compare

Her spells with your remember'd charms.

« This check,» I'll say, « is not so bright As one that used to meet my kiss; This eye has not such liquid light

As one that used to talk of bliss!»

Farewell! and when some future lover Shall claim the heart which I resign, And in exulting joys discover

All the charms that once were mine;

I think I should be sweetly blest,
If, in a soft imperfect sigh,
You'd say, while to his bosom prest,
He loves not half so well as I!

A REFLECTION AT SEA.

SEE how, beneath the moonbeam's smile,
Yon little billow heaves its breast,
And foams and sparkles for a while,
And murmuring then subsides to rest.

Thus man, the sport of bliss and care,
Rises on Time's eventful sea;
And, having swell'd a moment there,
Thus melts into eternity!

AN INVITATION TO SUPPER.
TO MRS

MYSELF, dear Julia! and the Sun,
Have now two years of rambling run;
And he before his wheels has driven
The grand menagerie of heaven,
While I have met on earth, I swear,
As many brutes as he has there.
The only difference I can see
Betwixt the flaming god and me,
Is, that his ways are periodic,
And mine, I fear, are simply oddic.
But, dearest girl! 't is now a lapse
Of two short years, or less, perhaps,
Since you to me, and I to you,
Vow'd to be ever fondly true!-
Ah, Julia! those were pleasant times!
You loved me for my amorous rhymes;
And I loved you, because I thought
'T was so delicious to be taught
By such a charming guide as you,
With eyes of fire and lips of dew,
All I had often fancied o'er,
But never, never felt before:

The day flew by, and night was short
For half our blisses, half our sport!

I know not how we changed, or why,
Or if the first was you or I:

Yet so 't is now, we meet each other,
And I'm no more than Julia's brother;
While she's so like my prudent sister,

There's few would think how close I've kiss'd her.

But, Julia, let those matters pass!
If you will brim a sparkling glass

To vanish'd hours of true delight,
Come to me after dusk to-night.
I'll have no other guest to meet you,
But here alone I'll tête-à-tête you,
Over a little attic feast,

As full of cordial soul at least,

As those where Delia met Tibullus,
Or Lesbia wanton'd with Catullus.'

I'll sing you many a roguish sonnet About it, at it, and upon it: And songs address'd, as if I loved, To all the girls with whom I've roved.

1 Coenam, non sine candida puella.

CAT. Carm. xii.

Come, pr'ythee come, you 'll find me here,
Like Horace, waiting for his dear.'
There shall not be to-night, on earth,
Two souls more elegant in mirth;
And, though our hey-day passion 's fled,
The spirit of the love that 's dead
Shall hover wanton o'er our head;
Like souls that round the grave will fly,
In which their late possessors lie:
And who, my pretty Julia, knows,
But when our warm remembrance glows,
The ghost of Love may act anew,
What Love when living used to do!

AN ODE UPON MORNING.
TURN to me, love! the morning rays
Are glowing o'er thy languid charms;
Take one luxurious parting gaze,
While yet I linger in thine arms.

T was long before the noon of night
I stole into thy bosom, dear!

And now the glance of dawning light

Has found me still in dalliance here.

Turn to me, love! the trembling gleams Of morn along thy white neck stray; Away, away, you envious beams,

I'll chase you with my lips away!

Oh! is it not divine to think,—
While all around were lull'd in night,
While even the planets seem'd to wink,—
We kept our vigils of delight?

The heart, that little world of ours,
Unlike the drowsy world of care,
Then, then awaked its sweetest powers,
And all was animation there!

Kiss me once more, and then I fly,
Our parting would to noon-day last;
There, close that languid trembling eye,
And sweetly dream of all the past!

As soon as Night shall fix her seal
Upon the eyes and lips of men,
Oh, dearest! I will panting steal
To nestle in thine arms again!

Our joys shall take their stolen flight,
Secret as those celestial spheres
Which make sweet music all the night,
Unheard by drowsy mortal ears!

SONG.2

On! nothing in life can sadden us,

While we have wine and good humour in store;

puellam

Ad mediam noctem expecto.

HOR. lib. i. sat. 5.

There are many spurious copies of this song in circulation; and it is universally attributed to a gentleman who has no more right than the Editor of these Poems to any share whatever in the composi Lion.-E

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