Miscellaneous Poems.

]> Miscellaneous Poems.Lyon, Emma.Leigh Rios,creation of electronic text.Electronic edition137 KbBritish Women Romantic Poets ProjectShields Library, University of California, Davis, California 956162002LyonEMisce

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Davis British Women Romantic Poets Series112Nancy Kushigian,General EditorCharlotte Payne,Managing EditorMiscellaneous poemsLyon, Emma, Miss Printed by J. Bartlett, for the authorOxford, and sold by J. Parker, J. Cooke, and R. Bliss, J. Deighton, and Nicholson and SonCambridge, J. Hatchard, and WilsonLondon, 1812[This text was scanned from its original in the Shields Library Kohler Collection, University of California, Davis. Kohler ID no. ISuppl:406. Another copy available on microfilm as Kohler ISuppl:406mf.]

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[Title page]

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS,BY MISS EMMA LYON,DAUGHTER OF THE REV. S. LYON,Hebrew Teacher.OXFORD:PRINTED BY J. BARTLETT, FOR THE AUTHOR;And Sold by J. PARKER, J. COOKE, and R. BLISS; J. DEIGH‐TON, and NICHOLSON and SON, CAMBRIDGE; J.HATCHARD, 190, Piccadilly, and WILSON, 88,Cornhill, LONDON.1812.Price in bds. 10s. 6d.TOHER ROYAL HIGHNESSThe Princess Charlotte of Wales,

THE FOLLOWING POEMSARE, BY PERMISSION,HUMBLY INSCRIBED,

BYHER ROYAL HIGHNESS'S MOST OBEDIENT SERVANT,EMMA LYON.TOHER ROYAL HIGHNESSTHEPRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES.WHILE 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 abodeMy 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 smileIntrudes upon thine ear unpolish'd praise;That dares presumptuous steal thy hallow'd time,Or seek to charm with perishable rhyme.PREFACE.

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 claims, from

Their ever obligedAnd respectful Servant,EMMA LYON.LONDON,May 18, 1812.CONTENTS.Address to the University of Oxford1Lines to D. F*****, Esq. Barrister3Ode to Genius8Ode on Solitude10Ode to Sleep12Lines to the Muse14Ode on Death17Ode on Sympathy19Ode on the fear of Criticism21Lines written to my Sister during her passage to␣␣␣␣␣the West Indies24Lines to Melancholy28Ode on Beauty30Ode to Spring32Ode to Summer35Ode to Autumn37Ode to Winter39Sonnet on Hope42Sonnet to Memory44Sonnet to my Father46Stanzas to the Moon48The Maniac, a Song53Lines on Friendship, addressed to Miss F. B*****56Ode to Indifference58Ode to Ingratitude62Ode on Adversity65The Beggar Boy, a Tale68Ode on Hope71Lines on Envy77Ode to Fortune, on my Birth Day80Lines addressed to the University of Cambridge83On the Death of Her Royal Highness the Princess Amelia86Ode to Suspicion88Ode to Sorrow90Ode to Honour92Ode on Ambition94Ode on Anger96Ode on Sickness, to my Sister98The Soldier's Farewel, a Song100The Flights of Fancy102The Willow, a Song104On Friendship, to Mrs. F*****106Catharine, a Song108On Health, to my Mother110Wild Roses, a Song112Revenge, an Ode114Paraphrases upon Psalms XIX, XV, XLIX, L, LVIII,␣␣␣␣␣LXXII, LXXIII, LXXVI, XCI119‐145Stanzas, sung at the Anniversary Meeting of the␣␣␣␣␣Society of Friends of Foreigners in Distress147Conclusion150SUBSCRIBERS' NAMES.HIS Royal Highness the PRINCE REGENTHer Royal Highness the PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALESHis Royal Highness the Duke of KentHis Royal Highness the Duke Of CambridgeHis Royal Highness the Duke of GloucesterHer Royal Highness the Princess ElizabethUNIVERSITY OF OXFORD.The Warden of All Souls Coll.The President of Corpus Christi Coll.The President of St. John's Coll.Rev. W. W. Green, Vice Principal of Magd. Coll.Rev. Mr. Wilson, Vice‐Principal of St. Edmund HallRev. J. Radcliffe, Vice‐Principal of St. Mary HallRev. Mr. Copleston, Professor of Poetry, Oriel Coll.Rev. Mr. Ingram, Trinity Coll.Rev. J. J. Conybeare, Ch. Ch.Rev. B. P. Symons, Wadham Coll.Rev. J. Rowder, Magd. Coll.—Porter, Esq. Queen's Coll. 2 copiesW. Ponder, Esq. Trinity Coll.H. Smith, Esq. Brasenose Coll.C. Smyth, Esq. Hertford Coll.R. Holt, Esq. Brasenose Coll. 2 copiesR. Potinger, Esq. Pembroke Coll. 3 copies—Quille, Esq. Oriel Coll.Alexander Lockhart, Esq. St. Mary HaltB. Best, Esq. Magd. Coll.Mr. Millman, Brasenose Coll.—Gaunt, Esq. Brasenose Coll.Mr. Batty, Senior, Brasenose Coll.Mr. Thomas, Brasenose Coll.Mr. Archer Ryland, St. John's Coll.L. Dawbeny, Esq. Magd. Coll.C. D. University Coll.J. S. Smith, Esq. Magd. Coll.J. Loveday, Esq. DittoJ. M. Glutt, Esq. Exeter Coll.Rev. E. Nicholson, AbingdonMr. Walker, New Coll.Mr. Hescott, Brasenose Coll.Oxford Subscription LibraryMr. Bliss, St. John's Coll.Mr. Brown, Worcester Coll.Rev. W. Nicholson, Queen's Coll.Mr. Page, Wadham Coll.Mr. Neville, DittoMr. Eagles, DittoMr. Townley, DittoRev. C. Strong, DittoRev. D. Michell, DittoR. Hall, Esq. DittoRev. Mr. Gardner, DittoMr. Percival, DittoRev. B. Pering, DittoRev. R. Stevens, DittoRev. Mr. Dunsford, DittoRev. C. Audery, St. Mary HallRev. W. Burch, Magd. Coll.Rev. S. Arnott, St. John's Coll.Rev. D. Gregory, Brasenose Coll.The Honourable J. E. Boscawen, Ch. Ch.Thomas Mawdesley, Esq. Brasenose Coll.J. G. Clowes, Esq. DittoR. Prescott, Esq. DittoR. Heath, Esq. DittoJames Dean, Esq. DittoDavid Hughes, A. M. Jesus Coll.Rev. Robert Hughes, DittoHonourable E. Foley, Brasenose Coll.Honourable G. Wingfield, DittoRev. H. Huntingford, New Coll.Rev. R. Dixon, Queen's Coll.Mr. Cooke, BooksellerMr. Parker, DittoG. Cardwell, Esq. Brasenose Coll.W. C. Cotton, Esq. St. Mary HallD. G. Davis, Esq. Pembroke Coll.W. Conybeare, Esq. Ch. Ch.P. P. Falkner, Esq. Brasenose Coll.Mr. Morris, Ch. Ch.R. Brown, Esq. Pembroke Coll.Philip Webb, Esq. Ch. Ch.Mr. Dobree, Pembroke Coll.Mr. Coventry, DittoMr. Rees, DittoMr. De Mainbray, DittoMr. Mutlow, DittoMr. Sollis, DittoMr. Hopkins, DittoMr. Morse, DittoMr. Andros, DittoMr. Smyth, Brasenose Coll.Mr. G. Young, DittoJ. Hawkins, Esq.Mr. Ingham, Oriel Coll.Rev. G. Chandler, New Coll.Rev. J. Wart, DittoCharles Keene, Esq. Ch. Ch.John Gooch, Esq. DittoGeorge Wildman, Esq. DittoJohn Wildman, Esq. DittoG. Cherry, Esq. Ditto—Davis, Esq. DittoH. S. Esq. DittoMr. P. Maingy, Pembroke Coll.J. Mays, Esq. Brasenose Coll.Mr. J. BrainG. P. Lowther, Esq. St. Mary HallMiss Burton, Ch. Ch.Miss B. . . .sMiss LockMiss Collingwood, 2 copiesMiss WilliamsMiss WinstanleyMiss GroteMiss FordMiss WhiteMiss BlissMiss ParsonsMrs. GordonUNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE.The Right Reverend Lord Bishop of Bristol, Master of Trinity Coll.The Dean of Carlisle, Master of Queen's Coll.The Dean of Ely, Master of Jesus Coll.Rev. Dr. Turner, Master of Lincoln Coll.Rev. Dr. Cory, Master of Emanuel Coll.Sir Busick Harwood, D. C.Rev. Dr. Marsh, Margaret Professor of DivinityRev. R. Tyrwhitt, Jesus Coll.Mr. Caldwell, DittoMr. J. Dicks, DittoMr. Wilson, DittoMr. Roadrick, DittoMr. Park, DittoRev. George Palmer, DittoMr. Stoney, DittoMr. Smyth, Peter HouseT. Brown, Esq. DittoR. Roscoe, Esq. DittoJ. Pinching, Esq. DittoMr. Heading, Clare HallJ. W. Lodington, Esq. DittoRev. William Chafy, Sidney Coll.C. S. Bonnett, Esq. DittoMr. Wallare, DittoRev. Mr. Aspland, Pembroke Coll.—Woodworth, Esq. DittoRev. G. Hodson, Magd. Coll.James Gisborne, Esq. Ditto, 2 copiesRev. W. Cornforth, DittoJohn Babington, Esq. DittoJames Paley, Esq. DittoEdward Davies, Esq. Ditto, 2 copiesWilliam Rawson, Esq. DittoCharles Pratt, Esq. DittoJ. George Wrench, Esq. DittoJoseph Cox, Esq. DittoPeter Dunlabin, Esq. DittoJ. Everton, Esq. DittoHenry Wright, Esq. Ditto—Plumptree, Esq. St. John's Coll.Carnal, Esq. DittoJ. H. Austen, Esq. DittoRev. W. Wood, DittoHenry Brown, Esq. DittoM. H. Miller, Esq. DittoR. Empson, Esq. DittoRev. E. Thurlow, Ditto—Booth, Esq. DittoG. Antrobus, Esq. DittoMr. Antrobus, DittoMr. Bland, DittoT. Evans, Esq. DittoP. Wilkinson, Esq. DittoMr. Dawson, DittoT. Hennicker, Esq. DittoJ. Scott, Esq. Ditto—Penrice, Esq. DittoRev. George Palmer, Trinity Coll.—Romilly, Esq. DittoGeorge Peacock, Esq. DittoJames Scholefield, Esq. DittoRev. J. Young, DittoDr. Jowett, Trinity HallH. Horsley, Esq. DittoHuchinson, Esq. DittoMr. Mann, DittoMr. Kyon, DittoMr. Smith, Ditto—Ingle, Esq. Ditto—Cropingham, Esq. DittoRev. J. Hudson, Trinity Coll.Rev. J. Rose, DittoJ. Naylor, Esq. DittoRev. J. Clarkson, DittoMr. Monson, DittoT. Turton, Esq. Catharine HallRev. C. Simeon, King's Coll.J. L. Dampier, Esq. DittoC. B. Daniel, Esq. DittoLord Dumfries, Ch. Coll.Honourable Mr. Smith, DittoM. W. Stains, Esq. Emanuel Coll.Mr. Brett, DittoRev. G. Hewitt, Queen's Coll.Benjamin Wood, Esq. St. Peter's Coll.Mr. J. Crool, 2 copiesDr. ThackerayDr. HagueW. Farish, Esq. SurgeonMessrs. Nicholson and Son, BooksellersMr. J. Deighton, DittoMiss HaradenMiss DonnMiss Donn, JuniorMiss M. WintworthMr. Watson, ApothecaryE. DickensLONDON.The Right Honourable the Earl of LiverpoolThe Right Honourable S. PercevalThe Right Honourable Viscount Dudley and WardThe Right Honourable Viscount StopfordThe Right Reverend Lord Bishop of SalisburyThe Reverend the Dean of WindsorThe Reverend the Dean of WestminsterHonourable and Rev. Daniel FinchJohn W. Compton, Esq. Judge of the Vice Admiralty at BarbadoesThe Countess of LiverpoolLady Maria FinchLady Harriet FinchSir V. GibbsJohn Reeves, Esq. Alien OfficeJames Perry, Esq.Daniel Moore, Esq.Randall Jackson, Esq. TempleDoctor LettsomW. H. White, Esq.Basil Montague, Esq.Rev. Philip DoddRev. Mr. Russell, Charter HouseMrs. Russell, DittoW. Bode, Esq. DittoRev. G. SavageMrs. SavageMiss BoodleRev. Mr. StewardMiss Harris, Pall‐mallS. Polack, StrandT. Barnes, Esq. TempleW. Maclead, Esq. TempleRev. Mr. DunsfordD. French, Esq. BarristerMartin French, Esq.Mrs. FrenchJohn Williams, Esq. R. A.Captain Thomas, R. N.Mrs. MichantMrs. ArkinstallD. Brandon, Esq.Rev. W. C. PaulS. L. BensusanMiss BensusanMrs. HartMr. L. . . .Miss NewtonColeman Newton, Esq.Mr. BarlowMr. J. NathanMr. ElliottMr. JohnsonMrs. Smith, ChelseaH. Israel, Esq.Mr. M. LevyMr. L. LevyMiss H. LevyMrs. PatersonB. Cohen, Esq.J. Cohen, Esq.M. Abrahams, Esq.Thomas Starkie, Esq. BarristerMiss ShannonJ. Davis, Esq.S. Davis, Esq.Miss T. BallinMiss D. BallinMr. Starkie, MerchantMr. LazarusMrs. Gordon, Portman‐squareR. Cosway, Esq.A. J. Valpy, Esq.Mr. Isay LevyMiss BarkerMiss A. Maynard, HenleyMrs. Wainewright, DittoMiss Andrew, ManchesterMiss Crump, CoventryJ. Levi, Esq. BarbadoesA. Henry, Esq. RamsgateMiss Abrahams, RamsgateMr. J. Hart, PortsmouthMrs. E. Levy, DittoRev. J. Chandler, University Coll. OxfordRev. J. Hunt, Ch. Ch. DittoETON COLL.Rev. Dr. Goodall, ProvostRev. H. PearsonRev. C. JarvisRev. J. FoxBaring Wall, Esq.Rev. W. RussellRev. J. HuntingfordC. Young, Esq.E. Pote, Esq. 3 copiesMr. WilliamsE. H. Hope, Esq.H. J. Dampier, Esq.Mr. CrawfordMr. G. M'ClaryMrs. HoltR. T. F.Mr. PeningtonWINDSOR.Honourable Miss TownsendLady George MurrayCol. TaylorLieut. Col. NewdigateMiss HenryMiss SmithSURINAM, WEST INDIES.A. Valery, MerchantMrs. ValeryJ. Lyon, MerchantH. Lyon, DittoMiss R. LyonMiss E. Lyon.J. Z. Soesman, Esq.Isaac Leo Lyon, New South WalesSociety of Friends of Foreigners in Distress†Sir W. Paxton, TreasurerW. Vaughan, Esq. DittoRev. Dr. BrunnmarkP. G. Burier, Esq.W. P. Compton, Esq.B. A. Goldtschmidt, Esq. 3 copiesG. A. Bafverman, Esq.D. B. Baker, Esq.Peter Alsing, Esq.G. P. Becher, Esq.Mrs. BoyesonMrs. BrunnmarkMrs. EngstromH. J. Rocker, Esq.John Anthony Rucker, Esq.John D. Rucker, Esq.Mrs. H. J. RuckerM. Rendorff, Esq.Mrs. HulleJohn Philip Ruhne, Esq.John George Walte, Esq.John De Droop, Esq.Mr. H. J. AlsingMr. MichalsonMr. T. L. LudenMrs. UhrMrs. SundiusMrs. C. C. EbertienC. Troilius, Esq.Mrs. Earl IsraelMrs. Tottie†At the close of the volume are printed, by permission of this honourable Society, "Stanzas" sung at their Anniversary Meeting, held at the New London Tavern, April 27, 1812, having been written by the Author too late for insertion in their proper place.POEMS, &c.ADDRESSTOTHE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD.WHERE, 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.LINESTO D. F*****, ESQ. BARRISTER.IS 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 foundSweet 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 skyI 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'dEach 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 pourtrayWhen first I gave to thee my simple lay—To thee, who smiling bad'st me still pursueThe 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'erThe paths which lead to wisdom's sacred shore;The laurels that thy manly brows entwin'dBespoke thy vast fertility of mind;But yet that mind with gen'rous ardour gaveSupporting 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 swellThe 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 groundWhere 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 findThe 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.ANODE TO GENIUS.ALL 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 lyreWith gems or ornaments that are not thine!Come, guide my fancy when it seeks the MuseThat still to thee directs her daring flight!Through my chill veins one gentle beam infuseOf 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.ANODE ON SOLITUDE.HAIL, Solitude! whose silent sphereIs 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 artCan 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!ANODE TO SLEEP.SWEET 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 blazeTill 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!LINESTO THE MUSE.ONCE 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 earsSoft 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 earWhen 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'dIn 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 inclineAt 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.ANODE ON DEATH.OF 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 dartDrinks 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 nameOf 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.ANODE ON SYMPATHY.WHERE is the fount of sweeter flow,Replenish'd by the fost'ring skies,Than that which springs at others' woeFrom 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.AN ODEON THE FEAR OF CRITICISM.OH! where amid this dreary sceneOf 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 deathAnd injuries of time.But lo! the Critics' grizly band!That dash the fairest crown,Already lift the wasteful handTo 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 songCall down th' inspiring Muse.LINESWRITTEN TO MY SISTER DURING HER PASSAGETO THE WEST INDIES.MY soul with joyful gratitude surveysThe 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 dayPreserve 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 paintWhen 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."LINESTO MELANCHOLY.SORCERESS, why with magic spellStill 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!AN ODE ON BEAUTY.MUST 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 eyeThat sets the gazer's soul on fire,Is not so lovely as the sighThat melts when touch'd by pity's lyre!Death soon shall spoil the rosy face;Whilst all the flowery wreaths that bindThe 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!ANODE TO SPRING.WAFT, Halcyon pow'r, thy gentle galesIn murmurs through the mellowing air;Come, strew with cheerful green the vales,And from the bosom chase despair!Hoar winter's desolating shroudThe pensive breast no more shall gloom,For lo! from yonder silver cloudSpring clothes the varied earth with bloom!Lo! zephyrs' placid breath unlockThe streams o'erwhelm'd with mounds of snow;And bid the rugged icy rockRevive 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 adornThe bushes where her tears distill'd.Now vegetation's chill reposeAwakes to feed the ravish'd sight,That wandering, as the buds unclose,Is lost in mazes of delight.Beneath the soft relenting skyThe 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 earthAwaits the soft descending show'rs.And now the Poet's mournful strings,Deep slumbering all the season drear,Arouse, while Philomela singsHer notes to the melodious ear.Where cold and solitude aroundLate 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?ANODE TO SUMMER.NOW 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 treePour 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,[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]Pass ev'ry tempest gently by,And bid contentment chase the sigh.ANODE TO AUTUMN.FAREWEL, 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 arrayIn all the lustre of their short‐liv'd bloom;But ah! to me their widowing leaves pourtrayThe 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.ANODE TO WINTER.WHEN 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 wailOf airy songsters, while aloft they soar,And with fleet wings etherial tracks explore.Now all is hush'd, save where the murm'ring breezeSighs 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 wingChills 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 fillThe vale luxuriant, and the climbing hill.Till then, the Muse, in depth of wintry gloomShall 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.SONNETON HOPE.REMAIN, 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.SONNETTO MEMORY.CELESTIAL charm, who hast the pow'rTo summon back the glided hour,And cheer us through life's weary wayWith 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 gainThe sweet reward of all her pain.SONNETTO MY FATHER.AH! who can paint the joys and fears,When, distant in a foreign land,A Daughter reads with flowing tearsA 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 springOf blessings on a Father's head:While fond affection bends the knee,And sues, prime source of Good, to thee.STANZASTO THE MOON.TO 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 lightWould 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 eyeDost oft behold the love‐lorn Ellen sigh,Poor hapless maid! no more can hope bestowOne distant ray, to bid her bosom glow:From her, alas! has fate relentless tornThe 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 sighIs breath'd to thee, fair Moon! with moisten'd eye, While faithful memory every scene renewsOf 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!THE MANIAC.A SONG.BEHOLD 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.Yet ANNA 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 stormTorn 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.LINESON FRIENDSHIP.ADDRESSED TO MISS F. B*****.WHILE 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!AN ODETO INDIFFERENCE.BE 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 dayOf 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 shrineI'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.AN ODETO INGRATITUDE.THE 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 hourDid 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 tearThe breast of friendship, heavenly fair!And with unnat'ral strife,To wreak thy undistinguish'd rageOn those, who pour the balm t' assuageThe 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!ANODE ON ADVERSITY.ADVERSITY! whose gloomy faceStill 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 rangAdversity was stay'd;She could not move while heavenly sangA calm and tranquil maid.Descending soon, with steady mienShe 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 dewThe cheek with endless tears;Since fortitude in glory's view,With her more bright appears.THE BEGGAR BOY.A TALE."OH! 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 enfoldThe 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."ANODE ON HOPE.HOPE, 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 hourMore 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 sighsThat 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 tearOf 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 woundOf stern despair, whose gloomy eyeNe'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 brightFrom 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 restrainsThe 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!LINESON ENVY.OH! that amid this wandering maze of care,Where short‐liv'd pleasure meets o'erwhelming woeAt every turn; e'en where bright virtue soars,With toilsome flight, to fame's aspiring hill;So foul a fiend as Envy still should hauntEach bow'r and brake! still horribly enjoyThe 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 tongueDelights, or Poet with his voice divine,Lifting the soul in ecstasies to heaven!No thirst of knowledge leads his soul to tasteThe founts of genius, tho' with unclos'd eyeInsatiable 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 excelIn virtue, wisdom, eloquence, or song,Where Envy roaming breathes his clouds of deathO'er all the well‐earn'd laurels of renown!ANODE TO FORTUNE.ON MY BIRTH DAY.AH! 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 careHave screen'd me from thy sun‐shine fair,Amid the Muse's bow'r;While all around thy favours blandAre lavish'd with superfluous hand,Where luxury scorns the show'r.Tho' still the solace of the MuseHer sweetness in my breast infuse,Yet all her numbers failTo 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 betweenA transient cloud appear;To me too constant, Goddess, tell,Ah! when will sorrow bid farewelTo 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 rejoiceMy 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.LINESADDRESSEDTO THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE.AS 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 shoreGreat VERULAM enrich'd the world with lore;That there thy NEWTON sent his mind on high [This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]To pierce through all, with philosophic eye,That God permits a mortal to descry.But sweeter far shall memory fond retain,That MILTON dwelt within thy sacred fane;There oft repos'd beneath thy shady trees,To catch Divinity's inspiring breeze;There learnt to weave his Amaranthine crown,And climb the wond'rous summit of renown;As oft to thee, bright Cam! I fondly turn,From whose blest fountain flow'd his heavenly urn:And on thy domes this glorious wreath entwine,"A BACON, NEWTON, and a MILTON thine!"ON THE DEATHOF HER ROYAL HIGHNESSTHE PRINCESS AMELIA.MY 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 reliefTo 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 steepThe 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.ANODE TO SUSPICION.SUSPICION! 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 wayOf 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.ANODE TO SORROW.PALE 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 songCan soothe the pow'r that rules the gloomy throng.No! never, never! could thy sweetest MuseWarm 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 shrineWith gentle pity her bright glories twine;Together they each blast of life will brave,Till thought becomes familiar with the grave.ANODE TO HONOUR.HAIL, 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 youthHas warbled many a hymn divine;And made, with all the vows of truth,Her breast thy consecrated shrine!ANODE ON AMBITION.HOW glorious the breast that in life's early morn,Ambition! enkindles thy flame;Who pants for thy trophies, and longs to adornHis 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 shieldAre the flames of ambition confin'd!She glows in the shade, and wide opens the fieldTo 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'rThat 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 vainTo the bosom that sighs for the grave!ANODE ON ANGER.WHO 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?ANODE ON SICKNESS.TO MY SISTER.HOW 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'rIn fair Rosina's eye relume the ray;And where the clouds of hov'ring sickness low'r,With sweet celestial light restore the day!THESOLDIER'S FAREWEL.A SONG.OH! give, sweet love, before we part,One kiss to ease a Soldier's heart;Breathe with thy soft adieu, a sighTo 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!THEFLIGHTS OF FANCY.HAIL, Fancy, hail! ungovernable pow'r,And tell my bosom how thy mimic art,Out‐trav'lling time, can in one fleeting hourFrom 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 sustainThy 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 wayThat 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 beguileAll hours of loneliness with aid divine!THE WILLOW.A SONG.WHO 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?'Tis AGNES—who late was as smilingAs new‐springing May's sweetest morn;But love, all her fair days beguiling,Has plac'd in her bosom a thorn.For young HENRY unfaithfully swore,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.ON FRIENDSHIP.TO MRS. F*****.OH let my Muse the lyre inflameAt 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 recessFind 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 seems,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.CATHARINE.A SONG.FAIR CATHARINE 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 reposeOn cheeks that boast a fairer rose.Yet sure my soul has ne'er forgotThe vows he swore within my cot,There oft my trembling hand he prestWith seeming rapture to his breast;And now suspicious love would chaseHis manly form, his smiling face.If past the hour, yet memory dearThe 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.ON HEALTH.TO MY MOTHER.BRIGHT 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 spreadThy 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.WILD ROSES.A SONG.A POOR 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."REVENGE.AN ODE.STERN 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'rOur 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.PARAPHRASESFROMDAVID'S PSALMS.PARAPHRASEDFROMDAVID'S PSALMS.PSALM XIX.THE arched heavens ere since the birth of timeInstruct 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 boastThe music of the glittering host?What instrumental harmony affordSuch measur'd cadence, and divine accord?All Nature's finger eloquently showsHis 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 adornThe 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 retireThe 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 goodTo make thy law their intellectual food;It is this sacred voice of truthThat 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 graceWhat 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!PSALM XV.WHO 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 bleedEre 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.PSALM XLIX.AWAKE, 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 sightTo 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 braveShall 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.PSALM L.HEAVEN'S matchless King with dreadful ireDescends 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 trainOf spirits variable and vain;Eject them from th' untainted seedThat shudder at a foul misdeed.Not blood in sacrifices spiltCan wash away the stains of guilt;Where malice, fraud, and guile abound,Not large wine‐offerings pour'd aroundCan 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 feastOn fumes that mount from slaughter'd beast?Or can an empty prayer assuageHis inextinguishable rage?Shall he, who gave creation birth,Wait off'rings from the sons of earth;For whom his band enrich'd the soilWith wine, and corn, and fatt'ning oil?Shall he his appetite allayWith fruits that spring from dust and clay?Shall he the gentle ear inclineTo tongues that soil his hymns divine?Or e'er one gracious smile impartOn falsehood's double‐founted heart,That his high praise corrupted pours,And Belial secretly adores?Ah no! 'tis innocence aloneMounts fragrant to his heavenly throne:That praise is music to his ear,That issues from a conscience clear;But not the sin‐polluted vowAscends 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 defileWith notes melodious tun'd by guile.Ungodly crew! let sacred aweForbid you to extol his law;Where truth in every spotless pageOn 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 wideShall 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 sincereWin audience from JEHOVAH'S ear.PSALM LVIII.STILL can ye glory that, with one accordBright 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 distilDeep in your hearts' corrupted soil.E'en from the womb your infant tongues rejoiceTo 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 groundWith plots of slander and deceit.But oh, great God! from all their caverns deepDrag 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 charmThe 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.PSALM LXXII.O GOD! thy shadowing arm extendAround our Monarch's radiant throne;For still to thee he loves to bend,With awful reverence prone.O let thy oracles inflameHis 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 tideOf justice through the land.With firm and resolute decrees,To strip th' oppressor's guilty spoil,Where pride and wealth in slothful easeDefraud the sons of toil.To spurn the flatterer's supple kneeWith eye that darts majestic awe;Nor make corruption's golden keyTh' interpreter of law.To scatter his life‐giving smile,Where misery pours her bitter show'r,But crush the monsters that defileTheir delegated pow'r.Thus shall the royal virtues flowWith streams that every bosom fill;The palms of peace and joy shall grow,And flourish to his will.His sceptre with broad‐spreading swayShall lure the nations to his yoke;Nor check its thunders in the dayWhen enemies provoke.His covering mantle shall investThe orphan, desolate, forlorn!And softly heal the bleeding breastWhere fortune plants a thorn.To him the potentates of earthShall 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 rejoiceTo crown a Monarch's fame.PSALM LXXIII.HOW blest, great God! how enviably secureFlows the sweet current of the virtuous life!How happier far than all the joys that lureTh' 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 abodeHave 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 inureTo 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 descentReminds 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!PSALM LXXVI.JEHOVAH 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 brightLaid 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 fireTheir threatening arrows, spear, and shield.Insensate crew! what hand shall dareThe Almighty's must'ring rage provoke,Or for his holy sons prepareThe tyrant's meditated yoke?Like ye shall feel his furious breathYour close embattled ranks disturb:Your kings, that storm with blood and death,Shall champ th' inevitable curb.PSALM XCI.HE, who beneath the shadow of thy wingReclines, 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 roarShall sink them, that they heave the head no more.Yes! God shall give his ministers in chargeTo 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 brightShall spread th' inviolable bar,And wing his solitary flightTo regions unapproach'd by war;There, in the sun‐shine of celestial praise,To bloom and flourish, crown'd with length of days.STANZAS,Sung with great applause at the Anniversary Meeting of theSOCIETY OF FRIENDSOFFOREIGNERS IN DISTRESS,HELD AT THE NEW LONDON TAVERN, APRIL 27, 1812.ARISE! O generous band, rejoice,Awake the lyre's melodious voice!Who glory in the fostering careThat cheers the stranger's dark despair!Whate'er his creed, whate'er his land,If misery's child,—with ready handThe thorns are drawn that tear his breast,By Friends of Foreigners distrest!When sickness dire, with sullen wing,And want their gloomy horrors flingAround 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! blestBe Friends of Foreigners distrest!*When flying from a tyrant's swayIn 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 restOf 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 vainHer sons that banish care and pain?That grateful orphans pour a tearUnnotic'd by the heavenly sphere?Ah, no! bright angels in the skyInscribe your every name on high,In glorious characters imprest,Ye Friends of Foreigners distrest!*This Stanza was not sung at the Meeting, though originally composed for that purpose.CONCLUSION.DESCEND, O Muse, with more than wonted fire,Ere deadly silence steals upon my lyre;Come, let the solemn numbers flowIn 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 smileFrom 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 fillEach 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 hearAlike 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, leadsTheir 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 nowHe flashes on the battle's gloomy brow.Bartlett, Printer, Oxford.