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diff --git a/11983-0.txt b/11983-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fa8c066 --- /dev/null +++ b/11983-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2279 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11983 *** + +POETIC SKETCHES; + +A + +COLLECTION + +OF + +MISCELLANEOUS POETRY. + +BY + +THOMAS GENT. + + + +THE SECOND EDITION. + + + + "In mercy spare me when I do my best, + To make as much waste paper as the rest." + + + + +1808. + + + +TO + +THE RIGHT HONORABLE + +GEORGE CANNING, M.P. + +SECRETARY OF STATE FOR THE FOREIGN +DEPARTMENT, + +and + +ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S MOST HONORABLE +PRIVY COUNCIL; + +NOT LESS DISTINGUISHED FOR HIS ATTAINMENTS AS + +A SCHOLAR, + +THAN FOR HIS TALENTS AS + +A STATESMAN + +THESE POETIC SKETCHES + +ARE INSCRIBED, + +WITH MUCH SINCERITY AND ESTEEM, + +BY HIS FAITHFUL AND DEVOTED + +HUMBLE SERVANT, + +THE AUTHOR. + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +The pieces marked thus (*) have been added since the +first edition. + +_To the Reviewers + +* On the Death of Lord Nelson + +SONNET--Morning + +To ----. --An Impromtu + +SONNET--Night + +Henry and Eliza + +* SONNET--On the Death of Mrs. Charlotte Smith + +To a Fly on the Bosom of Chloe, while sleeping + +SONNET + +Lines, written on the sixth of September + +SONNET--To Faith + +Stanzas + +SONNET--To Hope + +Thoughts on Peace + +SONNET--To Charity + +Prologue to Public Readings + +SONNET--The Beggar + +To ----. --Come, Jenny, let me sip the dew + +* The Runaway + +* Song--The Blue-eyed Maid + +Bertram and Anna + +Invocation to Sleep + +SONNET--To Music + +0! Nymph with cheeks of roseate hue + +On the Death of General Washington + +Song--Oh! never will I leave my love + +* Burlesque SONNET--To a Bee + +Mary + +SONNET--To Lydia, on her Birth-Day + +Stanzas, written Impromtu on the late Peace + +SONNET--To ---- on her Recovery from Illness + +* A Fragment + +Lines, to the Memory of a Lady + +* The Recall of the Hero + +Lines, written on seeing the Children of the Naval Asylum + +* Rosa's Grave + +Lines, written in Hornsey Wood + +SONNET--To ---- + +The Complaint + +SONNET + +* Reflections of a Poet, on being invited to a great Dinner + +SONNET--On seeing a Young Lady confined in a Madhouse + +To Thaddeus + +SONNET--To a Lyre + +Address to Albion + +SONNET--On the Death of Toussaint L'Ouverture + +Epitaph--On Matilda + +SONNET--To Peace + +* Love + +* SONNET--In the Manner of the Moderns + +* Lines, delivered at a Young Ladies' Boarding School + +On the Death of Sir Ralph Abercrombie + +To ---- + +SONNET--To Melancholy + +* Prometheus + +To my Readers_ [This section may no longer exist.] + + + + + + +TO THE REVIEWERS. + + +Oh, ye! enthron'd in presidential awe, +To give the song-smit generation law; +Who wield Apollo's delegated rod, +And shake Parnassus with your sovereign nod; +A pensive Pilgrim, worn with base turmoils, +Plebian cares, and mercenary toils, +Implores your pity, while with footsteps rude, +He dares within the mountain's pale intrude; +For, oh! enchantment through its empire dwells, +And rules the spirit with Lethëan spells; +By hands unseen aërial harps are hung, +And Spring, like Hebe, ever fair and young, +On her broad bosom rears the laughing loves, +And breathes bland incense through the warbling groves; +Spontaneous, bids unfading blossoms blow. +And nectar'd streams mellifluously flow. +There, while the Muses, wanton, unconfin'd, +And wreaths resplendent round their temples bind, +'Tis yours, to strew their steps with votive flowers; +To watch them slumbering midst the blissful bowers; +To guard the shades that hide their sacred charms; +And shield their beauties from unhallow'd arms! +Oh! may their suppliant steal a passing kiss? +Alas! he pants not for superior bliss; +Thrice-bless'd, his virgin modesty shall be +To snatch an evanescent ecstacy! +The fierce extremes of superhuman love, +For his frail sense too exquisite might prove; +He turns, all blushing, from th'Aönian shade +To humbler raptures, with a mortal maid. + +I know 'tis yours, when unscholastic wights +Unloose their fancies in presumptuous flights, +Awak'd to vengeance, on such flights to frown. +Clip the wing'd horse, and roll his rider down. +But, if empower'd to strike th'immortal lyre. +The ardent vot'ry glows with genuine fire, +'Tis yours, while care recoils, and envy flies +Subdued by his resistless energies, +'Tis yours to bid Piërian fountains flow, +And toast his name in Wit's seraglio; +To bind his brows with amaranthine bays, +And bless, with beef and beer, his mundane days! +Alas! nor beef, nor beer, nor bays are mine, +If by your looks, my doom I may divine, +Ye frown so dreadful, and ye swell so big +Your fateful arms, the goosequill and the wig: +The wig, with wisdom's somb'rous seal impress'd, +Mysterious terrors, grim portents, invest; +And shame and honor on the goosequill perch, +Like doves and ravens on a country church. + +As some raw 'Squire, by rustic nymphs admir'd, +Of vulgar charms, and easy conquests tir'd, +Resolves new scenes and nobler flights to dare, +Nor "waste his sweetness in the desert air", +To town repairs, some fam'd assembly seeks, +With red importance blust'ring in his cheeks; +But when, electric on th'astonish'd wight +Burst the full floods of music and of light, +While levell'd mirrors multiply the rows +Of radiant beauties, and accomplish'd beaus, +At once confounded into sober sense, +He feels his pristine insignificance; +And blinking, blund'ring, from the general _quiz_ +Retreats, "to ponder on the thing he is." +By pride inflated, and by praise allur'd, +Small Authors thus strut forth, and thus get cur'd; +But, Critics, hear! an angel pleads for _me_, +That tongueless, ten-tongued cherub, _Modesty_. + +Sirs! if you damn me, you'll resemble those +That flay'd the Travell'r, who had lost his clothes; +Are there not foes enough to _do_ my books? +Relentless trunk-makers, and pastry-cooks? +Acknowledge not those barbarous allies, +The wooden box-men, and the men of pies: +For heav'n's sake, let it ne'er be understood +That you, great Censors! coalesce with _wood_; +Nor let your actions contradict your looks, +That tell the world you ne'er colleague with _cooks_. + +But, if the blithe muse will indulge a smile, +Why scowls thy brow, O Bookseller! the while? +Thy sunk eyes glisten through eclipsing fears, +Fill'd, like Cassandra's, with prophetic tears: +With such a visage, withering, woe-begone, +Shrinks the pale poet from the damning dun. +Come, let us teach each others tears to flow, +Like fasting bards, in fellowship of woe, +When the coy muse puts on coquettish airs, +Nor deigns one line to their voracious prayers; +Thy spirit, groaning like th'encumber'd block +Which bears my works, deplores them as _dead stock_, +Doom'd by these undiscriminating times +To endless sleep, with Della Cruscan rhymes; +Yes, Critics, whisper thee, litigious wretches! +Oblivion's hand shall _finish_ all my _Sketches_. +But see, _my_ soul such bug-bears has repell'd +With magnanimity unparallel'd! +Take up the volumes, every care dismiss, +And smile, gruff Gorgon! while I tell thee this: +Not one shall lie neglected on the shelf, +All shall be sold--I'll buy them in myself. + + + + + + +POETIC SKETCHES + + + + + +ON THE DEATH OF LORD NELSON. + + +Swift through the land while Fame transported flies, +And shouts triumphant shake the illumin'd skies; +Britannia, bending o'er her dauntless prows, +With laurels thickening round her blazon'd brows, +In joy dejected, sees her triumph crost, +Exults in Victory won, but mourns the Victor lost. +Immortal Nelson! still with fond amaze, +Thy glorious deeds each British eye surveys, +Beholds thee still, on conquer'd floods afar: +Fate's flaming shaft! the thunderbolt of war! +Hurl'd from thy hands, Britannia's vengeance roars, +And bloody billows stain the hostile shores; +Thy sacred ire Confed'rate Kingdoms braves +And 'whelms their Navies in Sepulchral waves! + +--Graced with each attribute which Heaven supplies +To Godlike Chiefs: humane, intrepid, wise; +His Nation's bulwark, and all Nature's pride, +The Hero liv'd, and as he liv'd--he died-- +Transcendent Destiny! how blest the brave +Whose fall his Country's tears attend, shower'd on his + trophied grave! + + + + +_SONNET_. + +MORNING. + + +Light as the breeze that hails the infant morn + The Milkmaid trips, as o'er her arm she slings + Her cleanly pail, some favorite lay she sings +As sweetly wild, and cheerful, as the horn. +O happy girl! may never faithless love, + Or fancied splendor, lead thy steps astray; + No cares becloud the sunshine of thy day, +Nor want e'er urge thee from thy cot to rove. +What tho' thy station dooms thee to be poor, + And by the hard-earn'd morsel thou art fed; + Yet sweet content bedecks thy lowly bed, +And health and peace sit smiling at thy door: +Of these possess'd--thou hast a gracious meed, +Which Heaven's high wisdom gives, to make thee rich indeed! + + + + +TO............. + +AN IMPROMTU. + + +O Sub! you certainly have been, + A little raking, roguish creature, +And in that face may still be seen, + Each laughing loves bewitching feature! + +For thou hast stolen many a heart-- + And robb'd the sweetness of the rose; +Plac'd on that cheek, it doth impart + More lovely tints, more fragrant blows! + +Yes, thou art nature's favorite child, + Array'd in smiles, seducing, killing; +Did Joseph live, you'd drive him wild, + And set his very soul a thrilling! + +A poet, much too poor to live, + Too poor, in this rich world to rove, +Too poor, for aught but verse to give, + But not, thank God, too poor to love! + +Gives thee his little doggerel lay-- + One truth I tell, in sorrow tell it, +I'm forc'd to give my verse away, + Because, alas! I cannot sell it. + +And should you with a critic's eye, + Proclaim me 'gainst the Muse a sinner, +Reflect, dear girl! that such as I, + Six times a week don't get a dinner. + +And want of comfort, food, and wine, + Will damp the genius, curb the spirit: +These wants I'll own are often mine; + But can't allow a want of merit. + +For every stupid dog that drinks + At poet's pond, nicknam'd divine: +Say what he will, I know he thinks + That all he writes is devilish fine! + + + + +_SONNET_. + +NIGHT. + + +Now when dun Night her shadowy veil has spread, + See want and infamy as forth they come, + Lead their wan daughter from her branded home, +To woo the stranger for unhallow'd bread. +Poor outcast! o'er thy sickly-tinted cheek + And half-clad form, what havock want hath made; + And the sweet lustre of thine eye doth fade, +And all thy soul's sad sorrow seems to speak. +O miserable state! compell'd to wear + The wooing smile, as on thy aching breast + Some wretch reclines, who feeling ne'er possess'd; +Thy poor heart bursting with the stifled tear! +Oh, GOD OF MERCY! bid her woes subside, +And be to her a friend, who hath no friend beside. + + + + +HENRY AND ELIZA + + +O'er the wide heath now moon-tide horrors hung, + And night's dark pencil dim'd the tints of spring; +The boding minstrel now harsh omens sung, + And the bat spread his dark, nocturnal wing. + +At that still hour, pale Cynthia oft had seen + The fair Eliza, (joyous once and gay,) +With pensive step, and melancholy mien, + O'er the broad plain in love-born anguish stray. + +Long had her heart with Henry's been entwin'd + And love's soft voice had wak'd the sacred blaze +Of Hymen's altar; while, with him combin'd, + His cherub train prepar'd the torch to raise: + +When, lo! his standard raging war uprear'd, + And honor call'd her Henry from her charms. +He fought, but ah! torn, mangled, blood-besmear'd, + Fell, nobly fell, amid his conquering arms! + +In her sad bosom, a tumultuous world + Of hopes and fears on his dear memory spread; +For fate had not the clouded roll unfurl'd, + Nor yet with baleful hemlock crown'd her head. + +Reflection, oft to sad remembrace brought + The well-known spot, where they so oft had stray'd; +While fond affection ten-fold ardor caught. + And smiling innocence around them play'd. + +But these were past! and now the distant bell + (For deep and pensive thought had held her there) +Toll'd midnight out, with long-resounding knell, + While dismal echoes quiver'd in the air. + +Again 'twas silence--when from out the gloom, + She saw, with awe-struck eye, a phantom glide: +Twas Henry's form!--what pencil shall presume + To paint her horror!--HENRY AS HE DIED! + +Enervate, long she stood--a sculptur'd dread, + 'Till waking sense dissolv'd amazement's chain; +Then home, with timid haste, distracted fled, + And sunk in dreadful agony of pain. + +Not the deep sigh, which madden'd Sappho gave, + When from Leucate's craggy height she sprung, +Could equal that which gave her to the grave, + The last sad sound that echoed from her tongue. + + + + +_SONNET_ + +ON THE DEATH OF MRS. CHARLOTTE SMITH. + + +Sweet songstress! whom the melancholy Muse + With more than fondness lov'd, for thee she strung + The lyre, on which herself enraptur'd hung, +And bade thee through the world its sweets diffuse. +Oft hath my childhood's tributary tear + Paid homage to the sad, harmonious strain, + That told, alas, too true, the grief and pain, +Which thy afflicted mind was doom'd to bear. + Rest, sainted spirit! from a life of woe, + And tho' no friendly hand on thee bestow +The stately marble, or emblazon'd name, + To tell a thoughtless world who sleeps below; + Yet o'er thy narrow bed a wreath shall blow, +Deriving vigour from the breath of fame. + + + + +TO A FLY, + +ON THE BOSOM OF CHLOE, WHILE SLEEPING. + + +Come away, come away, little fly! + Don't disturb the sweet calm of love's nest: +If you do, I protest you shall die, + And your tomb be that beautiful breast. + +Don't tickle the girl in her sleep, + Don't cause so much beauty to sigh; +If she frown, all the Graces will weep; + If she weep, half the Graces will die. + +Pretty fly! do not tickle her so; + How delighted to teaze her you seem; +Titillation is dangerous, I know, + And may cause the dear creature to dream. + +She may dream of some horrible brute, + Of some genii, or fairy-built spot; +Or perhaps the prohibited fruit, + Or perhaps of--I cannot tell what. + +Now she 'wakes! steal a kiss and begone; + Life is precious; away, little fly! +Should your rudeness provoke her to scorn, + You'll meet death from the glance of her eye. + +Were I ask'd by fair Chloe to say + How I felt, as the flutt'rer I chid; +I should own, as I drove it away, + I wish'd to be there in it's stead. + + + + +_SONNET_ + + +When the rough storm roars round the peasant's cot, + And bursting thunders roll their awful din; +While shrieks the frighted night bird o'er the spot, + Oh! what serenity remains within! +For there Contentment, Health, and Peace abide, + And pillow'd age, with calm eye fix'd above; +Labor's bold son, his blithe and blooming bride, + And lisping innocence, and filial love. +To such a scene let proud Ambition turn, + Whose aching breast conceals it's secret woe; +Then shall his fireful spirit melt, and mourn + The mild enjoyments it can never know; +Then shall he feel the littleness of state, +And sigh that Fortune e'er had made him great. + + + + +LINES, + +WRITTEN ON THE SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER. + + +Ill-Fated hour! oft as thy annual reign +Leads on th'autumnal tide, my pinion'd joys +Fade with the glories of the fading year; +"Remembrance 'wakes with all her busy train," +And bids affection heave the heart-drawn sigh +O'er the cold tomb, rich with the spoils of death, +And wet with many a tributary tear! + +Eight times has each successive season sway'd +The fruitful sceptre of our milder clime +Since My Loved ****** died! but why, ah! why +Should melancholy cloud my early years? +Religion spurns earth's visionary scene, +Philosophy revolts at misery's chain: +Just Heaven recall'd it's own, the pilgrim call'd +From human woes, from sorrow's rankling worm; +Shall frailty then prevail? + + Oh! be it mine +To curb the sigh which bursts o'er Heaven's decree; +To tread the path of rectitude--that when +Life's dying ray shall glimmer in the frame, +That latest breath I may in peace resign, +"Firm in the faith of seeing thee and God." + + + + +_SONNET_. + +TO FAITH. + + +Hail! Holy FAITH, on life's wide ocean tost, + I see thee sit calm in thy beaten bark; + As NOAH sat, thron'd in his high-borne ark, +Secure and fearless, while a world was lost! +In vain, contending storms thy head enzone, + Thy bosom shrinks not from the bolt that falls: + The dreadful shaft plays harmless, nor appals +Thy steadfast eye, fixt on Jehovah's throne! +E'en tho' thou saw'st the mighty fabric nod, + Of system'd worlds, thou bears't a sacred charm, + Grav'd on thy heart, to shelter thee from harm: +And thus it speaks:--"Thou art my trust, O GOD! +And thou canst bid the jarring powers be still, +Each ponderous orb, like me, subservient to thy will! + + + + +STANZAS. + + +Say why is the stern eye averted with scorn, + Of the stoic, who passes along? +And why frowns the maid, else as mild as the morn, + On the victim of falshood and wrong? + +For the wretch sunk in sorrow, repentance, and shame, + The tear of compassion is won: +And alone, must she forfeit the wretch's sad claim, + Because she's deceiv'd and undone? + +Oh! recall the stern look ere it reaches her heart, + To bid its wounds rankle anew, +Oh! smile, or embalm with a tear the sad smart, + And angels will smile upon you. + +Time was, when she knew nor opprobrium nor pain, + And youth could its pleasures impart, +Till some serpent distill'd through her bosom the stain, + As he wound round the strings of her heart. + +Poor girl! let thy tears through thy blandishments break, + Nor strive to restrain them within; +For mine would I mingle with those on thy cheek, + Nor think that such sorrow were sin. + +When the low-trampled reed, and the pine in its pride, + Shall alike feel the hand of decay, +May your God grant that mercy the world has deny'd, + And wipe all your sorrows away. + + + + +_SONNET_. + +TO HOPE. + + +How droops the wretch whom adverse fates pursue, + While sad experience, from his aching sight, + Sweeps the fair prospects of unprov'd delight +Which flattering friends and flattering fancies drew. +When want assails his solitary shed, + When dire distraction's horrent eye-ball glares, + Seen 'mid the myriad of tumultuous cares +That shower their shafts on his devoted head. +Then, ere despair usurp his vanquish'd heart, + Is there a power, whose influence benign + Can bid his head in pillow'd peace recline, +And from his breast withdraw the barbed dart? +There is--sweet Hope! misfortune rests on thee-- +Unswerving anchor of humanity! + + + + +THOUGHTS ON PEACE. + + +Still e'er that shrine defiance rears its head, +Which rolls in sullen murmurs o'er the dead, +That shrine which conquest, as it stems the flood. +Too often tinges deep with human blood; +Still o'er the land stern devastation reigns, +Its giant mountains, and its spreading plains, +Where the dark pines, their heads all gloomy, wave, +Or rushing cataracts, loud-sounding, lave +The precipice, whose brow with awful pride +Tow'rs high above, and scorns the foaming tide; +The village sweet, the forest stretching far, +Groan undistinguish'd, 'midst the shock of war. +There, the rack'd matron sees her son expire, +There, clasps the infant son his murder'd sire, +While the sad virgin on her lover's face, +Weeps, with the last farewel, the last embrace, +And the lone widow too, with frenzied cries, +Amid the common wreck, unheeded dies. +O Peace, bright Seraph, heaven-lov'd maid, return! +And bid distracted nature cease to mourn! +O, let the ensign drear of war be furl'd, +And pour thy blessings on a bleeding world; +Then social order shall again expand, +It's sovereign good again shall bless the land, +Elate the simple villager shall see, +Contentment's inoffensive revelry; +Then, once again shall o'er the foaming tide, +The swelling sail of commerce fearless ride, +With bounteous hand shall plenty grace our shore, +And cheerless want's complaint be known no more. +Then hear a nation's pray'r, lov'd goddess, hear! +Wipe the wan cheek, deep-lav'd by many a tear; +Nature, the triumph foul of horror o'er, +Shall raise her frame to scenes of blood no more; +Pale recollection shall recall her woes, +Again shall paint her agonizing throes: +These, o'er the earth thine empire firm shall raise, +Unaw'd by war's destructive storms, the bliss of future + days. + + + + +_SONNET_ + +TO CHARITY. + + +Oh! best belov'd of heaven, on earth bestow'd + To raise the pilgrim, sunk with ghastly fears, + To cool his burning wounds, to wipe his tears, +And strew with amaranths his thorny road. +Alas! how long has superstition hurl'd + Thine altars down, thine attributes revil'd, + The hearts of men with witchcrafts foul beguil'd, +And spread his empire o'er the vassal world? +But truth returns! she spreads resistless day; + And mark, the monster's cloud-wrapt fabric falls-- + He shrinks--he trembles 'mid his inmost halls, +And all his damn'd illusions melt away! +The charm dissolv'd--immortal, fair, and free, +Thy holy fanes shall rise, celestial Charity! + + + + +PROLOGUE, + +TO PUBLIC READINGS AT A YOUNG GENTLEMEN'S ACADEMY. + + +Once more we venture here, to prove our worth, +And ask indulgence kind, to tempt us forth: +Seek not perfection from our essays green, +That, in man's noblest works, has never been, +Nor is, nor e'er will be; a work exempt +From fault to form, as well might man attempt +T'explore the vast infinity of space, +Or fix mechanic boundaries to grace. +Hard is the finish'd Speaker's task; what then +Must be our danger, to pursue the pen +Of the 'rapt Bard, through all his varied turns, +Where joy extatic smiles, or sorrow mourns? +Where Richard's soul, red in the murtherous lave, +Shrinks from the night-yawn'd tenants of the grave, +While coward conscience still affrights his eye, +Still groans the dagger'd sound, "despair and die." +And hapless Juliet's unextinguish'd flame, +Gives to the tomb she mock'd, her beauteous frame; +Yet diff'rent far, where Claudio sees return'd +To life, and love, the maid too rashly spurn'd; +Or Falstaff, in his sympathetic scroll, +Forth to the Wives of Windsor pours his soul. +Again, forsaking mirth's fantastic rites, +The Muse to follow, through her nobler flights, +Where Milton paints angelic hosts in arms, +And Heaven's wide champaign rings with dire alarms, +Till 'vengeful justice wings its dreadful way, +And hurls the apostate from the face of day. +Immortal Bards! high o'er oblivion's shroud +Their names shall live, pre-eminent and proud, +Who snatch'd the keys of mystery from time, +This world too little for their Muse sublime! + +With Thomson, now, o'er sylvan scenes we stray, +Or seek the lone church-yard, with pensive Gray: +On Pope's refin'd, or Dryden's lofty strains, +Dwell, while their fire the lightest heart enchains. +Through these and all our Bards to whom belong +The pow'rs transcendent of immortal song, +How difficult to steer t'avoid the cant +Of polish'd phrase, and nerve-alarming rant; +Each period with true elegance to round, +And give the Poet's meaning in the sound. +But, wherefore should the Muse employ her verse, +The peril of our labors to rehearse? +Oft has your kind, your generous applause, +E're now, convinc'd us, you approve our cause: +Conscious it will again our task attend, +The Critic stern, we ask not to commend, +Who like inclement Winter's hostile frown +Would beat th'infantine shrubs of Genius down. + +By your kind sanction, spur'd to nobler aims, +Our country, now, the Muses' tribute claims: +When o'er fair Albion war destructive lours, +Oh! be those Patriot feelings ever ours, +Which from the public mind spontaneous burst +On that infuriate foe, by crimes accurst, +Who'd o'er our envied isle his vassals send, +And all the land with dire convulsions rend. +Well! let their armies come, their locusts pour, +Each British heart shall welcome them on shore, +Each British hand is arm'd in Britain's cause, +To guard their birth-right, liberty, and laws, +Rise! Britons, rise! attend fair freedom's cry, +The wretch who meanly fears deserves to die. +His kind protection 'gainst each latent foe, +Still may that Pow'r Omnipotent bestow, +Which first Britannia's sov'reign flag unfurl'd +So high, it flames a beacon to the World! + + + + + +THE BEGGAR. + + +Of late I saw him on his staff reclin'd, + Bow'd down beneath a weary weight of woes, +Without a roof to shelter from the wind + His head, all hoar with many a winter's snows. +All tremb'ling he approach'd, he strove to speak; + The voice of misery scarce my ear assail'd; +A flood of sorrow swept his furrow'd cheek, + Remembrance check'd him, and his utt'rance fail'd. +For he had known full many a better day; + And when the poor-man at his threshold bent, +He drove him not with aching heart away, + But freely shar'd what Providence had sent. +How hard for him, the stranger's boon to crave, +And live to want the mite his bounty gave! + + + + +TO ......... + + +Come, Jenny, let me sip the dew, + That on those coral lips doth play, +One kiss would every care subdue, + And bid my weary soul be gay. + +For surely, thou wert form'd by love + To bless the suffrer's parting sigh; +In pity then, my griefs remove, + And on that bosom let me die! + + + + +THE RUNAWAY. + + +Ah! who is he by Cynthia's gleam + Discern'd, the statue of distress: +Weeping beside the willow'd stream + That bathes the woodland wilderness? + +Why talks he to the idle air? + Why, listless, at his length reclin'd, +Heaves he the groan of deep despair, + Responsive to the midnight wind? + +Speak, gentle shepherd! tell me why? + --Sir! he has lost his wife, they say-- +Of what disorder did she die? + --Lord, sir! of none--she ran away. + + + + +SONG + +THE BLUE-EYED MAID. + + +Sweet are the hours when roseate spring + With health and joy salutes the day, +When zephyr, borne on wanton wing, + Soft wispering 'wakes the blushing May: +Sweet are the hours, yet not so sweet +As when my blue-eyed maid I meet, +And hear her soul-entrancing tale, +Sequester'd in the shadowy vale. +The mellow horn's long-echoing notes + Startle the morn commingling strong; +At eve, the harp's wild music floats, + And ravish'd silence drinks the song; +Yet sweeter is the song of love, +When Emma's voice enchants the grove, +While listening sylphs repeat the tale, +Sequester'd in the silent vale. + + + + +BERTRAM AND ANNA. + + +Stranger! if thou e'er did'st love, + If nature in thy bosom glows, +A Minstrel, rude, may haply move, + Thine heart to sigh for Anna's woes. + +Lo! beneath the humble tomb, + Obscure the luckless maiden sleeps; +Round it pity's flowerets bloom, + O'er it memory fondly weeps. + +And ever be the tribute paid! + The warm heart's sympathetic flow: +Richer by far, ill-fated maid! + Than all the shadowy pomp of woe. + +The shadowy pomp to thee denied. + While pity bade thy spirit rest: +While superstition scowl'd beside, + And vainly bade it not be blest. + +Ah! could I with unerring truth, + Inspir'd by memory's magic power, +Pourtray thee, grac'd in ripening youth, + With new enchantment, every hour; + +When fortune smil'd, and hope was young, + And hail'd thee like the bounteous May, +Renewing still thy steps among + The faded flowers of yesterday. + +All plaintive, then my lute should sound, + While fancy sigh'd thy form to see; +The list'ning maids should weep around, + And swains lament thy fate with me. + +And, Stranger, thou who hear'st the tale, + By soft infection taught to mourn, +Would'st wet with tears the primrose pale, + That blooms beside her sylvan urn. + +For she was fair as forms of love, + Oft by the 'rapt enthusiast seen, +Who slumbers midst the myrtle grove, + With spring's unfolding blossoms green. + +All eloquent, her eyes express'd + Her heart to each fine feeling true: +For in their orbs did pity rest, + Suffusing soft their beamy blue. + +And silence, pleas'd, his reign resign'd. + Whene'er he heard her vocal tongue; +And grief in slumbers sweet reclin'd, + As on his ear its accents hung. + +But vain the charms that grac'd the maid, + The eye where pity lov'd to reign, +The form where fascination play'd, + The voice that breath'd enchantment, vain! + +Unequal, all their syren power, + To win from fate it's frown away: +When Bertram came in luckless hour + To sigh, to flatter, to betray! + +He came, inform'd in every art, + That makes th'incautious virgin weep: +Beguiles the unsuspecting heart, + And lulls mistrust to silken sleep. + +His tale she heard, nor thought the while, + That falshood such a tale could tell: +That dark deceit could e'er defile, + The tongue that talk'd of truth so well. + +He woo'd, he wept, 'till all was won, + Then, as the spring-born zephyrs fly, +He fled, he left her, lost! undone! + In penitential tears to die. + +Oh! could she live, condemn'd to feel, + The insults of exulting scorn? +Relentless as the three-edg'd steel! + Illicit pleasure's eldest-born! + +Who 'mid despair's impervious gloom, + Should bid her soul's sad wand'rings cease: +Th'extinguish'd spark of hope relume, + And sooth the penitent to peace? + +She saw her aged mother bow, + Subdued by exquisite distress: +For every hope was faded now, + And life a weary wilderness. + +She saw her in the cold earth laid, + And not a tear was seen to start, +And not a sigh the pangs allay'd, + That agoniz'd her bursting heart. + +And when the mournful rite was done, + A sculptur'd woe, she seem'd to move: +As close she clasp'd her infant son, + The pledge of faithless Bertram's love. + +While slow she pac'd the lone church-yard, + With pity's accents, soft and sad, +We strove to win her fix'd regard, + But vainly strove, for Ann was mad! + +'Lorn, listless, like a wither'd flower, + Blown o'er the plain by every blast, +Impell'd by fancy's fitful power, + The lovely, luckless, victim past. + +'Till, left alone, the wood she sought, + Where first her Bertram's vows she heard, +And first with soft affection fraught, + His vows return'd, to Heaven prefer'd. + +Each scene she trac'd, to memory dear, + Tho' memory lent a feeble ray, +Reason's benighted bark to steer, + Thro' dark distraction's stormy way. + +At length, where yon translucent tide, + Meanders slow the meads among: +Reclining on its sedgy side, + Thus to her sleeping babe she sung: + +"Sweet cherub! on the green bank rest, + And balmy may thy slumbers be; +For tempests tear thy mother's breast, + Alas! it cannot pillow thee. + +"I'll wander 'till thy sire I've found, + I'll lure his footsteps where you lie; +While mantling waters murmur round, + And wild-winds sing your lullaby. + +"Haply, shalt thou, his scorn subdue, + Thy helpless innocence to save; +But if unmov'd, he turns from you, + I'll lead him to my mother's grave + +"Sure, waken'd there, remorse shall rise, + And bid his perjur'd bosom shed, +That tender tear, my heart denies, + Cold, icy cold, congeal'd, and dead." + +Then, wildly through each well-known way + Again she fled, the youth to seek: +Nor paus'd, 'till Cynthia's mournful ray, + Play'd paly, on her paler cheek. + +Once more she sought the river's side, + The goal of her accomplish'd way, +Where, 'whelm'd beneath the rising tide, + Her heart's dissever'd treasure lay! + +Amaz'd! convuls'd! she shriek'd! she sprung! + She clasp'd it in its wat'ry bed! +The dirge of death the night-blasts sung; + The morn, in tears, beheld them dead. + +Their pale remains with pious care, + Beneath the vernal turf we laid; +Remembrance loves to linger there, + And weep beneath the willow shade. + +And oft, the fairest flowers of spring, + What time the hours of toil are spent, +The village youths and virgins bring, + To grace her moss-clad monument. + + + + +INVOCATION TO SLEEP. + +Come, gentle sleep! thou soft restorer, come, + And close these wearied eyes, by grief oppress'd; +For one short hour, be this thy peaceful home, + And bid the sighs that rend my bosom rest. + +Depriv'd of thee, at midnight's awful hour, + Oft have I listen'd to the angry wind; +While busy memory, with tyrant pow'r, + Would picture faded joys, or friends unkind. + +Or tell of her who rear'd my helpless years, + But torn away, ere yet I knew her worth; +How oft, tho' nature still the thought endears, + Has my worn bosom heav'd its tribute forth. + +Come, then, soft pow'r, whose balmy roses fall + As heavenly manna sweet, or morning dew; +Beneath thy wings, my troubled thoughts recall, + And, haply, lend them some serener hue. + + + + +_SONNET_. + +TO MUSIC. + + +Hail! Heavenly Maid, my pensive mind, + Invokes thy woe-subduing strain; +For there a shield my soul can find, + Which subjugates each dagger'd pain. +When beauty spurns the lover's sighs, + 'Tis thine soft pity to inspire; +And cold indifference vanquish'd lies, + Beneath thy myrtle-vested lyre. +Oh! could contention's demon hear + Thy seraph voice, his blood-lav'd spear +He'd drop, and own thy power; +That smiling o'er each hapless land, +Sweet peace might call her hallow'd band, +To crown the festive hour. + + + + +TO ****** + + +0 Nymph! with cheeks of roseate hue, +Whose eyes are violets bath'd in dew, +So liquid, languishing, and blue, + How they bewitch me! +Thy bosom hath a magic spell, +For when its full orbs heave and swell, +I feel--but, oh! I must not tell, + Lord! how they twitch me! + + + + +ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL WASHINGTON. + + +Lamented Chief! at thy distinguish'd deeds + The world shall gaze with wonder and applause, +While, on fair hist'ry's page, the patriot reads + Thy matchless valor in thy country's cause. + +Yes, it was thine amid destructive war, + To shield it nobly from oppression's chain; +By justice arm'd, to brave each threat'ning jar, + Assert its freedom, and its rights maintain. + +Much-honor'd Statesman, Husband, Father, Friend, + A generous nation's grateful tears are thine; +E'en unborn ages shall thy worth commend, + And never-fading laurels deck thy shrine. + +Illustrious Warrior! on the immortal base, + By Freedom rear'd, thy envied name shall stand; +And Fame, by Truth inspir'd, shall fondly trace + Thee, Pride and Guardian of thy Native Land! + + + + +_SONG_. + + +Oh! never will I leave my love, + My captive soul would sigh to stray, +Tho' seraph-songs its truth to prove, + Call it from earth to heaven to away. + +For heaven has deign'd on earth to send + As rich a gift as it can give; +Alas! that mortal bliss must end, + For mortal man must cease to live. + +Yet transient would my sorrows be + Should Delia first her breath resign; +Sweet Maid! my soul would follow thee, + For never can it part from thine. + + + + +_BURLESQUE SONNET_. + + +TO A BEE. + +Sweet Insect! that on two small wings doth fly, + And, flying, carry on those wings yourself; +Methinks I see you, looking from your eye, + As tho' you thought the world a wicked elf. +Offspring of summer! brimstone is thy foe; + And when it kills ye, soon you lose your breath: +They rob your honey; but don't let you go, + Thou harmless victim of ambitious death! +How sweet is honey! coming from the Bee; + Sweeter than sugar, in the lump or not: +And, as we get this honey all from thee, + Child of the hive! thou shalt not be forgot. +So when I catch, I'll take thee home with me, +And thou shall be my friend, oh! Bee! Bee! Bee! + + + + +MARY. + + +How oft have I seen her upon the sea-shore, + While tearful, her face, she would hide, +In sad silence the loss of the Sailor deplore + Who from infancy call'd her his bride, + +The Sailor she lov'd was a Fisherman's son, + All dangers he triumph'd to meet; +Well repaid, if a smile from his Mary he won, + As he proffer'd his spoils at her feet. + +But soon from her smiles was he summon'd away, + His fortunes at sea to pursue: +And grav'd on their hearts was the sorrowful day + That witness'd their final adieu. + +They spoke not, ah, no; for they felt their hearts speak + A language their tongues could not tell; +As he kiss'd off the tears that fell fast on her cheek, + As she sigh'd on his bosom, farewel. + +Full oft, the sad season of absence to charm, + To the rock or the dale she retir'd; +Where he told her the story, impassion'd and warm + That faithful affection inspir'd. + +And now on the eve of his promis'd return, + All anxious, she flies to the strand; +But the night-shades descend ere her eye can discern + The white-sail approaching the land. + +With night comes the tempest, unaw'd by the blast + She stood hem'd by ruin around; +She saw a frail bark on the rugged rock cast, + And heard its lasts signals resound. + +My lover is lost! we shall never meet more! + She shriek'd with prophetic dismay, +The morn seal'd her sorrows--the wreck on the shore + Was the vessel that bore him away. + +Each hope her young bosom had cherish'd before, + Was consign'd with the youth to the grave: +She madden'd, she smil'd, as her ringlets she tore, + And buried her woes in the wave. + + + + +_SONNET_. + +TO LYDIA, ON HER BIRTH-DAY. + + +Blest be the hour that gave my Lydia birth, + The day be sacred 'mid each varying year; +How oft the name recalls thy spotless worth, + And joys departed, still to memory dear! +If matchless friendship, constancy, and love, + Have power to charm, or one sad grief beguile. +'Tis thine the gloom of sorrow to remove, + And on that tearful cheek imprint a smile. +May every after season to thee bring + New joys; to cheer life's dark eventful way, +'Till time shall close thee in his pond'rous wing, + And angels waft thee to eternal day! +Lov'd maid, farewel! thy name this heart shall fill +'Till memory sinks, and all its griefs are still! + + + + +STANZAS, + +WRITTEN IMPROMTU ON THE LATE PEACE. + + +"Why, there's Peace, Jack, come damme let's push + round the grog, +And awhile altogether in good humor jog, + For they say we shall soon go ashore; +Where the anchor of friendship may drift or be lost, +As on life's troubled ocean at random we're tost, + And, perhaps, we may never meet more." + +Thus spoke Tom; while each messmate approvingly heard +That the contest was ended, their courage ne'er fear'd, + And soon Peace would restore them to love; +And the hearts by wrongs rous'd, that no fear could assuage, +At Humanity's shrine dropt the thunder of rage, + And the Lion resign'd to the Dove! + +Heaven smil'd on the olive that Reason had rear'd, +With her rich pearly tribute sweet Pity appear'd, + And plac'd it on each brilliant eye; +'Twas the tear that Compassion had nurs'd in her breast, +To bestow on the friend, or the foe, if distress'd. + Like dew-drops distill'd from the sky! + +Next on friends lost in battle they mournfully dwelt +'Twas a theme that together the heart and eye felt, + And a bumper to valor they gave; +While the liquor that flow'd in the bless'd circling bowl +Was enrich'd by a tribute that flow'd from the soul, + "A tear for the tomb of the brave!" + + + + +_SONNET_. + +TO ............ + +ON HER RECOVERY FROM ILLNESS. + + +Fair flower! that fall'n beneath the angry blast, + Which marks with wither'd sweets its fearful way, +I grieve to see thee on the low earth cast, + While beauty's trembling tints fade fast away. +But who is she, that from the mountain's head + Comes gaily on, cheering the child of earth; +The walks of woe bloom bright beneath her tread, + And nature smiles with renovated mirth? +'Tis Health! she comes, and hark! the vallies ring. + And hark! the echoing hills repeat the sound; +She sheds the new-blown blossoms of the spring, + And all their fragrance floats her footsteps round. +And hark! she whispers in the zephyr's voice, + Lift up thy head, fair flower! rejoice! rejoice! + + + + +A FRAGMENT + + +Oh, Youth! could dark futurity reveal +Her hidden worlds, unlock her cloud-hung gates, +Or snatch the keys of mystery from time, +Your souls would madden at the piercing sight +Of fortune, wielding high her woe-born arms +To crush aspiring genius, seize the wreath +Which fond imagination's hand had weav'd, +Strip its bright beams, and give the wreck to air. + +Forth from Cimmeria's nest of vipers, lo! +Pale envy trails its cherish'd form, and views, +With eye of cockatrice, the little pile +Which youthful merit had essay'd to raise; +From shrouded night his blacker arm he draws, +Replete with vigor from each heavenly blast, +To cloud the glories of that infant sun, +And hurl the fabric headlong to the ground. +How oft, alas! through that envenom'd blow, +The youth is doom'd to leave his careful toils +To slacken and decay, which might, perchance, +Have borne him up on ardor's wing to fame. + +And should we not, with equal pity, view +The fair frail wanderer, doom'd, through perjur'd vows, +To lurk beneath a rigid stoic's frown, +'Till that sweet moment comes, which her sad days +Of infamy, of want, and pain have wing'd. +But here the reach of human thought is lost! +What, what must be the parent's heart-felt pangs, +Who sees his child, perchance his only child! +Thus struggling in the abyss of despair, +To sin indebted for a life of woe. +Still worse, if worse can be! the thought must sting +(If e'er reflection calls it from the bed +Of low oblivion) that ignoble wretch, +The cruel instrument of all their woe; +Sure it must cut his adamantine heart +More than ten thousand daggers onward plung'd, +With all death's tortures quivering on their points. + +Oh! that we could but pierce the siren guise, +Spread out before the unsuspecting mind, +Which, conscious of its innocence within, +Treads on the rose-strew'd path, but finds, too late, +That ruin opes its ponderous jaws beneath. +Lo! frantic grief succeeds the bitter fall, +And pining anguish mourns the fatal step; +'Till that great Pow'r who, ever watchful stands, +Shall give us grace from his eternal throne +To feel the faithful tear of penitence, +The only recompense for ill-spent life. + + + + +LINES, + +TO THE MEMORY OF A LADY. + + +Bring the sad cypress wreath to grace the tomb, + Where rests the liberal friend of human kind, +Around its base let deathless flow'rets bloom, + Wet with the off'rings of the grateful mind. + +Firm was thy friendship, ardent, and sincere; + Gen'rous thy soul, to ev'ry suff'rer prov'd: +Rest, sainted shade! blest with the heart-felt tear, + On earth lamented, and in heaven belov'd. + +Now will the widow weep that thou art gone, + Who oft her unprotected babes hast fed: +While tottering age shall heave the sigh forlorn, + As slow they move to beg their bitter bread. + +Long shall the memory of thy worth survive, + Grav'd on the heart, when sinks the trophied stone; +Oh! may the plenty-bless'd as freely give, + And from thy life of virtue form their own. + + + + +_SONG_. + +THE RECALL OF THE HERO. + + +When discord blew her fell alarm + On Gallia's blood-stain'd ground; +When usurpation's giant arm + Enslav'd the nations round: +The thunders of avenging heaven +To Nelson's chosen hand were given; +By Nelson's chosen hand were hurl'd +To rescue the devoted world! + +The tyrant pow'r, his vengeance dread, + To Egypt's shores pursued; +At Trafalgar its hydra-head + For ever sunk subdued. +The freedom of mankind was won! +The hero's glorious task was done! +When heaven, oppression's ensigns furl'd, +Recall'd him from the rescued world. + + + + +LINES, + +WRITTEN ON SEEING THE CHILDREN OF THE NAVAL ASYLUM.[*] + + +Sons of Renown! ye heirs of matchless fame, + Whose Sires in Glory's path victorious fell; +Adding new honors to the British name, + That future ages shall with transport tell. + +Yet not unpity'd nor forgot they die, + For gen'rous Britons to their mem'ry raise; +A tribute will their children's wants supply, + A living monument of grateful praise. + +To the sad mother, who, in speechless grief, + Mourn'd o'er her infant's unprotected state, +Benignant charity affords relief, + And bids her bosom glow, with joy elate. + +Great your reward who thus impassion'd move, + By nature taught the heart's persuasive play; +Such deeds your God with pleasure shall approve, + And endless blessings cheer your parting day. + +What better boon can feeling hearts bestow, + What nobler ornament can deck our isle; +Than one that robs the wretched of their woe, + And makes the widow and the orphan smile? + + + +[*Footnote: A Society, established by Voluntary +Contributions, for the Support and Education of the +Children of the Sailors and Marines, who have fallen +during the War.] + + + + +ROSA'S GRAVE. + + +Oh! lay me where my Rosa lies, + And love shall o'er the moss-crown'd bed, +When dew-drops leave the weeping skies, + His tenderest tear of pity shed. + +And sacred shall the willow be, + That shades the spot where virtue sleeps; +And mournful memory weep to see + The hallow'd watch affection keeps. + +Yes, soul of love! this bleeding heart + Scarce beating, soon its griefs shall cease; +Soon from his woes the suff'rer part, + And hail thee at the Throne of Peace! + + + + +LINES, + +WRITTEN IN HORNSEY WOOD. + + + +Oh, ye! who pine, in London smoke immur'd, +With spirits wearied, and with pains uncur'd, +With all the catalogue of city evils, +Colds, asthmas, rheumatisms, coughs, blue-devils! +Who bid each bold empiric roll in wealth, +Who drains your fortunes while he saps your health, +So well ye love your dirty streets and lanes, +Ye court your ailments and embrace your pains. + +And scarce ye know, so little have ye seen, +If corn be yellow, or if grass be green; +Why leave ye not your smoke-obstructed holes +With wholesome air to cheer your sickly souls? +In scenes where health's bright goddess 'wakes the breeze, +Floats on the stream, and fans the whisp'ring trees, +Soon would the brighten'd eye her influence speak, +And her full roses flush the faded cheek. + +Then, where romantic Hornsey courts the eye +With all the charms of sylvan scenery. +Let the pale sons of diligence repair, +And pause, like me, from sedentary care; +Here, the rich landscape spreads profusely wide, +And here, embowering shades the prospect hide; + +Each mazy walk in wild meanders moves, +And infant oaks, luxuriant, grace the groves: +Oaks! that by time matur'd, remov'd afar, +Shall ride triumphant, 'midst the wat'ry war; +Shall blast the bulwarks of Britannia's foes, +And claim her empire, wide as ocean flows! + +O'er all the scene, mellifluous and bland, +The blissful powers of harmony expand; +Soft sigh the zephyrs 'mid the still retreats, +And steal from Flora's lips ambrosial sweets; +Their notes of love the feather'd songsters sing, +And Cupid peeps behind the vest of Spring. + +Ye swains! who ne'er obtain'd with all your sighs, +One tender look from Chloe's sparkling eyes, +In shades like these her cruelty assail, +Here, whisper soft your amatory tale; +The scene to sympathy the maid shall move, +And smiles propitious, crown your slighted love. + +While the fresh air with fragrance, Summer fills, +And lifts her voice, heard jocund o'er the hills +All jubilant, the waving woods display +Her gorgeous gifts, magnificently gay! +The wond'ring eye beholds these waving woods +Reflected bright in artificial floods, +And still, the tufts of clust'ring shrubs between, +Like passing sprites, the nymphs and swains are seen; +'Till fancy triumphs in th'exulting breast, +And care shrinks back, astonish'd! dispossess'd! +For all breathes rapture, all enchantment seems, +Like fairy visions, and poetic dreams! + +Tho' on such scenes the fancy loves to dwell, +The stomach oft a different tale will tell; +Then, leave the wood, and seek the shelt'ring roof, +And put the pantry's vital strength to proof; +The aerial banquets of the tuneful nine, +May suit some appetites, but faith! not mine; +For my coarse palate, coarser food must please, +Substantial beef, pies, puddings, ducks, and pease; +Such food, the fangs of keen disease defies, +And such rare feeding Hornsey House supplies: +Nor these alone, the joys that court us here, +Wine! generous wine! that drowns corroding care, +Asserts its empire in the glittering bowl, +And pours promethean vigor o'er the soul. +Here, too, _that_ bluff John Bull, whose blood boils high +At such base wares of foreign luxury; +Who scorns to revel in imported cheer, +Who prides in perry, and exults in beer: +On these his surly virtue shall regale, +With quickening cyder, and with fattening ale. + +Nor think, ye Fair! our Hornsey has denied, +The elegant repasts where you preside: +Here, may the heart rejoice, expanding free +In all the social luxury of Tea! +Whose essence pure, inspires such charming chat, +With nods, and winks, and whispers, and _all that_. +Here, then, while 'rapt, inspir'd, like Horace old, +We chaunt convivial hymns to Bacchus bold; +Or heave the incense of unconscious sighs, +To catch the grace that beams from beauty's eyes; +Or, in the winding wilds sequester'd deep, +Th'unwilling Muse invoking, fall asleep; +Or cursing her, and her ungranted smiles, +Chase butterflies along the echoing aisles: +Howe'er employ'd, _here_ be the town forgot, +Where fogs, and smokes, and jostling crowds _are not_. + + + + +_SONNET_. + +TO ............ + + +Thou bud of early promise, may the rose + Which time, methinks, will rear in envied bloom, +By friendship nurs'd, its grateful sweets disclose, + Nor e'er be nipt in life's disast'rous gloom. +For much thou ow'st to him whose studious mind + Rear'd thy young years, and all thy wants supplied; +Whose every precept breath'd affection kind, + And to the friend's, a father's love allied. +Oh! how 'twill glad him in life's evening day, + To see that mind, parental care adorn'd, +With grateful love the debt immense repay, + And realize each hope affection form'd. +The deed be thine--'twill many a care assuage, +Exalt thy worth, and blunt the thorns of age. + + + + +THE COMPLAINT + + +Ah! this wild desolated spot, + Calls forth the plaintive tear; +Remembrance paints my little cot, + Which once did flourish here. + +No more the early lark and thrush + Shall hail the rising day, +Nor warble on their native bush, + Nor charm me with their lay. + +No more the foliage of the oak + Shall spread its wonted shade; +Now fell'd beneath the hostile stroke + Of red destruction's blade. + +Beneath its bloom when summer smil'd, + How oft the rural train +The lingering hours with tales beguil'd, + Or danc'd to Colin's strain. + +And, when Aurora with the dawn + Dispell'd the midnight shade, +Her flocks to the accustom'd lawn + Would lovely Phillis lead. + +Delusive grandeur never wreath'd + Around Contentment's head, +'Till war its flaming sword unsheath'd, + And wide destruction spread. + +The daemon, rising from afar, + His thunders loudly roll: +And, dreadful in his blazing car, + He shakes the shrinking soul. + +His foaming coursers onward bend, + And falling empires moan; +One piercing cry the heavens ascend, + One universal groan! + +At length, my cottage (memory's tear + Must here its tribute pay) +Was crush'd beneath the victor's spear, + And war's oppressive sway. + +And what avail'd the tears, the woe + Of peace--the hamlet's pride: +She fell beneath the monster's blow, + And in oblivion died! + +Adieu! ye shades, adieu! ye groves, + Now buried in your fall: +Where'er my eye bewilder'd roves, + Tis desolation all! + + + + +_SONNET_. + + +Ye fates! who sternly point on sorrow's chart + The line of pain a wretch must still pursue, +To end the struggles of a bleeding heart, + And grace the triumph misery owes to you +How poor your pow'r!--where fortitude, serene, + But smiling views the glimmering taper shine; +Time soon shall dim, and close the wearied scene, + Bestowing solace e'en on woes like mine. +Ah! stop your course--too long I've felt your chain, + Too long the feeble influence of its pow'r; +The heir of grief may fall in love with pain, + And worst-misfortune feel the tranquil hour. +Hail, fortitude! blest friend life's ills to brave, +All misery boasts, shall wither in the grave! + + + + +REFLECTIONS OF A POET, + +ON BEING INVITED TO A GREAT DINNER. + + +Great epoch in the history of bards! + Important day to those who woo the nine; +Better than fame, are visitation cards, + And heaven on earth, at a great house to dine. + +O cruel memory! do not conjure up + The ghost of Sally Dab, the famous cook; +Who gave me solid food, the cheering cup, + And on her virtues, begg'd I'd write a book. + +Rest, goddess, from all broils! I bless thy name + Dear kitchen-nymph, as ever eyes did glut on! +I'd give thee all I have, my slice of fame, + If thou, dear shade! could'st give one slice of mutton. + +Yet hold--ten minutes more, and I am blest; + Fly quick, ye seconds; quick ye moments, fly: +Soon shall I put my hunger to the test, + And all the host of miseries defy. + +Thrice is he arm'd, who hath his dinner first, + For well-fed valor always fights the best; +And tho' he may of over-eating burst, + His life is happy, and his death is blest. + +To-day I dine--not on my usual fare; + Not near the sacred mount with skinny nine; +Not in the park upon a dish of air: + But on real eatables, and rosy wine. + +Delightful task! to cram the hungry maw, + To teach the empty stomach how to fill, +To pour red port adown the parched craw; + Without one dread dessert--to pay the bill. + +I'm off--methinks I smell the long-lost savor; + Hail, platter sound! to poet, music sweet: +Now grant me, Jove, if not too great a favor, + Once in my life, as much as I can eat! + + + + +_SONNET_. + +ON SEEING A YOUNG LADY, +I HAD PREVIOUSLY KNOWN, CONFINED IN A MADHOUSE. + + +Sweet wreck of loveliness! alas, how soon + The sad brief summer of thy joys hath fled; +How sorrow's friendship for thy hapless doom, + Thy beauty faded, and thy hopes all dead. +Oh! 'twas that beauty's pow'r which first destroy'd + Thy mind's serenity; its charms but led +The faithless friend, that thy pure love enjoy'd, + To tear the blooming blossom from its bed. +How reason shudders at thy frenzied air! + To see thee smile, with fancy's dreams possess'd; +Or shrink, the frozen image of despair, + Or love-enraptur'd, chaunt thy griefs to rest, +Oh! cease that mournful voice, poor suff'ring child! +My heart but bleeds to hear thy musings wild. + + + + +TO THADDEUS.[*] + + +Farewel! lov'd youth, for still I hold thee dear, + Though thou hast left me friendless and alone; +Still, still thy name recalls the heartfelt tear, + That hastes Matilda to her wish'd-for home. + +Why leave the wretch thy perfidy hath made. + To journey cheerless through the world's wide waste? +Say, why so soon does all thy kindness fade. + And doom me, thus, affliction's cup to taste? + +Ungen'rous deed! to fly the faithful maid + Who, for thy arms, abandoned every friend; +Oh! cruel thought, that virtue, thus betray'd, + Should feel a pang that death alone can end. + +Yet, I'll not chide thee--and when hence you roam, + Should my sad fate one tear of pity move, +Ah! then return; this bosom's still thy home, + And all thy failings I'll repay with love. + +Believe me, dear, at midnight or at morn, + In vain exhausted nature strives to rest, +Thy absence plants my pillow with a thorn, + And bids me hope no more, on earth, for rest. + +But, if unkindly you refuse to hear, + And from despair thy poor Matilda save; +Ah! don't deny one tributary tear, + To glisten sweetly o'er my early grave. + + MATILDA. + +[Footnote *: The above lines were written at the request +of a Lady, and meant to describe the feelings of one, +"who loved not wisely, but too well."] + + + + +_SONNET_. + +TO A LYRE. + + +Friend of the lonely hour, from thy lov'd strain + The magic pow'r of pleasure have I known: +Awhile I lose remembrance of my pain, + And seem to taste of joys that long had flown. +When o'er my suffering soul reflection casts + The gloom of sorrow's sable-shadowing veil, +Recalling sad misfortunes chilling blasts-- + How sweet to thee to tell the mournful tale! +And tho' denied to me the strings to move + Like heavenly-gifted bards, to whom belong +The power to melt the yielding soul to love, + Or wake to war, with energetic song. +Yet thou, my Lyre, canst cheer the gloomy hour, + When sullen grief asserts her tyrant pow'r. + + + + +ADDRESS TO ALBION. + + +To thee, O Albion! be the tribute paid + Which sympathy demands, the patriot tear; +While echo'd forth to thy remotest shade, + Rebellion's menace sounds in every ear. + +Though Gallia's vaunts should fill the trembling skies, + 'Till nature's undiscover'd regions start +At the rude clamor;--yet, shouldst thou despise, + While thy brave subjects own a common heart. + +But lo! fresh streaming from the Hibernian[*] height + Her own red torrent wild-eyed faction pours; +While, 'mid her falling ranks, ignobly great, + Loud vengeance raves, and desperation scours. + +Denouncing murderous strife, the rebel train + Wave their red ensigns of inhuman hate +O'er every hamlet, every peaceful plain; + Rejecting reason, and despising fate. + +Oh! that again our raptur'd eyes could see + Their ripening crops bloom yellow o'er the land; +Their happy shepherds, like their pasture, free-- + No more a factious race, a ruffian band. + +That albion, once again with concord blest, + May still support that great, that glorious name, +Which ardent glows in every patriot's breast, + And crowns her hoary cliffs with matchless fame. + +Then, then, might foreign foes, around our shores, + Pour the big tempest of their arms in vain; +Then, might they learn that freedom still is ours, + That Britons still control the subject main. + +Oh! all ye kindred pow'rs, awake, arise! + On boundless glory's giant pinions soar; +Let Gallia tremble! while the sounding skies + Proclaim us free--'till time shall be no more! + +[Footnote*: This piece was written when Ireland was +in a most distracted state.] + + + + +_SONNET_. + +ON THE DEATH OF +TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE. + + +His weary warfare done, his woes forgot, + Freedom! thy son, oppress'd so long, is free: +He seeks the realms where tyranny is not, + And those shall hail him who have died for thee! +Immortal TELL! receive a soul like thine, + Who scorn'd obedience to usurp'd command: +Who rose a giant from a sphere indign, + To tear the rod from proud oppression's hand. +Alas! no victor-wreaths enzon'd his brow, + But freedom long his hapless fate shall mourn; +Her holy tears shall nurse the laurel bough, + Whose green leaves grace his consecrated urn. +Nurs'd by these tears, that bough shall rise sublime, +And bloom triumphant 'mid the wrecks of time! + + + + +EPITAPH + +ON MATILDA. + + +SACRED to pity! is uprais'd this stone, +The humble tribute of a friend unknown; +To grant the beauteous wreck its hallow'd claim, +And add to misery's scroll another name. +Poor, lost Matilda! now in silence laid +Within the early grave thy sorrows made, +Sleep on!--his heart still holds thy image dear, +Who view'd, thro' life, thy errors with a tear; +Who ne'er, with stoic apathy, repress'd +The heart-felt sigh for loveliness distress'd. +That sigh for thee shall ne'er forget to heave; +'Tis all he now can give, or thou receive. +When last I saw thee in thy envied bloom, +That promis'd health and joy for years to come, +Methought the lily, nature proudly gave, +Would never wither in th'untimely grave. +Ah, sad reverse! too soon the fated hour +Saw the dire tempest 'whelm th'expanding flow'r? +Then from thy tongue its music ceas'd to flow; +Thine eye forgot to gleam with aught but woe; +Peace fled thy breast; invincible despair +Usurp'd her seat, and struck his daggers there. +Did not the unpitying world thy sorrows fly? +And ah, what then was left thee--but to die! +Yet not a friend beheld thy parting breath, +Or mingled solace with the pangs of death: +No priest proclaim'd the erring hour forgiv'n, +Or sooth'd thy spirit to its native heav'n: +But Heaven, more bounteous, bade the pilgrim come, +And hovering angels hail'd their sister home. +I, where the marble swells not, to rehearse +Thy hapless fate; inscribe my simple verse. +Thy tale, dear shade, my heart essays to tell; +Accept its offering, while it heaves--farewel! + + + + +_SONNET_. + +TO PEACE. + + +Come long-lost blessing! heaven-lov'd seraph, haste, + On pity's wings upborne, a world's wide woes +Invoke thy smiles extatic, long effac'd, + Beneath the tear which all corrosive flows; +While reason shudders, let ambition weep, + When wounding truth records what it has done: +Records the hosts consign'd to death's cold sleep, + Conspicuous 'mid the pomp of conflicts won! +Shall not the fiend relent, while groaning age + Pours its deep sorrows o'er its offspring slain; +While sire-robb'd infants mourn the deathful rage, + In many a penury enfeebled strain? +Sweet maid, return! behold affliction's tear, +And in my theme accept a nation's prayer. + + + + +LOVE. + +Love! what is love? a mere machine, a spring +For freaks fantastic, a convenient thing, +A point to which each scribbling wight must steer, +Or vainly hope for food or favor here, +A summer's sigh, a winter's wistful tale, +A sound at which th'untutor'd maid turns pale, +Her soft eyes languish and her bosom heaves, +And hope delights as fancy's dream deceives. + +Thus speaks the heart, which cold disgust invades, +When time instructs and hope's enchantment fades; +Through life's wide stage, from sages down to kings, +The puppets move, as art directs the strings; +Imperious beauty bows to sordid gold, +Her smiles, whence heaven flows emanent, are sold; +And affectation swells the entrancing tones, +Which nature subjugates, and truth disowns. + +I love th'ingenuous maiden, practis'd not +To pierce the heart with ambush'd glances, shot +From eyelashes, whose shadowy length she knows +To a hair's point, their high arch when to close +Half o'er the swimming orb, and when to raise, +Disclosing all the artificial blaze +Of unfelt passion, which alone can move +Him, whom the genuine eloquence of love +Affected never, won with wanton wiles, +With soulless sighs and meretricious smiles, +By nature unimpress'd, uncharm'd by thee. +Sweet goddess of my heart, Simplicity! + + + + +_SONNET_. + +IN THE MANNER OF THE MODERNS. + + +Meek Maid! that sitting on yon lofty tower, + View'st the calm floods that wildly beat below, +Be off!--yon sunbeam veils a heavy shower, + Which sets my heart with joy a aching, oh! +For why, O maid, with locks of jetty flax, + Should grief convulse my heart with joyful knocks? +It is but reasonable you should ax, + Because it soundeth like a paradox. +Hear, then, bright virgin! if the rain comes down, + 'Twill wet the roads, and spoil my morning ride; +But it will also spoil thy bran-new gown, + And therefore cure thee of thy cursed pride. +Moral--this sonnet, if well understood, +Shows the same thing may bring both harm and good. + + + + +LINES, + +DELIVERED AFTER THE REPRESENTATION OF A PLAY AT +A YOUNG LADIES' BOARDING SCHOOL. + + +When first the infant bird attempts to fly, +And cautious spreads its pinions to the sky, +Each happy breeze the timid trav'ller cheers, +Assists its efforts, and allays its fears; +Return'd--how pleas'd it views the shelt'ring nest +From which it rose, with doubt and fear oppress'd. + +Like this, is ours; this night we ventur'd out +On juv'nile wing, appall'd by many a doubt, +Cheer'd by your sanction, every peril o'er, +With joy we hail this welcome, friendly shore: +Our little band, ambitious now to raise +A pleasing off'ring for your wreath of praise +On them bestow'd, depute me here to tell +The lively feelings that their bosoms swell; +For your indulgent and parental part, +They feel the triumph of a grateful heart: +That, each revolving year shall truly prove, +How much they honor, how sincere they love; +And for your fostering care will make return +By filial duty, and desire to learn. + + + + +ON THE DEATH OF + +GENERAL SIR RALPH ABERCROMBIE. + + +Mute, memory stands, at valor's awful shrine, + In tears Britannia mourns her hero dead; +A world's regret, brave Abercrombie's thine. + For nature sorrow'd as thy spirit fled! + +For, not the tear that matchless courage claims + To honest zeal, and soft compassion due, +Alone is thine--o'er thy ador'd remains + Each virtue weeps, for all once liv'd in you. + +Yes, on thy deeds exulting I could dwell, + To speak the merits of thy honor'd name; +But, ah! what need my humble muse to tell, + When rapture's self has echo'd forth thy fame? + +Yet, still thy name its energies shall deal, + When wild-storms gather round thy country's sun; +Her glowing youth shall grasp the gleamy steel, + Rank'd round the glorious wreaths which thou hast won! + + + + +TO .......... + + +In vain, sweet Maid! for me you bring +The first-blown blossoms of the spring; +My tearful cheek you wipe in vain, +And bid its pale rose bloom again. + +In vain! unconscious, did I say? +Oh! you alone these tears can stay: +Alone, the pale rose can renew, +Whose sunshine is a smile for you. + +Yet not in friendship's smile it lives; +Too cold the gifts that friendship gives: +The beam that warms a winter's day, +Plays coldly in the lap of may. + +You bid my sad heart cease to swell; +But will you, if its tale I tell, +Nor turn away, nor frown the while, +But smile, as you were wont to smile? + +Then bring me not the blossoms young, +That erst on Flora's forehead hung; +But round thy radiant temples twine, +The flowers whose flaunting mocks at mine. + +Give me--nor pinks, nor pansies gay, +Nor violets, fading fast away, +Nor myrtle, rue, nor rosemary, +But give, oh give, thyself to me! + + + + +_SONNET_. + +TO MELANCHOLY. + + +To thy unhappy courts a lonely guest + I come, corroding Melancholy, where, +Sequester'd from the world, this woe-worn breast + May yet indulge a solitary tear! +For what should cheer the wretch's struggling heart; + What lead him thro' misfortunes gloomy shades; +When retrospection wings her keenest dart, + And hope's dim land in misery's ocean fades? +Adieu, for ever! visionary joys, + Delusive shadows of a short-liv'd hour; +The rod of woe invincible, destroys + The light, the fairy fabric of your pow'r! +How short of bliss the sublunary reign, +How long the clouded days of misery and pain! + + + + +PROMETHEUS. + + +What sov'reign good shall satiate man's desires, +Propell'd by hope's unconquerable fires? +Vain, each bright bauble by ambition priz'd; +Unwon, 'tis worshipp'd--but possess'd, despis'd: +Yet, all defect with virtue shines allied, +_His_ mightiest impulse, Genius owes to pride; +From conquer'd science grac'd with glorious spoils, +He still dares on, demands sublimer toils, +And, had not nature check'd his vent'rous wing, +His eye had pierc'd her at her primal spring. + +Thus, when enwrapt, Prometheus strove to trace +Inspir'd perceptions of celestial grace, +Th' ideal spirit, fugitive as wind, +Art's forceful spells in adamant confin'd; +Curv'd with nice chisel, floats the obsequious line, +From stone unconscious, beauty beams divine, +On magic pois'd, th' exulting structure swims, +And spurns attraction with elastic limbs. +While ravish'd fancy vivifies the form, +While judgment toils to analyze its charm, +While admiration spreads her speaking hands, +The lofty artist undelighted stands; +He longs to ravish, from the blest abodes, +The seal of heaven, the attribute of gods, +To give his labor's more than man can give, +Breathe Jove's own breath, and bid the marble live! + +Won from her woof, embellishing the skies, +Descending Pallas soothes her votry's sighs; +Where, 'mid the twilight of o'er-arching groves, +By waking visions led, th' enthusiast roves, +Like summer suns, by showery clouds conceal'd, +With sudden blaze the goddess shines reveal'd; +Behold, she cries, in thy distinguish'd cause, +I challenge Jove's inexorable laws! +With life's stol'n essence let the awaken'd stone +A superhuman generation own: +Defrauded nature shall admire the deed, +And time recoil at thy immortal meed. + +Impregn'd with action, and convok'd to breathe, +Sighs the still form his ardent hands beneath; +Electric lustres flash from either eye, +O'er its pale cheeks suffusing flushes fly, +And glossy damps its clust'ring curls adorn, +Like dew-drops brightening on the brows of morn; +Thro' nerves that vibrates in unfolding chains +Foams the warm life-blood, excavating veins, +'Till all infus'd, and organiz'd the whole, +The finish'd fabric hails the breathing soul! +Then, wak'd tumultuous in th' alarmed breast, +Contending passions claim th' etherial guest, +And still, as each alternate empire proves, +She hopes, she fears, she envies, and she loves, +Owns all sensations that divide the span, +And eternize the little life of man. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetic Sketches, by Thomas Gent + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11983 *** |