250 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. W TO HOPE. HEN by my solitary hearth I sit, And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit, Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night, Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray, Should sad Despondency my musings fright, And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away, Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof, And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof. Should Disappointment, parent of Despair, Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart: Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright, And fright him, as the morning frightens night! Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain, To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air! In the long vista of the years to roll, Let me not see our country's honour fade! O let me see our land retain her soul! Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade. From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed Beneath thy pinions canopy my head! Let me not see the patriot's high bequest, And as, in sparkling majesty, a star Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud; Brightening the half-veil'd face of heaven afar : So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed, Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head. February, 1815. IMITATION OF SPENSER. NOW OW morning from her orient chamber came Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame, Which round its marge reflected woven bowers, And, in its middle space, a sky that never lowers. There the kingfisher saw his plumage bright, Vying with fish of brilliant dye below; Whose silken fins' and golden scales' light Cast upward, through the waves, a ruby glow: There saw the swan his neck of arched snow, And oar'd himself along with majesty: Sparkled his jetty eyes; his feet did show Beneath the waves like Afric's ebony, And on his back a fay reclined voluptuously. Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle And all around it dipp'd luxuriously WOMAN! when I behold thee flippant, vain, Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies; Without that modest softening that enhances The downcast eye, repentant of the pain That its mild light creates to heal again ; Thy winning graces ; to be thy defender I hotly burn to be a Calidore A very Red Cross Knight a stout Leander Might I be loved by thee like these of yore. Light feet, dark violet eyes, and parted hair; Soft dimpled hands, white neck, and creamy breast; Are things on which the dazzled senses rest Till the fond, fixed eyes, forget they stare. From such fine pictures, Heavens! I cannot dare To turn my admiration, though unpossess'd They be of what is worthy, — though not drest, In lovely modesty, and virtues rare. Yet these I leave as thoughtless as a lark These lures I straight forget, - e'en ere I dine, Or thrice my palate moisten: but when I mark Such charms with mild intelligences shine, My ear is open like a greedy shark, To catch the tunings of a voice divine. Ah! who can e'er forget so fair a being? Had I e'er seen her from an arbour take A dewy flower, oft would that hand appear, MY ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. Y heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, O for a draught of vintage, that hath been O for a beaker full of the warm South, That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; |