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THE FOLLOWING POEMS
ARE, BY PERMISSION,
HUMBLY INSCRIBED, BY
HER ROYAL HIGHNESS'S MOST OBEDIENT SERVANT,
thought unbending wings thy playful hour,
Say, lovely Princess! dares my Muse advance?
Or hope, mild beaming in thy studious bow'r,
From thy bright eyes one momentary glance?
What spirit leads to thy august abode
My daring, unpremeditated flight?
All unsolicited my numbers flow'd,
Soon as thy name allur'd my wond'ring sight.
May fostering angels guard a nation's pride,
Forbidding fate to crop with timeless doom;
And let thy days in one smooth current glide,
Till all thy virtues prosper, bud, and bloom.
Let Genius nurse thee in her sacred shrine,
And paint thy future glories of renown,
When time shall make the Royal Sceptre thine,
To spread new lustre on Britannia's crown.
But O! fair blossom of the fairest Isle!
While uncontroll'd I frame these simple lays,
Forgive the maid that with a rustic smile
Intrudes upon thine ear unpolish'd praise;
That dares presumptuous steal thy hallow'd time,
Or seek to charm with perishable rhyme.
WHOEVER ventures to claim public attention, must naturally expect that the keen eye of criticism will strictly scrutinize the attempt. The timidity which this idea occasions, induces me to solicit the attention of the candid and enlightened before they peruse these simple productions of uncultivated fancy. From earliest infancy, my bosom has been animated with her inspiring glow, and the Muse smiled when I endeavoured to harmonize the scenes she drew. Allured by her fairy charms, and impelled to seek solace from the gloom of surrounding embarrassments, I soothed my anxieties in her mazy bower, twin-
ing garlands to deck the dark brow of fate. But the airy dream has vanished. The piercing thorns which still spring in our rugged path, force me to yield to the glaring eye of day the employment of my lonely hours. It is the only means in my power of contributing to the support of a large family, the object of my tenderest solicitude.
It will soon be perceived that my education has been confined, and that nature has not been so munificent towards me, as to supersede the necessity of cultivation: and if, in some parts of these Poems, I have indulged myself in any vain-glorious expressions, let it not be imagined that they have their origin in pride. A generous sigh for fame may be breathed by one who never expects to attain it: a transient exultation, when dwelling on a pleasing subject with apparent felicity, may for a while lift the mind above its ordinary level; and if, upon these occasions, every
line that savours of vanity is to be considered as the product of serious deliberating thought, it will be but just to throw into the opposite scale, every sentiment of humility which my Muse has uttered with consciousness and truth. To the public this, I trust, will be a sufficient apology: but a task remains far more difficult to perform, which, however delightful in reflection, defies all the power of language; namely, the endeavour to express my gratitude to the exalted List of Subscribers, whose names adorn my Publication, and entitle it to notice. With sentiments, therefore, of the highest respect, let me request them to accept my sincere thanks for their powerful encouragement and applause. I have now only to solicit my readers in general to impress upon their minds, that these compositions are the production of a young female, whom necessity, not choice, has forced thus publicly to appear. This, I dare venture to hope, will plead for every error. Indulging in the pleasing thought, with respect-
ful deference I submit my work; after acknowledging the deep gratitude, which the distinguished patronage I have received eternally
Their ever obliged
And respectful Servant,
May 18, 1812.
, flow'ry Isis, thy soft murm'rings glide,
Where contemplation's studious sons reside,
My Muse, though weak, has ventur'd to appear,
Within thy shades her trembling form to rear.
Bright wisdom, now thy sceptre mildly wield,
And all my errors in thy bosom shield;
Let no stern eye my simple verse pursue,
But gen'rous feeling ev'ry frown subdue.
Unlike yourselves, to whom, with genius bright,
Fair science opens all the gates of light,
Unguided still, I wander in the dark,
No culture feeds one intellectual spark.
Had it been mine in learning's path to tread,
The Muse, perchance, had smil'd as fancy led:
But fortune's cloud gloom'd o'er my earliest hour,
And cares domestic drove me from her bow'r;
Or I had haply trac'd each mystic page,
And reap'd, like you, the fruits of ev'ry age.
Then glowing thought, uncheck'd by reason mild,
Had not, as now, rush'd from my bosom wild.
For those who touch the soft Aönian string,
My flutt'ring Muse shall plume her airy wing;
For you, whom genius and true learning fire,
My untaught fingers trembling strike the lyre.
there on earth a charm more firmly binds,
Than gentle gratitude congenial minds?
That Goddess now, at whose soft shrine I bend,
Must guide my hand to thee, my patron, friend;
To thee, who kindly read'st my simple lays,
And cheer'dst me trembling with thy well-tun'd praise.
No thought of fame, or yet ambitious pride,
Bade me all fearful to the world confide;
By claims imperious driv'n from friendly night,
My blushing Muse still shrinks from public sight;
For well she knows, in this bright age is found
Sweet fancy scatt'ring smiles profusely round;
That not her charms my lowly breast endow,
Nor has experience shaded o'er my brow.
Once, where she blooms, I stole with silent tread,
As heaven's sweet zephyrs play'd around my head;
Veil'd by the gloomy hour, beneath the sky
I sat me down, when thou, my Muse, wert nigh:
Oh! then in murmurs borne along the gale,
Thy sweets, fair fancy, did I first inhale;
And aided by the still and solemn hour,
I vow'd to dwell within the Muse's bow'r;
Dew'd with soft fragrance and the midnight air,
Amid the shades I breath'd my silent prayer.
The Goddess smil'd, then spoke; "Sure some rude thorn
"Impels to seek me in life's early morn;
"They seldom wander near my mystic cell,
"Whom pleasure has not bid a long farewel.
"But if thou com'st a lonely hour to cheer,
"Remember! 'tis not happiness dwells here:
"The pow'r I boast is but to soothe the mind,
"When cares perplex, and fortune low'rs unkind."
The Goddess ended; but so gently flow'd
Each accent sweet, that still my bosom glow'd;
Still long'd to trace the varying shades of rhyme,
And catch the glimm'rings of a thought sublime.
'Tis when to all expos'd my fancy weak,
That busy thought will crimson o'er my cheek;
To chase the glow, let memory's beam pourtray
When first I gave to thee my simple lay--
To thee, who smiling bad'st me still pursue
The flow'ry path, and whisper'd praises too.
A soothing word from one by genius blest,
Repell'd the fears fast rising in my breast.
I knew successful thou had'st travell'd o'er
The paths which lead to wisdom's sacred shore;
The laurels that thy manly brows entwin'd
Bespoke thy vast fertility of mind;
But yet that mind with gen'rous ardour gave
Supporting smiles, ere yet I dar'd the wave;
My little bark, with gentle breezes fann'd,
And hail'd by thee, may safely reach the land;
With thee, my prop, encourager, and guide!
My Muse may brighten, as my fears subside.
Oh! with thy warmth could my chill feelings glow,
To pay the debt of gratitude I owe,
Soon should the thrilling lyre's harmonious swell
The Sisters call from every mystic cell,
With flow'rs, with verse, to deck thy glorious name,
And waft thy praise on all the tongues of fame!
Thee first I saw upon that flow'ry ground
Where the fair Queen and all her train are found:
Within that bow'r none durst, I knew, recline,
Who offer'd not libations to the Nine.
If then my verse her favourite son could hear,
What critic sound shall violate my ear?
Ere wisdom could my erring fancy rein,
Reflect, I mingled in the vocal train:
Let justice weigh th' impartial scales of thought,
Not I by Milton nor by Homer taught;
No Virgil deign'd my lonely hours to bless,
No aid, but Nature's, can my Muse confess;
In her sweet garden, 'midst her flow'rets fair,
A weed I sprang, and lowly blossom'd there;
But ere that blossom could fair fruit bestow,
An angry tempest shook and laid me low:
Like some poor orphan now I wander wild,
Torn from the field where nature kindly smil'd;
Upon the bosom of the earth I roam,
To seek for thee, poor Muse, a sheltering home!
Expect not, then, within my lays to find
The bright effusions of a towering mind;
These fingers o'er the harp all trembling stray,
Till judgment ripe illumes my youthful day.
Till then my verse uncheck'd, unguided, pours,
And strives in vain to roll o'er classic shores;
Where the rich wand'rings of thy genius glide,
Where wisdom and her sacred train reside.
glorious power! of keen celestial eye,
Genius! tumultuous ruler of the breast,
By nature wing'd with wond'rous speed to fly,
Yet seldom visiting an earthly guest!
Descend for once with all thy glowing fire,
And make my soul thy transitory shrine:
Or oh! forgive me if I deck my lyre
With gems or ornaments that are not thine!
Come, guide my fancy when it seeks the Muse
That still to thee directs her daring flight!
Through my chill veins one gentle beam infuse
Of splendor, visible to mortal sight!
Lead to the bow'rs where haunt thy heavenly train,
And I will distant watch their mystic tread;
From their rich harvest glean the scatter'd grain,
To weave a band fantastic for my head.
By me unenvied, flattering crowds may throng,
Where Poets trace the never-varying round;
If thou, bright genius! animate my song,
My name shall live, with endless glory crowned.
, Solitude! whose silent sphere
Is music to th' harmonious ear.
O! waft me from the realms of pride,
And let me to thy bosom glide,
Amid thy calm sequester'd grove,
Where sons of contemplation rove!
Yes! let me to thy deepest gloom retire,
Where wisdom plays upon the Muse's lyre,
Where thy smooth brow no ruffling cares annoy,
But melancholy breathes the purest joy.
Not so the world! her hypocritic art
Can deck with smiles the agonizing heart;
Gay fluttering scene of revellers in strife!
Where inward cankers gnaw the bud of life,
Where, thick as waves successive heat the shore,
Crowd, following crowd, forbids the mind to soar!
Sleep! that unsolicited to all,
In night's dark robe descending from the sky,
Soft as the dews upon the meadows fall,
Dost shed thy poppies o'er the languid eye!
By me alone! too long, too vainly sought,
While all around enjoy thy sweetest flowers!
While dreams illusive gild the shades of thought,
Thou doom'st me still to watch the number'd hours!
Why heaves the sigh in this unruffled breast?
'Tis not the past can tinge this cheek with shame;
No fury stings, no envy gnaws my rest,
And love, to me, is but an empty name.
What though yon moon so pleasing lures the gaze,
(Mild image of the mind serenely fair,)
Have not these eyes drunk in its glorious blaze
Till their tir'd orbs, unglutted, seek repair?
Come then, kind pow'r! whose eyes in darkness roll,
And stop the circuit of quick fancy's flow!
Benumb the sleepless energies of soul,
Till the bright morn shall bid my Muse to glow!
Let dreams of friendship ling'ring night beguile;
While fame upon my pillow deigns to smile!
more, O Muse, (though long my lyre unstrung,)
Arise, and break the silence of my tongue:
Come, join with fancy in some airy strain,
Touch all the links of that harmonious chain,
That with connexion sweet, through well-tun'd ears
Soft flowing, speaks thee daughter of the spheres.
Oh! let thy glories still around me smile,
For what so sweetly can my cares beguile?
This bosom ne'er shall solitude invade,
While fountains sport in thy sequester'd shade.
Teach me to warble in some pleasing lay,
The simple thoughts that in my bosom play;
With touch divine to smooth each dismal frown,
Though long by fortune sunk untimely down.
With thee, fair Goddess! ever at my side,
Whose wreaths I wear with wild ecstatic pride,
Still shall my Muse invoke thy list'ning ear
When pleasure charms, or fortune calls a tear.
Full oft, thou know'st, I seek thy pleasing power,
To cheer for me still evening's lonesome hour;
Full oft, when night has lovely nature drown'd
In her thick shades, o'er all th' empyreal round,
I sing thy praise: unblest, alas! is he,
Whom fate relentless alienates from thee!
Whose soul ne'er tastes the soft melodious rhyme,
Is form'd from earliest infancy to crime,
To horrible confusion, deeds of ire,
And thoughts too dark for the recording lyre.
But he, blest infant! whom the fates incline
At thy lov'd voice to thrill with joy divine,
To heavenly lore and contemplation born,
Shall hail thee as the sweet approach of morn;
With innocence shall wing the gladsome hours,
And trace thy footsteps through the dews and flowers.
thee, pale monarch, death! my verse shall sing,
Though chilling moisture dews each tuneful string;
And thou, sad willow, all thy branches wave,
While fancy hovers o'er the darksome grave!
My Muse contemplative delights to stray,
Where the green sod conceals the mould'ring clay:
In hallow'd shades she glories to recline,
And pensive bend before thy sable shrine!
Yes! she will lead me to thy mazy bow'r,
And point where early cropt lies many a flow'r!
She bids me fair religion's steps pursue,
And dauntless yield, when nature claims her due.
Revenge will triumph o'er thy certain sting,
And Grief oft flies to thee with eager wing;
Love slights thy arrows, smiling, as the dart
Drinks the warm blood, that swell'd his aching heart!
E'en Envy o'er the mossy turf will weep,
And bid in peace the child of genius sleep,
Will light the torch to blazon out the name
Of those who sunk in death, but live in fame.
Guide me, Eternal Father, thro' the maze!
Inspire my erring heart to sing thy praise,
That when the last dread hour approaches near,
No friend may blush, while dropping memory's tear.
is the fount of sweeter flow,
Replenish'd by the fost'ring skies,
Than that which springs at others' woe
From sympathy's dissolving eyes?
Thou gentle nymph of placid mien,
Who lov'st to soothe the pangs of care,
And when my bosom festers keen,
Dost tearful to my couch repair!
When sorrow spreads her darkness round,
And pours out all her gushing stream;
Dost heal the rage of deadliest wound,
And cheer me with thy orient beam!
Around the Muse still hover nigh!
She grateful will thy presence own,
Come, share the mourner's rising sigh,
Nor let misfortune weep alone!
One look of thine is heavenly calm,
Where horror broods with sullen wing;
One tear a soft delicious balm,
Where all the tongues of envy sting.
! where amid this dreary scene
Of enmity and strife,
Unvex'd with many a thorn between,
Can spring one flow'r of life!
Here fortune basks in sunshine fair,
(A golden harvest round,)
There sinks, a prey to blank despair,
Abortive to the ground.
Thus ev'ry urn shall sorrow fill,
While mortals toil below,
And blast our joys with horror chill,
Amid this vale of woe.
Me hope inspires, with whisp'ring breath,
To tempt the air sublime,
To triumph o'er the shades of death
And injuries of time.
But lo! the Critics' grizly band!
That dash the fairest crown,
Already lift the wasteful hand
To hurl me trembling down.
Yet still in fields where fame is sought,
For fame shall Emma sigh,
And shudder at the dismal thought,
To close th' inglorious eye.
Still wildly singing all night long,
While Cynthia wond'ring views,
With rude simplicity of song
Call down th' inspiring Muse.
soul with joyful gratitude surveys
The cheerful sun each day more splendid rise!
The softest breezes fan me as I gaze,
For thee, sweet girl! soliciting the skies.
Full well I know, though all is calmness here,
That angry winds may swell the troubled sea,
Yet this fond thought has check'd the starting tear,
"That mildest heaven would still the waves for thee."
As pensive oft I view yon orbs divine,
The gems of night, by heavenly wisdom wrought,
By me unheeded all their glories shine;
Alone my Julia dwells in every thought!
Reflection still shall every scene pourtray,
(While memory controls oblivious night,)
Shall paint those hours, that till life's latest day
Preserve thy name, my ever fond delight.
But ah! why sinks my drooping soul opprest?
Thy V. . . .Y ne'er will give thee cause to sigh;
Love, truth, and honour in his bosom rest,
And all that can a Sister's love supply!
Then let between us boundless oceans roll,
While the free mind "is its own place" at will,
The thoughts of me shall triumph in thy soul,
And thy lov'd image shall my bosom fill.
What language, Julia, can the feelings paint
When last these eyes thy streaming sorrows view'd,
My tongue, alas! forbore e'en one complaint,
While poignant anguish every thought subdu'd.
Then as thy bark quick left our natal shore,
I rais'd mine eyes thy less'ning form to view,
And as the sailors mov'd the splashing oar,
In every gale I breath'd my fond adieu.
And quickly, Julia, would thy Emma fly,
For one short moment, one embrace to gain;
But hope, sweet comforter! embalms my sigh,
Assuaging half its agony of pain.
Perhaps, propitious to a Sister's prayer,
(Tho' fondly oft we wav'd the last farewel,)
Fate still may join us in this vale of care,
With bliss enraptur'd on the past to dwell.
Delightful thought! O let me linger here,
While in my heart these fond emotions beat;
O bear, ye winds! the sigh to Julia's ear,
That says, "Remember that we still may meet."
, why with magic spell
Still in plaintive bosoms dwell?
Sure 'tis thine with sombre pleasure,
Days and years of grief to measure;
Yet sometimes with a cheering ray,
Illume thy vot'ries as they stray.
Tho' thine is fancy's fev'rish dream,
Still dwelling on life's gloomiest theme,
Yet, pallid Goddess! art thou found,
Where beams oft faintly glimmer round;
And oft is heard thy deep drawn sigh,
Where happiness serenes the eye.
But not to me, with kind relief,
Thy soft approach e'er tempers grief;
Thou doom'st me all the sighs to know,
That lay thy destin'd victim low;
And these worn eyes with tears to steep,
Till time brings on eternal sleep!
beauty reign with tyrant sway,
And every nobler prize excel;
Eclipsing with her transient ray,
The bosom where the virtues dwell?
Th' alluring splendor of the eye
That sets the gazer's soul on fire,
Is not so lovely as the sigh
That melts when touch'd by pity's lyre!
Death soon shall spoil the rosy face;
Whilst all the flowery wreaths that bind
The temples which Minerva grace,
Shall live with th' undecaying mind.
Behold on high, with colours gay,
The splendid glories of the bow!
And rapid as they pass away,
O! think how beauty fades below!
But thou, Maria! soul divine!
And vested with an angel's air,
Canst view no gem but virtue shine,
And wisdom is thy fondest prayer!
With thee my Muse shall still reside,
In whose sweet breast, of purest mould,
No passing thought, no glare of pride,
Can thy own loveliness behold!
, Halcyon pow'r, thy gentle gales
In murmurs through the mellowing air;
Come, strew with cheerful green the vales,
And from the bosom chase despair!
Hoar winter's desolating shroud
The pensive breast no more shall gloom,
For lo! from yonder silver cloud
Spring clothes the varied earth with bloom!
Lo! zephyrs' placid breath unlock
The streams o'erwhelm'd with mounds of snow;
And bid the rugged icy rock
Revive the current's warbling flow.
Come, let us taste the breath of morn,
With balm of heavenly sweetness fill'd;
While yet the pearly drops adorn
The bushes where her tears distill'd.
Now vegetation's chill repose
Awakes to feed the ravish'd sight,
That wandering, as the buds unclose,
Is lost in mazes of delight.
Beneath the soft relenting sky
The birds their sprightly notes renew,
Uplift th' exhilarated eye,
And revel in the vernal dew.
From vale to vale, the sounds of mirth,
Sweet Spring, proclaim thy genial hours;
While greedily the thirsty earth
Awaits the soft descending show'rs.
And now the Poet's mournful strings,
Deep slumbering all the season drear,
Arouse, while Philomela sings
Her notes to the melodious ear.
Where cold and solitude around
Late bristled horror's gloomy crest,
The shepherds and their flocks abound,
While Nature spreads her circling vest.
For who that roves the meadows sweet,
Which verdure decks with downy wing,
Would lurk in towns with ling'ring feet,
When Poets hail the dawn of Spring?
smiling nature gay appears,
Sweet emblem of our happy years,
When thoughtless of the wintry gloom,
Old age, inevitable doom!
As yet no sadd'ning cares are born,
To tinge with clouds our Summer's morn.
Now fruits ambrosial blush and smile,
And flourish like ourselves awhile;
Their bloomy cheeks once pass'd away,
Like us they drop into decay.
Now cheerful birds from tree to tree
Pour forth their native melody,
And woo the silence of the grove,
With sweet conversing notes of love;
And many a plaintive story tell,
With tongues that human voice excel.
Then let me join the vocal quire,
And breathe my love upon the lyre,
And blithesome as the birds that sing,
Enjoy the Summer's rapid wing.
And should a threat'ning storm be near,
I'd still repress the pensive tear;
For life is wedded still to care,
And every bosom mourns her share.
As mild then as the summer sky,
, sweet shelter of the vernal grove,
For lo! sad Autumn, desolating pow'r!
Along the vales thy faded beauties rove,
And spread wild anarchy from bow'r to bow'r.
Thy yellow leaves, moist with ambrosial dew,
Mourn not, though clust'ring on the ground they lie;
For time shall soon thy bloomy charms renew,
Those scatter'd charms that claim my pensive sigh.
Revolving seasons shall the vales array
In all the lustre of their short-liv'd bloom;
But ah! to me their widowing leaves pourtray
The silent hours that bow me to the tomb.
For thus, alas! the race of man decays,
Blown down by age to wither on the ground;
They feel th' approach of their autumnal days,
Thick as thy leafy multitudes around.
Thus oft will wither, e'en in beauty's charms,
The flow'rs which scarce have blush'd a summer fair,
Snatch'd by stern fate to death's cold icy arms,
Ere yet prepar'd to leave this vale of care.
So speaks reflection in this chequer'd scene;
But most in Autumn whispers it to all,
While mortals frolic in life's flow'ry green,
And careless wander till o'erwhelm'd they fall.
Winter's silver mantle spreads the ground,
And robes fair nature in her vestment pale,
My wand'ring eyes gaze o'er the chilling round,
As sad I listen to the plaintive wail
Of airy songsters, while aloft they soar,
And with fleet wings etherial tracks explore.
Now all is hush'd, save where the murm'ring breeze
Sighs thro' the barren trunks with hollow moan;
Sad desolation thrills the naked trees,
And wildly echoes, Nature's charms are flown:
'Tis Winter shrilly in each blast I hear,
And o'er her ruins drop a mournful tear.
Yet pine not, mortals, while its passing wing
Chills the warm vale, and saddens all the plains;
From yon thick clouds will burst the genial spring,
And brooding soft unbind its icy chains;
Fresh breathing Zephyr shall dissolve the snow,
And cheerful green revest the mountain's brow.
The dance, the song, shall soon revive the lawn,
While smiling fair the gates of heaven unfold,
The plant, the flow'r, the bird, salute the dawn,
And Phoebus glory to disarm the cold:
Once more the shepherds and the sheep shall fill
The vale luxuriant, and the climbing hill.
Till then, the Muse, in depth of wintry gloom
Shall shoot her beams athwart the shades of night,
And ere the spring re-animates the gloom,
Shall gild the fields with visionary light;
While hoary frost benumbs creation round,
Unchill'd alone the tuneful lyres resound.
, thou deceiver! still deep in my breast,
Thy anchor I view as the anchor of peace;
To thee my heart flies when by sorrows opprest,
And bids, with a smile, the rude tempest to cease.
For thou, sweetest Syren! canst banish the tear;
If once the eye catches a glimpse of thy morn,
Forgetful how sorrow has clouded the year,
I laugh at each care, and I trample each thorn.
Then fix thy abode in my bosom and smile,
Oh! blot the sad aspect of life's future day;
'Tis thou canst support me, 'tis thou canst beguile,
'Tis thou canst illumine my path as I stray.
Sweet Hope, thy fair anchor my motto shall be,
My soul shall repose, tho' deluded, in thee.
charm, who hast the pow'r
To summon back the glided hour,
And cheer us through life's weary way
With unextinguishable ray;
Canst bring to view the distant clime,
Quick darting through the cloud of time,
And potent with thy wond'rous beam,
Canst paint anew the faded dream;
Come, brilliant gem of purest light!
Emerging from the mist of night,
Thy radiant bounty let me share,
And glimmer in this scene of care:
Without thee, labour cannot gain
The sweet reward of all her pain.
! who can paint the joys and fears,
When, distant in a foreign land,
A Daughter reads with flowing tears
A letter from a Father's hand?
O Nature! thou my tongue inspire,
With words of gratitude to bless;
And breathe upon thy tend'rest lyre,
The love thou canst alone express!
Or rather, Nature's mighty King!
To thee by angel wings upled,
O let my prayers unlock the spring
Of blessings on a Father's head:
While fond affection bends the knee,
And sues, prime source of Good, to thee.
thee, bright Orb, my humid eyes I raise;
To thee I sigh, reflecting as I gaze,
How dark earth's transitory scenes appear,
Till contemplation brings the silent tear.
Though all lies hush'd around, thy silv'ry light
Would tempt to spurn the slumbers of the night;
While on my soul an awful stillness gleams,
Inspir'd, fair Moon, by thy majestic beams:
By thee, mild Cynthia! who with pitying eye
Dost oft behold the love-lorn Ellen sigh,
Poor hapless maid! no more can hope bestow
One distant ray, to bid her bosom glow:
From her, alas! has fate relentless torn
The youth she lov'd in life's fresh blooming morn;
He who was wont at this still hour to rove,
And vow by thy sweet beams eternal love!
Thee, lovely Orb, did pensive Ellen seek,
When memory's tear stole down her beauteous cheek;
Nor did the dewy gem unheeded stray,
But shone with brightness in thy blushing ray.
Resplendent as a star in yonder sphere,
By thy reflection, seem'd the pearly tear,
When Ellen thro' the gloom thy lustre saw,
And mus'd awhile, inspir'd with silent awe.
Till soft affection forc'd a tender sigh,
From her torn bosom, to thy throne on high;
Then lowly bending 'neath thy silv'ry shade,
The sorrowing maiden thus with fervor pray'd:
"If thee I seek, when memory sad pourtrays
"The happy scenes of pleasure's gilded days,
"Let me some solace in thy splendor find,
"And bring composure to my wounded mind.
"Oh! heed, fair Goddess, this my hapless pray'r,
"Deign in soft pity to relieve my care;
"Let resignation bend to fate's decree,
"And check remembrance while I gaze on thee."
Bright Orb, thy lustre, from yon azure sphere,
Will guide the trav'ller, and his wand'rings cheer;
To thee, celestial! with calm hope he sighs,
As home's sweet raptures in his bosom rise.
And oft the mariner will pensive stand,
In thought still veering towards his native land,
To watch thee as thou dost on ocean play,
And gild its surface with thy sportive ray.
Yes! he will meditate, till memory sleep,
On thy bright radiance in the silent deep,
While his full heart these soft suggestions raise,
"His eyes now linger, where his Anna's gaze."
In this still hour, the sympathizing sigh
Is breath'd to thee, fair Moon! with moisten'd eye,
While faithful memory every scene renews
Of those far distant, while on thee we muse.
Thy cheerful beams suspend the pangs of grief,
To weary nature minist'ring relief;
The dazzling beauty of thy lucid ray,
To some more pleasing than the noon-tide day.
When chilling sickness, with an awful gloom,
Preys on the heart fast verging to the tomb,
Thy glitt'ring presence can its pains beguile,
And bid affliction thro' her sorrows smile.
Sleep seals the lids of happiness to rest,
And oft, alas, he flies the anguish'd breast;
Yet thou, blest light! canst soothe where sorrows press,
And sleep disdains the silent couch to bless.
But on! sweet Empress of th' etherial clime,
Launch'd forth to captivate the eye sublime,
From cloud to cloud with darting glory flame,
And speak the praise of thy Creator's name!
yonder Maniac! how swiftly she flies,
O'er hills, and o'er mountains, still deep'ning her sighs,
She laughs at the trav'ller who mourns her sad lot,
Him wildly she shuns, and each habited cot.
Whilst frantic she wanders, her bosom to ease,
She sings to the winds, and she sighs to the trees;
The tears from her eyes in true bitterness flow,
But nought can relieve her sad heart from its woe.
was once both so beauteous and gay,
The bloom on her cheek was as fresh as the May,
Till HENRY her love, by a pitiless storm
Torn far from her dwelling, soon wither'd her form.
Now hapless she wanders, despair by her side,
Singing, "Oh if my love, if my love had not died!"
As the winds shake the trees, she oft cries with a tear,
The breeze softly rises, and HENRY is near.
Then quickly from all the poor maniac still flies,
Unheard are our prayers, and unfelt are our sighs;
To shield the fair maid from the wind and the rain,
How oft we've endeavour'd, endeavour'd in vain.
Bright reason, ah! never will dawn on her mind,
For peace has her bosom for ever resign'd;
And the grave soon will hide her keen woes from our sight,
There sweetly she'll sleep, in the bosom of night.
ADDRESSED TO MISS F. B*****.
Friendship, Frances! spreads my Muse's wing,
Dwells on thy virtues, and allures to sing,
If these weak hands could touch the lyre divine,
No name should sound with sweeter notes than thine.
Come then, thou fond companion of my way!
While through the soft Parnassian bow'rs I stray,
Let mem'ry oft well-pleas'd recal the hour,
When virtue planted Friendship's heavenly flow'r.
Whene'er affliction bids this bosom sigh,
Straight grief unfeign'd bedews thy pitying eye;
Thy softest words soon banish all my care,
And brighten the dark prospect of despair.
If fortune now has frown'd my joys away,
With thick'ning clouds upon my youthful day,
This lesson she has taught my simple heart,
That where she frowns, our prosp'ring friends depart:
Yet some there are, above the vulgar flight,
Whom Friendship's tender sympathies unite;
Beguiling life with innocence of mirth,
And struggling still to make a heaven of earth;
Whose tastes, whose thoughts, whose sentiments agree,
And constant, Frances, as my soul to thee!
thou, Indifference! my song,
And as life's days glide careless on,
I'll shed no sorrowing tear;
If thou wilt in my bosom dwell,
To every hope I'll bid farewel,
In this terrestrial sphere.
Should all my life one tempest be,
Thy smiles, mild nymph! should solace me,
And heal each piercing dart:
Expand then thy protective wing,
Whilst thus to thee I lowly sing,
To tranquillize my heart.
Though chequer'd is this busy scene,
Would'st thou but gently pass between,
To stay the tears that flow;
Care would not hold such powerful sway,
Deforming oft the fairest day
Of youth's inspiring glow.
Then place me in thy happy bow'r,
Secure from each unpitying show'r,
That chills life's opening morn;
For ah! 'tis thine, with mystic skill,
To mould the bosom to thy will,
Of ev'ry hope forlorn.
Think not that I thy presence seek,
When sorrow's tear bedews my cheek,
And low I sink opprest:
Thou know'st I've little pleasure known;
Her gilded days too early flown,
Have left an aching breast.
'Tis true we seldom woo thy smile,
Life's joyous moments to beguile;
For ere our bliss we know,
Dark clouds will every prospect gloom,
The future crushing in its bloom,
With swift impending woe.
Sure happiness, with transient ray,
Is like the sun in April's day,
O'erclouded in an hour;
For oft when youthful hope runs high,
The dismal shade, the gathering sky,
Portend a threat'ning show'r.
Indifference! at thy calm shrine
I'd bow, though happiness were mine;
For thou canst soothe the soul,
When fate's unkindest frowns appear,
Her mazy wand'rings thou canst cheer,
And every pang controul.
Then rest, Indifference! rest with me,
For oft I waft a sigh to thee,
To thee oft breathe a pray'r;
Though ills unnumber'd round me rise,
If thou but hear my pensive sighs,
I'll bid adieu to care.
sigh that struggles in my breast,
The tear that fain would give it rest,
Can no relief impart;
Since first I felt the deathless pain,
That burst affection's golden chain,
And sunk my wearied heart.
Ingratitude! in what fell hour
Did man first own thy fatal pow'r,
To pangs of mis'ry born!
The blushing cheek of crimson dye,
The mildly speaking azure eye,
Have felt thy rankling thorn.
Thou lov'st with violence to tear
The breast of friendship, heavenly fair!
And with unnat'ral strife,
To wreak thy undistinguish'd rage
On those, who pour the balm t' assuage
The miseries of life.
No bounty can thy bosom charm,
No gentleness thy sting disarm,
No soft, no godlike deed!
Thou gloriest ever to destroy,
To taint the springs of purest joy,
And make the virtues bleed.
I too once thought a friend was mine;
But saw the beams of friendship shine,
Beneath a treach'rous sky;
And found, alas! too soon beguil'd,
That face on which I fondly smil'd,
Ingratitude, with glaring eye!
! whose gloomy face
Still haunts my wearied eye,
What bosom can thy sorrows chase,
By thee once doom'd to sigh?
Chill blew the winds when thou wert born,
And ev'ry cloud roll'd slow;
Each flow'ret droop'd, but left a thorn,
To hail the child of woe.
But soft the air that moment rang
Adversity was stay'd;
She could not move while heavenly sang
A calm and tranquil maid.
Descending soon, with steady mien
She rais'd her azure eye,
All gaz'd upon the heavenly queen,
And check'd was every sigh.
"Adversity," she cry'd, "no more
"Shall rule with bleeding dart;
" 'Tis fortitude has gain'd the shore,
"Let sighs and tears depart.
"Though still she spreads her dreary gloom,
"Where my firm sons reside;
"Soon flow'rs shall rise and sweetly bloom,
"In all their wonted pride."
She said--no more shall sorrow dew
The cheek with endless tears;
Since fortitude in glory's view,
With her more bright appears.
! Lady, listen to my tale,
" 'Twill drive the roses from thy cheek;
"Let soft humanity prevail,
"And hear the hapless wanderer speak.
"Think not the sorrow that I mourn,
"O fairest Lady, void of truth;
"For long I've trod life's mazy thorn,
"A poor, unhappy, friendless youth.
" 'Tis not for me alone I crave,
"From door to door, with many a tear,
"While hung'ring I rejoice to save
"My gleanings for a Mother dear.
"Though happy once in rural cot,
"With smiling health and plenty blest,
"Fate envied all our peaceful lot,
"And drove us from the shelt'ring nest.
"My Sister, beautiful and mild,
"Soon sunk beneath her sorrow's weight,
"And left me here a wandering child,
"To mourn her miserable fate!
"A press-gang rude my Father tore
"With brutal violence away;
"While at his unsuspicious door,
"He ply'd the busy toilsome day.
"Ah! never since that fatal hour
"Have these dim eye-lids beam'd with joy,
"Or chas'd the dismal clouds that low'r
"Around the wandering beggar boy."
A sailor heard the tale he told,
While all around his fate deplore,
When lo! his eager arms enfold
The boy, now fatherless no more!
"Where is thy Mother, boy?" he cries,
"I am thy Father, stay the tear;
"Tho' travelling long 'neath hated skies,
"Has planted deep the furrows here.
"My days of sorrow now are o'er,
"Oh haste, and glad thy Mother's heart!
"For fate, till death, shall never more
"Thy Father from thy Mother part."
, heavenly maid! to thee I sing,
Who hovering round the anguish'd heart,
Dost steep in dewy balm thy wing,
To lenify affliction's dart;
And to this dismal vale of care,
Cam'st down to chase away despair.
Ah! why unceasing breathe the sigh?
Celestial bliss may yet be nigh--
So whispers Hope, our bosom's pang to cheer,
She on the present smiles, and checks the starting tear.
Hope throws o'er gloom a cheering veil,
And is in mis'ry's darkest hour
More gentle than the morning gale,
That fans with health each beauteous flow'r;
For in this chequer'd scene of woe,
Where streams of anguish ceaseless flow,
Thy rays benign can give relief,
And stay the pearly fount of grief:
Pale sorrow at thy gentle voice will fly,
Quick as yon twinkling stars when the bright dawn is nigh.
'Tis thine to cheer the midnight gloom,
And bring composure to the breast;
Though near we view the narrow tomb,
The mossy turf where all must rest!
And wilt thou not, with placid smile,
Our unknown journey still beguile,
And give support to that blest shore,
Where never care can reach us more?
For Nature smil'd when thou wert plac'd on earth,
And through her gloomiest vales resounded mirth.
The miser tells his gold, and sighs
That Nature's doom he must obey,
But ere death seals his sordid eyes,
He calls on thee to cheer his way.
The parent at thy shrine is found,
With all his lisping treasure round;
For thou canst stay each rending tear
Of mortals, as they traverse here;
"With sweet delusion real joys inspire,
"And kindle in the gloom unwonted fire."
Youth lives on thee, nor heeds the wound
Of stern despair, whose gloomy eye
Ne'er rests on what is cheerful found,
In nought delighting but a sigh.
She wanders o'er the paths of woe,
With bosom cold as Ætna's snow;
But Hope divine, to whom I sing,
For whom I touch th' harmonious string,
Shall ever thrill upon my trembling lyre,
With all the blazing warmth of Ætna's glowing fire.
Though care within the bosom dwell,
To robe in darkness happiest days,
We must not bid sweet Hope farewel,
Or hide us from her cheering gaze;
If sought, she glorious will appear,
As after storms heaven's beauteous sphere,
Or as the moon, immerging bright
From passing clouds, gleams on our sight.
For thine, celestial Maid's the tranquil form,
Which floats on sable care, and braves life's roughest storm.
Why then, bow'd down at sorrow's shrine,
With tearful eyes our fate deplore?
Lo! placid hope and peace is thine,
She points where joy is evermore.
Hope, mercy's child, alone restrains
The sigh that dreads approaching pains;
She whispers, "Soon thy cares shall cease,"
And waves in air celestial peace;
From clime to clime on her bright anchor rides,
And in the battle's rage with heavenly calm presides.
The flatt'ring Muse may lure awhile,
And shield us with her airy wing;
We gladly hail her pleasing smile,
She gives the lyre, Hope bids us sing.
The tuneful queen, the magic train,
Had bid me touch the harp in vain,
Nor had these wand'ring fingers stray'd,
Unless by thee at first betray'd:
The glowing Muse, when deck'd in varied flow'rs,
Assum'd thy form serene, and stole my pensive hours.
Hope cheers the sailor in the storm,
And triumphs o'er th' ensanguin'd field,
She gives the bold undaunted form,
And bids the vanquish'd scorn to yield;
She breathes the soul-reviving gale,
On mortals plung'd in misery's vale,
Where oft among the wand'ring crowd,
Full many a plaint I warble loud;
Where still deluded in the weary way,
My Muse, sweet Hope, implores thy vital ray!
! that amid this wandering maze of care,
Where short-liv'd pleasure meets o'erwhelming woe
At every turn; e'en where bright virtue soars,
With toilsome flight, to fame's aspiring hill;
So foul a fiend as Envy still should haunt
Each bow'r and brake! still horribly enjoy
The gloomy thought to be reveng'd on him,
Whom glory decks for high illustrious deeds,
Or innocence of life. With silent step
(The soul of murder brooding in his eye)
He moves along, in meditation wrapt,
How safest he may blast the fairest name,
And drink sweet joy from tear-distilling grief.
Oft have I seen, in gay convivial hour,
While mirth and wit harmonious flow'd around,
The dark-ey'd monster fix'd in pensive mood,
Involuntary grind his gnashing teeth,
Or ghastly yawn--faint mimicking a smile.
Not him, the reasoning philosophic tongue
Delights, or Poet with his voice divine,
Lifting the soul in ecstasies to heaven!
No thirst of knowledge leads his soul to taste
The founts of genius, tho' with unclos'd eye
Insatiable he turns the classic page;
'Tis inward wrath that guides his wearied search,
'Tis madd'ning grief to listen to applause,
By candour lavish'd o'er the sons of worth,
That whets his raging appetite for lore!
O farewel, all th' inspirings of the Muse,
And generous emulation to excel
In virtue, wisdom, eloquence, or song,
Where Envy roaming breathes his clouds of death
O'er all the well-earn'd laurels of renown!
ON MY BIRTH DAY.
! Fortune, turn thy mazy wheel,
If aught of good the fates conceal,
To cheer my natal day;
To scatter this unjoyous gloom,
And bid the springing roses bloom,
That make the bosom gay!
Too long, pursuing clouds of care
Have screen'd me from thy sun-shine fair,
Amid the Muse's bow'r;
While all around thy favours bland
Are lavish'd with superfluous hand,
Where luxury scorns the show'r.
Tho' still the solace of the Muse
Her sweetness in my breast infuse,
Yet all her numbers fail
To draw me from eternal shade,
Where plung'd by thee, delusive Maid,
I sing the mournful tale.
Let others name thee fickle Queen,
Who sometimes view their joys between
A transient cloud appear;
To me too constant, Goddess, tell,
Ah! when will sorrow bid farewel
To one revolving year.
Yet hope still flutters in thy train,
For scatt'rings of thy golden grain,
And bids my bosom glow;
And oft, with unapparent guile,
Will shed the glimmer of a smile,
O'er chilling tears of woe.
Soft-whisp'ring with her heavenly voice,
Thy bright'ning orb will soon rejoice
My melancholy song;
Will lead me where the Muses rove,
By sunny hill, or shady grove,
To join th' harmonious throng.
Henceforth shall kindliest fortune shine,
The rugged threads of fate untwine,
Nor grief nor cares annoy;
Shall kindle thy melodious lyre,
With more than sublunary fire,
And light the torch of joy:
And purpling o'er this dismal vale of tears,
Crown the glad prospect of my circling years.
late the Muse in silent hour I sought,
And chanc'd to rove the various field of thought,
Where many a trifle glitter'd in my view,
And serious themes oft claim'd attention due;
Not unamaz'd my wandering eyes survey'd,
By me unsung, sweet Cam! thy classic shade.
Yet oh! what flow'rets can my Muse provide,
To deck the mansions of her earliest pride?
Far too unletter'd is my rural verse,
Immortal Cam! thy glories to rehearse;
Whose shades send forth the greatest of mankind,
And sages, boundless in expanse of mind.
Yet joy still brightens with her gilding ray,
While ling'ring o'er thy flow'ry banks I stray,
To captivate thine ear with strains of choice,
Though feeble and ineloquent my voice.
Quick to discern the lofty from the low,
And blot the lines that with false splendor glow,
With sudden glance will all thy Poets view,
That not on me descends Minerva's dew.
On many a page her fruitful glories shine,
But unpropitious never beam'd on mine;
No learning checks me as I wildly sing,
Nor points to elocution's heavenly spring.
Yet not forlorn of all etherial fire,
For thee, sweet Cam, I strike th' inviting lyre;
For thee I sing, though uninspir'd my lays,
And dwell delighted on the sounds of praise.
Oft have I heard, that on thy vernal shore
Great VERULAM enrich'd the world with lore;
That there thy NEWTON sent his mind on high
pensive Muse would o'er thy royal bier,
Fair Princess! breathe affliction's pitying sigh;
Would deck thy hearse with many a flowing tear,
As smiling angels waft thee to the sky.
Yet why, alas! give nourishment to grief?
For heaven mature her beauteous spirit fled;
There wrapt in bliss she ministers relief
To those below that droop the mournful head.
Cease, royal Mother, round her tomb to weep!
Hush, ye fair Sisters, every plaintive breath!
Mourn not that heaven should in oblivion steep
The bitter, ling'ring agonies of death.
Though sadness glooms not in the realms of light,
Where all her pangs are heal'd with heavenly balm!
Should sweet AMELIA bend her blissful sight,
Our tears alone may violate her calm.
! Demon of the twilight hour,
Silent, dark brooding in the wav'ring mind,
That dost our peace with length'ning rage devour,
To sights of woe inexorably blind!
Oh! cease to gloom life's too tempestuous day,
With restless thought of future clouded woe,
Cast off the veil that lur'd thee in the way
Of causeless wrong, and sorrow's fancied flow.
No friend with thee can in the bosom dwell,
Sad melancholy guards thy drear abode;
Far, far from peace is fix'd thy cheerless cell,
And thorns and briars strew the mazy road.
'Tis thine to mar each sweet domestic bliss;
If once thy wing rest on the wedded pair,
There deadly fearful is thy scorpion-hiss,
For ah! thy viewless form bodes years of care.
Thee would I hurl to realms of deepest night,
Where mis'ry breathes her ever-during sigh;
No more to hover with deceitful light,
And quench the beams of beauty's faded eye.
sorrow's cloud rests on my Muse's bow'r,
And mourns the drooping of each vernal flow'r;
"Their early fall," she cries, "to life pourtrays,
"How short man flourishes, how swift decays!"
Say, mournful Maid, that lov'st o'er tombs to weep,
Would'st thou reverse the doom of silent sleep?
Not all thy tears can one past hour repeal,
On which grim death has fix'd his during seal.
Ah! loveliest passion of the pensive soul!
Fate's stern decree no dewy charms controul;
Not all the blandishments of pray'r or song
Can soothe the pow'r that rules the gloomy throng.
No! never, never! could thy sweetest Muse
Warm blood into the lifeless shade infuse;
Tho' thou could'st draw the raptur'd skies to hear,
As once Cecilia charm'd their ling'ring ear.
Call then Minerva! let her at thy shrine
With gentle pity her bright glories twine;
Together they each blast of life will brave,
Till thought becomes familiar with the grave.
, Honour stern, unsullied guide!
Of grace, of virtue, glorious queen!
In solemn state and awful pride,
Majestic, dignified, serene!
'Tis thou who smooth'st the ruffled brows,
When care her gloomy hand has laid;
'Tis thou to whom I breathe soft vows,
When wand'ring in the tuneful shade.
Still unsubdu'd by life's rough blast,
(Though gloomy horrors round appear,)
Thou bid'st fond memory paint the past,
And linger o'er each guiltless year.
Yes, thou art like that lovely flow'r,
Which sensitive of touch recedes;
Sweet emblem of th' untainted hour,
When envy cankers all thy deeds.
To thee, the Muse from earliest youth
Has warbled many a hymn divine;
And made, with all the vows of truth,
Her breast thy consecrated shrine!
glorious the breast that in life's early morn,
Ambition! enkindles thy flame;
Who pants for thy trophies, and longs to adorn
His youth with the splendor of fame!
Impatient of sloth, where thy banners are spread,
And thy heroes triumphantly shown,
He mourns, while the laurels high wave on their head,
At the silence that covers his own.
Yet not to the warriors that burnish the shield
Are the flames of ambition confin'd!
She glows in the shade, and wide opens the field
To Genius, the blaze of the mind.
But hence, fond illusion! far, far from my bow'r,
To the warriors that bleed for thy crown!
Though rich is thy harvest, I covet no flow'r
That decks the bright sons of renown.
Then ruffle no more the calm stream of my breast,
Nor draw from my bosom a sigh;
Go, blazon the warrior erecting his crest,
And send the quick flash from his eye.
All-glowing with thee will he range o'er the plain,
All perils undauntedly brave;
But, dazzling Ambition! thy trophies are vain
To the bosom that sighs for the grave!
shall paint Anger in his furious form?
The gloomy frown, the flashing of the storm,
The violence that overleaps all bound,
To blast, o'erthrow, to ruin and confound?
By nature fram'd susceptible, and weak,
His quick approach stains o'er the conscious cheek;
The bubble injury through each vein flies,
And echoes, Anger, all thy flaming sighs!
Then keen contempt will rouse the breast to ire,
Will fan, when half extinguish'd, Anger's fire;
O'er healing wounds her venom'd arrows glide,
And bring fierce rage in all her swelling pride.
Can nought allay this tumult of the brain,
When dragg'd, ye fiends, in your resistless chain?
When all the passions hurried into day,
To black despair have hurl'd thy trembling prey?
Yes! through the gloom this cheering ray will dart,
Though Anger boils obdurate in the heart,
If to the heavens he turn the flaming eye,
And view the blushes of the western sky;
Soon will his bosom calm each racking throw,
And hail, composure, thy serenest glow:
For ah! when golden Phoebus sinks to rest,
Shall Anger still unslumb'ring burn the breast?
TO MY SISTER.
long, pale Sickness! shall Rosina dwell,
Slow languishing, thy captive, sport, and prey?
Why make so sweet a breast thy gloomy cell,
And of those beaming eyes defraud the day?
Where late she deck'd the flow'ry vales of health,
(Beauty, and bloom, and sprightliness her boast,)
Thou cam'st, alas! upon the wings of stealth,
And sunk her down a miserable ghost!
The lily droops while rushing clouds deform,
And threaten merciless destruction round;
But soon the cheering sun dispels the storm,
That bent its head in meekness to the ground.
So may the smile of heaven's all-ruling pow'r
In fair Rosina's eye relume the ray;
And where the clouds of hov'ring sickness low'r,
With sweet celestial light restore the day!
! give, sweet love, before we part,
One kiss to ease a Soldier's heart;
Breathe with thy soft adieu, a sigh
To dry a warrior's moisten'd eye:
Believe me, Ellen, true I swear,
To cherish dear thy image fair.
Hark! the trumpet's warlike swell,
I must leave thee, love, farewel!
With honour glows the martial breast,
Then lull suspicious care to rest;
My triumph, Ellen, deign to own,
Ah! whisper thou lov'st me alone:
This bosom then shall tranquil be,
By hope supported far from thee.
Hark! the trumpet's warlike swell,
I must leave thee, love, farewel!
, Fancy, hail! ungovernable pow'r,
And tell my bosom how thy mimic art,
Out-trav'lling time, can in one fleeting hour
From clime to clime transplant the throbbing heart.
O'er me, I know, all uncontroll'd thy reign,
From hope, to hope, with thee I fearless range,
Till languid nature can no more sustain
Thy pow'r tyrannic, and delusive change.
'Tis thine each visionary scene to trace,
And whisper bliss, alas! we ne'er may know;
Awhile with tears thou dew'st the pensive face,
And rack'st the senses with imagin'd woe.
With flatt'ring scenes thou canst my bosom sway,
While roving thoughts with dreams of glory swell;
Nor can my eyes descry the fairy way
That leads me wand'ring to thy mystic cell.
Yet onward still with anxious step I tread,
While the mind soaring each steep hill surveys,
Th' aërial vision flits around my head,
And exiles, wisdom, all thy glimm'ring rays!
Yet unsubdu'd I woo bright Fancy's smile,
A willing captive at thy air-built shrine;
Imploring thee, fair Goddess, to beguile
All hours of loneliness with aid divine!
is she from yonder green willow,
Now weaving a band for her hair,
That early has left her soft pillow,
To wander about in despair?
--who late was as smiling
As new-springing May's sweetest morn;
But love, all her fair days beguiling,
Has plac'd in her bosom a thorn.
For young HENRY
Of damsels he lov'd her the best;
From her cot he would never roam more,
For that was the mansion of rest.
But forgetful of all his fond tale,
His heart to another is flown;
While she pensively sighs to the gale,
And melts the soft air with her moan.
There she weeps by remembrance opprest,
For sleep has fled from her pillow;
In this spot the sad maiden finds rest,
Mourning beneath the green willow.
TO MRS. F*****.
let my Muse the lyre inflame
At Friendship's ever-sacred name;
A fair imperishable flower,
Though dew'd with many a tearful shower!
Yes--let me still a friend confess,
And in her bosom's sweet recess
Find refuge in the sorrowing hour,
When clouds of melancholy low'r.
Let others round, with fickle change,
From friend to friend incessant range;
Be mine, by love and virtue try'd,
Thy friendship, SARAH , glorious pride!
What pleasing to my SARAH
Shall lift my soul with gay delight;
And all that she unlovely deems,
For ever pains my wearied sight:
Together wrapt in joys we dwell,
Or plung'd in sorrow's gloomy cell.
oft would pensive sigh,
And view with tears th' unpitying sky,
For still reflection seem'd to say,
Forget not HENRY is away!
Perchance his love may now repose
On cheeks that boast a fairer rose.
Yet sure my soul has ne'er forgot
The vows he swore within my cot,
There oft my trembling hand he prest
With seeming rapture to his breast;
And now suspicious love would chase
His manly form, his smiling face.
If past the hour, yet memory dear
The scene will ever treasure here;
For when he bade the soft adieu,
He vow'd for ever to be true.
Then may the hours with swiftness glide,
For CATHARINE'S HENRY'S promis'd bride.
TO MY MOTHER.
Goddess of the downy smile,
O come, and spread thy wings awhile,
Where sickness dims a Mother's eye,
And heaves my bosom's rending sigh!
Long have I mourn'd thy cruel flight,
Sad sighing through the gloom of night;
Long wept to see her tender frame,
As feverish warmth assum'd thy flame:
From vein to vein diffus'd her fiery blast,
And o'er the livid cheek deceitful roses cast.
Sweet health! why droops thy mournful head?
Why dost thou ne'er delighted spread
Thy perfumed charms where grief is found,
Where sorrow flings her gloom around;
Nor make the breast thy tender care,
That groans with racking tortures of despair?
And yet thou lov'st the flow'ry Muse,
And wilt thy gentle balm infuse,
Where magic numbers bid the bosom glow,
And shed around thy pure vermilion flow.
little orphan neglected am I,
Nor parents nor friends, alas! have I any;
Ah! little thought I, it would e'er be my cry,
"Buy my wild roses, two bunches a penny,
"Wild roses, wild roses, buy my wild roses."
By plenty surrounded all happy and blest,
No care did I know, for friends had I many;
But now a poor orphan by none I'm caress'd,
Unheeded I cry, "Two bunches a penny,
"Wild roses, wild roses, buy my wild roses."
Ye wealthy and gay, who with plenty abound,
Oft might you lighten the sorrows of many;
In the path strew'd with roses sharp thorns may be found,
Then oh! ne'er refuse a poor orphan a penny,
"Wild roses, wild roses, buy my wild roses."
tyrant! blot on nature's brow!
Accurst Revenge! of darkness bred;
Engender'd on the dismal bough,
Whence issu'd all the tears we shed.
Or springing from the fumes of pride,
Where guilt each deadly scorpion draws;
Infuriate as the foaming tide,
And spurning at all human laws.
Whose seat is in the stormy breast,
Whose arrows fly in misty night;
A wanderer never doom'd to rest,
Still shuddering at the glorious light.
Deep in the forest dig thy grave,
Where never bloom'd one roseate flow'r;
For ah! thy presence frights the brave,
Thou Demon of the lonely hour!
Oh pause! and stop thy dark career,
Suspend awhile thy lightning eye;
For hark, a voice would charm thine ear,
As gentle as the tender sigh.
Ah turn! the heavenly Goddess view,
Forgiveness! heed her placid call;
As guiltless as the morning dew--
Relent, she cries, and prostrate fall.
For oh! since that ill-fated hour,
When first the guileful Serpent strove,
And conquering, from Elysian bow'r
Our solitary parents drove;
None perfect in this vale are found:
Then hover not with fiery wing;
Though thorns and thistles hedge us round,
Let virtue soothe each mortal sting.
arched heavens ere since the birth of time
Instruct the earth, in characters sublime,
To read aloft with sudden glance,
Whose hand stretch'd out the blue expanse;
Who bade the stars blaze forth from pole to pole,
And all beneath his high dominion roll.
What swelling anthem can his praise resound,
Like this grand concert of th' etherial round?
What dulcet symphonies can boast
The music of the glittering host?
What instrumental harmony afford
Such measur'd cadence, and divine accord?
All Nature's finger eloquently shows
His wond'rous might in every wind that blows;
His pow'r the beams of day declare,
Still evening, and the midnight air;
The clouds that darken his majestic feet,
Shout it with voices audible and sweet.
Th' enthroned Sun, in his high flaming course,
A spark compar'd to his almighty source,
When first his orient beams adorn
The rosy blush that wakes the morn,
Through heaven's high bounds proclaims the Lord Supreme,
And writes his name on ev'ry glorious beam.
The universe, obsequious at His nod,
Sprung up before the presence of its God;
Swift to their various orbs retire
The earth, the air, the flood, the fire!
He fill'd the Moon with unexhausted light,
And bade her wander through the gloom of night.
O how, great Ruler of the earth and sky!
Thy lovely works allure the gazer's eye!
O happiest of the sons of men,
Who view thee with celestial ken;
Who tread undeviating thy heavenly ways,
Pure, holy, just, and lavish in thy praise!
The fear of thee, great God! inspires the good
To make thy law their intellectual food;
It is this sacred voice of truth
That guides old age and infant youth;
The triumph sweet that galls the deadly foe,
Since sin first planted all the seeds of woe.
O give me, Lord! thy glorious tracks to see,
To find my solace and delight in thee;
To feel that holy fear within,
That makes it agony to sin;
Thy laws are amiable and sweet indeed,
As virgin honey from the flowery mead!
But, God omnipotent! without thy grace
What man the windings of his heart can trace?
Can say what deed from virtue springs?
Where vanity displays her wings?
Where first begin the clouds of guilt to roll,
O'ercasting all the lustre of his soul?
O Thou, who erst on David's holiest lyre,
Didst dart thy sacred vehemence of fire,
Come, teach me to reveal thy ways,
And scatter round a dazzling blaze;
Unfolding bright, inspir'd with silent awe,
Th' unclouded prospect of thy heavenly law!
shall unblam'd before thy face appear,
Within thy sanctuary, Eternal King?
Who dare to mingle in thy heavenly sphere,
And bask beneath the splendor of thy wing?
'Tis he who loves thy absolute controul,
Who, pure in converse, is as pure within;
Who gives due tendance to the precious soul,
Nor knows the sore disquiet of a sin.
Who courts obscurity and shrinks from fame;
Who, calm and mild, is resolute to bleed
Ere make fair virtue veil her eyes with shame,
Or blot the dictates of his holiest creed.
He who lights up the darkness of his youth,
With the bright stars that in thy volumes glow;
Who dares to give free utterance to truth,
Beneath the frowns of a tyrannic foe.
He in whose eye the men of name appear,
If pride and scorn uplift their glorious head,
When glittering in their elevated sphere,
More abject than the vilest worm we tread.
But when the good, too noble to repine,
Doom'd to rude conflict with perpetual strife,
In lowliness majestic and divine,
Bear undeserv'd the cruel stings of life;
No eye so prompt to succour and bewail,
Or shed soft tears at every melting tale.
, arise, ye circling nations, hear!
O Universe, give audience to my lay!
Let royalty attend with list'ning ear,
And bow submiss to truth's imperial sway.
Heaven's holy Spirit breathes upon my lyre,
And cheers the fainting courage of my soul;
The truths I sing no mortal tongues inspire,
From heaven's high fount the sacred numbers roll.
Proud man has wav'd his banners in the air,
Drunk with high mind, and boastful of renown;
But oh! the rending moments of despair,
When death shall sink the gorgeous triumph down.
Speak ye who, swelling with the pomp of gold,
Estrang'd from heaven your guilty rev'llings keep;
What grasping arms shall your lov'd wealth enfold,
When plung'd from splendor to the gloomy deep?
'Midst the gay friends, that glitter in your sight
To heal the anguish of each guilty deed;
Where the strong hand that, to retard your flight,
Bids the pale monarch check his winged speed?
Have ye not seen the giants of the world,
Bow their proud summits unrepriev'd by death?
And will ye wait till, into darkness hurl'd,
Ye mourn each hour ye draw your impious breath?
All view alike the dark and dreary cave;
All that spring up from nature's teeming womb,
The rich, the wise, the puissant, and the brave
Shall sink to the cold solitary tomb.
Amid your pleasant palaces and groves,
Where wealth and grandeur pour the golden tide,
Already see! the greedy stranger roves,
And spurns your trophies with exulting pride.
But ye, the sport of every flatt'ring praise,
Intent alone on luxury and food,
Live on, oblivious of the heavenly rays,
And all remembrance of the fair and good.
Prone like the brute bent downward to the earth,
Ye blot the bright intelligence of man;
Ye roam unmindful of celestial birth,
Nor stretch one thought beyond this narrow span.
Slaves to the pride and emptiness of life,
Alone reflection is your deadly foe;
But when she comes, with momentary strife,
Ye veil the gulph that ever yawns below.
There shall ye dwell in cold oblivious rust,
Deaf to the sounds of perishable fame;
There in the sepulchre of mould'ring dust,
Lie the proud fabric of your tow'ring name.
But ye unblam'd adorers of a God!
Whom wonder lifts beyond all thoughts sublime,
Shall live o'ershadow'd from th' avenging rod,
When judgment falls upon the sons of crime.
matchless King with dreadful ire
Descends upon the wings of fire;
The lightning flashes in his path,
His thund'rous voice denounces wrath!
He comes, he comes! with furious sweep,
And frights the fountains of the deep!
O ye, who o'er his host preside,
Priests of the Lord, his people's guide!
Go, separate th' unholy train
Of spirits variable and vain;
Eject them from th' untainted seed
That shudder at a foul misdeed.
Not blood in sacrifices spilt
Can wash away the stains of guilt;
Where malice, fraud, and guile abound,
Not large wine-offerings pour'd around
Can e'er the great JEHOVAH charm,
Or check the thunder of his arm.
Wants he the blood of lamb or goat,
Or loves to see the gushing throat?
Can his pure eye delighted feast
On fumes that mount from slaughter'd beast?
Or can an empty prayer assuage
His inextinguishable rage?
Shall he, who gave creation birth,
Wait off'rings from the sons of earth;
For whom his band enrich'd the soil
With wine, and corn, and fatt'ning oil?
Shall he his appetite allay
With fruits that spring from dust and clay?
Shall he the gentle ear incline
To tongues that soil his hymns divine?
Or e'er one gracious smile impart
On falsehood's double-founted heart,
That his high praise corrupted pours,
And Belial secretly adores?
Ah no! 'tis innocence alone
Mounts fragrant to his heavenly throne:
That praise is music to his ear,
That issues from a conscience clear;
But not the sin-polluted vow
Ascends to smooth JEHOVAH'S brow.
Keep then, obdurate slaves of sin,
O keep th' unsavory praise within;
No more his solemn rites profane,
Dark-mingling in his holy train;
No more the house of God defile
With notes melodious tun'd by guile.
Ungodly crew! let sacred awe
Forbid you to extol his law;
Where truth in every spotless page
On you denounces death and rage;
And still delivers you to woe,
Though night and day your praises flow.
Ye view your neighbour's guilt with joy,
His friend's connubial bliss destroy:
When nightly thieves o'erleap all bound,
And spread their ravages around,
Your hearts in unison rejoice,
Your eyes betray th' applauding voice.
Ye love the tracks of guilty feet,
Your tongues are laden with deceit;
Ye push your brethren wand'ring slow,
Swift down the precipice of woe,
And deem, that if no thunders fly,
God views you with consenting eye!
But learn, ye sin-devoted band,
No more wrath lingers in his hand!
While heedless of the gathering storm,
Crime rears her bold gigantic form,
God slumbers not, but far and wide
Shall pour his anger's furious tide!
Come then, with innocence array'd,
And haunt his altar's holy shade;
Repentance calms his flaming sight,
And makes the holocaust delight;
Alone th' unspotted and sincere
Win audience from JEHOVAH'S ear.
can ye glory that, with one accord
Bright truth inspires your souls with awe;
And live profess'd adorers of the Lord,
Familiar with his heavenly law?
Yes! ye have words of innocence at will,
And lips sweet-flowing smooth as oil;
But guile and falsehood all their bane distil
Deep in your hearts' corrupted soil.
E'en from the womb your infant tongues rejoice
To suck the serpent's venom'd juice;
Expert to learn the music of the voice,
That sounds to flatter and seduce.
With dark destruction ever hov'ring round,
Ye watch the tread of righteous feet;
Where'er ye move, ye undermine the ground
With plots of slander and deceit.
But oh, great God! from all their caverns deep
Drag out this lion's murd'rous brood;
Dash down the teeth that mangle all thy sheep,
Snatch from their jaws the guiltless food!
Arise! and timely interpose thy shield,
Flashing with horror and dismay,
Drive the pale fugitives from field to field,
And melt their violence away.
Then shall blaze out the triumph of the just;
Then shall the loud hosannas charm
The God that stretch'd the giants in the dust,
With strong invulnerable arm.
Then all shall magnify his glorious name,
And without end exulting own,
JEHOVAH guides this universal frame,
And justice dwells upon his throne.
! thy shadowing arm extend
Around our Monarch's radiant throne;
For still to thee he loves to bend,
With awful reverence prone.
O let thy oracles inflame
His royal Son with heavenly fire;
To spread the glories of thy name,
With consecrated lyre!
To keep unstain'd the scepter'd pride,
And dread to violate his hand;
But pour alike th' impartial tide
Of justice through the land.
With firm and resolute decrees,
To strip th' oppressor's guilty spoil,
Where pride and wealth in slothful ease
Defraud the sons of toil.
To spurn the flatterer's supple knee
With eye that darts majestic awe;
Nor make corruption's golden key
Th' interpreter of law.
To scatter his life-giving smile,
Where misery pours her bitter show'r,
But crush the monsters that defile
Their delegated pow'r.
Thus shall the royal virtues flow
With streams that every bosom fill;
The palms of peace and joy shall grow,
And flourish to his will.
His sceptre with broad-spreading sway
Shall lure the nations to his yoke;
Nor check its thunders in the day
When enemies provoke.
His covering mantle shall invest
The orphan, desolate, forlorn!
And softly heal the bleeding breast
Where fortune plants a thorn.
To him the potentates of earth
Shall flock with tributary praise,
To gratulate his heavenly birth,
And view his wond'rous blaze.
Then lift, ye nations, lift the voice,
Sound, blessed be th' Eternal's name,
Who makes your glowing tongues rejoice
To crown a Monarch's fame.
blest, great God! how enviably secure
Flows the sweet current of the virtuous life!
How happier far than all the joys that lure
Th' ambitious progeny of strife!
And yet these eyes with jealous fires have glow'd,
And spoil'd, simplicity, thy purest springs;
When the bright confines of my dark abode
Have view'd their gaily-glitt'ring wings.
'Twas then my tongue unknowingly exclaim'd,
O how their beams our lowly sons deface!
How their glad hearts o'erflow'd with joys unblam'd,
That sparkle in their cheerful face.
To them unknown chill sorrow and despair,
All pain and anguish of the writhing breast,
And never-ending labyrinth of care,
That still forbids the wanderer's rest.
Perennial flow'rs encompass them around,
At ev'ry turn some tempting bliss they meet;
Still unconcern'd their sweet delights abound,
And bathe in bliss their downy feet.
But oh! the dreadful wand'ring of my soul,
Enslav'd and dazzled by so false a bane!
Unenvied now their gilded chariots roll,
For death and darkness sweep their train.
Their eyes glare lightning at the just and pure,
Their tongues are wing'd with falsities and lies;
While insolence and pride their mouths inure
To curses that appal the skies.
Their days are all in guilty revellings spent,
Pamper'd and steep'd in one luxurious show'r;
Nor rous'd from slumber, till the dark descent
Reminds them of the torturing hour.
Oft have I follow'd all the ways they trod,
And lost in wonder, ask'd with dubious eye,
"Where are the righteous judgments of my God?
"Where is the Ruler of the sky?"
But lo! the justice that dispels the gloom,
And to his altars bids me lowly trust;
I see descend the swift avenging doom,
I see the glories of the just!
is in Judah known!
All Israel bowing lowly down,
With hymns encompasses his throne,
And glories in his high renown.
His band has cheer'd the battle's sight,
Withering the legions of the foe,
And thundering out of Sion bright
Laid all their towering trophies low.
The Thunderer has let loose his ire,
And deeply drench'd th' ensanguin'd field,
And whirl'd in cataracts of fire
Their threatening arrows, spear, and shield.
Insensate crew! what hand shall dare
The Almighty's must'ring rage provoke,
Or for his holy sons prepare
The tyrant's meditated yoke?
Like ye shall feel his furious breath
Your close embattled ranks disturb:
Your kings, that storm with blood and death,
Shall champ th' inevitable curb.
, who beneath the shadow of thy wing
Reclines, great God! with heavenly armour clad;
Dreads not the poison of the envious sting,
Nor desperate revenges of the bad!
To him with loud or silent tread,
Let the fierce enemies advance;
Thine arm shall strike their fury dead,
Shall rive in twain the lifted lance,
Shall frustrate all their stratagems of guile,
And blackest insurrection's towering pile.
He shall not fear the pestilence of night,
Nor the loud torrent that o'erwhelms by day;
But firmly planting all his steps aright,
Behold their arrows innocently play.
Propt up by heaven's all-ruling Sire,
His bosom bears the sacred pledge;
He walks unhurt through flames of fire,
And smiles upon the battle's edge!
Secure, that he who calms old ocean's roar
Shall sink them, that they heave the head no more.
Yes! God shall give his ministers in charge
To veil him with their hov'ring wings around,
Where war's red fiends their fiery throats enlarge,
Or couch'd in shades rend up the hollow ground:
For him th' angelic guardians bright
Shall spread th' inviolable bar,
And wing his solitary flight
To regions unapproach'd by war;
There, in the sun-shine of celestial praise,
To bloom and flourish, crown'd with length of days.
! O generous band, rejoice,
Awake the lyre's melodious voice!
Who glory in the fostering care
That cheers the stranger's dark despair!
Whate'er his creed, whate'er his land,
If misery's child,--with ready hand
The thorns are drawn that tear his breast,
By Friends of Foreigners distrest!
When sickness dire, with sullen wing,
And want their gloomy horrors fling
Around the widow's drooping eye,
Ye listen--and relieve the sigh!
The frame where gnawing anguish preys,
'Tis ye that love to soothe and raise:
Then strike the lyre, loud echo! blest
Be Friends of Foreigners distrest!
When flying from a tyrant's sway
In quest of freedom's glorious ray,
The famish'd exiles wander here,
Safe shelter'd from the murd'ring spear;
They bless the hospitable Isle,
And through the clouds of sorrow smile,
Reposing in the hallow'd rest
Of Friends to Foreigners distrest!
When torn from all that sweetens life,
An offspring dear, a tender wife,
Ye view the ship-wreck'd stranger roam,
Loud sighing for his cherish'd home;
Ye staunch his bosom bleeding sore,
And waft him to his natal shore.
So sacred is Britannia's guest,
To Friends of Foreigners distrest.
Think ye that heaven beholds in vain
Her sons that banish care and pain?
That grateful orphans pour a tear
Unnotic'd by the heavenly sphere?
Ah, no! bright angels in the sky
Inscribe your every name on high,
In glorious characters imprest,
Ye Friends of Foreigners distrest!
, O Muse, with more than wonted fire,
Ere deadly silence steals upon my lyre;
Come, let the solemn numbers flow
In strains majestically slow;
For blest and hallow'd is the theme,
No glittering toy, no fabled dream!
My bosom swells with thoughts of soaring pride,
To spread JEHOVAH'S name illustrious far and wide.
Ye glowing sons of piety arise,
O lend your voices, all ye just and wise;
For sweet and pleasant is the sound,
That makes the heavenly spheres rebound,
When with angelic mortal tongues combine,
To warble forth their symphonies divine.
Resound the God of justice and of truth,
Who loves the sweet simplicity of youth;
Averting his celestial smile
From all the prospering sons of guile,
Who wandering through the labyrinths of crime,
With blood and darkness stain the wings of time.
Prompt as the prayer to his high throne ascends,
Upon the good his eye delighted bends;
He bids their every plan succeed,
And numbers every virtuous deed;
Their hearts, exulting in his strength confide,
Omnipotence their source, their parent, and their guide!
O let the sacred hallelujahs fill
Each low-sunk valley, and each echoing hill;
Before his presence, night and day,
Seraphic love and wisdom play,
And circling upwards on their wings of fire,
Accord their voice to the melodious lyre.
Day after day, each night, each gliding hour,
Proclaim their long experience of his pow'r!
A language that all nations hear
Alike with one harmonious ear:
No clime so dark, no ignorance so blind,
But reads the splendor of th' Almighty mind.
He loves the good, and like a shepherd, leads
Their lowly race into his flowery meads:
Into his pasturages sweet,
By streams that wash old Sion's feet;
Luxuriate beneath his shades they dwell,
Whose joys insatiable what tongue can tell?
Yes, the good man shall in his presence stand,
With upright heart, and pure unsullied hand;
Nor shall his holy offspring fail,
When death mows down the guilty vale:
For him JEHOVAH fights, and lo! e'en now
He flashes on the battle's gloomy brow.
Bartlett, Printer, Oxford.