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BY
KENDAL.
KENDAL:
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHORESS, BY M. BRANTHWAITE & Co. SOLD
BY J. RICHARDSON, 91, ROYAL EXCHANGE, LONDON,
AND BY ALL OTHER BOOKSELLERS.
1814.
THE benevolence of kind friends suggested the present publication to the Authoress, who after the domestic employments of the day, had secretly indulged herself in "wooing the Muse" at intervals stolen from repose. And the intention of those kind friends, was, to assist the humble labours of herself and her orphan sisters, by raising from the generosity of the public a little fund, which would increase their family comforts and better their condition in life. Such being the "End and Aim" of this intrusion upon the public, the Authoress intreats their indulgence and that of her friends, and presents her most grateful acknowledgements for the generous patronage she has received. To the friends of herself and family, the Authoress would not have intruded one word more, as they are fully acquainted
with the means by which she obtained the assistance of the books she has read.--Yet as her reading has been limited, even after the kindness of her friends, she has not had the opportunity of consulting Authors, whose lines she may have adopted, or of remarking similar thoughts, that may have appeared in the works of her predecessors. She wishes to disclaim every idea of plagiarism, but as the enlightened reader into whose hands these "Poetical Effusions" may fall, will soon discover where she may unwittingly have borrowed the expressions of others, or made use of similar language naturally arising from the contemplation of similar subjects, she hopes under these circumstances every candid allowance will be made.
BELOV'D companion of my early years !
My friend in solitude, my secret joy !
Dear were the soothing whispers of thy voice,
Dear were thy visits in my lonely hours,
When like a smiling angel, sent to bless,
Thy presence could beguile the sense of grief.
With thee, through many a devious wood's deep shade
And various featur'd vale, along the banks
Of rock-imprison'd rivers have I roam'd ;
Oft when the welcome day of ease arriv'd,
Freed from confinement, and depressive toil,
With heart elated, as the exulting stag
When ranging o'er his mountain pastures free,
I've stray'd to meet thee in thy fav'rite haunts,
The heights which rise o'er Kendal's lovely vale.
There, far from observation's curious eye,
Lightly I bounded o'er th' elastic turf,
Ascending ev'ry rocky hillock's brow,
My heart expanding as I look'd around.
Thus sweetly pass'd the summer's eve away,
Till sunk behind dark Langdale's distant pikes,
The setting sun threw his diverging rays
In bending arches o'er the azure plain.
In secret shades alone I woo'd thee then
By stealth, nor to the world durst tell my love ;
But now, when in the face of day I've own'd
Our secret friendship, says wilt thou repay
With kindness my long faithful love to thee ?
Our fate decreed, together we must try
The favour of the world, or bear its frowns.
How dear is to the anxious parent's heart
The reputation of a darling child !
Dear to the husband is the honour'd name
Of her he loves--and dear is thine to me.
And ah ! how keenly will my bosom feel,
If with an eye severe and harsh reproofs,
A frowning world should scan thy num'rous faults,
And with unfeeling censures blot thy name.
Together then we'll seek some lonely spot,
Some willow-fringed stream, where thou shalt weave
Such chaplets as despairing lovers wear,
To bind our brows, and breathe in mournful strains
Thy funeral dirge--then silent sleep for ever,
While my warm heart shall grow as cold and chill
As flinty rocks encrusted o'er with ice.
OH Solitude ! thou visionary power,
If e'er thou hadst a "local habitation,"
This is the place, and here must be thy throne :
The beetle here (of old thy lone companion,
Thy sentinel from immemorial time),
Sounds his deep horn in token of approach.
By thy twin sister Meditation led,
I've wander'd o'er yon unfrequented waste ;
My guide has brought me to this lonely spot,
Then fearless may I enter the deep gloom
Of this impervious wood,--thy secret haunt !
A wild romantic scene, nature's rude work,
A murmuring brook, soft trickling at my feet
'Midst moss-clad rocks, steals slowly on its way ;
Its mournful cadence suits the solemn scene.
Wide spreading trees that meet across the stream,
Form o'er my head a leafy canopy.--
The setting sunbeams gild their highest boughs,
While their deep shadows in the dell below
The dusky hue of pensive twilight shed.
Hail venerable shades ! long have you stood,
Long have you brav'd time's slow-consuming power,
The ravages of winds, and winter storms.
Long may you yet remain ! nor ruffian hands
Lift the unhallow'd steel to strip the wreaths
Of circling ivy from your aged trunks,
And lay your lofty branches on the earth.--
While thus I mus'd, methought a gentle voice,
Soft whisp'ring, spoke, amid the lonely shade.
Come ! live with me, the woodland Genius said,
Bid the tumultuous world a while farewell,
And dwell with me, for peace alone is mine--
Yes, gentle spirit, I would dwell with thee,
While summer reigns in all her beauteous pride ;
Thy most conceal'd recesses, would I trace,
Thy loneliest haunts, thy rudest scenes explore;
Whether thou lov'st thro' shelt'ring woods to stray,
Where Ken or Mint's pellucid waters roll
With thund'ring sound, steep rugged banks beneath,
Struggling and foaming with th' impeding rocks ;
Or where yon wall*
of limestone cliffs extends,
The native boundary of the stony waste,
Forming a vast and rugged precipice,
From whose rough heights th' enraptur'd eye surveys,
At one wide view, three sister counties round;
Or whether lodg'd in some deep cavity,
Of those high mountains, whose stupendous brows
Frown awful o'er the sweet sequester'd vale
Where Conistone's blue lake embosom'd lies,
Thine eye with penetrative glance explores
The secret treasures of earth's fruitful womb ;
Or marks the mountain riv'let's sinuous course,
Gliding along its wild declivities,
Like veins of silver sparkling in the sun;
Or forming as it flows the rude cascade--
Then may thy sight on softer scenes repose :
On the green sloping meads, and woods which form
A varied amphitheatre around,
The vast receptacle of mountain streams,
And o'er its surface watch the curling waves
Quick bounding light each other briskly chase.
'Mid scenes like these, where every charm unites,
The wild, the beautiful, and the sublime,
With thee blest power I'd gladly pass my days,
Drink inspiration thy lov'd haunts among,
And mark each changing season's varying grace,
Till envious winter on the mountain tops
Erects his tent of snow, portentous sign !
Then to thy mountains, woods, and wilds farewell ;--
For who could bear, through the deep joyless gloom
Of four long dreary months, to look on nought
But desert scenes, where every charm defac'd,
What once imprest with wonder and delight,
Would melancholy thoughts alone suggest.
Then would I think that life had other joys,
And that society could boast its charms,
For why should man possess such ardent love
Of human kind, such strong propensities,
To seek delight in social intercourse,
If he could live in constant solitude ?
HAIL lovely light of this material world !
Bright orb of day ! from thy pavilion dark
Of wintry clouds now breaking forth again ;
Once more I welcome thy unclouded beams,
With wonted splendour gilding yon blue vault,
While the pure stream receives, as soft it flows,
The etherial hue upon its face imprest.
Thou most majestic of the works of God--
All nature feels, all nature owns thy power,
The tender buds cas'd in their wintry cells,
The sweet and simple flow'rets of the spring,
Wait for thy bidding to burst forth and smile,
And greet thee with a rich display of charms.
And, but for thee, those charms might bloom in vain--
Vain were creation's vast magnificence,
And all that endless gay variety
Which makes the earth a region of delight--
Were all in vain, if darkness, sable wing'd,
Had sat for ever brooding o'er the scene.
Rude barren wastes where art and industry
Ne'er tried their power to meliorate the soil,
Cheer'd by thy presence half their horrors lose ;
Even winter, all unlovely as it is,
Devoid of charms, receives a charm from thee,
Which heightens into grandeur its drear scenes--
When half dissolv'd away, the fleecy snow
Still laid in scatter'd masses on the hills,
The glistening whiteness of their wintry robes,
(Illumin'd by a noontide blaze of light)
Contrasted with the rugged spots of earth,
Irregular and dark, which broke between,
Oft have I gaz'd enraptur'd at the view !
But oh! how lovely, beautiful beyond
The power of language to describe her charms,
Is nature in the glowing months of spring,
When the bright monarch of the day comes forth
Without a cloud to intercept his rays,
Gilding the mountains, rivers, woods, and plains,
Each dewy glistening shrub, and bending flower,
And shooting plant, with silv'ry tints of light.
And see, she comes ! the year's first darling child !
Enchanting Spring ! a soft-ey'd virgin fair,
Smiling she comes to walk Britannia's plains--
Her azure robe, spotted with fleecy clouds,
A wreath of budding foliage binds her brows
Where'er her light steps print the humid soil,
Fresh verdant herbage springs beneath her tread,
Her voice awakes the woodland minstrelsy,
With sweetest songs they hail the genial power,
And bid her welcome with a thousand notes.
Cheer'd by her presence, Flora's lovely train
Exulting leave their wintry beds once more.
The lowly daisy first its bud unfolds,
The shining king-cup spreads its golden leaves,
'Mid secret shades the purple violet blows,
And with its fragrant breath perfumes the air--
Half hid beneath a tuft of shelt'ring leaves,
The primrose ope's its mild imploring eye--
And still as lovely with retiring charms,
The cowslip bends its modest head to earth.
Even on the wild uncultivated waste
Her smile rekindles vegetable life,
And bids some inobtrusive flow'rets grow--
The fragrant wild-thyme, and the mountain gem,
The gay tormentil, bloom unheeded there ;
The rugged rock with moss of every form,
And every varying colour she adorns.
Hail ! life-reviving Spring, at thy return,
Earth like a beauteous new creation smiles.
THOU spirit, lodg'd in tender breathing airs
Of plaintive melancholy, soft and wild !
Source of delight to every feeling heart,
Long hast thou been the charmer of my cares--
Long ere my youthful bosom felt the thorns
Mix'd with the roses in the path of life,
Thy melting voice has in that bosom wak'd
The thrill of rapture, or the pensive sigh.
How many a summer's eve I've stol'n away
From scenes of childish sport, to sit alone,
A musing list'ner to thy varied strains !
There is a charm in tender melancholy
Surpassing far the louder joys of mirth !
Enchanting harmony ! that charm is thine.
'T is sweet at twilight's silent pensive hour
To wander by the slowly winding stream,
List'ning the while to trem'lous dying notes,
Wafted along the undulating waves,
And echo'd back in tones more touching still--
From intercepting rocky banks above.
'T is sweet in winter nights, when fiercely blows
The northern blast with long continued roar,
To hear, each loud and furious gust between,
Thy soft complaining accents slowly steal,
Like heavenly dirges mingling with the storm.
When first the sound of martial music rous'd
Our youth to arms, and call'd them from the loom,
The toils of husbandry and rural cares,
To wield the dreadful implements of war,
In my young breast what strong emotions rose !
It seem'd as if th' invader's threat'ning troops
Already trod in hostile ranks our shores !
It seem'd as if the solemn strain still mourn'd
Prophetic o'er the youthful soldier's fate !
And oh ! when first affliction touch'd my mind,
'T was then I felt how much in unison
With the keen feelings of the human heart
Were thy expressive tones of plaintive woe !--
'T was then, inspir'd by thee, I first essay'd
To bid my thoughts in measur'd numbers flow,
And frame the simple elegiac verse.
Twin sister of the muse in every age,
Sweet soother of the mind when cares oppress,
Retain thy influence o'er my bosom still--
That if, as future years of life roll o'er,
Some strange vicissitudes I yet must know,
If e'er lov'd poesy should cease to charm,
One solace still may yet remain in thee.
MY native vale! with heighten'd pleasure still
I trace thy simple scenes, my partial eye
Surveys new beauties each returning spring,
Each summer gives delight unfelt before !
Thy fertile vales, thy green knolls gentle rise,
Thy rocky hills with blossom'd furze adorn'd,
Thy wood-fring'd rivers and thy heathy moors,
And the brown mountains which encircle thee,
(O'er which the passing clouds for ever cast
Their varying shadows) all are dear to me !
Nor greater pleasure could Columbus feel,
When first beyond the Trans-Atlantic deep
His wandering eye beheld another world,
Than I, when in my wand'rings I have found
Some sweet sequester'd spot unknown before.--
Dear native vale ! and must thou still remain
To future times unnotic'd, and unsung ?
While those who first amid thy simple scenes
Beheld creation's wonders, and admir'd
Nature, still lovely in each diff'rent form,
Perhaps in praise of valleys more renown'd,
In lofty numbers pen the tuneful verse :
Yet here as bright the varied landscape glows :
As gay the summer verdure smiles around ;
And ev'ry flower that drinks the ev'ning dew,
Or spreads its opening bosom to the sun,
As sweetly blooms as theirs; but blooms in vain.
And thou meand'ring Ken, whose shaded banks
Present a pleasing, ever varying scene,
Sweet stream, still roll'st unknown and unadmir'd
Thy foaming waters to the distant main--
Nor one kind strain salutes them as they flow.
For this the pensive nymph, who haunts unseen
The most concealed windings of thy course,
Sighs as she sits at twilight's silent hour
Beneath some aged oak's wide-spreading boughs,
And sorrowing pours unheard her sad complaint.
One summer's eve, when in the distant west
The sun's last glimmering faintly ting'd the sky,
Along the margin of my native stream,
Where once Concangium's towers o'erlook'd its waves,
I musing stray'd--the river roll'd its tide
In soothing murmurs, scarcely heard to flow ;
Dark was the entrance of the solemn shade :
'Twas silence round ; irresolute I stood--
When on my wond'ring ear these accents broke,
Spoke by the pensive Naiad of the stream--
" Ye tow'ring oaks with circling ivy bound,
" Ye shelt'ring banks, and thou fair flow'ry plain,
" To you, mute list'ners, I my griefs disclose--
" In vain from yonder misty heights afar
" Thro' this sweet vale the sister streams I lead :
" Wherever nature form'd a sweeter spot,
" I taught their limpid water there to flow,
" With rapid current o'er their rocky bed ;
" Through many-colour'd woods, whose twilight gloom
" The sun-beams scarce can pierce ; in whose thick shades
" The summer songsters pour their melody ;
" While echo mocks them from her secret cell--
" Through verdant plains with rich luxuriance clad,
" And sloping meads whose golden treasures bend,
" Their welcome store the reaper's hand to meet ;
" Or half encircling some delightful plain,
" With songs that lull to quiet and repose ;
" Woo nature's rapt admirers there to stray--
" And must I still in vain display their charms,
" And plead to hearts insensible and cold !"
COME blest Urania ! thou alone canst soar
With dauntless wing through regions unexplor'd
By mortal eye, and thou alone canst paint
The wonders of the northern hemisphere.
Beyond Spitzbergen's groupe of island rocks,
Which rise like rugged turrets from the deep,--
On whose cold waves huge ice-built mountains float,
And when compell'd to meet the dreadful shock,
At distance heard, stun the astonish'd ear.
In climates more remote and keener still,
Advancing to the pole, where never yet
Th' advent'rous foot of man essay'd to tread ;
Nor ship with daring keel has plough'd the wave ;
Whose cliffs ne'er heard the hungry bear complain,
Nor answer'd to the Arctic fox's cry--
There on a mountain pile of naked rocks,
Whose rugged base the frozen main enfolds,
Whose snow-clad summit mixes with the clouds,
Stands Winter's massy throne of chrystal ice,
That emulates the em'ralds vivid green.
There, wrapt in mist, a stern gigantic form,
Sits the dread king in sullen majesty.
His canopy of state, dark hanging clouds,
His crown, the dancing Borealis' rays :
Beneath him stretch'd far as the eye could reach,
A boundless waste of ice the ocean lay ;
Beyond the pointed cliffs that girt the coast,
Extending to the dark horizon round,
Were huge dark masses of mis-shapen rocks,
With dreary glens between, rude defiles fill'd
With frozen snow, accumulating still,
And glaciers vast of everlasting ice ;
A cheerless solitude, where nought was heard
But the wild uproar of contending winds,
Which howling swept at intervals the waste.
Th' unrivall'd monarch of this drear domain,
With sullen pride survey'd his stormy realm,
His mighty heart exulting at the view.
" But this alone," the gloomy tyrant cried,
" This, my sole empire since creation's birth
" Is not enough for me ; lands far remote,
" And yon fair isles beyond the German main,
" Shall feel the terrors of my sway once more."
He said, and sent his hoary herald first,
Keen penetrating frost, to warn the world
Of his approach--then yok'd the swift-wing'd blasts
To his dark chariot of congealed clouds.
Impetuous, fierce, and strong, and in their course
Resistless, o'er the billowy deep afar,
O'er mountains huge, and tracts of land immense,
Wildly they rush, and as they sweep along,
Scatter sharp hail-showers and broad sheets of snow,
In a new livery clothing half the globe.
COME ye deep shades of night, that from the view
Of an unpitying world the wretched shroud,
That give the harass'd limbs of toil repose,
And bid the way-worn trav'ller turn, and seek
Some place of shelter for his houseless head :
That the tired soldier, from his weary march,
And from the dreadful field of war and death,
A while release ; come thou sad mourner night,
I love thy darkness, or the pensive beam
The moon's pale lustre sheds upon thy brow.
Now when the clouded light of day presents
Our eyes with nought but scenes of desolation,
I love thee for thy gentle hand-maid Sleep,
Who seals in sweet forgetfulness our eyes,
Transports us from life's sad realities,
To tranquil scenes of happiness and peace.
Such is the mighty necromancer's power
Who o'er Sleep's vast ideal realms presides,
That when from our cold clime is swept away
Each summer grace, his pow'rful wand can raise
A lovelier landscape, cloth'd in brighter hues--
Can such magnificence, such charms display,
As waking fancy's boldest thoughts ne'er fram'd--
That pow'rful wand, whose touch can quick erase
The past and present from our memory,
And drive the intruding future from our thoughts ;
While visions fair of momentary joy,
Unreal as the seeming silver lake
Which cheats the trav'ller o'er Arabian sands,
Seem permanent the portion of our lives.
Oh I have felt such sweet tranquillity,
Such pure sensations of sincere delight,
As if that instant into being wak'd,
With feelings tun'd to joy, and joy alone,
I almost wish'd life could be spent in dreams.
Yet the magician too can be unkind,
Can shut this gay ideal paradise.
Those pleasing regions he displays no more,
But bids around me scenes unlovely rise.
A dear and honour'd guest would frequent come ;
And speak in tones so long and well remember'd,
Which once were wont to gladden my young heart,
That days of early pleasure seem'd return'd.
In youthful grace, with sweet engaging smile,
Another form belov'd was wont to pay
A short and welcome visit to my dreams ;
But comes no more--dear semblance of a friend
Whom death has hid for ever from my view,
Since I must never more on earth behold
The lov'd original, nor find again
Another friend so faithful and so kind,
Come lovely vision to my dreams once more.
Thou bear'st his image, tho' an empty shade,
And thou canst look, and speak, and charm my heart.
OH Sensibility, thou dangerous gift,
Which, like Pandora's fabled box, contains
Compounded good and ill, the fountain head
And source whence flow the sweet and bitter springs,
The pleasures and the pains of human life ;
Exquisite joys, but woe more exquisite !
Whoe'er possess'd thee yet, that did not wish,
In some unhappy moments of their lives,
They could exchange thy quick and throbbing pulse,
For the dull sluggish tide which scarcely flows
Along the veins of torpid apathy--
Thy keen suceptibility
of soul,
For the cold marble of indifference ?
Oh ! ye who have from nature's hand receiv'd
That glowing spark of Promethean fire ;
That ar dent
inextinguishable flame,
Which not the pressure of adversity,
Nor poverty's benumbing touch can quench,
If doom'd through desolate and rugged paths
Of life's obscurest wilderness to toil,
How much have you to dread and to endure ;
Much from the common casualties of life,
Untoward accidents, beneath whose weight
The man of fervent feelings soonest bends ;
Much from the strength of your own warm affections,
Believing all sincere, and doubting none ;
And oft, perhaps, mistaking warm professions
For firm and lasting friendship, only find
Repulsive coldness where you look'd for welcome ;
And much from disappointed hope, whose smile
With fairy sunshine for a moment gilds
Your dreary views, then vanishes for ever.
Ye sons of sorrow, thus condemn'd to pine,
Unknown, unpitied, by a busy world,
Heaven be your friend, when other friends you've none.
And if enshrin'd within a female frame
That spirit dwells, oh ! how much more unfit
To struggle through the thorny paths of life,
If she can find no kind and generous friend
In whom her confidence she may repose,
Her guardian and protector through a world
Where oft her weakness will require support.
Poor Mary ! hapless orphan, where art thou ?
Thy heart was form'd for tenderness and love ;
Thy mind a beam of light breaking through clouds,
Shone like a meteor, with unsteady ray,
Irregular, and bright, but shone in vain.
And now perhaps its energy is lost,
And all its powers are buried in despair ;
Perhaps thy struggles with misfortune past,
From life's rough storm thou hast a shelter found,
A lasting peaceful home within the grave.
If such thy fate ill-fated maid farewell ;
There is a world where sensibility,
So oft on earth the fruitful source of grief,
Will be the source of purest happiness.
ONCE more the mighty angel, who unfolds
Time's ample page to our astonish'd view,
Has turn'd unseen, with quick and silent hand,
Another leaf of that eventful book
Where wrapp'd in shades of dim obscurity,
Remains the fate of empires and of kings.
O thou dark volume of futurity,
Whose tenfold seal no mortal hand can break,
What scenes of wonder yet to be reveal'd
Do thy unopen'd pages still contain.
E'er since my heart could feel for human kind,
I've heard of nought but wars and desolation,
Of cities given to the devouring flames ;
Of once fair countries ravag'd and laid waste ;
Their fertile vallies turn'd to fields of death ;
Where, sad to tell, brothers, and sons, and sires,
Together fell, and shar'd one common grave :
Those who surviv'd, when the dread work was done,
Compell'd to leave their much-lov'd native fields,
Their wives and children unprotected all--
To fight and perish in a distant land.
Through many a circling year I've mark'd the stream
Of conquest roll its crimson tide along,
Like a destructive deluge spreading wide,
O'erwhelming nations in its dreadful course ;
And oft, dear England, I have fear'd for thee--
Thou lovely gem set in surrounding rocks,
And plac'd upon the bosom of the deep ;
Those rugged rocks, and ocean's troubled waves,
Are thy defence, thy native bulwarks they ;
To thee, and to the guardian arm of heav'n,
Thou ow'st thy safety, 'midst the mighty shock
That half unpeoples Europe's fairest realms :
Though long, on almost ev'ry foreign soil,
Thy bravest sons have lost their lives for thee ;
And many a beauteous maid and widow mourn.
For the dear objects of their tend'rest love,
And many a mother for her gallant sons :
Yet the worst ills a country can endure,
Thou hast not felt--no hostile standards wave,
Insulting, o'er thy green luxuriant vales--
The first of blessings--freedom, yet is thine.
O GENTLE Peace ! celestial visitant !
Thou friend to virtue, charity, and love,
Whose smile can make a paradise on earth,
Without whose presence heav'n could not be blest,
How long has thy inexorable foe,
That fiend unblest, Ambition, banish'd thee,
Chas'd thee a fugitive from clime to clime,
And made thee roam a pilgrim o'er the world ?
Say, beauteous wand'rer, in what distant spot,
What lonely isle amid the unbounded main,
Hast thou a temporary shelter found ?
Where, like the fabled goddess sung of old,
To wand'ring nations and to savage tribes
Thou teachest how to till th' uncultur'd soil,
And all the useful arts of polish'd life ;
Or still remembering Europe's fairer realms,
Upon some rocky promontory's brow
Pensive thou sit'st, bending a list'ning ear
Towards the distant shores, and only hear'st
Unwelcome sounds, discordant din of arms,
Like murmuring thunder, wafted o'er the waves ;
While in thy swelling bosom heaves the sigh,
And from thy glist'ning eye descends the tear,
In pity for the ills her sons endure.
Return, fair stranger, to those realms again,
Return to heal the wounds which war has made ;
Come, and on Europe's plains the olive plant ;
Beneath its friendly shade, the purple vine
Shall brighter bloom, the harvest richer glow,
And greater plenty crown the rolling year.
Oh come ! on Albion's plains for ever dwell,
Thy sacred temple let our island be,
Then arts and manufactures would revive,
And happy Industry rejoice again ;
Then friendly Commerce would unfurl her sails,
No hostile natives, arm'd with bolts of death,
Would meet in dreadful conflict on the deep,
But freighted vessels, laden with the fruits
Of ev'ry varied clime, would crowd our ports,
And flags of ev'ry land wave round our shores
In social harmony, a glorious sight--
To generous minds, yielding more genuine joy,
Than dearly purchas'd trophies won by war
From ev'ry different region of the globe.
OH ! can there be on earth a lovelier sight,
One that endears us more to human kind,
Than a young groupe of joyous innocents,
In every motion, gaiety and life ;
Hope's eager smile on every dimpl'd cheek,
And playful mirth in every beaming eye.
Oh ! happy age of guiltless infancy !
Thou only art the golden age of life.
No care is thine, but as one pleasure tires,
Another, and another, still to try,
To make the circling hours more swiftly pass.
When each amusement fails, and on thine eyes
Sleep's gentle pressure steals, no anxious thoughts,
Nor fears for future days, no retrospections sad
Start up and scar the welcome guest away :
Each morn awakes thee to some new delight,
And hope still smiles on each returning day.
Sweet, simple train, enjoy your days of ease,
Too quickly o'er, like blossoms of the spring ;
Like the short glories of the showery bow,
The happy hours of childhood pass away,
And with the dawn of reason sorrow comes.
Oft the first pang the youthful bosom feels
Is (the sad hour of separation come)
To part from those they love, from playmates dear,
Through life's long journey ne'er to meet again.
Perhaps a keener wound may yet be given ;
The kind protectors of their early days,
Who form'd their tender minds to truth, may die,
And leave them in the world without a guide ;
Whilst scattered far, brothers and sisters part
From home, a harder servitude to try
Than that parental tenderness impos'd.
Affection's sole remaining solace now,
The hope of that sweet intercourse to come,
When they with heighten'd love shall meet once more,
May be denied ; and they may meet to weep
O'er one lov'd inmate of their little home,
Remov'd for ever by the hand of death.
Such griefs too oft await the morn of youth,
And o'er its early sunshine scatter clouds.
E'en those to whom indulgent heaven grants
A longer respite from the ills of life,
From other sources find disquiet rise.
The gentle maid, a stranger yet to care,
When first to whisper'd vows of love she lends
A list'ning ear, must oft her peace forego.
Th' impatient youth, who, scorning all restraint,
Will seek for pleasure on forbidden ground,
And heedless in the paths of folly tread,
Can feel no more that pure, unmixed joy,
That undisturb'd tranquillity of mind,
The gifts of innocence, which once were his,
Ere first from duty's paths he went astray.
BUT few the Delian god inspires
With genuine true poetic fires ;
But few who bear the poet's name,
Shall share the lasting wreath of fame :
Of those who woo the wayward nine,
Young suppliants at Apollo's shrine,
Few live in the historic page,
Beyond the limits of an age.
Like busy glittering butterflies,
Which wak'd by genial suns arise,
In every age a race succeeds
To tread the fair Castalian meads ;
And cheer'd by approbation's smile,
Bask in its vivid beams awhile.
Ere long, their gleam of sunshine past,
Neglect's cold winter comes at last ;
Another race of flutterers gay
Succeeds to spend their little day ;
Engaging each beholder's eye,
By all the charms of novelty.
He who would ask of future days
Their dearest meed, the wreath of praise,
Must boast a vig'rous active mind,
By culture aided and refin'd,
Where genius, judgment, taste, conspire
To form the bard "a soul of fire"--
A heart whose feelings overflow
With quickest sense of joy or woe ;
Within his breast, the muse's cell,
No ruder passions e'er should dwell,
Nor should anxiety, nor fear,
Nor heart-consuming grief, be there ;
But hope with joy-illumin'd eye,
Still looking to futurity,
Cheering misfortune's gloomy hours,
As sunbeams gild the summer showers,
And chief o'er ev'ry power beside,
Imagination should preside,
Who with one keen commanding glance
Makes æras, distant far, advance ;
And from oblivion's dusky gloom,
Bids time's remotest ages come ;
Or peoples regions of her own,
With her ideal forms alone,
Still to complete the poet's name,
To give him never-ending fame :
And to immortalize his song,
Harmonious language, rich and strong,
Should in spontaneous numbers flow,
And ev'ry thought with beauty glow.
Talents so rare as those combin'd,
Center'd in one capacious mind,
A few have shar'd in ev'ry age,
Who shine upon the world's wide stage,
With beams of such transcendent light,
As the bright regent of the night,
'Mongst lesser stars, whose feeble rays
Are half extinguished in her blaze.
LIKE fairy groupes beneath the forest shade,
With moonlight faintly scatter'd o'er the scene,
In long perspective stretching to the view,
The shadowy forms of memory convene.
With mimic art they past events pourtray,
Act every scene of pain and pleasure o'er,
They touch the secret springs of grief and joy,
And make us feel whate'er we felt before.
But still retreating further into shade,
Imperfect forms the dim-seen visions wear,
Faint and more faint is each impression still,
'Till quite dissolv'd they vanish into air.
Some whose strong features ne'er can be eras'd
By time or distance, undefac'd remain,
And while surrounding objects disappear,
They stand alone amid the dusky plain.
Whoe'er for gets
his early first remove
From the dear haunts of infancy and home,
o w
home no more, (since from their lov'd abode
The tenants of the humble cot must roam).
The new awaken'd love of novelty,
A love so powerful in the human mind,
Regret at leaving each familiar face,
And each accustom'd object far behind,
By turns impress'd the youthful wand'rer's breast
With new emotions never felt before,
As with slow march the rustic cavalcade
Retreated from the peaceful cottage door,
With lingering looks they bid a long farewell
To every well known object as they pass,
Each shelt'ring tree which screen'd them from the sun,
Each little hillock crown'd with verdant grass ;
And oft their vagrant feet would turn aside,
To bid some long-lov'd fav'rite hunt adieu,
Some spot where ev'ning's latest sunbeams play'd,
Some flow'ry dell where spring's first blossoms grew.
And as they trac'd the daisy-dappl'd meads,
Perhaps unconscious fell one glist'ning tear,
While towards their future home they turn'd their eye,
And thought, will such delightful scenes be there.
But when at last the narrow bounds were pass'd
Beyond whose limits they had never stray'd,
When to their wond'ring and admiring eyes
They saw a new and lovelier world display'd--
Fir'd by the joy which novelty bestows,
Each transient thought of sorrow soon was o'er.
Hope beam'd again in every smiling eye,
And fond regrets and fears were felt no more.
Long in rememb'rance live events like these,
The scenes of childhood which will ever charm,
Fresh through succeeding years these pictures glow,
And e'en in age th' imagination warm.
On the warm heart long imag'd will remain,
That form that mien which taught it first to love ;
Th' impression, rolling years can ne'er efface,
Nor will succeeding friendship that
remove.
The scenes of past affection long survive ;
Each courteous action, each expression kind,
The well remembered tones of tenderness,
And looks which spoke the feelings of the mind.
The last farewell of a departing friend,
While with forebodings that you meet no more,
The hand belov'd desponding you resign,
And see him go for ever from your door.
The last expiring words of those we love,
The silent anguish of that mournful hour,
When death, dissolving nature's dearest ties,
Proves the whole force of his resistless power.
Could after ages of unmingled joy,
(If human life had
joy unmix'd with pain,)
Efface strong characters of grief like these
From memory's mute, but ever busy train ?
The wretch obnoxious to his country's laws
May 'scape the vengeance which awaits his crimes ;
Th' uplifted sword of justice may evade,
And flee for safety into foreign climes--
But cannot flee from memory's bosom foes--
The dreadful phantoms, where he flies, pursue,
Each deed of horror faithful they pourtray,
And hold th' unwelcome picture in his view.
The shipwreck'd mariner on some wild strand,
Some desart isle amid the boundless deep,
Who through the dangers of the dreadful wreck,
Surviv'd alone his comrade's fate to weep ;
Tho' his dear country from his longing view,
Unmeasur'd lengths of countless leagues divide ;
The burning tropic, and the frigid zone,
Vast continents, and ocean's mighty tide--
Yet still that dearest spot of all the earth,
His native vale in ev'ry scene will rise ;
Its woods, its streams, his own paternal cot,
Glide in perpetual view before his eyes ;
And each lov'd inmate of that lowly roof,
Each voice, each feature, of the friends so dear,
Each parting look, lives imag'd in his mind ;
Each sigh, each sad adieu, he seems to hear.
The hardy Swiss, who, from his rock-girt vale,
His mountain lake and snow-crown'd hills afar,
From all th' attachments of his youth remov'd,
Pursues the desolating steps of war--
Not the dread scenes of the eventful field,
Not martial pomp, nor shouts of victory,
Not promises of honour, wealth, and fame,
Can banish thoughts of home or check the sigh.
And if that simple air so sweet and wild,
That once along his own paternal vale,
The goatherds to the list'ning echo sung,
Which gave its wild notes to the morning gale--
If these transporting sounds arrest his ear,
Instant what groupes of images arise--
The haunts, the loves, the pleasures of his youth,
In life's warm colours pass before his eyes.
A powerful impulse seizes on his mind,
Fearless of death, of danger, and of toil,
That air a talisman which danger charms--
He seeks with dauntless heart his native soil.
The varied scenes which on her canvas rise,
The gay descriptive muse to memory owes,
Her pencil paints them, and her magic light
O'er the bright views a vivid lustre throws.
Each lovely groupe of images she forms,
Receives its beauty from that pow'rful light,
Whose mild reflected radiance sweetly plays
O'er recollected scenes of past delight.
How pleasant is the memory
Of those who die in early youth,
With minds from guilt and error free,
The shrines of innocence and truth.
Long shall affection's bosom swell
At the remembrance of their name :
And oft with warm emotions dwell
On their untainted virtuous fame.
Oh ! they are blest, belov'd of heaven
How soon their mortal race is run !
How few their sins to be forgiv'n,
How quickly virtue's prize they won!
Remov'd from all the snares of life,
Ere strong temptations try the heart,
Escap'd the warfare and the strife
Betwixt the worse and better part.
Their humble hope unaw'd by fear,
When on the bed of death they lie :
The happiest lot of mortals here,
Is, thus to live--thus soon to die.
ALCANOR bids me hail the welcome morn,
Seven times return'd, since, when in youthful pride,
While hope's sweet sunshine on the future smil'd,
He took the fair Narcissa for his bride.
Revolving seasons since have roll'd away,
Seven happy years of harmony and peace,
Ne'er interupted
by domestic jars,
And with increasing years their joy increase.
Their blooming children smile around their board,
Or gaily sport upon the verdant plain ;
And try by ev'ry fond endearing wile,
Th' exulting parents' partial eye to gain.
Say, would Alcanor those delights resign,
Those happy hours of heart-felt bliss forego,
For all the boasted pleasures of the world,
For all the joys that freedom could bestow ?
No, to the heart with tender feelings blest,
Dear are the ties of social life, which bind
The heart to virtue, family, and home--
Ties most congenial to the human mind,
Then listen, shepherds, to the voice of love :
Do jarring passions dwell within your breast,
Or vain desires, that lead from peace astray,
That gentle voice may lull them all to rest.
But where shall love's all-powerful voice be heard,
In sweetest accents most persuasive tone ?
Where one lov'd fair the bosom inmate reigns,
And the fond heart is given to her alone.
Where worth, not int'rest, the affections guides,
And kindles in the breast a generous flame,
Which neither time nor absence can destroy:
The only love that's worthy of the name.
Its voice will whisper where true peace is found ;
In the calm pleasures of domestic life ;
The happy home where cheerful comfort smiles,
And the sweet converse of a lovely wife.
The gentle maid, who, heedless of the world,
Can all its flatt'ry and applause resign
For one alone, the husband of her choice,
And wishes only in his eyes to shine ;
The voice of love in all her actions speaks,
In each warm blush that o'er her features strays,
Speaks in the beaming lustre of her eyes,
In each expressive smile that sweetly plays,
To charm his heart and win his constant love,
And firmer draw affection's gentle chain,
Is all the care and study of her life ;
Nor shall her wise endeavours prove in vain.
Let Bacchus' giddy sons exulting tell
The pleasures of th' intoxicating bowl,
Strange joys which banish reason from the mind,
Which drown the senses, stupify the soul.
Let misers boast their heaps of hoarded gold,
The only object which their hearts can move,
A parent's greatest wealth his children are,
His richest treasure is his fair one's love.
BLOW lovely rose--the breath of Zephyr
Softly fans thy glowing breast :
Blow, lovely rose, the bush adorning,
Till by Chloe's hand carest,
She place thee in her gentle bosom,
To bloom beneath her smiling eye.
But court not that exalted station,
Thou would'st languish there and die.
Then, thy native bush adorning,
Lovely rose-bud, longer stay ;
And yonder see the sun advancing
Ardent pours his fervid ray.
Soon shall thy dewy leaves unfolding,
With inviting fragrance blow ;
And by his noontide beams expanded,
With unrivall'd lustre glow.
Then, thy full-blown charms disclosing,
Matchless Rose, sweet Queen of flowers !
A while may ev'ry eye admire thee,
Pride of these delightful bowers.
But ah ! how transient thy existence,
Short thy longest reign will be ;
Not many mornings shall I greet thee,
Smiling on thy prickly tree.
See where, their languid heads reclining,
Thy companions droop around,
Ah ! see where, faded all and wither'd,
Scatter'd leaves bestrew the ground.
Ah! lovely rose that fate awaits thee,
Thou their lowly bed must share ;
Soon will a ruder gale assailing,
Spread thy blushing honours there.
And I perhaps not many summers
May hail the Rose's beauteous bloom,
And sigh to think how soon 'twill perish,
Ere I too drop into the tomb.
What muse will then in strains of sorrow,
Pour the simple dirge for me ?
What kindred mind inspir'd by pity
Frame one plaintive elegy ?
I, like the wild flowers of the mountains,
That unknown unheeded die,
Like them shall leave a name unhonour'd,
And like them forgotten lie.
SWEET Child of Sensibility !
Haste thee from mirth and noise and folly,
And o'er sad scenes of melancholy,
Come, and muse, and mourn with me.
The early spring say hast thou seen,
All nature smiling at her birth,
Bestrew the moisten'd lap of earth
With fairest flowers and herbage green :
And o'er the branches late so bare,
The swelling buds profusely spread,
And clust'ring blossoms gaily shed,
Fair promise of a fruitful year--
Then from the dark o'er-loaded skies
Hast seen the heavy showers descend,
Where snow and rattling hailsto nes
blend,
And sudden gusts tempestuous rise--
Then comes a keen destroying frost ;
Earth's vernal mantle faded lies,
The wither'd foliage droops and dies,
The blossom and the fruit are lost.
This hast thou seen, and sigh'd to see ?
Then come, and teach thy tears to flow
O'er deepest scenes of human woe,
Sweet Child of Sensibility !
Say hast thou known some gen'rous youth,
Of blameless manners, ardent mind,
Where native sense and learning join'd,
Possest of talents, virtue, truth,
The hope of many a future year
Then, seen disease's fatal dart
Fix its deep venom in his heart,
And ruthless stop his bright career--
Let love and friendship weep with thee,
T' embalm the turf, where low is laid
The youth who virtue's charms display'd,
Oh Child of Sensibility ;
Hast thou with admiration seen
Some beauteous maid, the village toast,
Her aged parents' hope and boast,
Good-humour in her smiling mien,
With female loveliness of form,
Each mental excellence combin'd,
Then, hast thou seen that gentle mind
Despairing sink beneath the storm ;
Her hopes, her charms, her reason gone ;
By some strong secret grief distrest,
Some overwhelming woe opprest,
Her gentle manners left alone ;
A harmless maniac, sad and wild,
Regardless of her mother's tears,
Unconscious what she feels or fears,
For her poor wand'ring wayward child.
This proof of instability
In reason, well might fill with woe
Thy mind, and bid thy tears o'erflow,
Sweet Child of Sensibility !
Say, hast thou known in blooming grace,
A lovely active ardent boy,
His happy father's dearest joy,
Expression in his artless face,
His dawning faculties of mind
Expanding like the buds of spring,
His fancy ever on the wing
New scenes of knowledge still to find ;
But when strong passions gain'd the sway,
When reason 'gainst th' impetuous train,
And conscience pleaded, but in vain--
While vice he only would obey--
Till of that once ingenuous mind,
In virtue's sacred precepts train'd,
No semblance and no trace remain'd,
Nor even a hope was left behind ;
If such sad ruin doom'd to see--
Then may thy throbbing bosom heave,
Then weep, for thou hast cause to grieve,
Oh Child of Sensibility !
HEARD you November's howling blast,
Herald of winter's stormy reign,
As through the leafless grove it rush'd,
And swept with sullen sound the plain ?
I heard and sigh'd--quick to my view,
What pensive images arise ;
Brown faded woods and wither'd plains,
And heavy lowering skies
My fav'rite summer haunts farewell !
Ah ! scenes belov'd a long adieu--
How many a dreary month must roll,
Ere I again revisit you :
Where late the river banks above,
High wav'd the overhanging wo od
,
And soft reflected verdure threw
On the smooth bosom of the flood ;
Now struggling with th' impetuous blast,
And stript of all their leafy pride,
The trees their naked branches bend
O'er the deep swol'n discolour'd tide
Where once a pleasing prospect rose
Along the undulating vale,
Green woody lawns and flow'ry meads,
And corn-fields waving in the gale,
'Tis now an undistinguish'd waste,
Each lingering beauty swept away,
All mark'd by one unvary'd hue,
The cheerless livery of decay.
Farewell thou light-dispensing sun
For many a melancholy day ;
Curtain'd in vapours shalt thou rise,
And clouds obscure thy setting ray.
Around the mountain's dusky brow
The hov'ring mists for ever creep ;
And hail-showers load th' impetuous gale,
Or ceaseless rains the valleys steep.
Haste winter from thy native wilds--
The frozen regions of the north,
With all thy fierce destructive train
Of storms and tempests issue forth,
Come, o'er expiring nature's tomb
Thy throne of desolation rear ;
And rule with sole unrivall'd sway,
O'er the sad ruins of the year.
Yet know that nature shall survive
The utmost rigours of thy reign,
Shall from her tomb exulting rise,
And spring adorn the earth again.
Round Sizergh's antique, massy walls,
Full frequent swept the whistling blast ;
It sigh'd along the spacious halls,
And through the tap'stried chambers past.
The clock, with solemn-sounding knell,
Proclaim'd the dreary midnight hour ;
And loud the deep-ton'd magic bell
Slow answer'd from the lonely tower.
But wherefore, at this silent hour,
When every eye is clos'd in sleep,
In yonder lonely desert tower,
Why tolls the midnight bell so deep ?
Immur'd within these gloomy walls,
Here long a gentle lady lay ;
Far from her dear paternal halls,
She wept her bloom of life away.
Far from the noble youth she lov'd,
A youth for matchless constancy,
For worth and valour, long approv'd,
For generous deeds and courtesy.
When Albert clasp'd her trembling hand,
And press'd it to his throbbing heart,
Sighing, that honour's stern command,
Compell'd such faithful friends to part ;
And whisper'd vows of endless truth,
To soothe the parting sense of pain,
Ah ! little thought the gentle youth,
They never were to meet again.
Hither, allur'd by treach'rous art,
Deceiv'd by friendship's specious name,
Hither, with unsuspecting heart,
In evil hour, fair Marg'ret came.
When first these fatal doors she pass'd,
On heavy wing the bat flew by ;
And hollow moaning rush'd the blast ;
The owlet gave a boding cry.
Then first that sullen peal was rung,
Loud bursting on the night's dark gloom;
That bell by unseen spirits swung,
Foretold fair Hamilton's sad doom.
But guileless, nor suspecting harm,
These with no terrors struck her mind,
Soon she forgot the slight alarm,
Which left no lasting fears behind.
A few short days within these walls
Were heard the festive notes of joy ;
Music's sweet strains and sprightly balls
Conspir'd to please the ear and eye.
Soon those delusive visions past ;
Her few last days of pleasure o'er,
(She little dreamt they were her last,)
Fair Hamilton was seen no more.
But when the chill autumnal breeze
Swept briskly o'er the curling flood--
Shook the high towering forest trees,
And of its foliage stript the wood--
O'er all the neighb'ring hamlet round,
Was heard once more that wizard bell ;
And those who heard the dreadful sound,
Said that it toll'd fair Margaret's knell.
E'er since, when o'er this ancient pile
The deep'ning shades of ev'ning fell,
And lingering day-light's latest smile
Seem'd loath to bid the world farewell--
Amid the melancholy glooms,
Her spirit oft was seen to walk,
Through gall'ries long, and spacious rooms,
And to herself would whisp'ring talk.
In sorrow's sable weeds array'd,
She mov'd with pensive, solemn grace ;
Slow was her step, noiseless her tread,
A sable veil conceal'd her face.
Sometimes she seem'd in thought profound,
Her head reclining on her arm ;
Her eyes still fixt upon the ground,
As spell-bound by some powerful charm.
When the dim taper's feeble beam
Around the lone apartment shed,
Of partial light, a sudden gleam--
Instant the shadowy form was fled.
Still as that woful
night returns
Which seal'd the lovely Margaret's doom ;
That bell her cruel exit mourns,
In solemn dirges o'er her tomb.
YON sun, who runs his annual course
About earth's varied bound,
While slow revolving seasons roll,
Their never-ceasing round--
Yon rising sun, whose early beams,
Returning beauty spreads,
And o'er those lonely convent walls
A golden lustre sheds--
Adorns a long forsaken world,
Which I no more must see ;
Yet that forsaken world contains
One object dear to me.
The play-mate of my early years,
Companion of my youth,
In whose mild eye expressive shone
Intelligence and truth.
Like two fair rose-buds on one stem,
We grew, nor wish'd to part ;
Our hopes, our fears, our joys the same,
We only had one heart.
Oh ! days of innocent delight !
Oh ! youth so dear to me !
How soon I bade a last adieu
To social life and thee.
A dying mother claim'd my vow,
My parting vow I gave,
That here I'd pass my future days,
And here should be my grave.
But ah ! no language can describe
The anguish of my heart,
From thee, dear brother of my soul,
To be compell'd to part.
It griev'd me not to leave a world
Whose charms were yet unknown--
That world with all its gay delights,
I lov'd for thee alone.
Nor other joys I wish'd to prove,
Nor other pleasures know,
Than those thy converse and thy smile,
Thy friendship could bestow.
And when my trembling lips pronounc'd
The irrevocable vow--
That vow which ne'er can be recall'd,
Which seal'd my doom below.
That from my thoughts, all earthly things
Henceforth should banish'd be,
I in my bosom's secret shrine
Reserv'd one thought for thee.
And still in youthful beauty there
Does thy lov'd image dwell,
Its inmate in this lone abode,
This solitary cell.
Each daily orison enjoin'd,
Perform'd with duteous care ;
Still ere I close my eyes, for thee
I breathe a secret pray'r.
And sure a love so pure as mine,
May hope to be forgiv'n,
Should harsh ungenerous mortals blame,
Sweet pity dwells in heav'n.
Perhaps ev'n saints from earth remov'd,
Some tender thoughts bestow,
And some fond recollections feel,
Of those they left below.
In that blest world may faithful friends,
By kindred minds allied,
Meet where no rigid vows forbid,
No convent walls divide.
NIGH to where Grayrigg's*
ancient hall
Yet stands, as country legends tell,
And hoary-headed swains have heard,
The fairy people lov'd to dwell :
There oft their midnight feats they held,
In stately domes beneath the ground,
And by the glow-worm's paly lamp
They push'd the sparkling goblets round.
The savoury mushrooms were their food,
Pluck'd the same night on which they grew,
And from their tiny silver cups,
They sipp'd the pure ambrosial dew ;
And where beneath the greenwood shade,
Their light feet nimbly tripp'd the ground,
Small circles of a deeper green
Full oft the wondering peasant found.
It chanc'd one beauteous moonlight night,
The loveliest night of autumn's reign,
The fairy people had arrang'd
Their silver cups, a glittering train.
Beneath a shelt'ring bank which rose
Expos'd too near the highway side,
A horseman as he pass'd that way,
The shining treasure quickly spied,
Long pausing on the tempting spoil,
He gaz'd with wond'ring, longing, eyes ;
Then fearless leapt the fence and seiz'd,
With daring hands, the curious prize.
O'er hedge and ditch away he rode,
With speed that almost match'd the wind ;
The elfin bands with hue and cry,
Still kept pursuing close behind.
Ere he had reach'd the massy gate
Whilst with their wands they struck his steed,
One night when rain in torrents fell,
The pilferer, who'd a ford to cross,
But fairy vengeance now was nigh,
It fell alas to rise no more,
When faint he reach'd the further side,
HOPE, blest, and dearest gift of heaven,
Thou blest companion ! but for thee,
While journeying through the weary waste,
With flowers of never-fading hue,
Ask him condemn'd in dreary mines,
Ask him what arms his manly mind
He'll tell thee 't is the cheering hope
The Russian exile forced to roam,
While the strong feelings of his soul,
What prompts him to endure his wrongs,
'T is the fond hope his mind sustains,
He'll bless once more his infant train,
Even when, like Noah's wearied dove,
She looks to happier worlds above,
Her fairest, loveliest prospects there,
A PHILOSOPHIC maid, with tranquil mind,
The generous heart and the exalted mind,
ALAS my friend, how quickly pleasure flies !
Blithe o'er our valleys trips the youthful Spring,
In rich luxuriant beauty Summer comes,
Adorn'd with every milder, softer grace,
In lonely glens where murmuring riv'lets glide,
Soon must she fly from this her last retreat,
Soon must she yield the empire of the year
Even now, beyond yon misty mountain's brow,
My drooping spirits sadden at the view ;
And yet, Maria, there are other joys,
The smiling circle, innocently gay,
In joys like these we still a solace find,
Come then, Maria, with your cheerful smiles,
A few dull months assist me to beguile ;
THOU dear delightful vale adieu !
To Crossdale's wildly-winding stream,
No more the cuckoo's evening song,
No more where Lune's transparent flood
Ye dusky mountains crown'd with heath,
For ever o'er whose chequer'd sides
No more your shadowy glens along
Farewell ye riv'lets of the hills,
Ye tufts of clust'ring flow'rets sweet,
Now peeping through the dewy grass,
But court in vain, for fate denies,
Hills, woods, and streams, and meadows green,
Those generous friends, and each lov'd scene,
KIND shepherd ! if thy hoary locks,
And many a barren marshy waste,
In mock'ry pointed out a road,
HERE let Compassion bend her head,
Let gay Prosperity forego
Let the fond youth of humble name,
Here let him firmly learn to bear
Let those who unreflecting stray,
Let Sculpture teach the stone to breathe
But ah ! can all this vain parade,
For the deep anguish of his heart,
And, in an hour of dark despair,
In hope to find oblivion there,
FROM fertile Gallia's peopled shore
Proud Gallia's flag triumphant spread,
At length arrang'd with martial pride,
Th' undaunted Monarch of the North
Smolensko's Prince in patriot ire,
A broken and disorder'd host,
Struck with dismay and panic dread,
The drifted snow was crimson'd o'er,
By ills of every kind distress'd,
Subdu'd by winter's rig'rous sway,
Ambition ! at thy tyrant will,
IN life's gay morn, while undepress'd by grief,
Oh ! let it not thy heedless steps decoy
And if that vivid light intensely shine
And ah ! beware that fatal love of play,
Think not the moral muse's lay severe,
Yet, not in vain within the youthful breast
MARK'D you the troubled face of heaven,
And guide his doubtful steps aright,
ONCE more the swift wheels of old Time's rapid chariot
Farewell to the year that is closed, for ever,
But the year which is gone had one favourite pleasure,
A source of amusement the world may call folly--
And shall I, my dearest Eliza, relinquish
Yet Prudence her maxims is ever repeating--
" The lover, who for some insensible fair one
" And those who solicit the gifts of dame Fortune,
" But the sons of Thalia what madness possesses !
Thus Prudence, her grave, sober lectures rehearses,
When my heart is as cold as the rocks of the ocean,
When the wonders of nature no longer delight me ;
O'ER Esthwaite's lake, serene and still,
The lovely landscape on its sides,
Inverted on the waveless flood,
Brown hills, and woods of various shades,
Ev'n lofty Tilberthwaite from far
Struck with the beauty of the scene,
Ne'er may it feel a ruder gale
When dancing in the solar beam,
Vain wish ! o'er Esthwaite's tranquil lake,
HOW dreary is winter to me,
Ye trees that hang over my cot,
For the ravage of winter you sigh,
Thou snowdrop so sickly and sad,
Fair flow'ret ! too early thy birth,
Like thee do I languish and fade,
IN this lone unfrequented spot--
She hangs the blossoms on the trees
But ah ! to those who slumber here,
And ye gay tenants of the grove,
Ye dwellers in these lowly cells,
Tho' long and loud the thunder rolls
Should whirlwinds rend the rooted trees,
Tho' war's dread tempest loudly roars,
Tho' nations tremble at the sound,
You know it not--for quiet peace
The anxious never ceasing cares,
No more shall anguish rend the heart,
O'er scenes of complicated woe,
Mourn not, ye living, for the dead,
THE wintry wind blew loud and cold,
Poor Anna, with a sinking heart,
With fond solicitude she view'd
As if to charm her griefs to rest
" Ah could thy smiles, my lovely boy,
" Unconscious of impending ills,
" Ah where o'er ocean's mountain-waves,
" Perhaps upon some rocky shore,
" Yet, yet, have hope my fainting heart,
WHAT changes time's swift motion brings !
Part given to the devouring fire :
A BARD, unlike the bards of yore,
And thought, from such a dreadful noise,
The following Stanzas were occasioned by reading in Mrs. Grant's Letters
OH ! happy lone retreat !
Peace dwells for ever there,
Oh ! that my weary head
And the green turf was lightly spread
Gladly I'd bi
Which led to Grayrigg's aged hall,
The elves had quite
And stood around him one and all.
With stern and threat'ning voice they said,
" Fail thou thy master in his need,
" Our vengeance he shall learn to dread."
Page 47
And each swol'n rivulet's furious tide
Rush'd wildly roaring down its glen,
And pour'd its foam on every side.
Of fairy vengeance nought did dream,
But urg'd his slow, unwilling, steed,
To plunge into the rapid stream.
Unheard, unseen, they hover'd round,
When the rash man the stream essay'd,
His steed an unsafe footing found ;
Its master call'd for aid in vain ;
Long, long, he struggled with the waves,
Fearful the brink he ne'er should gain.
His perils and his dangers o'er,
He vow'd he'd ne'er tread fairy ground
Nor touch their glitt'ring trifles more.
Page 48
ON HOPE.
Thy smile can all our griefs assuage ;
To man by kind indulgence given,
To cheer his mortal pilgrimage.
And thy delightful visions warm,
The world a desart wild would be,
And life itself without a charm.
Before some brighter prospect lies,
Some fairer land of promis'd rest,
For which our ardent wishes rise.
Thy pencil paints the distant scene ;
And there directs our constant view,
To smooth the rugged paths between.
To toil through slow revolving years,
On whom the light of heaven ne'er shines,
Nor sounds of joy salute his ears,--
Against the horrors of despair ;
What makes him with a soul resign'd,
His heavy load of misery bear.
Page 49
Of better, happier days to be,
That bears his sinking spirits up,
And bids him live for liberty.
Far, far from all the scenes he lov'd ;
From wife, and children, and from home
By power's despotic arm remov'd.
Not yet by slavery supprest,
Too keen, too powerful for controul,
Indignant struggle in his breast--
Sharp hunger, wretchedness, and pain ;
And wounded honour's keener pangs,
And recollection's cruel train.
That his long term of suffering past,
He yet may tread his native plains,
And see his long lost home at last.
And meet his Cath'rine's beaming eye,
And clasp her to his breast again,
With all the joy of extacy.
Hope finds no place of rest on earth,
Page 50
For pleasures of superior birth.
In bright, immortal beauty bloom :
And permanent as they are fair,
There sad reverses cannot come.
REFLECTIONS ON VISITING THE MONUMENT
OF MISS SMITH, OF CONISTONE.
Life's gayer scenes and youth's fond hopes resign'd,
Left Piercefield's lov'd retreats, from childhood dear,
And came to dwell a willing recluse here,
Yet here could science boast its power to charm,
And here could nature's wildest features warm
Her ardent mind, and fancy's vivid ray,
With brighter lustre, gild the summer's day ;
And here benevolence could still pursue
Its fav'rite task, to give to want its due,
The drooping sons of poverty to cheer,
And wipe from sorrow's eye the starting tear.
This task was hers--and all the friendless round,
In her a friend and benefactress found.
Alas ! could neither worth nor talents save
Their lov'd possessor from an early grave ?
Form'd the most polish'd circles to adorn,
Yet forc'd to quit them in life's early morn,
Ah ! where is now affection's ardent glow,
The sympathetic breast which felt for woe,
Page 51
The fire of genius and the taste refin'd ?--
Where now that active animating flame,
Which gave its vigour to the mortal frame,
Which bade expression in each feature speak,
Glanc'd in the eye, and mantled on the cheek ?
Where now each virtue, every noble guest,
That once were inmates of her gentle breast ?
Can death's cold hand--whose icy touch congeals
Life's crimson tide, and all its flood-gates seals,
Which clouds the lustre of the brightest eye,
And from the cheek bids beauty's roses fly--
Can it extinguish each celestial ray,
Each heav'n-born beam that gives the mental day,
And quench in shades of everlasting night,
Reflection, thought, and reason's sacred light ?
No : these, the tyrant's power can ne'er destroy ;
A deathless heir of everlasting joy,
Within a fragile tenement enshrin'd,
A living spirit, dwells th' immortal mind !
That spark which animates the breathing clay,
Shall suffer no extinction or decay,
But change its dwelling for a nobler home,
Where sickness and disease can never come.
Those powers, those virtues, which exerted here,
The memory of departed friends endear ;
These shall survive the latest wrecks of time,
And gain new lustre in a happier clime.
Page 52
ON THE APPROACH OF WINTER.
ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND.
Life's brightest hours the swiftest fade away :
Hope's distant prospects glad our longing eyes ;
We reach them--soon the lovely scenes decay,
And strews the choicest flow'rets in each glade,
Ere half admir'd again she's on the wing,
Her blossoms wither, and her sweet flowers fade.
To scatter plenty round--but short her stay ;
The mower level lays her varied blooms,
And fast she rolls her fervid car away.
(The Muse of Melancholy in her train,)
With sweet, yet pensive smile, and sober pace,
In waning beauty, Autumn treads the plain.
With lingering steps she long delights to rove ;
Or seeks some fav'rite valley's sunny side ;
And last the fading venerable grove.
Through the thinn'd grove the sweeping north-wind sighs ;
And ceaseless showers her leafy covert beat ;
On every side the wither'd foliage flies.
Page 53
To the all-conquering tyrant Winter's sway ;
He comes, and life and beauty disappear;
He comes, and devastation marks his way.
Imagination sees his dreadful form,
Arming his furious gales with frost and snow,
And gathering all his demons of the storm.
To joy and pleasure now a long farewell !
To thee, enchanting Poesy, adieu !
Can dreary Winter e'er attune thy shell ?
Pleasures, beyond the reach of Winter's reign
Pleasures, which all his tempests can't destroy ;
The charms of friendship still unchang'd remain.
Conven'd at eve around the blazing hearth,
To pass the long and tedious hours away,
In friendly intercourse and social mirth.
Though Winter's chilling blasts around us howl,
They cannot freeze the feelings of the mind,
They cannot chain th' affections of the soul.
With sprightly wit, and many a pleasant song,
Page 54
The weary season still will be too long.
WRITTEN ON LEAVING H--
Sweet spot, from early years belov'd,
Enraptur'd still thy charms I view,
Nor leave thee with a heart unmov'd.
Its hanging woods and hollow dell,
(Where wand'ring bards might love to dream,)
Reluctantly I bid farewell.
The thrush or linnet's matin clear,
Echoing these lonely woods among,
Will sooth a musing list'ner's ear.
O'er shelving rocks swift rolls away,
Through verdant meads and tangled wood,
Or yellow broom-clad heights I'll stray.
With dark and rugged glens between,
And mossy pastures spread beneath,
A wild, yet varied pleasing scene :
Page 55
Sun-beams and clouds each other chase ;
Fast as the fleeting splendour glides
The gath'ring storm supplies its place :
I'll watch the sun's declining ray,
Your crags, your fern, and heath among,
With setting lustre mildly play.
That down your narrow channels sweep,
Collected from surrounding rills,
With rapid sounding currents sweep.
Array'd in summer's varied pride,
Long wont my partial eyes to greet,
By ev'ry verdant hedge-row's side--
And glistening in the morning beam,
As by your smiling groupes I pass,
To court my longer stay you seem.
I to my distant home return,
You'll bloom as fair for other eyes,
Nor ever for my absence mourn.
To you, and to my friends, farewell !
Page 56
Shall long in my rememb'rance dwell.
THE PILGRIM.
Bespeaking venerable age,
May trust and confidence inspire,
Oh ! wilt thou, with thy counsel sage,
Assist a sad perplexed wight,
Who, wretched, weary, and forlorn,
Nor home, nor friend, nor peace can find ;
Compell'd to wander and to mourn,
Instruct me, if thou canst, to find
The secret dwelling of a friend,
From whom long time I've sever'd been,
And whither all my wand'rings tend ;
Her name is Happiness,--her face,
Like summer's morn, serene and bright--
Her smile, through ev'ry human heart,
Diffuses feelings of delight ;
And while she journey'd by my side,
Full many a fresh and fragrant flower,
Springing in lawn and glade, confess'd
The presence of the beauteous power ;
Long time, alas ! she's absent been
The joy and solace of my mind,
And I have wander'd far and wide,
The lovely fugitive to find ;
I've traversed many a dreary wild,
With briars and with thorns bestrew'd,
Page 57
And many a pathless mountain rude ;
Sometimes the dear enchanting form
Stood beckoning on a distant plain,
Between, a broad deep river roll'd,
And all my foils have prov'd in vain ;
And oft beneath the shelt'ring grove
I saw the lovely vision glide,
By fond exulting hope inspir'd,
With eager steps I thither hied,
Then look'd, but vainly look'd around,
Th' illusive shade had left the place,
Nor track nor footstep could be seen,
By which her further course to trace ;
Sometimes (along some desart strand
Lost and bewilder'd) as I stray'd
O'er the drear view, the gloom of night
Approaching, threw a deeper shade,
I heard the howling of the storm,
The wind breath'd sullen on mine ear,
The rising surges of the main,
With dreadful sound, seem'd rushing near,
I saw dark frightful billows roll,
That threat'ned an approaching grave,
Fear seiz'd on all my trembling frame,
No succour nigh, no hand to save,
And yet the worst of all my griefs,
Was man's unkindness and deceit--
When I of passengers enquir'd
Some pathway for my weary feet,
With seeming friendship, cov'ring guile,
Full oft, oh ! cruel treach'ry, they,
Page 58
Which only led me more astray.
If kinder feelings fill thy breast,
O lead my doubtful steps aright,
And give me, shepherd, if thou canst,
Some tidings of the wand'rer's flight.
" Fond youth, the fruitless search give o'er--
" She's but a transient guest on earth,
" Short is her longest visits here,
" For Bliss is of celestial birth ;
" At intervals she will return,
" To cheer thee with her heav'nly smile,
" And with some fairer views between,
" Adorn thy path of life awhile ;
" But far beyond this dusky spot
" Is fix'd her permanent abode--
" There may'st thou share her constant smile,
" When thou this chequer'd vale hast trod."
STANZAS,
Supposed to be written at the grave of Chatterton.
And tears of tender sorrow shed,
And warm enthusiasm musing tread,
To pour his sighs.
Awhile the scenes of pomp and show,
To view this last retreat from woe,
Where Genius lies.
Page 59
Inspir'd by fancy's kindling flame,
Whose heart beats high with hopes of fame,
Seek this lone tomb ;
Stern disappointment's blow severe,
And all the evils life can fear,
Lest such his doom.
Where ardent feelings lead the way,
Neglecting reason's cooler sway,
Come here to mourn.
O'er the unconscious dust beneath,
Let Genius twine her brightest wreath
Round this sad urn.
This useless show of honour paid
Departed talents, soothe his shade,
For former woes ?
Pierc'd by affliction's keenest dart,
Which, with intolerable smart,
To madness rose ;
Made him the unknown future dare,
Page 60
And calm repose.
VERSES IN IMITATION OF HOHENLINDEN.
Around what countless millions pour,
(Where'er her threat'ning eagles soar,)
To spread the reign of anarchy.
Their daring troops the generals led
Through climes whence freedom long had fled,
The once fair realms of Germany.
Their glittering weapons gleaming wide,
They cross'd the Dwina's foaming tide,
Elate with hopes of victory.
Sent all his gallant legions forth,
To prove their prowess and their worth,
And rid the world of tyranny,
Inspir'd his troops with martial fire,
Compell'd th' invaders to retire,
And Russia gain'd her liberty.
Page 61
Their eagles fallen, their leaders lost,
The Dwina's flood once more they cross'd,
Before a conquering enemy.
Fast o'er Volhynia's plains they fled,
Behind, the conquering army sped
Platoff's intrepid cavalry.
And many a deep-stain'd river bore
Its water to the distant shore
Of the dark rolling Vistula.
By cold benumb'd, by hunger press'd,
Forc'd on the frozen earth to rest,
The sky their only canopy.
To famine and disease a prey,
The once Grand
Army pin'd away,
On Poland's dreary boundary.
Such scenes of misery earth mnst
fill ;
Horrors attend thy progress still,
Such are thy deeds of cruelty.
Page 62
REFLECTIONS.
The heart quick vibrates to the sense of joy ;
And mounting vig'rous, yet uncheck'd by care,
Th' exulting spirits kindle in the eye--
If much of fancy's quivering flame be thine,
What hand shall guide that wild, unsteady light,
Which oft the young advent'rer leads astray,
And, like the dancing meteor of the night,
But dazzles and confounds the mental sight.
To where intemp'rance holds her giddy reign ;
Though wit and mirth invite thee to her shrine,
Though sense and genius join th' attendant train :
For ah ! if thou possess a feeling heart,
And warm affections, and a generous mind,
How keen will be the pangs that heart must feel,
When from the long delirium wak'd, to find
Remorse, despair, and penury behind.
On female beauty, height'ning every charm
Does her fair form give raptures of delight,
Does her enchanting smile thy bosom warm--
Oh ! do not seek by base deceitful arts,
That unsuspecting beauty to betray :
The cruel deed would haunt thy nightly dreams ;
And conscience, arm'd with vengeance to repay,
Would rise in terror some succeeding day.
Page 63
Which madly prompts th' incautious wretch to try
Stake after stake, until his all depends
Upon the dang'rous hazard of the die :
Driven to distraction when that all
is lost,
His 'wilder'd senses make a dreadful pause ;
Reflection adds fresh horror to his thoughts ;
And rous'd to phrenzy, he resolves to close,
By one rash act, his being and his woes.
Which bounds prescribes to youth's impetuous fires :
Too ardent, too unthinking to be wise ;
Each novel scene awakes their warm desires--
The forms of pleasure eager they pursue--
They fear no danger, no deceit they dread,
Nor stop to think where the wild chace will end,
Till unawares the paths of guilt they tread,
And misery hangs impending o'er their head.
The fire of fancy glows, let reason guide
Its wav'ring light, direct it where to shine,
And point its beams to truth and virtue's side :
For ah ! how lost is the mistaken youth,
How lost to future fortune and to fame,
Who gives to vice his best his earliest years--
Lost to each gen'rous wish, each nobler aim,
Ruin his steps attends, dishonour marks his name.
Page 64
THE STORM.
The sun a broad discolour'd spot,
The wheeling clouds impetuous driven,
Its lovely fields of azure blot ?
Heard you that wild discordant yell,
The voice of many a mingled blast ?
Saw you the feathery flakes which fell,
At fall of eve, so thick and fast ?
How dreary is the closing day,
More dismal still will be the night,
No trembling moon-beam's paly ray,
No scatter'd star's faint glimmering light.
Ye thriftless, thoughtless, hardy race,
Who never for to-morrow care,
But wander still from place to place,
While others for your wants prepare,
Who, when the summer's day was o'er,
Beneath the forest oak's broad screen,
Safe slumber'd till the morning hour
On nature's flow'ry carpet green :
And when the midnight air grew cold,
Beneath the shelt'ring hay-stack crept,
Or, in some shed or ruin old,
Contented with the cattle slept--
Say, would not now the fire-side warm,
Protected from the tempest's strife,
And settled habitation charm,
More than the wand'ring vagrant's life ?
Hark ! what a wild tempestuous night !
The weary traveller heaven defend !
Page 65
Who's distant from his journey's end--
Heav'n guide him, if his destin'd way
Lie o'er the common's dreary bound,
Where, if he wander far astray,
Perils encompass him around :--
The undiscover'd precipice,
The dingle, fill'd with drifted snow
The slipp'ry plains of treach'rous ice,
Which hide the dark deep pool below :--
Safe through this wild and stormy night,
Through all the dangers of his course,
May Mercy guide his steps aright,
And shield him from the tempest's force.
TO ELIZA,
ON THE FIRST OF JANUARY.
Have hastily roll'd months and seasons away ;
Once more we take leave of the gloom of December,
And hail brighter prospects returning to day.
Like a dream, or a vision of fancy 'tis o'er :
Adieu to its toils, to its cares, and its pleasures ;
They 'll return to perplex or delight us no more.
A charm of its own, that endear'd it to me ;
Page 66
To me it was pleasure, since valued by thee.
A source of enjoyment so pure and refin'd ;
If I bid a reluctant adieu to the Muses,
Where shall I such pleasing society find ?
" That the vot'ries of song are pursuing a shade ;
" A phantom, whose charms are delusive and fleeting,
" As a rainbow, whose brilliance a moment will fade.
" Still sighs, though she heed not, nor pity his pain ;
" If at length she relent, and with kindness reward him,
" Though for years he had sigh'd, yet it was not in vain.
" Where blindfold she scatters her favours around,
" Are rewarded, if after long constant attenda nce
" She grant them a share of a ten-thousand pound.
" For year after year to write nonsense in rhyme,
" Without any hope of advantage or profit,
" To repay them for waste of their paper and time."
But in vain--those enjoyments I cannot resign,
While the ardour of fancy still glows in my bosom,
While the feelings of joy, love, and pity are mine.
Page 67
When the reign of affection and friendship is o'er,
When fancy's bright flame is extinguish'd for ever,
And the name of Eliza can charm me no more.
When its beauties no longer my lays can inspire ;
Then will I forsake the lov'd haunts of the Muses,
And bid an eternal farewell to the lyre.
ON ESTHWAITE WATER.
At sunset's silent peaceful hour,
Scarce mov'd the zephyr's softest breath,
Or sigh'd along its reedy shore.
With ev'ning's soft'ning hues imprest,
Shar'd in the gen'ral calm, and gave
Sweet visions of repose and rest.
A spotless mirror smooth and clear,
Each fair surrounding object shone
In softer beauty imag'd there.
Orchards and sloping meadows green,
Sweet rural seats, and shelter'd farms,
Were in the bright reflector seen.
Page 68
His giant shadow boldly threw,
His rugged, dark, high-tow'ring head
On Esthwaite's tranquil breast to view.
I cry'd, Oh ! may my yielding breast
Retain but images of peace,
Like those, sweet lake, on thine imprest.
Than that which o'er thy surface spre ad
When sportive zephyrs briskly play,
And whisper through thy bord'ring reeds ;
Thy silv'ry waves the margin seek,
With gently undulating flow,
And there in softest murmurs break.
A stronger gale full frequent blows,
The soothing prospect disappears,
The lovely visions of repose.
THE WIDOW.
Alone all its rigours I bear ;
The hand that should shield me lies low ;
I've none in my sorrows to share.
Page 69
And tremble with each passing breeze,
The sport of the rude whistling winds,
Which bend your tall heads as they please :
And the loss of your verdure deplore,
But your lot's not so wretched as mine,
My winter will never be o'er.
That droops when the sun is gone down ;
Now languid and bending thy head,
Beneath the pale light of the moon.
Too soon hast thou left thy warm bed,
The hoar-frost will nip thy sweet bud,
And soon will thy beauty be fled.
But my state is more sad and forlorn ;
And ah ! hapless me, if I die,
My loss a sweet infant will mourn.
WRITTEN IN A CEMETERY.
Amongst these dwellings of the dead,
Does spring her beauteous charms display,
And here her fragrant odours shed.
Page 70
Which o'er the mould'ring ashes wave ;
She paints the leaves with vivid green,
And strews with flowers the lowly grave.
The simple flowers which deck the plain,
The verdant foliage of the trees,
And golden blossoms, blow in vain.
Sweet minstrels of the early year,
In vain ye pour the tuneful strain,
For they, alas ! can never hear.
When wintry tempests round you sweep,
In death's oblivious slumbers wrapp'd,
Ah ! how securely then you sleep--
Around the dark and troubled sky,
And bursting from the fiery cloud,
The forked light'ning flashes by ;
And earthquakes rock the trembling ground,
The noise of elemental strife,
Can never break your rest profound.
And rages round th' affrighted world ;
Page 71
And monarchs from their thrones be hurl'd,
Within the grave for ever reigns ;
No hostile sounds can e'er invade
The silence of death's still domains.
Invaders of the human breast ;
Doubt, and solicitude, and fear,
Here slumber in perpetual rest.
Or sink the spirit in despair,
No more the mind shall droop beneath
Stern disappointment's frown severe.
No more the feeling heart shall grieve,
Nor breathe the unavailing sigh,
For mis'ries which it can't relieve.
Their day of toil and trouble o'er,
Sweet are their slumbers in the grave,
And they awake to grief no more.
Page 72
ANNA.
And whirl'd in drifted heaps the snow ;
No moon-beam cheer'd the gloomy night,
No trembling star was seen to glow.
Sat list'ning to each sweeping blast,
Which o'er her low unshelter'd cot,
With still increasing fury past.
Her sleeping infant as it lay ;
The starting tear stood in her eye,
She mourn'd its father far away.
The little cherub sweetly smil'd :
The weeping mother in her arms,
Still closer press'd her darling child.
" Soothe all my anxious fears to rest !
" Ah me ! how little dost thou knwo
" The secret anguish of my breast.
" How happy now thou seem'st to be ;
" Thus calmly may'st thou ever sleep,
" From all thy mother's terrors free.
Page 73
" Toss'd by the rough tempestuous wind,
" Does thy poor father brave the storm,
" While thoughts of home oppress his mind !
" Full many a gallant seaman's grave,
" E'en now the shatter'd vessel drives,
" Or sinks beneath the stormy wave.
" Ah sink not to despair a prey ;
" Sure heav'n a mother's prayers will hear,
" And spare his life who's far away.
ON THE FATE OF NEWSPAPERS.
What sad reverse of human things !
What once was valu'd, highly priz'd,
Is in a few short hours despis'd,
I'll but solicit your attention,
While I a single instance mention,
The "Advertiser
" you must know,
Fresh from the Mint not long ago,
We welcom'd with abundant pleasure,
Impatient for the mighty treasure,
In what an alter'd state forlorn,
'T is now in scatter'd fragments torn,
Part wrapp'd around the kettle's handle,
Part twisted up to light the candle,
Page 74
Ah ! see line after line expire ;
It surely would, beyond a joke,
The patience of a saint provoke,
To think that after all their pains,
The rhymes which rack'd the poet's brains,
And all the antiquarian's learning,
Display'd so justly in discerning
The ancient Saxon derivation
Of half the places in the nation,
And the philosopher's vast skill,
In measuring each stupendous hill,
From Sca-fell down to Benson-knot,
And even hills of lesser note ;
To think that what such wits have penn'd,
Should come to this disgraceful end.
Why 't is enough to make them vow,
With aspect stern and frowning brow,
They'll such an useless trade resign,
And never write another line.
But stop good sirs, a nobler fate
May your productions yet await ;
A thought just now my head has enter'd,
In which alone my hopes are center'd.
Perhaps, preferr'd the pipe to light,
For some dull heavy witless wight,
They'll, with tobacco's fumes, infuse
The inspiration of the muse,
And furnish many an empty brain--
If so, we'll write and sing again.
Page 75
THE DISAPPOINTMENT.
Who drew from Aganippe's well,
Inspiring draughts of poesy,
As their harmonious numbers tell ;
Unlike the Roman bard who lov'd
The produce of Falernian vines,
Which made (for elegance and wit)
His songs unrivall'd as his vines :
A hapless bard of modern days,
Once tried some sonnets to produce,
Unaided by the muse's spring,
Or by the grape's enliv'ning juice ;
Nor copious draughts of ale he tried,
When his invention prov'd too slow ;
Small beer was all he could afford,
To make his tardy numbers flow.
Two good stone bottles he had got,
And with his fav'rite bev'rage fill'd,
And cork'd the frisky liquor close,
In frugal housewif'ry well skill'd ;
And thought when on a distant day
(A day he never was to see)
He drew his simple bev'rage forth,
How brisk and pleasant it would be.
The sequel how shall I relate ?
The poet's beer was beer of spirit,
The bottles, near each other plac'd,
Quarrell'd about superior merit :
At night was heard a sudden crash,
The dreaming bard affrighted woke,
Page 76
Each window in the house was broke.
The morn disclos'd a woeful scene,
The beer was swimming on the floor,
The bottles scatter'd here and there,
Broke in a hundred bits or more.
The bard, with sorrow in his looks,
Beheld this sad catastrophe--
" Oh ! my lov'd cordial" he exclaim'd,
" What shall I do for want of thee ;
" This cruel blow strikes all my hopes,
" And all my promis'd laurels fade ;
" I cannot write, I cannot think,
" I cannot live without thy aid.
from the Mountains, an account of a small island, which was the bury-
ing place of a family. The person who speaks them is supposed to be
a young Highland lady in distress, and within view of the island.
Where my forefathers sleep ;
Though the rough surging billows beat
Against thy woody steep,
Beneath thy lonely shade ;
Where those, to pensive mem'ry dear,
My earliest friends are laid.
Was laid with theirs at rest ;
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Upon this aching breast.