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Unboastful maid! though now the Lily pale
ABSENCE. Transparent grace thy beauties meek;
A FAREWELL ODE ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR JESUS
Cam rolls his reverend stream along;
I haste to urge the learned toil
That sternly chides my lovelorn song:
When Peace, and Cheerfulness, and Health
Enrich'd me with the best of wealth. A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A SCHOOL-BOY TO HIS
Ah fair delights! that o'er my soul · LITTLE BROTHERS AND SISTERS.
On Memory's wing, like shadows fly!
Ah Flowers! which Joy from Eden stole UNDERNEATH a huge oak tree
While Innocence stood smiling by : There was, of swine, a huge company,
But cease, fond heart! this bootless moan: That grunted as they crunch'd the mast :
Those hours on rapid pinions flown
Shall yet return, by Absence crown'd,
The Sun who ne'er remits his fires
The Moon, that oft from Heaven retires, Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet.
Endears her renovated ray. He pick'd up the acorn and buried it straight
What though she leaves the sky unblest
To mourn awhile in murky vest ?
When she relumes her lovely light,
We bless the wanderer of the night
Many Autumns, many Springs
LINES ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING.
O THOU, wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more At length he came back, and with him a She,. Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds explore ! And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree. Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flight They built them a nest in the topmost bough, Bathed in rich amber-glowing floods of light; And young ones they had, and were happy enow. Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day, But soon came a woodman in leathern guise, With western peasants hail the morning ray! His brow, like a pent-house, hung over his eyes. Ah! rather bid the perish'd pleasures move, He d an ar in his hand, not a word he spoke, A shadowy train, across the soul of Love! But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke, O'er Disappointment's wintry desert fling At length he brought down the poor Raven's own Each flower that wreathed the dewy locks of Spring, oak.
When blushing, like a bride, from Hope's trim His young ones were killed; for they could not
She leap'd, awaken’d by the pattering shower. And their mother did die of a broken heart. Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam,
Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy poet's dream!
O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrill'd heart,
O dear deceit! I see the Maiden rise,
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes! He heard the last shriek of the perishing souls- When first the lark, high soaring, swells his throat, See! see! o'er the topmast the mad water rolls! Mocks the tired eye, and scatters the wild note,
Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet, I trace her footsteps on the accustom'd lawn, And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet, I mark her glancing 'mid the gleam of dawn. And he thank'd him again and again for this treat: When the bent flower beneath the night-dew weeps They had taken his all, and Revenge was sweet! And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps,
Amid the paly radiance soft and sad,
No more your sky-larks melting from the sight
Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! obey
Scenes of my Hope! the aching eye ye leave,
Spirits! to you the infant Maid was given,
As late each flower that sweetest blows
Around his brows a beamy wreath
I softly seized the unguarded Power,
O (have I sigh'd) were mine the wizard's rod,
As when the Savage, who his drowsy frame
ONE kiss, dear Maid! I said and sigh'd
Dear native brook! like Peace, so placidly
Yon viewless Wanderer of the vale,
And He the glitter of the Dew
From the pomp of sceptred state,
Too well those lovely lips disclose
TO A YOUNG ASS.
ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT.
Poor little foal of an oppressed race!
WHEN Youth his faery reign began
Still, Mary! still I sigh for thee.
Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.
ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care ; It seems to say, “ And have I then one friend ?"
The opening bud to Heaven convey'd, Innocent Foal! thou poor despised forlorn!
And bade it blossom there.
FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF THE “ MAN OF ROSS." Yea! and more musically sweet to me
RICHER than miser o'er his countless hoards, Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be, Nobler than kings, or king-polluted lords, Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest
Here dwelt the man of Ross! O Traveller, hear! The aching of pale fashion's vacant breast! Departed merit claims a reverent tear.
Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health,
He hears the widow's heaven-breath'd prayer of
He mark'd the shelter'd orphan's tearful gaze, TELL me, on what holy ground
Or where the sorrow-shrivell'd captive lay, May Domestic Peace be found ?
Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noontide ray. Halcyon Daughter of the skies,
Beneath this roof if thy cheer'd moments pass, Far on fearful wings she flies,
Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass :
To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul, Remorse, the poison'd arrow in his side,
And loud lewd Mirth, to anguish close allied :
Darts her hot lightning flash athwart the brain.
Thine all that cheer the moment as it flies,
Nursed in thy heart the firmer Virtues grew,
And in thy heart they wither'd! Such chill dew
Wan indolence on each young blossom shed;
And Vanity her filmy net-work spread,
With eye that roll’d around, in asking gaze, · Once more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wander- And tongue that traffick'd in the trade of praise. ing near,
Thy follies such! the hard world mark'd them well ! I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.
Were they more wise, the proud who never fell ? Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours Rest, injur'd shade! the poor man’s grateful prayer With one fresh garland of Pierian fowers
On heavenward wing thy wounded soul shall bear. (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn) As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass, My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn. And sit me down upon its recent grass, For not through pathless grove with murmur rude With introverted eye I contemplate Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude; Similitude of soul, perhaps of-Fate! Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well, To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assign'd The Hermit-fountain of some dripping cell! Energic Reason and a shaping mind, Pride of the Vale! thy useful streams supply The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part, The scatter'd cots and peaceful hamlet nigh. And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart. The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks Sloth-jaundic'd all ! and from my graspless hand With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks, Drop Friendship's precious pearls, like hour-glass Released from school, their little hearts at rest,
sand. Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast.
I weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows,
A dreamy pang in Morning's feverish doze.
Is this piled earth our being's passless mound?
Tell me, cold grave! is Death with poppies crown'd? She, vainly mindful of her dame's command,
Tired sentinel ! 'mid fitful starts I nod, Loiters, the long-fillid pitcher in her hand.
And fain would sleep, though pillow'd on a clod! Unboastful Stream!'thy fount with pebbled falls The faded form of past delight recalls, What time the morning sun of Hope arose, And all was joy ; save when another's woes A transient gloom upon my soul imprest, Like passing clouds impictured on thy breast.
TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A POEM ON Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon,
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale,
Yet though the hours flew by on careless wing,
Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing.
Aye as the star of evening flung its beam
In broken radiance on the wavy stream, WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER INDUCED BY CALUM- My soul amid the pensive twilight gloom NIOUS REPORTS.
Mourn'd with the breeze, O Lee Boo!* o'er thy tomb,
Where'er I wander'd, Pity still was near, EDMUND! thy grave with aching eye 1 scan, Breathed from the heart and glisten'd in the tear: And inly groan for Heaven's poor outcast-Man! No knell that toll'd, but fill'd my anxious eye, 'Tis tempest all or gloom: in early youth,
And suffering Nature wept that one should die 4 If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth, We force to start amid her feign'd caress
Thus to sad sympathies I soothed my breast,
Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West :
When slumbering Freedom roused with high disdain But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower
With giant fury burst her triple chain! Some pigmy Folly in a careless hour, The faithless guest shall stamp the enchanted ground . Lee Boo, the-son of Abba Thule, Prince of the Pelew IslAnd mingled forms of Misery rise around :
ands, came over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the Heart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast,
small-pox, and is buried in Greenwich church-yard.-See Keato's
Account. That courts the future woe to hide the past ;
t Southey's Retrospect.
Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd ; Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul
Wilder'd with meteor fires. Ah spirit pure !
That error's mist had left thy purged eye:
Though roused by that dark Vizir, Riot rude And my heart aches, though Mercy struck the blow. Have driven our Priest over the ocean swell: With wearied thought once more I seek the shade, Though Superstition and her wolfish brood Where peaceful Virtue weaves the myrtle braid.
Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell ; And O! if eyes whose holy glances roll
Calm in his halls of brightness he sball dwell! Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul;
For lo ! Religion at his strong behest If smiles more winning, and a gentler mien
Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell, Than the love-wilder'd Maniac's brain hath seen
And flings to earth her tinsel-glittering vest, Shaping celestial forms in vacant air,
Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy; If these demand the impassion'd poet's care
And Justice wakes to bid the Oppressor wail, If Mirth and soften'd Sense and Wit refined,
Insulting aye the wrongs of patient Folly: The blameless features of a lovely mind;
And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won, . Then haply shall my trembling hand assign
Meek Nature slowly lifts her matron veil
To smile with fondness on her gazing son!
When British Freedom for a happier land
Sublime of hope! For dreadless thou didst stand
(Thy censer glowing with the hallow'd flame)
A hireless Priest before the insulted shrine, Content, as random Fancies might inspire.
And at her altar pour the stream divine If his weak harp at times, or lonely lyre
Of unmatch'd eloquence. Therefore thy name He struck with desultory band, and drew
Her sons shall venerate, and cheer thy breast Same soften'd tones to Nature not untrue.
With blessings heavenward breathed. And when Bowles.
of Nature bids thee die, beyond the lob My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles! for those soft Thy light shall shine : as sunk, beneath the West, strains,
Though the great Summer Sun eludes our gaze, Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring · Still burns wide Heaven with his distended blaze. or wild-bees in the sunny showers of spring! For hence not callous to the mourner's pains Through youth's gay prime and thornless path I went :
It was some Spirit, SHERIDAN! that breathed
O'er thy young mind such wildly various power! A mingled charm, such as the pang consign'd
My soul hath mark'd thee in her shaping hour, To sluruber, though the big tear it renewd;
Thy temples with Hymettian flow'rets wreathed : Bidding a strange mysterious Pleasure brood
And sweet thy voice, as when o'er Laura's bier Over the wavy and tumultuous mind,
Sad music trembled through Vauclusa's glade ; As the great Spirit erst with plastic sweep
Sweet, as at dawn the lovelorn serenade
That wafts soft dreams to Slumber's listening ear.
Meaning of Scorn and Wit's quaint revelry!
Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance
The Apostate by the brainless rout adored, As late I lay in slurnber's shadowy vale,
As erst that elder fiend beneath great Michael's sword. With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise, I saw the sainted form of Freedom rise : She spake! not sadder moans the autumnal gale -Great Son of Genius! sweet to me thy name,
SONNET Ere in an evil hour with alter'd voice 'Thou badst Oppression's hireling crew rejoice, O WHAT a loud and fearful shriek was there, Blasting with wizard spell my laurell'd fame. As though a thousand souls one death-groan pour'd! Yet never, Burke! thou drank'st Corruption's bowl! Ah me! they view'd beneath a hireling's sword The stormy Pity and the cherish'd lure
Fallen Kosciusko! Through the burthen'd air