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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9998-0.txt b/9998-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..143324a --- /dev/null +++ b/9998-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2551 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems, by Matilda Betham + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Poems + +Author: Matilda Betham + +Release Date: November 6, 2003 [eBook #9998] +[Most recently updated: June 24, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +POEMS + +BY + +MATILDA BETHAM. + + +1808. + + +TO LADY ROUSE BOUGHTON, AS A TESTIMONY OF RESPECT AND GRATITUDE FOR +LONG CONTINUED FRIENDSHIP, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY HER +OBLIGED HUMBLE SERVANT, MATILDA BETHAM. + +_New Cavendish-street,_ + +Feb. 3, 1809. + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + +Before this book was printed, I thoughtlessly concluded there must be a +preface; but, on consideration, see no particular purpose it would +answer, and gladly decline a task I should have undertaken with much +timidity and reluctance. All I feel necessary to premise, is, that the +tale in the Old Shepherd's Recollections is founded on an event which +happened in Ireland; and that last spring I suppressed the song ending +in page 65 [The Old Man's Farewell], some time after it had been in the +hands of the composer, from meeting accidentally with a quotation in a +magazine that resembled it. + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + POEMS.-- + The Old Fisherman + Lines to Mrs. Radcliffe, on first reading The Mysteries of + Udolpho + The Heir + To a Llangollen Rose, the day after it had been given me by + Miss Ponsonby + L'Homme de l'Ennui + The Grandfather's Departure + Reflections occasioned by the Death of Friends + To Mrs. T. Fancourt + To a Young Gentleman + Fragment + + SONGS.-- + "Thrice lovely Babe" + "What do I love?" + A Sailor's Song + Another + Once more, then farewell! + Henry, on the Departure of his Wife from Calcutta + Sonnet + On the Regret of Youth + Elegy on Sophia Graham + To Miss Rouse Boughton + To the Same + To the River which separates itself from the Dee at Bedkellert + The Old Man's Farewell + Song--Distance from the Place of our Nativity. + The Old Shepherd's Recollections + Reflection + Retrospect of Youth + The Daughter + Youth unsuspicious of evil + The Mother + Edgar and Ellen + + + + +POEMS. + + +THE OLD FISHERMAN. + + 'My bosom is chill'd with the cold, + My limbs their lost vigour deplore! + Alas! to the lonely and old, + Hope warbles her promise no more! + + 'Worn out with the length of my way, + I must rest me awhile on the beach, + To feel the salt dash of the spray, + If haply so far it may reach. + + 'As the white-foaming billows arise, + I reflect on the days that are past, + When the pride of my strength could despise + The keen-driving force of the blast. + + 'Though the heavens might menace on high, + I would still push my vessel from shore; + At my calling undauntedly ply, + And sing as I handled the oar. + + 'When fortune rewarded my toil, + And my nets, deeply-laden, I drew, + I hurried me home with the spoil, + And its inmates rejoic'd at the view. + + 'Though the winds and the waves were perverse, + I was sure to be welcom'd with glee; + My presence the cares would disperse, + That were only awaken'd for me. + + 'Whether weary, with toiling in vain, + Or gay, from abundant success, + I heard the same blessing again,-- + I met the same tender caress: + + 'I fancied the perils repay'd, + That could such affection ensure; + By fondness and gratitude sway'd, + I was eager to dare and endure. + + 'My cot did each comfort contain, + And that gave my bosom delight; + When drench'd by the winterly rain, + I watch'd in my vessel at night. + + 'But, alas! from the tyrant, Disease, + What love or what caution can save! + A fever, more harsh than the seas, + Consign'd my poor wife to the grave. + + 'My children, so tenderly rear'd, + And pining for want of her care, + Though more by my sorrows endear'd, + Could not rescue my heart from despair. + + 'I tempted the dangers of night, + And still labour'd hard at the oar, + My sufferings appear'd to be light, + But I suffer'd with pleasure no more. + + 'And yet, when some seasons had roll'd, + I seem'd to awaken anew; + My children I lov'd to behold, + How tall and how comely they grew. + + 'My boy became hardy and bold, + His spirit was buoyant and free; + And, as I grew thoughtful and old, + Was loud and oppressive to me. + + 'But the girl, like a bird in the bower, + Awaken'd my hope and my pride; + She won on my heart ev'ry hour, + And I could not the preference hide. + + 'I mark'd the address and the care, + The manner endearing and mild, + Not dreaming those qualities rare + Were to murther the peace of my child: + + 'That grandeur would ever descend + To seek for so lowly a bride, + Or his fair one, a lover pretend, + From all she held dear to divide: + + 'That beauty was priz'd like a gem, + Expected to dazzle and shine, + Whose value the world would contemn, + Unless trac'd to some Indian mine: + + 'Alas! hapless girl! had I known + Thou hadst learnt to repine at thy lot; + That splendour and rank were thy own, + Thy home and thy father forgot: + + 'That lore and ambition assail'd, + Thou hadst left us, whatever befel! + My pardon and prayers had prevail'd, + I had blest thee, and bade thee farewel! + + 'With thy husband, from this happy clime, + I had seen thee for ever depart! + Still hoping affection and time + Might soften the pride of his heart: + + 'That a moment perhaps would arise, + When, fondling a child on the knee, + He might read, in its innocent eyes + A lesson of pity for me. + + 'But lips, which till then never said + A word to cause any one pain, + Inform'd me, when reason had fled, + Of a conflict it could not sustain. + + 'And he, who had wish'd to conceal + That the woman he lov'd had been poor, + Began all his folly to feel, + When the victim could hearken no more. + + 'Yet still for himself did he mourn, + And, indignant, I fled from the view: + For my wrongs were not easily borne, + And my anger was hard to subdue. + + 'One prop, one sole comfort, remain'd, + Who saw me o'erladen with grief, + Who saw (though I never complain'd) + My heart was too sick for relief. + + 'One, who always attentive and dear, + Every effort exerted to please, + My desolate prospect to cheer, + To study my health and my ease. + + 'For his was each toil and each care, + The due observations to keep; + To sit watching amid the night air, + And fancy his father asleep. + + 'Yet, dejected, and sadly forlorn, + I dar'd in my heart to repine,-- + To lament that I ever was born, + Though such worth and affection were mine. + + 'Alas! I was destin'd to know, + However intense my despair, + I still was reserv'd for a blow, + More painful and cruel to bear. + + 'Yes! this only one fell in the main! + --I eagerly struggled to save; + But I strove with the current in vain, + And saw him sink under the wave! + + 'My head was astounded and wild,-- + Incessant I roam'd on the shore, + To seek the dead corse of my child, + And to weep on his bosom once more. + + 'Seven days undisturb'd was the sky, + The eighth was a tempest most drear, + I saw the huge billow rise high! + I saw my lost treasure appear! + + 'Like a dream it seem'd passing away:-- + I hurried me onward to meet, + And clasp the inanimate clay, + When senseless I sunk at his feet. + + 'These hands, now enfeebled by time, + The last pious offices paid! + Age sorrow'd o'er youth in its prime, + And my boy near his mother was laid. + + 'Now scar'd by the griefs I have known, + Wounds, apathy only can heal, + My joys and my sorrows are flown, + For I have forgotten to feel. + + 'But I know my Creator is just, + That his hand will deliver me soon; + I have learnt to submit and to trust, + Though I finish my journey alone.' + +Aldborough, September 7, 1800. + + * * * * * + + + +LINES TO MRS. RADCLIFFE, + +ON FIRST READING THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO. + + Enchantress! whose transcendant pow'rs, + With ease, the massy fabric raise;-- + Beneath whose sway the tempest low'rs, + Or lucid stream meänd'ring plays;-- + + Accept the tribute of a heart, + Which thou hast often made to glow + With transport, oft with terror start, + Or sink at strains of solemn woe! + + Invention, like a falcon, tam'd + By some expert and daring hand, + For pride, for strength and fierceness fam'd, + Implicit yields to thy command. + Now mounts aloft in soaring flight, + Shoots, like a star, beyond the sight; + Or, in capricious windings borne, + Mocks our faint hopes of safe return; + Delights in trackless paths to roam, + But hears thy call, and hurries home; + Checks his bold wing when tow'ring free, + And sails, without a pause, to thee! + Enchantress, thy behests declare! + And what thy strong delusions are! + + When spirits in thy circle rise, + Gaunt Wonder, panic-struck, and pale, + Impatient Hope, and dread Surmise, + Attendants on the mystic tale! + + How is it, with such vivid hues, + A harmonizing softness flows! + What are the charms that can diffuse, + Such grandeur as thy pencil throws! + + Say! do the nymphs of classic lore, + So simply graceful, light, and fair, + Forsake their consecrated shore, + Their hallow'd groves, and purer air? + + Tir'd of the ancient Grecian loom, + And smit with Fancy's wayward glance, + Weave they amid the Gothic gloom, + The high-wrought fiction of Romance? + + While the dark Genius of our northern clime, + Whose giant limbs the mist of years enshrouds, + Bursts through the veil which hides his head sublime, + And moves majestic through recoiling clouds! + + O yes! they own the wond'rous spell, + And to each form their hands divine + Give, with nice art, the temper'd swell, + The chasten'd touch and faultless line! + + Each fiction under their command, + Assumes an air severely true, + And, every vision, wildly grand, + Life's measur'd pace and modest hue. + + Reason and fancy, rival powers! + Unite, their RADCLIFFE to befriend; + To decorate her way with flowers, + The minor graces all attend! + +This piece, with the exception of a few lines, has +appeared in the Athenaeum. + + * * * * * + + +THE HEIR. + + See yon tall stripling! how he droops forlorn! + How slow his pace! how spiritless his eye! + Like a dark cloud in summer's rosy dawn, + He saddens pleasure as he passes by. + + Long kept in exile by paternal pride, + He feels no joy beneath this splendid dome; + For, till the elder child of promise died, + He knew a dearer, though a humbler home. + + Then the proud sail was spread! The youth obey'd, + Left ev'ry friend, and every scene he knew; + For ever left the soul-affianc'd maid, + Though his heart sicken'd as he said--Adieu; + And nurses still, with superstitious care, + The sigh of fond remembrance and despair. + + * * * * * + + + +TO A LLANGOLLEN ROSE, + +THE DAY AFTER IT HAD BEEN GIVEN BY MISS PONSONBY. + + Soft blushing flow'r! my bosom grieves, + To view thy sadly drooping leaves: + For, while their tender tints decay, + The rose of Fancy fades away! + As pilgrims, who, with zealous care, + Some little treasur'd relic bear, + To re-assure the doubtful mind, + When pausing memory looks behind; + I, from a more enlighten'd shrine, + Had made this sweet memento mine: + But, lo! its fainting head reclines; + It folds the pallid leaf, and pines, + As mourning the unhappy doom, + Which tears it from so sweet a home! + +_July 22, 1799._ + + * * * * * + + + +L'HOMME DE L'ENNUI. + + Forlornly I wander, forlornly I sigh, + And droop my head sadly, I cannot tell why: + When the first breeze of morning blows fresh in my face, + As the wild-waving walks of our woodlands I trace, + Reviv'd for the moment I look all around, + But my eyes soon grow languid, and fix on the ground. + + I have yet no misfortune to rob me of rest, + No love discomposes the peace of my breast; + Ambition ne'er enter'd the verge of my thought, + Nor by honours, by wealth, nor by power am I caught; + Those phantoms of folly disturb not my ease, + Yet Time is a tortoise, and Life a disease. + + With the blessings of youth and of health on my side, + A temper untainted by envy or pride; + No guilt to corrode, and no foes to molest; + There are many who tell me my station is blest. + This I cannot dispute; yet without knowing why-- + I feel that my bosom is big with a sigh. + + Oh! why do I see that all knowledge is vain; + That Science finds Error still keep in her train; + That Imposture or Darkness, with Doubt and Surmise, + Will mislead, will perplex, and then baffle the wise, + Who often, when labours have shorten'd their span, + Declare--not to know--is the province of man? + + In life, as in learning, our views are confin'd, + Our discernment too weak to discover the mind, + Which, subdued and irresolute, keeps out of sight; + Or if, for a moment, her presence delight, + Our air is too gross for the stranger to stay; + And, back to her prison she hurries away! + + If my own narrow precincts I seek to explore, + My wishes how vain, my attainments how poor! + Tenacious of virtue, with caution I move; + I correct, and I wrestle, but cannot approve; + Till, bewilder'd and faint, I would yield up the rein, + But I dare not in peace with my errors remain! + + With zeal all awake in the cause of a friend, + With warmth unrepress'd by my fear to offend, + With sympathy active in hope or distress, + How keen and how anxious I cannot express, + I shrink, lest an eye should my feelings behold, + And my heart seems insensible, selfish and cold. + + I strive to be gay, but my efforts are weak, + And, sick of existence, for pleasure I seek; + I mix with the empty, the loud, and the vain, + Partake of their folly, and double my pain. + In others I meet with depression and strife; + Oh! where shall I seek for the music of life? + + * * * * * + + + +THE GRANDFATHER'S DEPARTURE. + + The Old Man press'd Palemon's hand; + To Lucy nodded with a smile; + Kiss'd all the little ones around; + Then clos'd the gate, and paus'd awhile. + + "When shall I come again!" he thought, + Ere yet the journey had begun; + It was a tedious length of way, + But he beheld an only son. + + And dearly did he love to take + A rosy grandchild on his knee; + To part his shining locks, and say, + "Just such another boy was he!" + + And never felt he greater pride, + And never did he look so gay, + As when the little urchins strove + To make him partner in their play. + + But when, in some more gentle mood, + They silent hung upon his arm, + Or nestled close at ev'ning pray'r, + The old man felt a softer charm; + + And upward rais'd his closing eye, + Whence slow effus'd a grateful tear, + As if his senses own'd a joy, + Too holy for endurance here. + + No heart e'er pray'd so fervently, + Unprompted by an earthly zeal, + None ever knew such tenderness, + That did not true devotion feel. + + As with the pure, uncolour'd flame, + The violet's richest blues unite, + Do our affections soar to heav'n, + And rarify and beam with light. + + * * * * * + + + +REFLECTIONS + +OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF FRIENDS. + + My happiness was once a goodly tree, + Which promis'd every day to grow more fair, + And rear'd its lofty branches in the air, + In sooth, it was a pleasant sight, to see! + Amidst, fair honey-suckles crept along, + Twin'd round the bark, and hung from every bough, + While birds, which Fancy held by slender strings, + Plum'd the dark azure of their shining wings, + Or dipp'd them in the silver stream below, + With many a joyful note, and many a song! + + When lo! a tempest hurtles in the sky! + Dark low'r the clouds! the thunders burst around! + Fiercely the arrowy flakes of lightning fly! + While the scar'd songsters leave the quiv'ring bough, + The blasted honey-suckles droop below, + And many noble branches strew the ground! + + Though soon the air is calm, the sky serene, + Though wide the broad and leafy arms are spread, + Yet still the scars of recent wounds are seen; + Their shelter henceforth seems but insecure; + The winged tribes disdain the frequent lure, + Where many a songster lies benumb'd or dead; + And when I would the flow'ry tendrils train, + I find my late delightful labour vain. + + Affection thus, once light of heart, and gay, + Chasten'd by memory, and, unnerv'd by fear, + Shall sadden each endearment with a tear, + Sorrowing the offices of love shall pay, + And scarcely dare to think that good her own, + Which fate's imperious hand may snatch away, + In the warm sunshine of meridian day, + And when her hopes are full and fairest blown. + + * * * * * + + + +TO MRS. T. FANCOURT, + +July 15, 1803. + + I love not yon gay, painted flower, + Of bold and coarsely blended dye, + But one, whose nicely varied power + May long detain the curious eye. + + I love the tones that softly rise, + And in a fine accordance close; + That waken no abrupt surprise, + Nor leave us to inert repose. + + I love the moon's pure, holy light, + Pour'd on the calm, sequester'd stream; + The gale, fresh from the wings of night, + Which drinks the early solar beam; + + The smile of heaven, when storms subside, + When the moist clouds first break away; + The sober tints of even-tide, + Ere yet forgotten by the day. + + Such sights, such sounds, my fancy please, + And set my wearied spirit free: + And one who takes delight in these, + Can never fail of loving thee! + + * * * * * + + + +TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN. + +July 29th, 1803. + + Dear boy, when you meet with a rose, + Admire you the thorns very much? + Or like you to play with a ball, + When the handling it blisters your touch! + + Yet should it be firm and compact, + It is easy to polish it nice; + If the rose is both pretty and sweet, + The thorns will come off in a trice. + + The thistle has still many more, + As visible too in our eyes, + But who will take pains with a weed, + That nobody ever can prize? + + 'Tis what we deem precious and rare, + We most earnestly seek to amend; + And anxious attention and care, + Is the costliest gift of a friend. + + We all have our follies: what then? + Let us note them, and never look bluff! + Without any caressing at all, + They will cling to us closely enough. + + Weeds are of such obstinate growth, + They elude the most diligent hand; + And, if they were not to be check'd, + Would quickly run over the land. + + If some could be taken away, + That hide part of your worth from the view; + The conquest perhaps would be ours, + But the profit is wholly to you. + + * * * * * + + + +FRAGMENT. + + A Pilgrim weary, toil-subdued, + I reach'd a country, strange and rude, + And trembled, lest approaching eve + My hope of shelter might deceive; + When I espied a hunter train, + Prowling at leisure o'er the plain, + And hasten'd on to ask relief, + Of the ill-omen'd, haughty chief. + His eye was artful, keen, and bold, + His smile malevolently cold, + And had not all my fire been fled, + And every earthly passion dead, + His pity to contempt allied, + Had rous'd my anger and my pride; + But, as it was, I bent my way, + Where his secluded mansion lay, + Which rose before my eyes at length, + A fortress of determin'd strength, + And layers of every colour'd moss + The lofty turrets did emboss, + As tho' the hand of father Time, + Prepar'd a sacrifice sublime,-- + Giving his daily rites away, + To aggrandize some future day. + Here as I roam'd the walk along, + I heard a plaintive broken song; + And ere I to the portal drew, + An open window caught my view, + Where a fair dame appear'd in sight, + Array'd in robes of purest white. + Large snowy folds confin'd her hair, + And left a polish'd forehead bare. + O'er her meek eyes, of deepest blue, + The sable lash long shadows threw; + Her cheek was delicately pale, + And seem'd to tell a piteous tale, + But o'er her looks such patience stole, + Such saint-like tenderness of soul, + That never did my eyes behold, + A beauty of a lovelier mold. + + The Lady sigh'd, and closely prest + A sleeping infant to her breast; + Shook off sweet tears of love, and smil'd, + Kissing the fingers of the child, + Which round her own unconscious clung, + Then fondly gaz'd, and softly sung: + + Once like that sea, which ebbs and flows, + My bosom never knew repose, + And heavily each morn arose. + + I bore with anger and disdain, + I had no power to break my chain, + No one to whom I dar'd complain. + + And when some bird has caught my eye, + Or distant sail been flitting by, + I wish'd I could as freely fly. + + But I can now contented be, + Can tell, dear babe, my griefs to thee. + And feel more brave, and breathe more free. + + And when thy father frowns severe, + Although my spirit faints with fear, + I feel I have a comfort near. + + And when he harshly speaks to me, + If thou art smiling on my knee, + He softens as he looks on thee. + + To soothe him in an evil hour + The bud has balm, oh! may the flower + Possess the same prevailing power! + + Nor forc'd to leave thy native land, + To pledge a cold, unwilling hand, + May'st thou receive the hard command. + + My mother had not half the zeal, + The aching fondness which I feel, + She had no broken heart to heal! + + And I was friendless when she died, + Who could my little failings chide, + And for an hour her fondness hide. + + But I can see no prospect ope, + Can give no fairy vision scope, + If thou art not the spring of hope. + + I cannot thy affection draw, + By childhood's first admiring awe; + Be tender pity then thy law! + + This heart would bleed at every vein, + I could not even life sustain, + If ever thou should'st give me pain. + + O! soul of sweetness! can it be, + That thou could'st prove unkind to me! + That I should fear this blow from thee! + + Alas! e'en then I would not blame, + My love to thee should be the same, + And judge from whence unkindness came! + + Her words grew indistinct and slow, + Her voice more tremulous and low, + When suddenly the song was o'er, + A whisper even heard no more-- + She had discern'd my nearer tread; + Appear'd to feel alarm, and fled. + + * * * * * + + + +SONGS. + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + + Thrice lovely babe! thus hush'd to rest, + Upon thy warrior father's breast! + Avails it, that his eyes behold, + Thy rosy cheeks, thy locks of gold! + Avails it that he bends his ear, + So fondly thy soft breath to hear! + Or, that his rising smiles confess, + A gracious gleam of tenderness! + The sweetest spell will scarce have pow'r + To hold him for one absent hour! + + Some plant that ceases thus to share, + A daily friend's auspicious care, + Relaxes in its feeble grasp, + The flow'ry tendrils soon unclasp, + Loose in the heedless aether play, + And every idle breeze obey! + Thus vainly had I sought to bind; + Thus watch'd that light, forgetful mind, + Till smiles and sunshine could restore, + My often-blighted hopes no more! + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. VOIGHT. + + What do I love? A polish'd mind, + A temper cheerful, meek, and kind; + A graceful air, unsway'd by art, + A voice that sinks into the heart, + A playful and benignant smile-- + Alas! my heart responds the while, + All this, my Emily, is true, + But I love more in loving you! + + I love those roses when they rise, + From joy, from anger, or surprise; + I love the kind, attentive zeal, + So prompt to know what others feel, + The mildness which can ne'er reprove, + But in the sweetest tones of love-- + All this, my Emily, is true, + But I love more in loving you! + + The self-command which can sustain, + In silence, weariness and pain; + The transport at a friend's success, + Which has not words or power to bless, + But, by a sudden, starting tear, + Appears more precious, more sincere-- + All this, my Emily, is true, + And this I love in loving you! + + * * * * * + + + +A SAILOR'S SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. WALSH. + + I ponder many a silent hour, + On friends belov'd when far at sea, + And, tell me, have I not the power + To draw one kindred thought to me! + + The while we linger on the coast, + My truant fancy homeward flies, + And when the view is almost lost, + Unmanly tears bedew my eyes-- + + And oft forgetful do I stand, + Nor crew, nor ship, nor ocean see; + And often does my heart demand, + If friends belov'd thus think on me! + + And when to England bound once more, + I shall with fond impatience burn, + Will not some others on the shore + As fondly look for my return! + + O! let me of your kindness hear! + Repeat the strain as I depart! + It swells like music on my ear, + It falls like balm upon my heart. + +Aug. 21, 1805. + + * * * * * + + + +ANOTHER, + +WRITTEN EARLIER. + + Adieu to old England! adieu to my friends! + Though fortune and fame I pursue, + On thus looking around me, I cannot conceal, + How reluctant I bid them adieu! + + My heart sinks within me, I sigh to the gale, + Thus slowly receding from shore, + While fancy still whispers some terrible tale, + Ah, perhaps I may see it no more! + + There all that I love, that I value, remain, + That only awakens my fears, + For will the same spot its dear inmates contain, + On the lapse of two lingering years? + + They may smile in good fortune, or weep in distress, + I shall know not a word of their fate! + No pain can I soften, no sorrow redress! + I may come, when, alas! 'tis too late! + + I can fly without fear to encounter the foe, + To my earliest wish I am true; + But I cannot unmov'd quit the friends that I love, + Or bid my dear country adieu! + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. A. PETTIT, OF NORWICH. + + Once more then farewell! and whilst I'm away, + Oh! let not another entangle thy fancy! + I shall think upon thee every hour of the day, + And let not my love be forgotten by Nancy! + + Oh! were I forsaken, the flow'r in my heart, + Would fold all its leaves, and re-open them never! + The sunshine of joy and of hope would depart, + And belief in affection would perish for ever! + + To talk thus is folly! I doubt not thy truth, + A few years of absence will quickly pass over, + I scorn other perils that menace my youth, + From that wound, I must own, I could never recover! + + * * * * * + + + +HENRY, + +ON THE DEPARTURE OF HIS WIFE FROM CALCUTTA. + + Long is thy passage o'er the main, + And native air alone can save! + No friend thy weakness will sustain, + But India is, for thee, a grave! + Though winds arise, though surges swell, + Maria, we must say farewell! + + Oh! I bethink me of the time, + When with each airy hope in view, + In triumph to this fervid clime + I bore a flowret nurs'd in dew! + No fears did then my joy reprove, + And it was boundless as my love! + + Yet now to strangers I consign + Thy wounded mind, thy feeble health; + A charge more dear than life resign, + To watch a little worldly wealth. + Duty compels me to remain + But oh! how heavy feels the chain! + + My dear Maria! smile no more? + This seeming patience makes me wild! + So would'st thou once my peace restore, + When, mourning for our only child, + Each faint appeal was lost in air, + Or turn'd my sadness to despair. + + Alas! I only make thee grieve. + And hark! the boat awaits below! + They call aloud! and I must leave, + The tears my folly forc'd to flow. + Oh! had I but the time to prove, + That mine are only fears of love! + + * * * * * + + + +SONNET. + + Urge me no more! nor think, because I seem + Tame and unsorrowing in the world's rude strife, + That anguish and resentment have not life + Within the heart that ye so quiet deem: + In this forc'd stillness only, I sustain + My thought and feeling, wearied out with pain! + Floating as 'twere upon some wild abyss, + Whence, silent Patience, bending o'er the brink, + Would rescue them with strong and steady hand, + And join again, by that connecting link, + Which now is broken:--O, respect her care! + Respect her in this fearful self-command! + No moment teems with greater woe than this, + Should she but pause, or falter in despair! + + * * * * * + + + +ON THE REGRET OF YOUTH. + + Before a rose is fully blown, + The outward leaves announce decay; + So, ere the spring of Youth is flown, + Its tiny pleasures die away; + + The gay security we feel, + The careless soul's delighted rest, + That lively hope, that ardent zeal, + And smiling sunshine of the breast. + + Those simple tints, so bright and clear, + No healing dew-drops can restore; + For joys, which early life endear, + Once blighted, can revive no more. + + Yet lovely is the full-blown rose, + Although its infant graces fly; + The various opening leaves disclose, + A fairer banquet to the eye; + + A ruby's beams on drifted snow, + Such pure, harmonious blushes shed; + If distant, cast a tender glow, + But near, its own imperial red; + + The form assumes a prouder air, + And bends more graceful in the gale; + While, from its cup, of essence rare, + A richer hoard of sweets exhale. + + Could we again, by fancy led, + That bower of swelling leaves confine, + And round that fine, luxuriant head, + The mossy tendrils now entwine, + + Over what multitudes of bloom + Would a few timid leaflets close! + What mental joys resign their room, + To causeless mirth, and tame repose! + + The change to Reason's steady eye, + Would neither good nor wise appear; + And we may lay one precept by, + Our discontent is insincere. + + * * * * * + + + +ELEGY ON SOPHIA GRAHAM, + +WHO DIED JAN. 21, 1800. + + Sweet is the voice of Friendship to the ear, + Sweet is Affection's mildly-beaming eye, + Sweet the applause which flows from lips sincere, + And sweet is Pity's soft responsive sigh! + + But now those flowers of life have lost their bloom, + Faint all their beauty, cold their healing breath, + No object fills my eye but yonder tomb, + No sound awakes me but the name of death. + + When in the world, I bear a look serene, + And veil the gloomy temper of my grief; + Sick with restraint at evening quit the scene, + To find in tears and solitude relief. + + Parent of Hope and Fancy! thoughtful Night! + Why are these nurselings absent from thy bower, + While Memory, with sullen, strange delight, + Stalks lonely centinel the live-long hour? + + O dear Sophia! could we e'er forget, + Such fair endowments and unsullied worth, + Thy partial friendship calls for our regret, + And selfish feeling gives remembrance birth. + + How often when this trembling hand essays + Thy lov'd resemblance once again to trace, + The portrait thought in mimic life arrays + With all the sweet expression of thy face; + + Art may its symmetry and beauty show, + A look, a character, the pencil seize, + Give to the form where youthful graces glow, + An air of pensive dignity and ease, + + But warmth of feeling and sensation fine, + By mild reserve from common eyes conceal'd, + The ray of genius and the heart benign, + In artless gaiety so oft reveal'd-- + + All these are lost; no looks can now arise, + Like those which every little act endear'd, + Which even in the stranger's careless eyes + Like innocence from other worlds appear'd! + + Oft have I fear'd the breath of foolish praise, + Might taint the lily which so humbly grew; + That flattery's sun might shoot delusive rays, + Impede her progress, and distract her view. + + But vain the fear--for she remain'd the same, + To outward charms indifferent or blind, + Heedless alike of either praise or blame, + If it respected not her heart and mind. + + Rich in historic lore, the poet's lyre + Had not, though screen'd by time, forsaken hung, + She felt and studied with a kindred fire, + The lofty strain immortal Maro sung. + + She knew--but why essay to trace her thought + Through its wide range, describe her blooming youth, + The heart whose feelings were so finely wrought, + Its meek ambition, and its love of truth? + + All that parental-vanity desires, + All that the friend can muse upon and mourn, + All that the lover's ardent vow inspires, + In thee, Sophia! from the world was torn! + + But still we yield thee to no stranger's care; + No unknown foe our tender love bereaves; + Thou goest the angels' hallow'd bliss to share, + A Father thy exalted soul receives! + + * * * * * + + + +TO MISS ROUSE BOUGHTON, + +NOW THE RIGHT HON. LADY ST. JOHN. + +Aberystwith, July 5th, 17-- + + Louisa, while thy pliant fingers trace + The solemn beauties of the prospect round, + Or, on thy instrument, with touching grace, + Awaken all the witcheries of sound: + + Mild, as thy manners, do the colours rise, + As soft and unobtrusive meet the view; + And, when the varied notes the ear surprize, + We own the harmony as strictly true. + + Be thine the praise, alas! a gift how rare! + Artless, and unpretending, to excel! + Forget the envied charm of being fair, + To learn the noblest science,--acting well! + And let no world the seal of truth displace, + Or spoil the heart's accordance with the face! + + * * * * * + + + +TO THE SAME, + +ON RECEIVING FROM HER A FEW FLOWERS OUT OF A BOUQUET, FROM MELCHBOURNE, +1807. + + Hail! sweet Louisa! o'er these votive flow'rs + Friendship and Fancy weave the joyful song, + Wing with fresh rose-leaves all the train of hours, + That in the distant aether float along! + + Like those fair flowrets given by thy hand, + Like thy own beauty, blooming and serene, + The vision of thy future life is plann'd, + And forms a clear, a bright, and varied scene! + + That countenance so gentle, and so kind, + That heart, which never gave a harsh decree, + Suit all the turns of thy harmonious mind, + And must, perforce, with destiny agree. + This from the Sibyl's leaves affection drew, + O, be the omen just! the promise true! + + * * * * * + + + +TO THE RIVER + +WHICH SEPARATES ITSELF FROM THE DEE, AT BEDKELLERT. + +July 19, 1799. + + Let others hail the tranquil stream, + Whose glassy waters smoothly flow, + And, in the undulating gleam, + Reflect another world below! + + The yellow Conway as it raves, + Demands my tributary song! + When, rushing forth, resistless waves + O'er rocky fragments foam along! + + Like him, whose vigorous mind reviews + The troubles which around him roll; + The ceaseless warfare still pursues, + And keeps a firm, undaunted soul. + + Though sternly bent by toil and care, + The brow hang darkly o'er his eye-- + His features the fix'd meaning wear + Of one who knows not how to sigh. + + It is not apathy that reigns, + O'erweening arrogance, or pride, + For, in his warmly-flowing veins, + The genial feelings all reside. + + It is the breast-plate fortitude + Should still to injury oppose; + It is the shield with power imbu'd, + To blunt the malice of his foes. + + And should the savage country round, + A more engaging aspect show, + O Conway! it will then be found, + How sweet and clear thy waters flow! + + The birds will dip the taper wing-- + The pilgrim there his thirst assuage, + The wandering minstrel sit and sing, + Or muse upon a distant age! + + Bold River! soon within the deep, + Each weary strife and conflict o'er, + Thy venerable waves shall sleep, + And feel opposing rocks no more! + + * * * * * + + + +THE OLD MAN'S FAREWELL. + + Farewell, my pilgrim guest, farewell, + A few days since thou wert unknown, + None shall thy future fortunes tell, + But sweetly have the moments flown! + + And kindness, like the sun on flowers, + Soon chas'd away thy tender gloom; + New-fledg'd the sable-pinion'd hours, + And wove bright tints in Fancy's loom. + + We sought no secrets to divine, + Neither thy name nor lineage knew, + Our hearts alone have question'd thine, + And found that all was just and true. + + Pass not with hasty step, I pray, + Across the threshold of my door! + But pause awhile, with kind delay, + We shall behold thy face no more! + + Once only in a hundred years, + The aloe's precious blossoms swell, + So, in thy presence it appears, + That Time has blossom'd, fare thee well![A] + + [A] See Preface. + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +DISTANCE FROM THE PLACE OF OUR NATIVITY. + + Since I married Palemon, though happy my lot, + Though my garden is pleasant, and lightsome my cot, + Though love's smile, like a sunshine, I constantly see, + Those blessings are all insufficient for me, + I repine not at labour, I ask not for gold, + But I want the sweet eyes of my friends to behold. + + With Palemon I think o'er the world I could roam, + Though he liv'd in a desert, would make it my home. + From him no allurements his Lucy could bribe, + And, though timid, no dangers, no menaces drive. + But the heart that can love with devotion so true, + Is not cold or forgetful, my parents, to you! + + Oh idle declaimers! how is it ye say, + That affection and tenderness fade and decay? + Though so easily pain'd, they endure like a gem, + And the heart and the mind imbibe colour from them! + In affliction they brighten, in absence refine, + And are causes of sorrow too sweet to resign. + + * * * * * + + + +THE OLD SHEPHERD'S RECOLLECTIONS. + + Low, heavy clouds are hanging on the hills, + And half-impatient of the sun's approach, + Shake sullenly their cold and languid wings! + Oh! it is fine to see his morning beams + Burst on the gloom, while, in disorder'd flight, + The shuddering, mournful vapours steal away; + Like the tenacious spirit of a man, + Shrinking from the loud voice of cheerfulness, + When it breaks in, so sadly out of tune, + Upon his quiet musing, and dispels + The waking dream of a dejected heart: + The dream I cherish in this solitude, + In all the wanderings of my little flock, + That which beguiles my loneliness, and takes + Its charm and change from the surrounding scene. + + Oh! how unwelcome often are to me + The gayest, most exhilarating sounds! + When slow and sickly Memory, tempted forth + By dint of soft persuasion, brings to light + His treasures--and, with childish eagerness, + Arranges and collects--then suddenly + To have him startled by discordance, drag, + Without discrimination, all away-- + And with them leap to his deep hollow cave-- + Not easily to be withdrawn again, + Grieves one who loves to think of other times, + To talk with those long silent in the grave, + And pass from childhood to old age again. + + Behold this stony rock! whose rifted crest, + Lets the rough, roaring torrent force a way, + And, foaming, pour its waters on the vale! + Behold them tumbling from their dizzy height, + Like clouds, of more than snowy whiteness, thrown + Precipitate from heav'n, which, as they fall, + Diffuse a mist, in form of glory, round! + This was my darling haunt a long time past! + Here, when a boy, in pleasing awe, I sate, + Wistfully silent, with uplifted eye, + And heart attun'd to the sad, lulling sound + They made descending. Far below my feet, + Near where yon little, ruin'd cottage lies, + Oft, at the pensive hour of even-tide + I saw young Osborne bearing on his harp, + And, trusting to an aged mother's care, + His darkling steps: Beneath that falling beech, + Whose wide-spread branches touch the water's edge, + He lov'd to sit, and feel the freshen'd gale + Breathe cool upon him. + + Then that falling beech + Was a young, graceful tree; which, starting up, + Amid the looser fragments of the rock, + Rear'd boldly in the air its lofty head, + While, struggling with the stone, the nervous roots + Pursued their own direction, elbowing out, + Their flinty neighbour; who, o'erspread with moss, + Of varied hues, and deck'd with flow'ring heath, + That from each fissure hung luxuriant down, + Became a seat, where, king of all the scene, + The harper sate, and, in sweet melodies, + Now like the lark rejoicing at the dawn, + Now soothing as the nightingale's sad note, + Hail'd the departing sun, whose golden rays + Glitter'd upon the surface of the wave, + And, as a child upon its mother's arm + Seeks to delay the coming hour of rest, + Till sudden slumbers steal upon his smiles + And veil him in a dream of love and joy, + He seem'd reluctant to withdraw his beams; + And, rich in roseate beauty, for awhile + Kept the green waves beneath his glowing head. + + Kind, gentle Osborne! half a century + Has silver'd o'er the crisp and yellow locks + Of thy young auditor, but memory still + Grasps the torn record of my weary life. + And finds full many a page to tell of thee! + Oh! ye who have a friend ye truly love, + One whom your hearts can trust, whose excellence + Was not obtruded boastingly to view, + But time and happy circumstance reveal'd, + Rays of quick light upon a diamond + Which else had lain unnotic'd in the waste! + Oh! hasten! hasten speedily to pay + Each debt of fond affection! lock not up + So cautiously the tribute due to worth! + Nor let reserve, as I have often done, + Enslave the sweetest feelings of the soul! + And hang around them like an envious mist, + O'er the bright radiance of the morning star, + Leaving us nothing but a spot of light + Bereav'd of all its lustre! For my friend, + He never knew that there was one on earth, + After a parent felt the touch of death, + And Love, a weeping pilgrim, turn'd away + Far from his dwelling--Oh! he never knew, + That there was one who would have follow'd him, + With steady kindness, even to the grave! + + Thou dear, neglected friend! to whom I owe + All that sustains my heart, and makes me think + The gift of life a blessing, Oh! forgive + That in thy sorrows, my forgetful tongue + Spake not of zeal and service; of the debt + Which gratitude was emulous to pay! + I might have trimm'd the dying lamp of hope, + And cheer'd the bitter hours of banishment: + But Oh! my youth was fearful, and I felt + So deep an awe of that unspotted worth + And saint-like gentleness--such a mistrust + Of my own powers to tell him what I wish'd, + That I resisted all my feelings claim'd, + In anguish I resisted; but a spell + Hung o'er me and compell'd me to be mute. + + Methinks I still behold him! tall and fair, + He had a look so tranquil and so mild, + That something holy stole upon the sense + When he appear'd; his language had such power + In converse, that the hearer, as entranced + Sate lingering on to listen; while in song, + Or skill upon the many-stringed harp + Was never heard his equal! Then he knew + All our old ballads, all our father's tales, + All the adventurous deeds of early times, + The punishment of blood or sacrilege, + And the reward of virtue, when it seem'd + Deserted by the world, and left alone, + A prey to scorn, oppression, contumely + And all the ills which make the good despair. + When-e'er we circled round him, one young girl + Was always present, of a nicer ear, + And more refin'd perception than the rest. + Now she was lost in thought, while on her cheek + Lay silent tears--and then that cheek grew pale + In wild amazement--but, when he began + To speak of noble deeds, she rais'd her head, + Bending with looks of mingled awe and love, + And zealous admiration, on the youth, + Alone insensible of all around, + To the soft charm of symmetry and grace, + The smile intelligent, the look benign, + And all the outward raiment of the soul. + Yet, though he saw her not, it was his fate + To have an inward and discerning sense, + Which spake of Lora's gentleness and worth. + He lov'd in her the fondness of his art, + And taught her many wild and simple airs, + Suiting the plaintive tenor of her voice, + Which he would mimic with sweet minstrelsy. + When she was absent, and with strange delight, + Repeat her parting words, her kind adieu, + Or sweetly-spoken promise of return. + + And that return was prompt: she linger'd oft + Till evening wet the ground with heavy dew, + Or came to take her lesson in the morn, + Before her father's anxious eyes unclos'd, + To look upon her beauty with delight, + And soothe the rugged temper of his soul, + By views of future grandeur for his child: + Not thinking that her elegance of mind, + The modest dignity of humble worth + Which fits the low-born peasant to become + A crowned monarch, and to wield with grace + The golden sceptre, had instructed her + To feel no paltry jealousy of power, + No bold aspiring, and no wish beyond + The bounded confines of her present state: + Had counsell'd her, that even mines of wealth, + Could purchase nothing to content the wise, + Esteem or friendship, tenderness or love: + That power at best was but a heavy weight; + If well employ'd, a dubious, unpaid toil, + If ill, a curse, to tempt men to their fate. + + Her cheek had often felt the blush of shame, + At his proud boasting; and her heart had sunk + At the cold arrogance that scorn'd the poor; + But she was fain to turn aside, and weep, + To wring her hands in secret, and to raise + The eye of silent anguish up to heaven; + For though he dearly lov'd her, he would ne'er + Submit to hear a murmur at his will. + Oft with her heart oppress'd, and her blue eyes + Full of unshedden tears, she bent her way + Alone to Osborne's lowly cot, and when + Her faint voice call'd the fond inquiry forth, + Would say, "'tis true, my friends, that I am sad, + Nay sick, with vain repining. O! I wish, + That I were either indigent myself, + Or that I had the power, the blessed power + Of cheering the unhappy! for I want, + By kindness to prevent the act of guilt, + And ward the arrows of incroaching Death, + Who comes, before the time, upon his prey. + Think that there should be means to stay his wrath, + To purchase health, life, comfort, innocence, + And yet those means withholden! + + "O! my heart! + It dies with sorrow! and where most I love, + Sheds all its bitterness; delighting still + To tell the many miseries that flit + At times across me! Those I lightly prize + Partake the sunshine of my happier hours, + Although I seek them with far less delight! + The loud laugh dwells not here, the sportive dance, + The carol of unconscious levity, + And yet how oft, how willingly I come!" + + "Know'st thou not, Lora," cried the youthful sage, + "That there are things the mind must prize above + What captivates the senses! That in them + She feels no interest, and she takes no care! + That though sometimes an alien, she receives + Delighted back the ensigns of her power, + And takes her truant vassals into grace! + That when thou bring'st to us that wounded mind, + The grave of many feelings, language is + As yet too poor to utter, thou canst give + No richer, dearer token of regard." + + "Were man indeed the only hope of man, + I never would reprove thee for thy tears! + But, they are vain! man has a surer trust! + The helpless, weary, miserable wretch, + Left by his fellows in the wilderness, + Shall be supported in that trying hour, + By a right arm, which, in his days of strength, + He did not lean upon! A gracious arm, + Which wounds the sick, and heals them by the stroke. + O! Lora! to the Father of the world, + A Judge so patient and so merciful. + That he refuses not the latest sigh. + Nor suffers sorrow but as means to save, + Canst thou not trust the objects of thy care! + + "Hadst thou the power to help them--it were well, + To be most anxious. To collect thy freight + Of human sorrow, and, by merchandize, + Exchange it for the riches of the world: + For health, for comfort, nay, perchance for life, + That gem of countless value, which sometimes, + Not all the treasures of the East can buy, + Tendered with supplications and with tears, + Is often purchas'd at a petty price, + Nay, in exchange for courtesy. What joy + Must in that moment fill the merchant's heart, + To win a jewel, kings monopolize + The sole disposal of! Be patient then! + This glorious privilege may yet be thine! + Deserve it only by fulfilling all + The gentler duties that have present claims + With cheerfulness and zeal--Let no neglect + Press on thy father's age, no discontent + Sour thee with thy companions, no mistrust + Give pain to friendship, and thy usefulness + Though calm and bounded, has no mean award." + + Thus, like a prophet, did he still enforce + Only the virtues and rare qualities + Congenial with her after destiny; + Yet, not foreseeing evil, he himself + Was unprepared, and when her father led, + Her opposition and entreaty past, + The hapless Lora forth, to promise love + And honour to a man, whose vacant mind, + Throughout a course of long succeeding years, + She vainly strove to soften and to raise, + Though he had taught her patience till that hour, + His own at once forsook him, and he fled. + + She murmur'd not, nor even seem'd to mourn, + But losing all her love of solitude, + Appear'd so active in each new pursuit, + So wholly what her anxious father wish'd, + That he repented not his cruelty. + Believing in her happiness, he felt + Himself the author, and became more proud + Of his own wisdom: yet she often heard + His wayward taunt or querulous complaint, + And, from the lordly partner of her fate, + The harsher sound of ignorant rebuke. + She was a matchless woman, when she lost + The timid graces of retiring youth, + She still was lovely, for her shaded eyes + Beam'd with a lofty sweetness, a content + Beyond the pow'r of fortune to destroy. + Careless of let or hindrance, she went on, + Nor shrunk nor started at the many thorns + Strew'd in her toilsome path; still looking forth + To others' weal, forgetful it would seem, + Perchance in heart despairing of her own. + The friend, the help, the comforter of all, + No voice was heard so cheerful, nor a step + So bounding and so light. 'Twas wonderful! + For I have seen her, when her polish'd arm + Has clasp'd the nurseling, with her face conceal'd + Bent fondly o'er; and I have mark'd each limb + To boast a fine expansion, as if thrill'd + With the deep feelings of maternal love + And aching tenderness, too highly wrought + For happy souls to cherish! they delight + In painless joys, and, on the infant's cheek, + Rounded and glowing with a finer bloom + Than the wild-rose, careless imprint the kiss, + Which sorrow always sanctions by a prayer. + They in the radiance of its glancing eyes + See nothing to suffuse with their own tears! + Borne forward on the easy wing of Time, + They travel on, they scarcely meet with Thought, + Or, like a summer cloud, he passes by, + His shadow rests one instant, and again + The scene is calm and brilliant as before! + + Not so with Lora, trouble, sickness, death, + Were busy with the residue of peace, + When years and care had weaken'd her regrets, + Veil'd the sad recollection of past days, + And overgrown the softness of her mind, + As the close-creeping ivy hides and rusts + The smooth and silver surface of the beech. + An orphan and a widow--she became + Decisive, watchful, prudent, nay severe + To wilful disobedience or neglect; + Though generous where she perceiv'd desert. + She taught her children with unceasing zeal, + Sought knowledge for their sakes, and, more than all, + Anxious, inquisitive about the heart, + Search'd all the motives, all the incidents + In which it was unfolded; fencing still + Each treacherous failing with a double guard, + And oft repeated warnings; well conceal'd, + Or given with so much kindness, that they serv'd + To draw more closely every knot of love. + Nor did she cease to urge her pious cares + By constant vigilance, till riper age + Had fix'd the moral sense, when, as a bow + For a long active season tightly strain'd + Relaxes, tumult and contention o'er, + She sunk into indulgence, glad to yield + To mildness, nature, and herself again. + + Youth, e'en when wise and good, requires a change, + Delights in novelty, and hears of nought + Which suddenly it asks not to behold; + And Lora's children oft assail'd her ear + To let them journey to some rumour'd scene, + Some feast, or village wake, or sprightly dance, + Urging her still to bear them company. + She lov'd to give them pleasure, and one time + (The fav'rite legend of our country folk + Hath oft the tale repeated) as they mix'd + Carelessly in the crowd, remember'd notes + Struck by a harper in a distant tent, + Sweet and soul-piercing as the midnight songs + Which are, they say, the harbingers of death, + Flow'd on her ear--when, with impulsive spring, + As if a magic spell had wing'd her feet, + Fearing the sounds would vanish into air, + And prove delusion ere she reach'd the spot, + She forward rush'd, and soon beheld the friend, + The dear companion of her youth. She seiz'd + The hand that lay upon the quivering chords, + Stopping their melody and resting mute. + The pause was awful--He at length exclaim'd, + In a deep, laboured cry, "Ye heavenly powers! + If Lora lives, the hand I feel is hers!" + She could not speak, but with her other hand + Clasp'd his, and sigh'd and rais'd her eyes to heaven, + When straight the big, round tears began to flow; + "And is it thee, dear Lora! Art thou come + Again to gladden one, who never found + 'Mid countless who are good, a heart like thine! + Oh! speak! that I may know if still my ear + Retains a true remembrance of that voice! + For since, it has not drank so sweet a sound." + + "Hail happy day!" cried Lora, "which restores + The friend whose absence I have mourn'd so long! + For thou, O! Osborne! must with me return, + Me and my children! They shall hear again + Those counsels which inform'd their mother's heart; + Gave courage in the hour of enterprize, + Calmness in danger, patience under ills + That like a swarm of insects buz around, + And vex the spirit which they cannot rouse. + Return, my early, long-lost friend! with us + Thou shalt enjoy repose: our cheerful home + Shall gather round thee many an honest heart + Which knows thy virtues, and will hold thee dear." + + She paus'd, and Osborne joyful gave assent. + Fair hopes of joy engaged his faultering mind, + For long-time had he dragg'd a weary life, + Lone, or bereav'd of relative or friend, + Careful to tend his health, and to divert + His sadness; each succeeding hour had press'd + With its slow-passing wing his gentle head + Drooping and prematurely silver'd o'er, + (Like snows depending on the autumn leaf) + Yet warm, benevolent, serene, resign'd, + And like an angel save in youth and joy. + + A winding path round yonder wooded hill, + Leads to a spot where Nature decks herself + In loveliness and beauty: far below + Spreads the green valley, where a silent stream + Turns, like a serpent writhing in its course; + And, rarified by distance, kissing heaven, + In many noble and fantastic shapes, + A giant range of purple mountains sleeps. + Grand is the scene, and in the centre stands + The tomb of Osborne--after many years + Of happiness and friendship, Lora rais'd + This plain memorial, and her children plac'd + A mother's near, to tell succeeding years + Their talents and their virtue. They themselves + More forcibly express the worth of both, + For they are wise and good, without a shade + Of cold severity or selfish pride. + + * * * * * + + + +REFLECTION. + +August 2, 1798. + + Why should we think the years of life + Will pass serenely by, + When, for a day, the Sun himself + Ne'er sees a cloudless sky! + + And, unassuming as she moves, + The meek-eyed Queen of night, + Meets wand'ring vapours in her path + To dim her paler light! + + Then why should we in vain repine + At man's uncertain lot, + That cares will equally assail + The palace and the cot? + + For Heaven ordains this chequer'd scene + Our mortal pow'rs t' employ; + That we might know, compare, select, + Be grateful, and enjoy. + +[For the last verse I am indebted to the pen of a Friend.] + + * * * * * + + + +RETROSPECT OF YOUTH. + + I wander'd forth amid the flow'rs, + And careless sipp'd the morning air; + Nor hail'd the angel-winged hours, + Nor saw that Happiness was there! + Alas! I often since have wept + That Gratitude unconscious slept! + + For Truth and Pity then were young, + And walk'd in simple, narrow bounds; + Affection's meek, assuasive tongue, + Had sweet, but most capricious sounds. + Once, wild with scornful pride, she fled, + And only turn'd to seek the dead! + + Oh! from a garden of delight, + What fair memento did I bring! + What amaranth of colours bright, + To mark the promise of my spring? + Behold this flow'r! its leaves are wet, + With tears of lasting, vain regret! + + * * * * * + + + +THE DAUGHTER. + +1797. + + "Come, mournful lute! dear echo of my woe! + No stranger's tread in this lone spot I fear, + Sweeter thy notes in such wild places flow, + And, what is more, my Henry cannot hear! + + "He will not know my pain and my despair, + When that dread scene arises on my view, + Where my poor father would not hear my pray'r, + Or grant his only child a last adieu! + + "He will not know that still the hour I mourn, + When death all hopes of pardon snatch'd away; + That still this heart by sad remembrance torn, + Repeats the dreadful mandate of that day. + + "Luckless for him has been my constant love, + Luckless the destiny I bade him brave, + For since a parent did our vows reprove, + Sorrow was all the gift my fondness gave. + + "Then, though I knew my father's stern command, + The short-liv'd conflict of affection o'er, + I offer'd to the youth my dowerless hand, + And fondly reason'd thus on being poor, + + "'Can pomp or splendour elevate the soul, + Brighten the lustre that illumes the eye! + Make the rough stream of life more smoothly roll, + Suppress the tear, or waft away the sigh! + + "'Can happiness a purer joy receive, + In the proud mansions of the rich and great? + Or, tell me, can the wounded bosom heave + With blunted anguish under robes of state! + + "'No! Henry, no! Alas! too well you know, + The misery of an affected smile, + The pain of clearing the thought-clouded brow, + To covet for yourself the hateful toil! + + "'And since my choice, and reason both approve, + Since I have known you many a circling year, + And time has well assur'd me of your love, + Tell me, my Henry, what have I to fear? + + "'My father, though by worldly prudence led, + Will pardon when our happiness is told.' + Alas! no curses fell upon my head, + But never did he more his child behold. + + "He would not, dying, hear my ardent prayer! + But, cruel! said, I leave her all my store; + She wrung my doating heart with deep despair, + And even now perhaps desires no more. + + "This is the stroke which all my peace destroys, + The dagger which no art can draw away, + The thought which every faculty employs, + Withers my bloom, and makes my strength decay. + + "His death, his sorrows are the heavy curse + That hangs above my poor, distracted head! + His dying words have scatter'd vain remorse, + For vain, though bitter, are the tears I shed. + + "And yet my father to my soul was dear, + But tender pity was on Henry's side; + I painted him relenting, not severe, + Nor fancied I could be an orphan bride. + + "Ah me! excuses will not cure my pain! + At least, forgetfulness can little plead. + A widow'd parent!--I deserv'd disdain, + 'Tis fit these eyes should weep, this heart should bleed! + + "But yet assist me heaven! to hide my grief, + My waning health from love's suspicious eyes! + This malady admits of no relief, + And nought augments the pain, but Henry's sighs. + + "Perhaps e'en now he wonders at my stay, + Sees the white fogs of evening rise around, + Comes out to seek me in my devious way, + But turns not to this unfrequented ground. + + "Alas! my love, thy anxious care is vain! + Nothing can stop yon wand'rer of the sky; + Nothing can long this fleeting life retain! + For oh! I feel that I must shortly die. + + "But cease my lute, this low, desponding strain, + It floats too long upon the heavy air; + Henry may pass and know that I complain. + One moment's peace to him is worth my care." + + She said, and toward the cheerless mansion flew, + Her slender, sylph-like form array'd in white, + Not clearly seen amidst surrounding dew, + Seem'd like a spirit ling'ring in its flight. + + Poor Henry, who had watch'd her in the shade, + In aching silence list'ning to her song, + At distance follow'd slowly through the glade, + Pausing forgetful as he pass'd along. + + * * * * * + + + +YOUTH UNSUSPICIOUS OF EVIL. + + O bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r! + And look not up so fresh and bright! + The keen, harsh wind, the heavy show'r, + Will spoil thy beauties ere the night. + + I grieve to see thee look so gay. + And so unconscious of thy lot, + For gloom and tempests wait thy day, + And thou, unhappy, fear'st it not! + + Thy tender leaflets all unfold, + Their colours ripen and refine, + Become most lovely to behold, + And, ah! most apt to shrink and pine. + + Then, bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r! + I grieve to see thee look so gay! + Close thy soft wings against the show'r, + And wait a more auspicious day! + + * * * * * + + + +THE MOTHER. + + "And beats my heart again with joy! + And dances now my spirit light! + The skiff that holds my darling boy + This moment burst upon my sight! + + "Not yet distinctly I perceive + Amid the crew his well-known form, + But still his safety I believe, + I know he has escap'd the storm. + + "I feel as if my heart had wings, + And tender from excess of bliss, + His form, which airy fancy brings, + In fond emotion seem to kiss. + + "Welcome the wild, imperfect rest, + Which these bewilder'd spirits share! + Welcome this tumult of the breast, + After the shudder of despair! + + "My Robert he is brave and strong, + He will these flowing tears reprove. + Alas! how little know the young, + The tremor of a Mother's love. + + "For we are weak from many a care, + From many a sleepless, anxious hour, + When fear and hope the bosom tear, + And ride the brain with fevering power. + + "But lo! he cheerly waves his hand! + I hear his voice! I see his face! + And eager now he springs to land, + To meet a Mother's fond embrace! + + "This failing heart! but joy to me, + If heaven in pity is thy guard; + And of the pangs I feel for thee, + Protection be the dear reward!" + + * * * * * + + + +EDGAR AND ELLEN. + + "Arrest thy steps! On these sad plains, + Fair dame, no farther go! + But listen to the martial strains, + Whose wildness speaks of woe! + + Hark! strife is forward on the field, + I hear the trumpet's bray! + Now spear to spear, and shield to shield, + Decides the dreadful day! + + Unfit for thee, oh! Lady fair! + The scenes where men engage; + Thy gentle spirit could not bear + The fearful battle's rage." + + "I prithee, stranger, let me fly! + Though pallid is my cheek, + The lightning's flash delights my eye, + I love the thunder's break. + + And oft beneath our castle tow'rs, + When tempests rush'd along, + My steady hand has painted flowers, + Or voice has rais'd the song." + + "Oh Lady! that bewilder'd eye + Is red with recent tears; + Already that heart-startling sigh + Proclaims thy anxious fears. + + Then let a stranger's words prevail, + Nor thus in danger roam! + Here many frightful ills assail, + But safety is at home!" + + "No, in some peasant's lowly cot + Perhaps she may abide, + To consecrate the humble spot, + But not where I reside. + + In Hubert's halls, my father's foe, + From childhood have I dwelt, + And for his wily murderer too, + A filial fondness felt. + + Ah me! how often have I press'd + The lips which seal'd his doom! + How oft the cruel hand caress'd + Which sent him to the tomb! + + My nurse reveal'd the dreadful truth, + And, as she told the tale, + A sickly blight pass'd o'er my youth, + And turn'd its roses pale. + + The heavy secret on my heart + Like deadly poison prey'd; + For she forbade me to impart + A word of what she said. + + I, who so blithely sung before, + So peacefully had slept, + Fancied gaunt murder at the door, + And listen'd, shook, and wept. + + No longer with an open smile, + I greeted all around; + My fearful looks were fix'd the while, + In terror on the ground. + + All saw the change, and kindly strove + My sadness to relieve; + Base Hubert feign'd a parent's love, + Which could not see me grieve. + + A painful anger flush'd my cheek, + My lip indignant smil'd, + I cried, "And did he e'er bespeak + Thy friendship for his child?" + + "Ellen! when death was drawing nigh, + Thou wert his only care; + Oh! guard her, Hubert, if I die, + It is my latest prayer. + + To none, dear friend, but thee," he cried, + "Whose love and truth are known, + Could I this precious charge confide, + To cherish, as thy own!" + + I pledg'd my honour, to fulfil + My dearest friend's desire! + And I have ever acted still, + As honour's laws require! + + Thy mind, dear Ellen, is the proof + Of my paternal care, + Since form'd beneath this friendly roof, + So excellent and fair. + + Then why that cloud upon thy brow, + That sullen, fearful sigh! + That something which we must not know, + That cold and altered eye? + + Why must thy proud, suspicious air, + Give every heart a pain? + Why must my son, my Edgar bear + Unmerited disdain?" + + I hung my bead, my fault'ring tongue + In feeble murmurs spoke, + His specious art my bosom wrung, + I shudder'd at his look. + + And thus, bewildered with my woes, + I faint and careless rove; + For oh! I cannot dwell with those + I must no longer love." + + "Fair lady, calm that anxious heart, + And to my voice attend! + Thy father died by Hubert's dart, + And yet he was his friend. + + For Lancaster Sir Philip rose, + And many a Yorkist slew; + Till, singling him amidst his foes, + Lord Hubert's arrow flew. + + But soon we saw the victor stand + Beside, in sorrow drown'd; + And soon Sir Philip took the hand, + Which gave the deadly wound. + + "My friend, unweeting was thy aim, + And is by me forgiv'n, + But oh! one sacred oath I claim, + In sight of men, and heav'n! + + Oh! promise with a father's zeal, + My Ellen to protect! + Nor let her like an orphan feel + Dependence, and neglect! + + And then, almost without regret, + I can my charge resign; + For, during life, I never met + So true a heart as thine." + + Lord Hubert pledg'd his sacred word, + He wept, and, kneeling, swore, + In England ne'er to wield a sword, + Or shoot an arrow more. + + From civil war, whose daily crimes + This island long shall rue, + From all the evil of the times, + In anguish he withdrew. + + I wonder that, by nature bold, + He stoop'd to wear disguise, + Or leave the hapless tale untold, + Which wakens thy surprise! + + Yet the sad shame that fill'd his breast, + May well thy pity crave, + A turtle dove may build her nest + Upon thy father's grave--" + + "Stranger, that warrior from the east, + Who comes with headlong speed, + Is Edgar, Hubert's son, at least, + He rides on Edgar's steed!" + + "Be calm, fair maid! Thou gallant knight, + Who speedest o'er the plain, + Give us some tidings of the fight, + The victor and the slain! + + One moment stay! for many a care + Now fills us with alarm! + Is Edward King? Is Hubert's heir, + Escap'd from death and harm?" + + "The sun of Lancaster is set, + And never more to rise;" + Return'd the knight, "I know not yet + If Edgar lives or dies!" + + And scarce he check'd the flowing rein, + In hurried accents spoke, + And, dull and hollow was the strain + That through the helmet broke. + + "Where is he?" shriek'd fair Ellen forth, + He started at the sound, + And, leaping sudden on the earth, + His armour rang around. + + "Queen of my destiny!" he cried, + "Thy faithful Edgar see! + Whose welfare thou canst best decide, + For it depends on thee! + + I sav'd our youthful Monarch's life, + Whose bounteous hand accords, + A dower to grace the noblest wife + That England's realm affords. + + With thee his splendid gifts I share, + Or soon this youthful head + A solemn monk's dark cowl shall wear, + To love and glory dead. + + Perhaps that tear upon thy cheek + Foretels a milder doom! + Thou wilt again our mansion seek, + Oh! let me lead thee home!" + + +_FINIS._ + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Poems</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Matilda Betham</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 6, 2003 [eBook #9998]<br /> +[Most recently updated: June 24, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***</div> + + <h1>POEMS</h1> + + <h2>BY MATILDA BETHAM.</h2> + <hr /> + + <h4>London:</h4> + + <h4>PRINTED FOR J. HATCHARD, BOOKSELLER TO HER MAJESTY, OPPOSITE ALBANY, + PICCADILLY.</h4> + + <h3>1808.</h3> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h4>TO LADY ROUSE BOUGHTON, AS A TESTIMONY OF RESPECT AND GRATITUDE FOR LONG + CONTINUED FRIENDSHIP, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY HER OBLIGED HUMBLE + SERVANT, MATILDA BETHAM.</h4> + + <h5><i>New Cavendish-street,</i></h5> + + <h5>Feb. 3, 1809.</h5> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h2>ADVERTISEMENT.</h2> + + <p>Before this book was printed, I thoughtlessly concluded there must be a + preface; but, on consideration, see no particular purpose it would answer, + and gladly decline a task I should have undertaken with much timidity and + reluctance. All I feel necessary to premise, is, that the tale in the Old + Shepherd's Recollections is founded on an event which happened in Ireland; + and that last spring I suppressed the song ending in page 65 + <span class="comment">[The Old Man's Farewell]</span>, some time after it had been in + the hands of the composer, from meeting accidentally with a quotation in a + magazine that resembled it.</p> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + <ul> + <li>POEMS.— + + <ul> + <li><a href="#p01">The Old Fisherman</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p02">Lines to Mrs. Radcliffe, on first reading The + Mysteries of Udolpho</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p03">The Heir</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p04">To a Llangollen Rose, the day after it had been + given me by Miss Ponsonby</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p05">L'Homme de l'Ennui</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p06">The Grandfather's Departure</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p07">Reflections occasioned by the Death of + Friends</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p08">To Mrs. T. Fancourt</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p09">To a Young Gentleman</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p10">Fragment</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + + <li>SONGS.— + + <ul> + <li><a href="#p11">"Thrice lovely Babe"</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p12">"What do I love?"</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p13">A Sailor's Song</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p14">Another</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p15">Once more, then farewell!</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p16">Henry, on the Departure of his Wife from + Calcutta</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p17">Sonnet</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p18">On the Regret of Youth</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p19">Elegy on Sophia Graham</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p20">To Miss Rouse Boughton</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p21">To the Same</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p22">To the River which separates itself from the Dee at + Bedkellert</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p23">The Old Man's Farewell</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p24">Song—Distance from the Place of our + Nativity.</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p25">The Old Shepherd's Recollections</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p26">Reflection</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p27">Retrospect of Youth</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p28">The Daughter</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p29">Youth unsuspicious of evil</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p30">The Mother</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p31">Edgar and Ellen</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h2>POEMS.</h2> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p01" id="p01"></a>THE OLD FISHERMAN.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'My bosom is chill'd with the cold,</p> + + <p class="i2">My limbs their lost vigour deplore!</p> + + <p>Alas! to the lonely and old,</p> + + <p class="i2">Hope warbles her promise no more!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Worn out with the length of my way,</p> + + <p class="i2">I must rest me awhile on the beach,</p> + + <p>To feel the salt dash of the spray,</p> + + <p class="i2">If haply so far it may reach.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'As the white-foaming billows arise,</p> + + <p class="i2">I reflect on the days that are past,</p> + + <p>When the pride of my strength could despise</p> + + <p class="i2">The keen-driving force of the blast.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Though the heavens might menace on high,</p> + + <p class="i2">I would still push my vessel from shore;</p> + + <p>At my calling undauntedly ply,</p> + + <p class="i2">And sing as I handled the oar.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'When fortune rewarded my toil,</p> + + <p class="i2">And my nets, deeply-laden, I drew,</p> + + <p>I hurried me home with the spoil,</p> + + <p class="i2">And its inmates rejoic'd at the view.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Though the winds and the waves were perverse,</p> + + <p class="i2">I was sure to be welcom'd with glee;</p> + + <p>My presence the cares would disperse,</p> + + <p class="i2">That were only awaken'd for me.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Whether weary, with toiling in vain,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or gay, from abundant success,</p> + + <p>I heard the same blessing again,—</p> + + <p class="i2">I met the same tender caress:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'I fancied the perils repay'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">That could such affection ensure;</p> + + <p>By fondness and gratitude sway'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">I was eager to dare and endure.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'My cot did each comfort contain,</p> + + <p class="i2">And that gave my bosom delight;</p> + + <p>When drench'd by the winterly rain,</p> + + <p class="i2">I watch'd in my vessel at night.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'But, alas! from the tyrant, Disease,</p> + + <p class="i2">What love or what caution can save!</p> + + <p>A fever, more harsh than the seas,</p> + + <p class="i2">Consign'd my poor wife to the grave.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'My children, so tenderly rear'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">And pining for want of her care,</p> + + <p>Though more by my sorrows endear'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">Could not rescue my heart from despair.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'I tempted the dangers of night,</p> + + <p class="i2">And still labour'd hard at the oar,</p> + + <p>My sufferings appear'd to be light,</p> + + <p class="i2">But I suffer'd with pleasure no more.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'And yet, when some seasons had roll'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">I seem'd to awaken anew;</p> + + <p>My children I lov'd to behold,</p> + + <p class="i2">How tall and how comely they grew.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'My boy became hardy and bold,</p> + + <p class="i2">His spirit was buoyant and free;</p> + + <p>And, as I grew thoughtful and old,</p> + + <p class="i2">Was loud and oppressive to me.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'But the girl, like a bird in the bower,</p> + + <p class="i2">Awaken'd my hope and my pride;</p> + + <p>She won on my heart ev'ry hour,</p> + + <p class="i2">And I could not the preference hide.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'I mark'd the address and the care,</p> + + <p class="i2">The manner endearing and mild,</p> + + <p>Not dreaming those qualities rare</p> + + <p class="i2">Were to murther the peace of my child:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'That grandeur would ever descend</p> + + <p class="i2">To seek for so lowly a bride,</p> + + <p>Or his fair one, a lover pretend,</p> + + <p class="i2">From all she held dear to divide:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'That beauty was priz'd like a gem,</p> + + <p class="i2">Expected to dazzle and shine,</p> + + <p>Whose value the world would contemn,</p> + + <p class="i2">Unless trac'd to some Indian mine:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Alas! hapless girl! had I known</p> + + <p class="i2">Thou hadst learnt to repine at thy lot;</p> + + <p>That splendour and rank were thy own,</p> + + <p class="i2">Thy home and thy father forgot:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'That lore and ambition assail'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">Thou hadst left us, whatever befel!</p> + + <p>My pardon and prayers had prevail'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">I had blest thee, and bade thee farewel!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'With thy husband, from this happy clime,</p> + + <p class="i2">I had seen thee for ever depart!</p> + + <p>Still hoping affection and time</p> + + <p class="i2">Might soften the pride of his heart:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'That a moment perhaps would arise,</p> + + <p class="i2">When, fondling a child on the knee,</p> + + <p>He might read, in its innocent eyes</p> + + <p class="i2">A lesson of pity for me.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'But lips, which till then never said</p> + + <p class="i2">A word to cause any one pain,</p> + + <p>Inform'd me, when reason had fled,</p> + + <p class="i2">Of a conflict it could not sustain.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'And he, who had wish'd to conceal</p> + + <p class="i2">That the woman he lov'd had been poor,</p> + + <p>Began all his folly to feel,</p> + + <p class="i2">When the victim could hearken no more.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Yet still for himself did he mourn,</p> + + <p class="i2">And, indignant, I fled from the view:</p> + + <p>For my wrongs were not easily borne,</p> + + <p class="i2">And my anger was hard to subdue.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'One prop, one sole comfort, remain'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">Who saw me o'erladen with grief,</p> + + <p>Who saw (though I never complain'd)</p> + + <p class="i2">My heart was too sick for relief.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'One, who always attentive and dear,</p> + + <p class="i2">Every effort exerted to please,</p> + + <p>My desolate prospect to cheer,</p> + + <p class="i2">To study my health and my ease.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'For his was each toil and each care,</p> + + <p class="i2">The due observations to keep;</p> + + <p>To sit watching amid the night air,</p> + + <p class="i2">And fancy his father asleep.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Yet, dejected, and sadly forlorn,</p> + + <p class="i2">I dar'd in my heart to repine,—</p> + + <p>To lament that I ever was born,</p> + + <p class="i2">Though such worth and affection were mine.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Alas! I was destin'd to know,</p> + + <p class="i2">However intense my despair,</p> + + <p>I still was reserv'd for a blow,</p> + + <p class="i2">More painful and cruel to bear.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Yes! this only one fell in the main!</p> + + <p class="i2">—I eagerly struggled to save;</p> + + <p>But I strove with the current in vain,</p> + + <p class="i2">And saw him sink under the wave!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'My head was astounded and wild,—</p> + + <p class="i2">Incessant I roam'd on the shore,</p> + + <p>To seek the dead corse of my child,</p> + + <p class="i2">And to weep on his bosom once more.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Seven days undisturb'd was the sky,</p> + + <p class="i2">The eighth was a tempest most drear,</p> + + <p>I saw the huge billow rise high!</p> + + <p class="i2">I saw my lost treasure appear!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Like a dream it seem'd passing away:—</p> + + <p class="i2">I hurried me onward to meet,</p> + + <p>And clasp the inanimate clay,</p> + + <p class="i2">When senseless I sunk at his feet.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'These hands, now enfeebled by time,</p> + + <p class="i2">The last pious offices paid!</p> + + <p>Age sorrow'd o'er youth in its prime,</p> + + <p class="i2">And my boy near his mother was laid.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Now scar'd by the griefs I have known,</p> + + <p class="i2">Wounds, apathy only can heal,</p> + + <p>My joys and my sorrows are flown,</p> + + <p class="i2">For I have forgotten to feel.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'But I know my Creator is just,</p> + + <p class="i2">That his hand will deliver me soon;</p> + + <p>I have learnt to submit and to trust,</p> + + <p class="i2">Though I finish my journey alone.'</p> + </div> + </div> + + <p>Aldborough, September 7, 1800.</p> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p02" id="p02"></a>LINES TO MRS. RADCLIFFE,</h2> + + <h3>ON FIRST READING THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Enchantress! whose transcendant pow'rs,</p> + + <p class="i2">With ease, the massy fabric raise;—</p> + + <p>Beneath whose sway the tempest low'rs,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or lucid stream meänd'ring plays;—</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Accept the tribute of a heart,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which thou hast often made to glow</p> + + <p>With transport, oft with terror start,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or sink at strains of solemn woe!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Invention, like a falcon, tam'd</p> + + <p class="i2">By some expert and daring hand,</p> + + <p>For pride, for strength and fierceness fam'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">Implicit yields to thy command.</p> + + <p>Now mounts aloft in soaring flight,</p> + + <p>Shoots, like a star, beyond the sight;</p> + + <p>Or, in capricious windings borne,</p> + + <p>Mocks our faint hopes of safe return;</p> + + <p>Delights in trackless paths to roam,</p> + + <p>But hears thy call, and hurries home;</p> + + <p>Checks his bold wing when tow'ring free,</p> + + <p>And sails, without a pause, to thee!</p> + + <p>Enchantress, thy behests declare!</p> + + <p>And what thy strong delusions are!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>When spirits in thy circle rise,</p> + + <p class="i2">Gaunt Wonder, panic-struck, and pale,</p> + + <p>Impatient Hope, and dread Surmise,</p> + + <p class="i2">Attendants on the mystic tale!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>How is it, with such vivid hues,</p> + + <p class="i2">A harmonizing softness flows!</p> + + <p>What are the charms that can diffuse,</p> + + <p class="i2">Such grandeur as thy pencil throws!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Say! do the nymphs of classic lore,</p> + + <p class="i2">So simply graceful, light, and fair,</p> + + <p>Forsake their consecrated shore,</p> + + <p class="i2">Their hallow'd groves, and purer air?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Tir'd of the ancient Grecian loom,</p> + + <p class="i2">And smit with Fancy's wayward glance,</p> + + <p>Weave they amid the Gothic gloom,</p> + + <p class="i2">The high-wrought fiction of Romance?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>While the dark Genius of our northern clime,</p> + + <p class="i2">Whose giant limbs the mist of years enshrouds,</p> + + <p>Bursts through the veil which hides his head sublime,</p> + + <p class="i2">And moves majestic through recoiling clouds!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>O yes! they own the wond'rous spell,</p> + + <p class="i2">And to each form their hands divine</p> + + <p>Give, with nice art, the temper'd swell,</p> + + <p class="i2">The chasten'd touch and faultless line!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Each fiction under their command,</p> + + <p class="i2">Assumes an air severely true,</p> + + <p>And, every vision, wildly grand,</p> + + <p class="i2">Life's measur'd pace and modest hue.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Reason and fancy, rival powers!</p> + + <p class="i2">Unite, their RADCLIFFE to befriend;</p> + + <p>To decorate her way with flowers,</p> + + <p class="i2">The minor graces all attend!</p> + </div> + </div> + + <p>This piece, with the exception of a few lines, has appeared in the + Athenaeum.</p> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p03" id="p03"></a>THE HEIR.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>See yon tall stripling! how he droops forlorn!</p> + + <p class="i2">How slow his pace! how spiritless his eye!</p> + + <p>Like a dark cloud in summer's rosy dawn,</p> + + <p class="i2">He saddens pleasure as he passes by.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Long kept in exile by paternal pride,</p> + + <p class="i2">He feels no joy beneath this splendid dome;</p> + + <p>For, till the elder child of promise died,</p> + + <p class="i2">He knew a dearer, though a humbler home.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Then the proud sail was spread! The youth obey'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">Left ev'ry friend, and every scene he knew;</p> + + <p>For ever left the soul-affianc'd maid,</p> + + <p class="i2">Though his heart sicken'd as he said—Adieu;</p> + + <p>And nurses still, with superstitious care,</p> + + <p>The sigh of fond remembrance and despair.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p04" id="p04"></a>TO A LLANGOLLEN ROSE,</h2> + + <h3>THE DAY AFTER IT HAD BEEN GIVEN BY MISS PONSONBY.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Soft blushing flow'r! my bosom grieves,</p> + + <p>To view thy sadly drooping leaves:</p> + + <p>For, while their tender tints decay,</p> + + <p>The rose of Fancy fades away!</p> + + <p>As pilgrims, who, with zealous care,</p> + + <p>Some little treasur'd relic bear,</p> + + <p>To re-assure the doubtful mind,</p> + + <p>When pausing memory looks behind;</p> + + <p>I, from a more enlighten'd shrine,</p> + + <p>Had made this sweet memento mine:</p> + + <p>But, lo! its fainting head reclines;</p> + + <p>It folds the pallid leaf, and pines,</p> + + <p>As mourning the unhappy doom,</p> + + <p>Which tears it from so sweet a home!</p> + </div> + </div> + + <h4>July 22, 1799.</h4> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p05" id="p05"></a>L'HOMME DE L'ENNUI.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Forlornly I wander, forlornly I sigh,</p> + + <p>And droop my head sadly, I cannot tell why:</p> + + <p>When the first breeze of morning blows fresh in my face,</p> + + <p>As the wild-waving walks of our woodlands I trace,</p> + + <p>Reviv'd for the moment I look all around,</p> + + <p>But my eyes soon grow languid, and fix on the ground.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I have yet no misfortune to rob me of rest,</p> + + <p>No love discomposes the peace of my breast;</p> + + <p>Ambition ne'er enter'd the verge of my thought,</p> + + <p>Nor by honours, by wealth, nor by power am I caught;</p> + + <p>Those phantoms of folly disturb not my ease,</p> + + <p>Yet Time is a tortoise, and Life a disease.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>With the blessings of youth and of health on my side,</p> + + <p>A temper untainted by envy or pride;</p> + + <p>No guilt to corrode, and no foes to molest;</p> + + <p>There are many who tell me my station is blest.</p> + + <p>This I cannot dispute; yet without knowing why—</p> + + <p>I feel that my bosom is big with a sigh.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh! why do I see that all knowledge is vain;</p> + + <p>That Science finds Error still keep in her train;</p> + + <p>That Imposture or Darkness, with Doubt and Surmise,</p> + + <p>Will mislead, will perplex, and then baffle the wise,</p> + + <p>Who often, when labours have shorten'd their span,</p> + + <p>Declare—not to know—is the province of man?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>In life, as in learning, our views are confin'd,</p> + + <p>Our discernment too weak to discover the mind,</p> + + <p>Which, subdued and irresolute, keeps out of sight;</p> + + <p>Or if, for a moment, her presence delight,</p> + + <p>Our air is too gross for the stranger to stay;</p> + + <p>And, back to her prison she hurries away!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>If my own narrow precincts I seek to explore,</p> + + <p>My wishes how vain, my attainments how poor!</p> + + <p>Tenacious of virtue, with caution I move;</p> + + <p>I correct, and I wrestle, but cannot approve;</p> + + <p>Till, bewilder'd and faint, I would yield up the rein,</p> + + <p>But I dare not in peace with my errors remain!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>With zeal all awake in the cause of a friend,</p> + + <p>With warmth unrepress'd by my fear to offend,</p> + + <p>With sympathy active in hope or distress,</p> + + <p>How keen and how anxious I cannot express,</p> + + <p>I shrink, lest an eye should my feelings behold,</p> + + <p>And my heart seems insensible, selfish and cold.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I strive to be gay, but my efforts are weak,</p> + + <p>And, sick of existence, for pleasure I seek;</p> + + <p>I mix with the empty, the loud, and the vain,</p> + + <p>Partake of their folly, and double my pain.</p> + + <p>In others I meet with depression and strife;</p> + + <p>Oh! where shall I seek for the music of life?</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p06" id="p06"></a>THE GRANDFATHER'S DEPARTURE.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The Old Man press'd Palemon's hand;</p> + + <p class="i2">To Lucy nodded with a smile;</p> + + <p>Kiss'd all the little ones around;</p> + + <p class="i2">Then clos'd the gate, and paus'd awhile.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"When shall I come again!" he thought,</p> + + <p class="i2">Ere yet the journey had begun;</p> + + <p>It was a tedious length of way,</p> + + <p class="i2">But he beheld an only son.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And dearly did he love to take</p> + + <p class="i2">A rosy grandchild on his knee;</p> + + <p>To part his shining locks, and say,</p> + + <p class="i2">"Just such another boy was he!"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And never felt he greater pride,</p> + + <p class="i2">And never did he look so gay,</p> + + <p>As when the little urchins strove</p> + + <p class="i2">To make him partner in their play.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But when, in some more gentle mood,</p> + + <p class="i2">They silent hung upon his arm,</p> + + <p>Or nestled close at ev'ning pray'r,</p> + + <p class="i2">The old man felt a softer charm;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And upward rais'd his closing eye,</p> + + <p class="i2">Whence slow effus'd a grateful tear,</p> + + <p>As if his senses own'd a joy,</p> + + <p class="i2">Too holy for endurance here.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>No heart e'er pray'd so fervently,</p> + + <p class="i2">Unprompted by an earthly zeal,</p> + + <p>None ever knew such tenderness,</p> + + <p class="i2">That did not true devotion feel.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>As with the pure, uncolour'd flame,</p> + + <p class="i2">The violet's richest blues unite,</p> + + <p>Do our affections soar to heav'n,</p> + + <p class="i2">And rarify and beam with light.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p07" id="p07"></a>REFLECTIONS</h2> + + <h3>OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF FRIENDS.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>My happiness was once a goodly tree,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which promis'd every day to grow more fair,</p> + + <p class="i2">And rear'd its lofty branches in the air,</p> + + <p>In sooth, it was a pleasant sight, to see!</p> + + <p>Amidst, fair honey-suckles crept along,</p> + + <p class="i2">Twin'd round the bark, and hung from every bough,</p> + + <p>While birds, which Fancy held by slender strings,</p> + + <p>Plum'd the dark azure of their shining wings,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or dipp'd them in the silver stream below,</p> + + <p>With many a joyful note, and many a song!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>When lo! a tempest hurtles in the sky!</p> + + <p class="i2">Dark low'r the clouds! the thunders burst around!</p> + + <p>Fiercely the arrowy flakes of lightning fly!</p> + + <p class="i2">While the scar'd songsters leave the quiv'ring bough,</p> + + <p class="i2">The blasted honey-suckles droop below,</p> + + <p>And many noble branches strew the ground!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Though soon the air is calm, the sky serene,</p> + + <p class="i2">Though wide the broad and leafy arms are spread,</p> + + <p>Yet still the scars of recent wounds are seen;</p> + + <p class="i2">Their shelter henceforth seems but insecure;</p> + + <p class="i2">The winged tribes disdain the frequent lure,</p> + + <p>Where many a songster lies benumb'd or dead;</p> + + <p>And when I would the flow'ry tendrils train,</p> + + <p>I find my late delightful labour vain.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Affection thus, once light of heart, and gay,</p> + + <p class="i2">Chasten'd by memory, and, unnerv'd by fear,</p> + + <p class="i2">Shall sadden each endearment with a tear,</p> + + <p>Sorrowing the offices of love shall pay,</p> + + <p>And scarcely dare to think that good her own,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which fate's imperious hand may snatch away,</p> + + <p class="i2">In the warm sunshine of meridian day,</p> + + <p>And when her hopes are full and fairest blown.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p08" id="p08"></a>TO MRS. T. FANCOURT,</h2> + + <h4>July 15, 1803.</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I love not yon gay, painted flower,</p> + + <p class="i2">Of bold and coarsely blended dye,</p> + + <p>But one, whose nicely varied power</p> + + <p class="i2">May long detain the curious eye.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I love the tones that softly rise,</p> + + <p class="i2">And in a fine accordance close;</p> + + <p>That waken no abrupt surprise,</p> + + <p class="i2">Nor leave us to inert repose.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I love the moon's pure, holy light,</p> + + <p class="i2">Pour'd on the calm, sequester'd stream;</p> + + <p>The gale, fresh from the wings of night,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which drinks the early solar beam;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The smile of heaven, when storms subside,</p> + + <p class="i2">When the moist clouds first break away;</p> + + <p>The sober tints of even-tide,</p> + + <p class="i2">Ere yet forgotten by the day.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Such sights, such sounds, my fancy please,</p> + + <p class="i2">And set my wearied spirit free:</p> + + <p>And one who takes delight in these,</p> + + <p class="i2">Can never fail of loving thee!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p09" id="p09"></a>TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN.</h2> + + <h4>July 29th, 1803.</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Dear boy, when you meet with a rose,</p> + + <p class="i2">Admire you the thorns very much?</p> + + <p>Or like you to play with a ball,</p> + + <p class="i2">When the handling it blisters your touch!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Yet should it be firm and compact,</p> + + <p class="i2">It is easy to polish it nice;</p> + + <p>If the rose is both pretty and sweet,</p> + + <p class="i2">The thorns will come off in a trice.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The thistle has still many more,</p> + + <p class="i2">As visible too in our eyes,</p> + + <p>But who will take pains with a weed,</p> + + <p class="i2">That nobody ever can prize?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Tis what we deem precious and rare,</p> + + <p class="i2">We most earnestly seek to amend;</p> + + <p>And anxious attention and care,</p> + + <p class="i2">Is the costliest gift of a friend.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>We all have our follies: what then?</p> + + <p class="i2">Let us note them, and never look bluff!</p> + + <p>Without any caressing at all,</p> + + <p class="i2">They will cling to us closely enough.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Weeds are of such obstinate growth,</p> + + <p class="i2">They elude the most diligent hand;</p> + + <p>And, if they were not to be check'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">Would quickly run over the land.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>If some could be taken away,</p> + + <p class="i2">That hide part of your worth from the view;</p> + + <p>The conquest perhaps would be ours,</p> + + <p class="i2">But the profit is wholly to you.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p10" id="p10"></a>FRAGMENT.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A Pilgrim weary, toil-subdued,</p> + + <p>I reach'd a country, strange and rude,</p> + + <p>And trembled, lest approaching eve</p> + + <p>My hope of shelter might deceive;</p> + + <p>When I espied a hunter train,</p> + + <p>Prowling at leisure o'er the plain,</p> + + <p>And hasten'd on to ask relief,</p> + + <p>Of the ill-omen'd, haughty chief.</p> + + <p>His eye was artful, keen, and bold,</p> + + <p>His smile malevolently cold,</p> + + <p>And had not all my fire been fled,</p> + + <p>And every earthly passion dead,</p> + + <p>His pity to contempt allied,</p> + + <p>Had rous'd my anger and my pride;</p> + + <p>But, as it was, I bent my way,</p> + + <p>Where his secluded mansion lay,</p> + + <p>Which rose before my eyes at length,</p> + + <p>A fortress of determin'd strength,</p> + + <p>And layers of every colour'd moss</p> + + <p>The lofty turrets did emboss,</p> + + <p>As tho' the hand of father Time,</p> + + <p>Prepar'd a sacrifice sublime,—</p> + + <p>Giving his daily rites away,</p> + + <p>To aggrandize some future day.</p> + + <p>Here as I roam'd the walk along,</p> + + <p>I heard a plaintive broken song;</p> + + <p>And ere I to the portal drew,</p> + + <p>An open window caught my view,</p> + + <p>Where a fair dame appear'd in sight,</p> + + <p>Array'd in robes of purest white.</p> + + <p>Large snowy folds confin'd her hair,</p> + + <p>And left a polish'd forehead bare.</p> + + <p>O'er her meek eyes, of deepest blue,</p> + + <p>The sable lash long shadows threw;</p> + + <p>Her cheek was delicately pale,</p> + + <p>And seem'd to tell a piteous tale,</p> + + <p>But o'er her looks such patience stole,</p> + + <p>Such saint-like tenderness of soul,</p> + + <p>That never did my eyes behold,</p> + + <p>A beauty of a lovelier mold.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The Lady sigh'd, and closely prest</p> + + <p>A sleeping infant to her breast;</p> + + <p>Shook off sweet tears of love, and smil'd,</p> + + <p>Kissing the fingers of the child,</p> + + <p>Which round her own unconscious clung,</p> + + <p>Then fondly gaz'd, and softly sung:</p> + </div> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Once like that sea, which ebbs and flows,</p> + + <p>My bosom never knew repose,</p> + + <p>And heavily each morn arose.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I bore with anger and disdain,</p> + + <p>I had no power to break my chain,</p> + + <p>No one to whom I dar'd complain.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And when some bird has caught my eye,</p> + + <p>Or distant sail been flitting by,</p> + + <p>I wish'd I could as freely fly.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But I can now contented be,</p> + + <p>Can tell, dear babe, my griefs to thee.</p> + + <p>And feel more brave, and breathe more free.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And when thy father frowns severe,</p> + + <p>Although my spirit faints with fear,</p> + + <p>I feel I have a comfort near.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And when he harshly speaks to me,</p> + + <p>If thou art smiling on my knee,</p> + + <p>He softens as he looks on thee.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>To soothe him in an evil hour</p> + + <p>The bud has balm, oh! may the flower</p> + + <p>Possess the same prevailing power!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Nor forc'd to leave thy native land,</p> + + <p>To pledge a cold, unwilling hand,</p> + + <p>May'st thou receive the hard command.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>My mother had not half the zeal,</p> + + <p>The aching fondness which I feel,</p> + + <p>She had no broken heart to heal!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And I was friendless when she died,</p> + + <p>Who could my little failings chide,</p> + + <p>And for an hour her fondness hide.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But I can see no prospect ope,</p> + + <p>Can give no fairy vision scope,</p> + + <p>If thou art not the spring of hope.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I cannot thy affection draw,</p> + + <p>By childhood's first admiring awe;</p> + + <p>Be tender pity then thy law!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>This heart would bleed at every vein,</p> + + <p>I could not even life sustain,</p> + + <p>If ever thou should'st give me pain.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>O! soul of sweetness! can it be,</p> + + <p>That thou could'st prove unkind to me!</p> + + <p>That I should fear this blow from thee!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Alas! e'en then I would not blame,</p> + + <p>My love to thee should be the same,</p> + + <p>And judge from whence unkindness came!</p> + </div> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Her words grew indistinct and slow,</p> + + <p>Her voice more tremulous and low,</p> + + <p>When suddenly the song was o'er,</p> + + <p>A whisper even heard no more—</p> + + <p>She had discern'd my nearer tread;</p> + + <p>Appear'd to feel alarm, and fled.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h2>SONGS.</h2> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p11" id="p11"></a>SONG.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Thrice lovely babe! thus hush'd to rest,</p> + + <p>Upon thy warrior father's breast!</p> + + <p>Avails it, that his eyes behold,</p> + + <p>Thy rosy cheeks, thy locks of gold!</p> + + <p>Avails it that he bends his ear,</p> + + <p>So fondly thy soft breath to hear!</p> + + <p>Or, that his rising smiles confess,</p> + + <p>A gracious gleam of tenderness!</p> + + <p>The sweetest spell will scarce have pow'r</p> + + <p>To hold him for one absent hour!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Some plant that ceases thus to share,</p> + + <p>A daily friend's auspicious care,</p> + + <p>Relaxes in its feeble grasp,</p> + + <p>The flow'ry tendrils soon unclasp,</p> + + <p>Loose in the heedless aether play,</p> + + <p>And every idle breeze obey!</p> + + <p>Thus vainly had I sought to bind;</p> + + <p>Thus watch'd that light, forgetful mind,</p> + + <p>Till smiles and sunshine could restore,</p> + + <p>My often-blighted hopes no more!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p12" id="p12"></a>SONG.</h2> + + <h3>SET TO MUSIC BY MR. VOIGHT.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>What do I love? A polish'd mind,</p> + + <p>A temper cheerful, meek, and kind;</p> + + <p>A graceful air, unsway'd by art,</p> + + <p>A voice that sinks into the heart,</p> + + <p>A playful and benignant smile—</p> + + <p>Alas! my heart responds the while,</p> + + <p class="i2">All this, my Emily, is true,</p> + + <p class="i2">But I love more in loving you!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I love those roses when they rise,</p> + + <p>From joy, from anger, or surprise;</p> + + <p>I love the kind, attentive zeal,</p> + + <p>So prompt to know what others feel,</p> + + <p>The mildness which can ne'er reprove,</p> + + <p>But in the sweetest tones of love—</p> + + <p class="i2">All this, my Emily, is true,</p> + + <p class="i2">But I love more in loving you!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The self-command which can sustain,</p> + + <p>In silence, weariness and pain;</p> + + <p>The transport at a friend's success,</p> + + <p>Which has not words or power to bless,</p> + + <p>But, by a sudden, starting tear,</p> + + <p>Appears more precious, more sincere—</p> + + <p class="i2">All this, my Emily, is true,</p> + + <p class="i2">And this I love in loving you!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p13" id="p13"></a>A SAILOR'S SONG.</h2> + + <h3>SET TO MUSIC BY MR. WALSH.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I ponder many a silent hour,</p> + + <p class="i2">On friends belov'd when far at sea,</p> + + <p>And, tell me, have I not the power</p> + + <p class="i2">To draw one kindred thought to me!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The while we linger on the coast,</p> + + <p class="i2">My truant fancy homeward flies,</p> + + <p>And when the view is almost lost,</p> + + <p class="i2">Unmanly tears bedew my eyes—</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And oft forgetful do I stand,</p> + + <p class="i2">Nor crew, nor ship, nor ocean see;</p> + + <p>And often does my heart demand,</p> + + <p class="i2">If friends belov'd thus think on me!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And when to England bound once more,</p> + + <p class="i2">I shall with fond impatience burn,</p> + + <p>Will not some others on the shore</p> + + <p class="i2">As fondly look for my return!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>O! let me of your kindness hear!</p> + + <p class="i2">Repeat the strain as I depart!</p> + + <p>It swells like music on my ear,</p> + + <p class="i2">It falls like balm upon my heart.</p> + </div> + </div> + + <h4>Aug. 21, 1805.</h4> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p14" id="p14"></a>ANOTHER,</h2> + + <h3>WRITTEN EARLIER.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Adieu to old England! adieu to my friends!</p> + + <p class="i2">Though fortune and fame I pursue,</p> + + <p>On thus looking around me, I cannot conceal,</p> + + <p class="i2">How reluctant I bid them adieu!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>My heart sinks within me, I sigh to the gale,</p> + + <p class="i2">Thus slowly receding from shore,</p> + + <p>While fancy still whispers some terrible tale,</p> + + <p class="i2">Ah, perhaps I may see it no more!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>There all that I love, that I value, remain,</p> + + <p class="i2">That only awakens my fears,</p> + + <p>For will the same spot its dear inmates contain,</p> + + <p class="i2">On the lapse of two lingering years?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>They may smile in good fortune, or weep in distress,</p> + + <p class="i2">I shall know not a word of their fate!</p> + + <p>No pain can I soften, no sorrow redress!</p> + + <p class="i2">I may come, when, alas! 'tis too late!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I can fly without fear to encounter the foe,</p> + + <p class="i2">To my earliest wish I am true;</p> + + <p>But I cannot unmov'd quit the friends that I love,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or bid my dear country adieu!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p15" id="p15"></a>SONG.</h2> + + <h3>SET TO MUSIC BY MR. A. PETTIT, OF NORWICH.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Once more then farewell! and whilst I'm away,</p> + + <p class="i2">Oh! let not another entangle thy fancy!</p> + + <p>I shall think upon thee every hour of the day,</p> + + <p class="i2">And let not my love be forgotten by Nancy!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh! were I forsaken, the flow'r in my heart,</p> + + <p class="i2">Would fold all its leaves, and re-open them never!</p> + + <p>The sunshine of joy and of hope would depart,</p> + + <p class="i2">And belief in affection would perish for ever!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>To talk thus is folly! I doubt not thy truth,</p> + + <p class="i2">A few years of absence will quickly pass over,</p> + + <p>I scorn other perils that menace my youth,</p> + + <p class="i2">From that wound, I must own, I could never recover!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p16" id="p16"></a>HENRY,</h2> + + <h3>ON THE DEPARTURE OF HIS WIFE FROM CALCUTTA.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Long is thy passage o'er the main,</p> + + <p class="i2">And native air alone can save!</p> + + <p>No friend thy weakness will sustain,</p> + + <p class="i2">But India is, for thee, a grave!</p> + + <p>Though winds arise, though surges swell,</p> + + <p>Maria, we must say farewell!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh! I bethink me of the time,</p> + + <p class="i2">When with each airy hope in view,</p> + + <p>In triumph to this fervid clime</p> + + <p class="i2">I bore a flowret nurs'd in dew!</p> + + <p>No fears did then my joy reprove,</p> + + <p class="i2">And it was boundless as my love!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Yet now to strangers I consign</p> + + <p class="i2">Thy wounded mind, thy feeble health;</p> + + <p>A charge more dear than life resign,</p> + + <p class="i2">To watch a little worldly wealth.</p> + + <p>Duty compels me to remain</p> + + <p class="i2">But oh! how heavy feels the chain!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>My dear Maria! smile no more?</p> + + <p class="i2">This seeming patience makes me wild!</p> + + <p>So would'st thou once my peace restore,</p> + + <p class="i2">When, mourning for our only child,</p> + + <p>Each faint appeal was lost in air,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or turn'd my sadness to despair.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Alas! I only make thee grieve.</p> + + <p class="i2">And hark! the boat awaits below!</p> + + <p>They call aloud! and I must leave,</p> + + <p class="i2">The tears my folly forc'd to flow.</p> + + <p>Oh! had I but the time to prove,</p> + + <p class="i2">That mine are only fears of love!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p17" id="p17"></a>SONNET.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Urge me no more! nor think, because I seem</p> + + <p>Tame and unsorrowing in the world's rude strife,</p> + + <p>That anguish and resentment have not life</p> + + <p>Within the heart that ye so quiet deem:</p> + + <p>In this forc'd stillness only, I sustain</p> + + <p>My thought and feeling, wearied out with pain!</p> + + <p>Floating as 'twere upon some wild abyss,</p> + + <p>Whence, silent Patience, bending o'er the brink,</p> + + <p>Would rescue them with strong and steady hand,</p> + + <p>And join again, by that connecting link,</p> + + <p>Which now is broken:—O, respect her care!</p> + + <p>Respect her in this fearful self-command!</p> + + <p>No moment teems with greater woe than this,</p> + + <p>Should she but pause, or falter in despair!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p18" id="p18"></a>ON THE REGRET OF YOUTH.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Before a rose is fully blown,</p> + + <p class="i2">The outward leaves announce decay;</p> + + <p>So, ere the spring of Youth is flown,</p> + + <p class="i2">Its tiny pleasures die away;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The gay security we feel,</p> + + <p class="i2">The careless soul's delighted rest,</p> + + <p>That lively hope, that ardent zeal,</p> + + <p class="i2">And smiling sunshine of the breast.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Those simple tints, so bright and clear,</p> + + <p class="i2">No healing dew-drops can restore;</p> + + <p>For joys, which early life endear,</p> + + <p class="i2">Once blighted, can revive no more.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Yet lovely is the full-blown rose,</p> + + <p class="i2">Although its infant graces fly;</p> + + <p>The various opening leaves disclose,</p> + + <p class="i2">A fairer banquet to the eye;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A ruby's beams on drifted snow,</p> + + <p class="i2">Such pure, harmonious blushes shed;</p> + + <p>If distant, cast a tender glow,</p> + + <p class="i2">But near, its own imperial red;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The form assumes a prouder air,</p> + + <p class="i2">And bends more graceful in the gale;</p> + + <p>While, from its cup, of essence rare,</p> + + <p class="i2">A richer hoard of sweets exhale.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Could we again, by fancy led,</p> + + <p class="i2">That bower of swelling leaves confine,</p> + + <p>And round that fine, luxuriant head,</p> + + <p class="i2">The mossy tendrils now entwine,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Over what multitudes of bloom</p> + + <p class="i2">Would a few timid leaflets close!</p> + + <p>What mental joys resign their room,</p> + + <p class="i2">To causeless mirth, and tame repose!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The change to Reason's steady eye,</p> + + <p class="i2">Would neither good nor wise appear;</p> + + <p>And we may lay one precept by,</p> + + <p class="i2">Our discontent is insincere.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p19" id="p19"></a>ELEGY ON SOPHIA GRAHAM,</h2> + + <h3>WHO DIED JAN. 21, 1800.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Sweet is the voice of Friendship to the ear,</p> + + <p class="i2">Sweet is Affection's mildly-beaming eye,</p> + + <p>Sweet the applause which flows from lips sincere,</p> + + <p class="i2">And sweet is Pity's soft responsive sigh!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But now those flowers of life have lost their bloom,</p> + + <p class="i2">Faint all their beauty, cold their healing breath,</p> + + <p>No object fills my eye but yonder tomb,</p> + + <p class="i2">No sound awakes me but the name of death.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>When in the world, I bear a look serene,</p> + + <p class="i2">And veil the gloomy temper of my grief;</p> + + <p>Sick with restraint at evening quit the scene,</p> + + <p class="i2">To find in tears and solitude relief.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Parent of Hope and Fancy! thoughtful Night!</p> + + <p class="i2">Why are these nurselings absent from thy bower,</p> + + <p>While Memory, with sullen, strange delight,</p> + + <p class="i2">Stalks lonely centinel the live-long hour?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>O dear Sophia! could we e'er forget,</p> + + <p class="i2">Such fair endowments and unsullied worth,</p> + + <p>Thy partial friendship calls for our regret,</p> + + <p class="i2">And selfish feeling gives remembrance birth.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>How often when this trembling hand essays</p> + + <p class="i2">Thy lov'd resemblance once again to trace,</p> + + <p>The portrait thought in mimic life arrays</p> + + <p class="i2">With all the sweet expression of thy face;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Art may its symmetry and beauty show,</p> + + <p class="i2">A look, a character, the pencil seize,</p> + + <p>Give to the form where youthful graces glow,</p> + + <p class="i2">An air of pensive dignity and ease,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But warmth of feeling and sensation fine,</p> + + <p class="i2">By mild reserve from common eyes conceal'd,</p> + + <p>The ray of genius and the heart benign,</p> + + <p class="i2">In artless gaiety so oft reveal'd—</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>All these are lost; no looks can now arise,</p> + + <p class="i2">Like those which every little act endear'd,</p> + + <p>Which even in the stranger's careless eyes</p> + + <p class="i2">Like innocence from other worlds appear'd!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oft have I fear'd the breath of foolish praise,</p> + + <p class="i2">Might taint the lily which so humbly grew;</p> + + <p>That flattery's sun might shoot delusive rays,</p> + + <p class="i2">Impede her progress, and distract her view.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But vain the fear—for she remain'd the same,</p> + + <p class="i2">To outward charms indifferent or blind,</p> + + <p>Heedless alike of either praise or blame,</p> + + <p class="i2">If it respected not her heart and mind.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Rich in historic lore, the poet's lyre</p> + + <p class="i2">Had not, though screen'd by time, forsaken hung,</p> + + <p>She felt and studied with a kindred fire,</p> + + <p class="i2">The lofty strain immortal Maro sung.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>She knew—but why essay to trace her thought</p> + + <p class="i2">Through its wide range, describe her blooming youth,</p> + + <p>The heart whose feelings were so finely wrought,</p> + + <p class="i2">Its meek ambition, and its love of truth?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>All that parental-vanity desires,</p> + + <p class="i2">All that the friend can muse upon and mourn,</p> + + <p>All that the lover's ardent vow inspires,</p> + + <p class="i2">In thee, Sophia! from the world was torn!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But still we yield thee to no stranger's care;</p> + + <p class="i2">No unknown foe our tender love bereaves;</p> + + <p>Thou goest the angels' hallow'd bliss to share,</p> + + <p class="i2">A Father thy exalted soul receives!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p20" id="p20"></a>TO MISS ROUSE BOUGHTON,</h2> + + <h3>NOW THE RIGHT HON. LADY ST. JOHN.</h3> + + <h4>Aberystwith, July 5th, 17—</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Louisa, while thy pliant fingers trace</p> + + <p class="i2">The solemn beauties of the prospect round,</p> + + <p>Or, on thy instrument, with touching grace,</p> + + <p class="i2">Awaken all the witcheries of sound:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Mild, as thy manners, do the colours rise,</p> + + <p class="i2">As soft and unobtrusive meet the view;</p> + + <p>And, when the varied notes the ear surprize,</p> + + <p class="i2">We own the harmony as strictly true.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Be thine the praise, alas! a gift how rare!</p> + + <p class="i2">Artless, and unpretending, to excel!</p> + + <p>Forget the envied charm of being fair,</p> + + <p class="i2">To learn the noblest science,—acting well!</p> + + <p>And let no world the seal of truth displace,</p> + + <p>Or spoil the heart's accordance with the face!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p21" id="p21"></a>TO THE SAME,</h2> + + <h3>ON RECEIVING FROM HER A FEW FLOWERS OUT OF A BOUQUET, FROM MELCHBOURNE, + 1807.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Hail! sweet Louisa! o'er these votive flow'rs</p> + + <p class="i2">Friendship and Fancy weave the joyful song,</p> + + <p>Wing with fresh rose-leaves all the train of hours,</p> + + <p class="i2">That in the distant aether float along!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Like those fair flowrets given by thy hand,</p> + + <p class="i2">Like thy own beauty, blooming and serene,</p> + + <p>The vision of thy future life is plann'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">And forms a clear, a bright, and varied scene!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>That countenance so gentle, and so kind,</p> + + <p class="i2">That heart, which never gave a harsh decree,</p> + + <p>Suit all the turns of thy harmonious mind,</p> + + <p class="i2">And must, perforce, with destiny agree.</p> + + <p>This from the Sibyl's leaves affection drew,</p> + + <p class="i2">O, be the omen just! the promise true!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p22" id="p22"></a>TO THE RIVER</h2> + + <h3>WHICH SEPARATES ITSELF FROM THE DEE, AT BEDKELLERT.</h3> + + <h4>July 19, 1799.</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Let others hail the tranquil stream,</p> + + <p class="i2">Whose glassy waters smoothly flow,</p> + + <p>And, in the undulating gleam,</p> + + <p class="i2">Reflect another world below!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The yellow Conway as it raves,</p> + + <p class="i2">Demands my tributary song!</p> + + <p>When, rushing forth, resistless waves</p> + + <p class="i2">O'er rocky fragments foam along!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Like him, whose vigorous mind reviews</p> + + <p class="i2">The troubles which around him roll;</p> + + <p>The ceaseless warfare still pursues,</p> + + <p class="i2">And keeps a firm, undaunted soul.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Though sternly bent by toil and care,</p> + + <p class="i2">The brow hang darkly o'er his eye—</p> + + <p>His features the fix'd meaning wear</p> + + <p class="i2">Of one who knows not how to sigh.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>It is not apathy that reigns,</p> + + <p class="i2">O'erweening arrogance, or pride,</p> + + <p>For, in his warmly-flowing veins,</p> + + <p class="i2">The genial feelings all reside.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>It is the breast-plate fortitude</p> + + <p class="i2">Should still to injury oppose;</p> + + <p>It is the shield with power imbu'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">To blunt the malice of his foes.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And should the savage country round,</p> + + <p class="i2">A more engaging aspect show,</p> + + <p>O Conway! it will then be found,</p> + + <p class="i2">How sweet and clear thy waters flow!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The birds will dip the taper wing—</p> + + <p class="i2">The pilgrim there his thirst assuage,</p> + + <p>The wandering minstrel sit and sing,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or muse upon a distant age!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Bold River! soon within the deep,</p> + + <p class="i2">Each weary strife and conflict o'er,</p> + + <p>Thy venerable waves shall sleep,</p> + + <p class="i2">And feel opposing rocks no more!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p23" id="p23"></a>THE OLD MAN'S FAREWELL.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Farewell, my pilgrim guest, farewell,</p> + + <p class="i2">A few days since thou wert unknown,</p> + + <p>None shall thy future fortunes tell,</p> + + <p class="i2">But sweetly have the moments flown!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And kindness, like the sun on flowers,</p> + + <p class="i2">Soon chas'd away thy tender gloom;</p> + + <p>New-fledg'd the sable-pinion'd hours,</p> + + <p class="i2">And wove bright tints in Fancy's loom.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>We sought no secrets to divine,</p> + + <p class="i2">Neither thy name nor lineage knew,</p> + + <p>Our hearts alone have question'd thine,</p> + + <p class="i2">And found that all was just and true.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Pass not with hasty step, I pray,</p> + + <p class="i2">Across the threshold of my door!</p> + + <p>But pause awhile, with kind delay,</p> + + <p class="i2">We shall behold thy face no more!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Once only in a hundred years,</p> + + <p class="i2">The aloe's precious blossoms swell,</p> + + <p>So, in thy presence it appears,</p> + + <p class="i2">That Time has blossom'd, fare thee well!<a name= + "footnotetag1" id="footnotetag1"></a><a href="#footnote1"><sup>*</sup></a></p> + </div> + </div> + + <p class="footnote"><a name="footnote1" id="footnote1"></a><b>Footnote:</b> + See Preface. <a href="#footnotetag1">(return)</a></p> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p24" id="p24"></a>SONG.</h2> + + <h3>DISTANCE FROM THE PLACE OF OUR NATIVITY.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Since I married Palemon, though happy my lot,</p> + + <p>Though my garden is pleasant, and lightsome my cot,</p> + + <p>Though love's smile, like a sunshine, I constantly see,</p> + + <p>Those blessings are all insufficient for me,</p> + + <p>I repine not at labour, I ask not for gold,</p> + + <p>But I want the sweet eyes of my friends to behold.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>With Palemon I think o'er the world I could roam,</p> + + <p>Though he liv'd in a desert, would make it my home.</p> + + <p>From him no allurements his Lucy could bribe,</p> + + <p>And, though timid, no dangers, no menaces drive.</p> + + <p>But the heart that can love with devotion so true,</p> + + <p>Is not cold or forgetful, my parents, to you!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh idle declaimers! how is it ye say,</p> + + <p>That affection and tenderness fade and decay?</p> + + <p>Though so easily pain'd, they endure like a gem,</p> + + <p>And the heart and the mind imbibe colour from them!</p> + + <p>In affliction they brighten, in absence refine,</p> + + <p>And are causes of sorrow too sweet to resign.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p25" id="p25"></a>THE OLD SHEPHERD'S RECOLLECTIONS.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Low, heavy clouds are hanging on the hills,</p> + + <p>And half-impatient of the sun's approach,</p> + + <p>Shake sullenly their cold and languid wings!</p> + + <p>Oh! it is fine to see his morning beams</p> + + <p>Burst on the gloom, while, in disorder'd flight,</p> + + <p>The shuddering, mournful vapours steal away;</p> + + <p>Like the tenacious spirit of a man,</p> + + <p>Shrinking from the loud voice of cheerfulness,</p> + + <p>When it breaks in, so sadly out of tune,</p> + + <p>Upon his quiet musing, and dispels</p> + + <p>The waking dream of a dejected heart:</p> + + <p>The dream I cherish in this solitude,</p> + + <p>In all the wanderings of my little flock,</p> + + <p>That which beguiles my loneliness, and takes</p> + + <p>Its charm and change from the surrounding scene.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh! how unwelcome often are to me</p> + + <p>The gayest, most exhilarating sounds!</p> + + <p>When slow and sickly Memory, tempted forth</p> + + <p>By dint of soft persuasion, brings to light</p> + + <p>His treasures—and, with childish eagerness,</p> + + <p>Arranges and collects—then suddenly</p> + + <p>To have him startled by discordance, drag,</p> + + <p>Without discrimination, all away—</p> + + <p>And with them leap to his deep hollow cave—</p> + + <p>Not easily to be withdrawn again,</p> + + <p>Grieves one who loves to think of other times,</p> + + <p>To talk with those long silent in the grave,</p> + + <p>And pass from childhood to old age again.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Behold this stony rock! whose rifted crest,</p> + + <p>Lets the rough, roaring torrent force a way,</p> + + <p>And, foaming, pour its waters on the vale!</p> + + <p>Behold them tumbling from their dizzy height,</p> + + <p>Like clouds, of more than snowy whiteness, thrown</p> + + <p>Precipitate from heav'n, which, as they fall,</p> + + <p>Diffuse a mist, in form of glory, round!</p> + + <p>This was my darling haunt a long time past!</p> + + <p>Here, when a boy, in pleasing awe, I sate,</p> + + <p>Wistfully silent, with uplifted eye,</p> + + <p>And heart attun'd to the sad, lulling sound</p> + + <p>They made descending. Far below my feet,</p> + + <p>Near where yon little, ruin'd cottage lies,</p> + + <p>Oft, at the pensive hour of even-tide</p> + + <p>I saw young Osborne bearing on his harp,</p> + + <p>And, trusting to an aged mother's care,</p> + + <p>His darkling steps: Beneath that falling beech,</p> + + <p>Whose wide-spread branches touch the water's edge,</p> + + <p>He lov'd to sit, and feel the freshen'd gale</p> + + <p>Breathe cool upon him. <span class="caesura">Then that falling + beech</span></p> + + <p>Was a young, graceful tree; which, starting up,</p> + + <p>Amid the looser fragments of the rock,</p> + + <p>Rear'd boldly in the air its lofty head,</p> + + <p>While, struggling with the stone, the nervous roots</p> + + <p>Pursued their own direction, elbowing out,</p> + + <p>Their flinty neighbour; who, o'erspread with moss,</p> + + <p>Of varied hues, and deck'd with flow'ring heath,</p> + + <p>That from each fissure hung luxuriant down,</p> + + <p>Became a seat, where, king of all the scene,</p> + + <p>The harper sate, and, in sweet melodies,</p> + + <p>Now like the lark rejoicing at the dawn,</p> + + <p>Now soothing as the nightingale's sad note,</p> + + <p>Hail'd the departing sun, whose golden rays</p> + + <p>Glitter'd upon the surface of the wave,</p> + + <p>And, as a child upon its mother's arm</p> + + <p>Seeks to delay the coming hour of rest,</p> + + <p>Till sudden slumbers steal upon his smiles</p> + + <p>And veil him in a dream of love and joy,</p> + + <p>He seem'd reluctant to withdraw his beams;</p> + + <p>And, rich in roseate beauty, for awhile</p> + + <p>Kept the green waves beneath his glowing head.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Kind, gentle Osborne! half a century</p> + + <p>Has silver'd o'er the crisp and yellow locks</p> + + <p>Of thy young auditor, but memory still</p> + + <p>Grasps the torn record of my weary life.</p> + + <p>And finds full many a page to tell of thee!</p> + + <p>Oh! ye who have a friend ye truly love,</p> + + <p>One whom your hearts can trust, whose excellence</p> + + <p>Was not obtruded boastingly to view,</p> + + <p>But time and happy circumstance reveal'd,</p> + + <p>Rays of quick light upon a diamond</p> + + <p>Which else had lain unnotic'd in the waste!</p> + + <p>Oh! hasten! hasten speedily to pay</p> + + <p>Each debt of fond affection! lock not up</p> + + <p>So cautiously the tribute due to worth!</p> + + <p>Nor let reserve, as I have often done,</p> + + <p>Enslave the sweetest feelings of the soul!</p> + + <p>And hang around them like an envious mist,</p> + + <p>O'er the bright radiance of the morning star,</p> + + <p>Leaving us nothing but a spot of light</p> + + <p>Bereav'd of all its lustre! For my friend,</p> + + <p>He never knew that there was one on earth,</p> + + <p>After a parent felt the touch of death,</p> + + <p>And Love, a weeping pilgrim, turn'd away</p> + + <p>Far from his dwelling—Oh! he never knew,</p> + + <p>That there was one who would have follow'd him,</p> + + <p>With steady kindness, even to the grave!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Thou dear, neglected friend! to whom I owe</p> + + <p>All that sustains my heart, and makes me think</p> + + <p>The gift of life a blessing, Oh! forgive</p> + + <p>That in thy sorrows, my forgetful tongue</p> + + <p>Spake not of zeal and service; of the debt</p> + + <p>Which gratitude was emulous to pay!</p> + + <p>I might have trimm'd the dying lamp of hope,</p> + + <p>And cheer'd the bitter hours of banishment:</p> + + <p>But Oh! my youth was fearful, and I felt</p> + + <p>So deep an awe of that unspotted worth</p> + + <p>And saint-like gentleness—such a mistrust</p> + + <p>Of my own powers to tell him what I wish'd,</p> + + <p>That I resisted all my feelings claim'd,</p> + + <p>In anguish I resisted; but a spell</p> + + <p>Hung o'er me and compell'd me to be mute.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Methinks I still behold him! tall and fair,</p> + + <p>He had a look so tranquil and so mild,</p> + + <p>That something holy stole upon the sense</p> + + <p>When he appear'd; his language had such power</p> + + <p>In converse, that the hearer, as entranced</p> + + <p>Sate lingering on to listen; while in song,</p> + + <p>Or skill upon the many-stringed harp</p> + + <p>Was never heard his equal! Then he knew</p> + + <p>All our old ballads, all our father's tales,</p> + + <p>All the adventurous deeds of early times,</p> + + <p>The punishment of blood or sacrilege,</p> + + <p>And the reward of virtue, when it seem'd</p> + + <p>Deserted by the world, and left alone,</p> + + <p>A prey to scorn, oppression, contumely</p> + + <p>And all the ills which make the good despair.</p> + + <p>When-e'er we circled round him, one young girl</p> + + <p>Was always present, of a nicer ear,</p> + + <p>And more refin'd perception than the rest.</p> + + <p>Now she was lost in thought, while on her cheek</p> + + <p>Lay silent tears—and then that cheek grew pale</p> + + <p>In wild amazement—but, when he began</p> + + <p>To speak of noble deeds, she rais'd her head,</p> + + <p>Bending with looks of mingled awe and love,</p> + + <p>And zealous admiration, on the youth,</p> + + <p>Alone insensible of all around,</p> + + <p>To the soft charm of symmetry and grace,</p> + + <p>The smile intelligent, the look benign,</p> + + <p>And all the outward raiment of the soul.</p> + + <p>Yet, though he saw her not, it was his fate</p> + + <p>To have an inward and discerning sense,</p> + + <p>Which spake of Lora's gentleness and worth.</p> + + <p>He lov'd in her the fondness of his art,</p> + + <p>And taught her many wild and simple airs,</p> + + <p>Suiting the plaintive tenor of her voice,</p> + + <p>Which he would mimic with sweet minstrelsy.</p> + + <p>When she was absent, and with strange delight,</p> + + <p>Repeat her parting words, her kind adieu,</p> + + <p>Or sweetly-spoken promise of return.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And that return was prompt: she linger'd oft</p> + + <p>Till evening wet the ground with heavy dew,</p> + + <p>Or came to take her lesson in the morn,</p> + + <p>Before her father's anxious eyes unclos'd,</p> + + <p>To look upon her beauty with delight,</p> + + <p>And soothe the rugged temper of his soul,</p> + + <p>By views of future grandeur for his child:</p> + + <p>Not thinking that her elegance of mind,</p> + + <p>The modest dignity of humble worth</p> + + <p>Which fits the low-born peasant to become</p> + + <p>A crowned monarch, and to wield with grace</p> + + <p>The golden sceptre, had instructed her</p> + + <p>To feel no paltry jealousy of power,</p> + + <p>No bold aspiring, and no wish beyond</p> + + <p>The bounded confines of her present state:</p> + + <p>Had counsell'd her, that even mines of wealth,</p> + + <p>Could purchase nothing to content the wise,</p> + + <p>Esteem or friendship, tenderness or love:</p> + + <p>That power at best was but a heavy weight;</p> + + <p>If well employ'd, a dubious, unpaid toil,</p> + + <p>If ill, a curse, to tempt men to their fate.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Her cheek had often felt the blush of shame,</p> + + <p>At his proud boasting; and her heart had sunk</p> + + <p>At the cold arrogance that scorn'd the poor;</p> + + <p>But she was fain to turn aside, and weep,</p> + + <p>To wring her hands in secret, and to raise</p> + + <p>The eye of silent anguish up to heaven;</p> + + <p>For though he dearly lov'd her, he would ne'er</p> + + <p>Submit to hear a murmur at his will.</p> + + <p>Oft with her heart oppress'd, and her blue eyes</p> + + <p>Full of unshedden tears, she bent her way</p> + + <p>Alone to Osborne's lowly cot, and when</p> + + <p>Her faint voice call'd the fond inquiry forth,</p> + + <p>Would say, "'tis true, my friends, that I am sad,</p> + + <p>Nay sick, with vain repining. O! I wish,</p> + + <p>That I were either indigent myself,</p> + + <p>Or that I had the power, the blessed power</p> + + <p>Of cheering the unhappy! for I want,</p> + + <p>By kindness to prevent the act of guilt,</p> + + <p>And ward the arrows of incroaching Death,</p> + + <p>Who comes, before the time, upon his prey.</p> + + <p>Think that there should be means to stay his wrath,</p> + + <p>To purchase health, life, comfort, innocence,</p> + + <p>And yet those means withholden! <span class="caesura">"O! my + heart!</span></p> + + <p>It dies with sorrow! and where most I love,</p> + + <p>Sheds all its bitterness; delighting still</p> + + <p>To tell the many miseries that flit</p> + + <p>At times across me! Those I lightly prize</p> + + <p>Partake the sunshine of my happier hours,</p> + + <p>Although I seek them with far less delight!</p> + + <p>The loud laugh dwells not here, the sportive dance,</p> + + <p>The carol of unconscious levity,</p> + + <p>And yet how oft, how willingly I come!"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Know'st thou not, Lora," cried the youthful sage,</p> + + <p>"That there are things the mind must prize above</p> + + <p>What captivates the senses! That in them</p> + + <p>She feels no interest, and she takes no care!</p> + + <p>That though sometimes an alien, she receives</p> + + <p>Delighted back the ensigns of her power,</p> + + <p>And takes her truant vassals into grace!</p> + + <p>That when thou bring'st to us that wounded mind,</p> + + <p>The grave of many feelings, language is</p> + + <p>As yet too poor to utter, thou canst give</p> + + <p>No richer, dearer token of regard."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Were man indeed the only hope of man,</p> + + <p>I never would reprove thee for thy tears!</p> + + <p>But, they are vain! man has a surer trust!</p> + + <p>The helpless, weary, miserable wretch,</p> + + <p>Left by his fellows in the wilderness,</p> + + <p>Shall be supported in that trying hour,</p> + + <p>By a right arm, which, in his days of strength,</p> + + <p>He did not lean upon! A gracious arm,</p> + + <p>Which wounds the sick, and heals them by the stroke.</p> + + <p>O! Lora! to the Father of the world,</p> + + <p>A Judge so patient and so merciful.</p> + + <p>That he refuses not the latest sigh.</p> + + <p>Nor suffers sorrow but as means to save,</p> + + <p>Canst thou not trust the objects of thy care!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Hadst thou the power to help them—it were well,</p> + + <p>To be most anxious. To collect thy freight</p> + + <p>Of human sorrow, and, by merchandize,</p> + + <p>Exchange it for the riches of the world:</p> + + <p>For health, for comfort, nay, perchance for life,</p> + + <p>That gem of countless value, which sometimes,</p> + + <p>Not all the treasures of the East can buy,</p> + + <p>Tendered with supplications and with tears,</p> + + <p>Is often purchas'd at a petty price,</p> + + <p>Nay, in exchange for courtesy. What joy</p> + + <p>Must in that moment fill the merchant's heart,</p> + + <p>To win a jewel, kings monopolize</p> + + <p>The sole disposal of! Be patient then!</p> + + <p>This glorious privilege may yet be thine!</p> + + <p>Deserve it only by fulfilling all</p> + + <p>The gentler duties that have present claims</p> + + <p>With cheerfulness and zeal—Let no neglect</p> + + <p>Press on thy father's age, no discontent</p> + + <p>Sour thee with thy companions, no mistrust</p> + + <p>Give pain to friendship, and thy usefulness</p> + + <p>Though calm and bounded, has no mean award."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Thus, like a prophet, did he still enforce</p> + + <p>Only the virtues and rare qualities</p> + + <p>Congenial with her after destiny;</p> + + <p>Yet, not foreseeing evil, he himself</p> + + <p>Was unprepared, and when her father led,</p> + + <p>Her opposition and entreaty past,</p> + + <p>The hapless Lora forth, to promise love</p> + + <p>And honour to a man, whose vacant mind,</p> + + <p>Throughout a course of long succeeding years,</p> + + <p>She vainly strove to soften and to raise,</p> + + <p>Though he had taught her patience till that hour,</p> + + <p>His own at once forsook him, and he fled.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>She murmur'd not, nor even seem'd to mourn,</p> + + <p>But losing all her love of solitude,</p> + + <p>Appear'd so active in each new pursuit,</p> + + <p>So wholly what her anxious father wish'd,</p> + + <p>That he repented not his cruelty.</p> + + <p>Believing in her happiness, he felt</p> + + <p>Himself the author, and became more proud</p> + + <p>Of his own wisdom: yet she often heard</p> + + <p>His wayward taunt or querulous complaint,</p> + + <p>And, from the lordly partner of her fate,</p> + + <p>The harsher sound of ignorant rebuke.</p> + + <p>She was a matchless woman, when she lost</p> + + <p>The timid graces of retiring youth,</p> + + <p>She still was lovely, for her shaded eyes</p> + + <p>Beam'd with a lofty sweetness, a content</p> + + <p>Beyond the pow'r of fortune to destroy.</p> + + <p>Careless of let or hindrance, she went on,</p> + + <p>Nor shrunk nor started at the many thorns</p> + + <p>Strew'd in her toilsome path; still looking forth</p> + + <p>To others' weal, forgetful it would seem,</p> + + <p>Perchance in heart despairing of her own.</p> + + <p>The friend, the help, the comforter of all,</p> + + <p>No voice was heard so cheerful, nor a step</p> + + <p>So bounding and so light. 'Twas wonderful!</p> + + <p>For I have seen her, when her polish'd arm</p> + + <p>Has clasp'd the nurseling, with her face conceal'd</p> + + <p>Bent fondly o'er; and I have mark'd each limb</p> + + <p>To boast a fine expansion, as if thrill'd</p> + + <p>With the deep feelings of maternal love</p> + + <p>And aching tenderness, too highly wrought</p> + + <p>For happy souls to cherish! they delight</p> + + <p>In painless joys, and, on the infant's cheek,</p> + + <p>Rounded and glowing with a finer bloom</p> + + <p>Than the wild-rose, careless imprint the kiss,</p> + + <p>Which sorrow always sanctions by a prayer.</p> + + <p>They in the radiance of its glancing eyes</p> + + <p>See nothing to suffuse with their own tears!</p> + + <p>Borne forward on the easy wing of Time,</p> + + <p>They travel on, they scarcely meet with Thought,</p> + + <p>Or, like a summer cloud, he passes by,</p> + + <p>His shadow rests one instant, and again</p> + + <p>The scene is calm and brilliant as before!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Not so with Lora, trouble, sickness, death,</p> + + <p>Were busy with the residue of peace,</p> + + <p>When years and care had weaken'd her regrets,</p> + + <p>Veil'd the sad recollection of past days,</p> + + <p>And overgrown the softness of her mind,</p> + + <p>As the close-creeping ivy hides and rusts</p> + + <p>The smooth and silver surface of the beech.</p> + + <p>An orphan and a widow—she became</p> + + <p>Decisive, watchful, prudent, nay severe</p> + + <p>To wilful disobedience or neglect;</p> + + <p>Though generous where she perceiv'd desert.</p> + + <p>She taught her children with unceasing zeal,</p> + + <p>Sought knowledge for their sakes, and, more than all,</p> + + <p>Anxious, inquisitive about the heart,</p> + + <p>Search'd all the motives, all the incidents</p> + + <p>In which it was unfolded; fencing still</p> + + <p>Each treacherous failing with a double guard,</p> + + <p>And oft repeated warnings; well conceal'd,</p> + + <p>Or given with so much kindness, that they serv'd</p> + + <p>To draw more closely every knot of love.</p> + + <p>Nor did she cease to urge her pious cares</p> + + <p>By constant vigilance, till riper age</p> + + <p>Had fix'd the moral sense, when, as a bow</p> + + <p>For a long active season tightly strain'd</p> + + <p>Relaxes, tumult and contention o'er,</p> + + <p>She sunk into indulgence, glad to yield</p> + + <p>To mildness, nature, and herself again.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Youth, e'en when wise and good, requires a change,</p> + + <p>Delights in novelty, and hears of nought</p> + + <p>Which suddenly it asks not to behold;</p> + + <p>And Lora's children oft assail'd her ear</p> + + <p>To let them journey to some rumour'd scene,</p> + + <p>Some feast, or village wake, or sprightly dance,</p> + + <p>Urging her still to bear them company.</p> + + <p>She lov'd to give them pleasure, and one time</p> + + <p>(The fav'rite legend of our country folk</p> + + <p>Hath oft the tale repeated) as they mix'd</p> + + <p>Carelessly in the crowd, remember'd notes</p> + + <p>Struck by a harper in a distant tent,</p> + + <p>Sweet and soul-piercing as the midnight songs</p> + + <p>Which are, they say, the harbingers of death,</p> + + <p>Flow'd on her ear—when, with impulsive spring,</p> + + <p>As if a magic spell had wing'd her feet,</p> + + <p>Fearing the sounds would vanish into air,</p> + + <p>And prove delusion ere she reach'd the spot,</p> + + <p>She forward rush'd, and soon beheld the friend,</p> + + <p>The dear companion of her youth. She seiz'd</p> + + <p>The hand that lay upon the quivering chords,</p> + + <p>Stopping their melody and resting mute.</p> + + <p>The pause was awful—He at length exclaim'd,</p> + + <p>In a deep, laboured cry, "Ye heavenly powers!</p> + + <p>If Lora lives, the hand I feel is hers!"</p> + + <p>She could not speak, but with her other hand</p> + + <p>Clasp'd his, and sigh'd and rais'd her eyes to heaven,</p> + + <p>When straight the big, round tears began to flow;</p> + + <p>"And is it thee, dear Lora! Art thou come</p> + + <p>Again to gladden one, who never found</p> + + <p>'Mid countless who are good, a heart like thine!</p> + + <p>Oh! speak! that I may know if still my ear</p> + + <p>Retains a true remembrance of that voice!</p> + + <p>For since, it has not drank so sweet a sound."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Hail happy day!" cried Lora, "which restores</p> + + <p>The friend whose absence I have mourn'd so long!</p> + + <p>For thou, O! Osborne! must with me return,</p> + + <p>Me and my children! They shall hear again</p> + + <p>Those counsels which inform'd their mother's heart;</p> + + <p>Gave courage in the hour of enterprize,</p> + + <p>Calmness in danger, patience under ills</p> + + <p>That like a swarm of insects buz around,</p> + + <p>And vex the spirit which they cannot rouse.</p> + + <p>Return, my early, long-lost friend! with us</p> + + <p>Thou shalt enjoy repose: our cheerful home</p> + + <p>Shall gather round thee many an honest heart</p> + + <p>Which knows thy virtues, and will hold thee dear."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>She paus'd, and Osborne joyful gave assent.</p> + + <p>Fair hopes of joy engaged his faultering mind,</p> + + <p>For long-time had he dragg'd a weary life,</p> + + <p>Lone, or bereav'd of relative or friend,</p> + + <p>Careful to tend his health, and to divert</p> + + <p>His sadness; each succeeding hour had press'd</p> + + <p>With its slow-passing wing his gentle head</p> + + <p>Drooping and prematurely silver'd o'er,</p> + + <p>(Like snows depending on the autumn leaf)</p> + + <p>Yet warm, benevolent, serene, resign'd,</p> + + <p>And like an angel save in youth and joy.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A winding path round yonder wooded hill,</p> + + <p>Leads to a spot where Nature decks herself</p> + + <p>In loveliness and beauty: far below</p> + + <p>Spreads the green valley, where a silent stream</p> + + <p>Turns, like a serpent writhing in its course;</p> + + <p>And, rarified by distance, kissing heaven,</p> + + <p>In many noble and fantastic shapes,</p> + + <p>A giant range of purple mountains sleeps.</p> + + <p>Grand is the scene, and in the centre stands</p> + + <p>The tomb of Osborne—after many years</p> + + <p>Of happiness and friendship, Lora rais'd</p> + + <p>This plain memorial, and her children plac'd</p> + + <p>A mother's near, to tell succeeding years</p> + + <p>Their talents and their virtue. They themselves</p> + + <p>More forcibly express the worth of both,</p> + + <p>For they are wise and good, without a shade</p> + + <p>Of cold severity or selfish pride.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p26" id="p26"></a>REFLECTION.</h2> + + <h4>August 2, 1798.</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Why should we think the years of life</p> + + <p class="i2">Will pass serenely by,</p> + + <p>When, for a day, the Sun himself</p> + + <p class="i2">Ne'er sees a cloudless sky!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And, unassuming as she moves,</p> + + <p class="i2">The meek-eyed Queen of night,</p> + + <p>Meets wand'ring vapours in her path</p> + + <p class="i2">To dim her paler light!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Then why should we in vain repine</p> + + <p class="i2">At man's uncertain lot,</p> + + <p>That cares will equally assail</p> + + <p class="i2">The palace and the cot?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>For Heaven ordains this chequer'd scene</p> + + <p class="i2">Our mortal pow'rs t' employ;</p> + + <p>That we might know, compare, select,</p> + + <p class="i2">Be grateful, and enjoy.</p> + </div> + </div> + + <p>[For the last verse I am indebted to the pen of a Friend.]</p> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p27" id="p27"></a>RETROSPECT OF YOUTH.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I wander'd forth amid the flow'rs,</p> + + <p class="i2">And careless sipp'd the morning air;</p> + + <p>Nor hail'd the angel-winged hours,</p> + + <p class="i2">Nor saw that Happiness was there!</p> + + <p>Alas! I often since have wept</p> + + <p>That Gratitude unconscious slept!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>For Truth and Pity then were young,</p> + + <p class="i2">And walk'd in simple, narrow bounds;</p> + + <p>Affection's meek, assuasive tongue,</p> + + <p class="i2">Had sweet, but most capricious sounds.</p> + + <p>Once, wild with scornful pride, she fled,</p> + + <p>And only turn'd to seek the dead!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh! from a garden of delight,</p> + + <p class="i2">What fair memento did I bring!</p> + + <p>What amaranth of colours bright,</p> + + <p class="i2">To mark the promise of my spring?</p> + + <p>Behold this flow'r! its leaves are wet,</p> + + <p>With tears of lasting, vain regret!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p28" id="p28"></a>THE DAUGHTER.</h2> + + <h4>1797.</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Come, mournful lute! dear echo of my woe!</p> + + <p class="i2">No stranger's tread in this lone spot I fear,</p> + + <p>Sweeter thy notes in such wild places flow,</p> + + <p class="i2">And, what is more, my Henry cannot hear!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"He will not know my pain and my despair,</p> + + <p class="i2">When that dread scene arises on my view,</p> + + <p>Where my poor father would not hear my pray'r,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or grant his only child a last adieu!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"He will not know that still the hour I mourn,</p> + + <p class="i2">When death all hopes of pardon snatch'd away;</p> + + <p>That still this heart by sad remembrance torn,</p> + + <p class="i2">Repeats the dreadful mandate of that day.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Luckless for him has been my constant love,</p> + + <p class="i2">Luckless the destiny I bade him brave,</p> + + <p>For since a parent did our vows reprove,</p> + + <p class="i2">Sorrow was all the gift my fondness gave.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Then, though I knew my father's stern command,</p> + + <p class="i2">The short-liv'd conflict of affection o'er,</p> + + <p>I offer'd to the youth my dowerless hand,</p> + + <p class="i2">And fondly reason'd thus on being poor,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"'Can pomp or splendour elevate the soul,</p> + + <p class="i2">Brighten the lustre that illumes the eye!</p> + + <p>Make the rough stream of life more smoothly roll,</p> + + <p class="i2">Suppress the tear, or waft away the sigh!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"'Can happiness a purer joy receive,</p> + + <p class="i2">In the proud mansions of the rich and great?</p> + + <p>Or, tell me, can the wounded bosom heave</p> + + <p class="i2">With blunted anguish under robes of state!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"'No! Henry, no! Alas! too well you know,</p> + + <p class="i2">The misery of an affected smile,</p> + + <p>The pain of clearing the thought-clouded brow,</p> + + <p class="i2">To covet for yourself the hateful toil!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"'And since my choice, and reason both approve,</p> + + <p class="i2">Since I have known you many a circling year,</p> + + <p>And time has well assur'd me of your love,</p> + + <p class="i2">Tell me, my Henry, what have I to fear?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"'My father, though by worldly prudence led,</p> + + <p class="i2">Will pardon when our happiness is told.'</p> + + <p>Alas! no curses fell upon my head,</p> + + <p class="i2">But never did he more his child behold.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"He would not, dying, hear my ardent prayer!</p> + + <p class="i2">But, cruel! said, I leave her all my store;</p> + + <p>She wrung my doating heart with deep despair,</p> + + <p class="i2">And even now perhaps desires no more.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"This is the stroke which all my peace destroys,</p> + + <p class="i2">The dagger which no art can draw away,</p> + + <p>The thought which every faculty employs,</p> + + <p class="i2">Withers my bloom, and makes my strength decay.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"His death, his sorrows are the heavy curse</p> + + <p class="i2">That hangs above my poor, distracted head!</p> + + <p>His dying words have scatter'd vain remorse,</p> + + <p class="i2">For vain, though bitter, are the tears I shed.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"And yet my father to my soul was dear,</p> + + <p class="i2">But tender pity was on Henry's side;</p> + + <p>I painted him relenting, not severe,</p> + + <p class="i2">Nor fancied I could be an orphan bride.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Ah me! excuses will not cure my pain!</p> + + <p class="i2">At least, forgetfulness can little plead.</p> + + <p>A widow'd parent!—I deserv'd disdain,</p> + + <p class="i2">'Tis fit these eyes should weep, this heart should + bleed!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"But yet assist me heaven! to hide my grief,</p> + + <p class="i2">My waning health from love's suspicious eyes!</p> + + <p>This malady admits of no relief,</p> + + <p class="i2">And nought augments the pain, but Henry's sighs.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Perhaps e'en now he wonders at my stay,</p> + + <p class="i2">Sees the white fogs of evening rise around,</p> + + <p>Comes out to seek me in my devious way,</p> + + <p class="i2">But turns not to this unfrequented ground.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Alas! my love, thy anxious care is vain!</p> + + <p class="i2">Nothing can stop yon wand'rer of the sky;</p> + + <p>Nothing can long this fleeting life retain!</p> + + <p class="i2">For oh! I feel that I must shortly die.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"But cease my lute, this low, desponding strain,</p> + + <p class="i2">It floats too long upon the heavy air;</p> + + <p>Henry may pass and know that I complain.</p> + + <p class="i2">One moment's peace to him is worth my care."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>She said, and toward the cheerless mansion flew,</p> + + <p class="i2">Her slender, sylph-like form array'd in white,</p> + + <p>Not clearly seen amidst surrounding dew,</p> + + <p class="i2">Seem'd like a spirit ling'ring in its flight.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Poor Henry, who had watch'd her in the shade,</p> + + <p class="i2">In aching silence list'ning to her song,</p> + + <p>At distance follow'd slowly through the glade,</p> + + <p class="i2">Pausing forgetful as he pass'd along.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p29" id="p29"></a>YOUTH UNSUSPICIOUS OF EVIL.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>O bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r!</p> + + <p class="i2">And look not up so fresh and bright!</p> + + <p>The keen, harsh wind, the heavy show'r,</p> + + <p class="i2">Will spoil thy beauties ere the night.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I grieve to see thee look so gay.</p> + + <p class="i2">And so unconscious of thy lot,</p> + + <p>For gloom and tempests wait thy day,</p> + + <p class="i2">And thou, unhappy, fear'st it not!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Thy tender leaflets all unfold,</p> + + <p class="i2">Their colours ripen and refine,</p> + + <p>Become most lovely to behold,</p> + + <p class="i2">And, ah! most apt to shrink and pine.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Then, bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r!</p> + + <p class="i2">I grieve to see thee look so gay!</p> + + <p>Close thy soft wings against the show'r,</p> + + <p class="i2">And wait a more auspicious day!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p30" id="p30"></a>THE MOTHER.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"And beats my heart again with joy!</p> + + <p class="i2">And dances now my spirit light!</p> + + <p>The skiff that holds my darling boy</p> + + <p class="i2">This moment burst upon my sight!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Not yet distinctly I perceive</p> + + <p class="i2">Amid the crew his well-known form,</p> + + <p>But still his safety I believe,</p> + + <p class="i2">I know he has escap'd the storm.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"I feel as if my heart had wings,</p> + + <p class="i2">And tender from excess of bliss,</p> + + <p>His form, which airy fancy brings,</p> + + <p class="i2">In fond emotion seem to kiss.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Welcome the wild, imperfect rest,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which these bewilder'd spirits share!</p> + + <p>Welcome this tumult of the breast,</p> + + <p class="i2">After the shudder of despair!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"My Robert he is brave and strong,</p> + + <p class="i2">He will these flowing tears reprove.</p> + + <p>Alas! how little know the young,</p> + + <p class="i2">The tremor of a Mother's love.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"For we are weak from many a care,</p> + + <p class="i2">From many a sleepless, anxious hour,</p> + + <p>When fear and hope the bosom tear,</p> + + <p class="i2">And ride the brain with fevering power.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"But lo! he cheerly waves his hand!</p> + + <p class="i2">I hear his voice! I see his face!</p> + + <p>And eager now he springs to land,</p> + + <p class="i2">To meet a Mother's fond embrace!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"This failing heart! but joy to me,</p> + + <p class="i2">If heaven in pity is thy guard;</p> + + <p>And of the pangs I feel for thee,</p> + + <p class="i2">Protection be the dear reward!"</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p31" id="p31"></a>EDGAR AND ELLEN.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Arrest thy steps! On these sad plains,</p> + + <p class="i2">Fair dame, no farther go!</p> + + <p>But listen to the martial strains,</p> + + <p class="i2">Whose wildness speaks of woe!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Hark! strife is forward on the field,</p> + + <p class="i2">I hear the trumpet's bray!</p> + + <p>Now spear to spear, and shield to shield,</p> + + <p class="i2">Decides the dreadful day!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Unfit for thee, oh! Lady fair!</p> + + <p class="i2">The scenes where men engage;</p> + + <p>Thy gentle spirit could not bear</p> + + <p class="i2">The fearful battle's rage."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"I prithee, stranger, let me fly!</p> + + <p class="i2">Though pallid is my cheek,</p> + + <p>The lightning's flash delights my eye,</p> + + <p class="i2">I love the thunder's break.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And oft beneath our castle tow'rs,</p> + + <p class="i2">When tempests rush'd along,</p> + + <p>My steady hand has painted flowers,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or voice has rais'd the song."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Oh Lady! that bewilder'd eye</p> + + <p class="i2">Is red with recent tears;</p> + + <p>Already that heart-startling sigh</p> + + <p class="i2">Proclaims thy anxious fears.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Then let a stranger's words prevail,</p> + + <p class="i2">Nor thus in danger roam!</p> + + <p>Here many frightful ills assail,</p> + + <p class="i2">But safety is at home!"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"No, in some peasant's lowly cot</p> + + <p class="i2">Perhaps she may abide,</p> + + <p>To consecrate the humble spot,</p> + + <p class="i2">But not where I reside.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>In Hubert's halls, my father's foe,</p> + + <p class="i2">From childhood have I dwelt,</p> + + <p>And for his wily murderer too,</p> + + <p class="i2">A filial fondness felt.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Ah me! how often have I press'd</p> + + <p class="i2">The lips which seal'd his doom!</p> + + <p>How oft the cruel hand caress'd</p> + + <p class="i2">Which sent him to the tomb!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>My nurse reveal'd the dreadful truth,</p> + + <p class="i2">And, as she told the tale,</p> + + <p>A sickly blight pass'd o'er my youth,</p> + + <p class="i2">And turn'd its roses pale.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The heavy secret on my heart</p> + + <p class="i2">Like deadly poison prey'd;</p> + + <p>For she forbade me to impart</p> + + <p class="i2">A word of what she said.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I, who so blithely sung before,</p> + + <p class="i2">So peacefully had slept,</p> + + <p>Fancied gaunt murder at the door,</p> + + <p class="i2">And listen'd, shook, and wept.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>No longer with an open smile,</p> + + <p class="i2">I greeted all around;</p> + + <p>My fearful looks were fix'd the while,</p> + + <p class="i2">In terror on the ground.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>All saw the change, and kindly strove</p> + + <p class="i2">My sadness to relieve;</p> + + <p>Base Hubert feign'd a parent's love,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which could not see me grieve.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A painful anger flush'd my cheek,</p> + + <p class="i2">My lip indignant smil'd,</p> + + <p>I cried, "And did he e'er bespeak</p> + + <p class="i2">Thy friendship for his child?"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Ellen! when death was drawing nigh,</p> + + <p class="i2">Thou wert his only care;</p> + + <p>Oh! guard her, Hubert, if I die,</p> + + <p class="i2">It is my latest prayer.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>To none, dear friend, but thee," he cried,</p> + + <p class="i2">"Whose love and truth are known,</p> + + <p>Could I this precious charge confide,</p> + + <p class="i2">To cherish, as thy own!"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I pledg'd my honour, to fulfil</p> + + <p class="i2">My dearest friend's desire!</p> + + <p>And I have ever acted still,</p> + + <p class="i2">As honour's laws require!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Thy mind, dear Ellen, is the proof</p> + + <p class="i2">Of my paternal care,</p> + + <p>Since form'd beneath this friendly roof,</p> + + <p class="i2">So excellent and fair.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Then why that cloud upon thy brow,</p> + + <p class="i2">That sullen, fearful sigh!</p> + + <p>That something which we must not know,</p> + + <p class="i2">That cold and altered eye?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Why must thy proud, suspicious air,</p> + + <p class="i2">Give every heart a pain?</p> + + <p>Why must my son, my Edgar bear</p> + + <p class="i2">Unmerited disdain?"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I hung my bead, my fault'ring tongue</p> + + <p class="i2">In feeble murmurs spoke,</p> + + <p>His specious art my bosom wrung,</p> + + <p class="i2">I shudder'd at his look.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And thus, bewildered with my woes,</p> + + <p class="i2">I faint and careless rove;</p> + + <p>For oh! I cannot dwell with those</p> + + <p class="i2">I must no longer love."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Fair lady, calm that anxious heart,</p> + + <p class="i2">And to my voice attend!</p> + + <p>Thy father died by Hubert's dart,</p> + + <p class="i2">And yet he was his friend.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>For Lancaster Sir Philip rose,</p> + + <p class="i2">And many a Yorkist slew;</p> + + <p>Till, singling him amidst his foes,</p> + + <p class="i2">Lord Hubert's arrow flew.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But soon we saw the victor stand</p> + + <p class="i2">Beside, in sorrow drown'd;</p> + + <p>And soon Sir Philip took the hand,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which gave the deadly wound.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"My friend, unweeting was thy aim,</p> + + <p class="i2">And is by me forgiv'n,</p> + + <p>But oh! one sacred oath I claim,</p> + + <p class="i2">In sight of men, and heav'n!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh! promise with a father's zeal,</p> + + <p class="i2">My Ellen to protect!</p> + + <p>Nor let her like an orphan feel</p> + + <p class="i2">Dependence, and neglect!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And then, almost without regret,</p> + + <p class="i2">I can my charge resign;</p> + + <p>For, during life, I never met</p> + + <p class="i2">So true a heart as thine."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Lord Hubert pledg'd his sacred word,</p> + + <p class="i2">He wept, and, kneeling, swore,</p> + + <p>In England ne'er to wield a sword,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or shoot an arrow more.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>From civil war, whose daily crimes</p> + + <p class="i2">This island long shall rue,</p> + + <p>From all the evil of the times,</p> + + <p class="i2">In anguish he withdrew.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I wonder that, by nature bold,</p> + + <p class="i2">He stoop'd to wear disguise,</p> + + <p>Or leave the hapless tale untold,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which wakens thy surprise!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Yet the sad shame that fill'd his breast,</p> + + <p class="i2">May well thy pity crave,</p> + + <p>A turtle dove may build her nest</p> + + <p class="i2">Upon thy father's grave—"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Stranger, that warrior from the east,</p> + + <p class="i2">Who comes with headlong speed,</p> + + <p>Is Edgar, Hubert's son, at least,</p> + + <p class="i2">He rides on Edgar's steed!"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Be calm, fair maid! Thou gallant knight,</p> + + <p class="i2">Who speedest o'er the plain,</p> + + <p>Give us some tidings of the fight,</p> + + <p class="i2">The victor and the slain!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>One moment stay! for many a care</p> + + <p class="i2">Now fills us with alarm!</p> + + <p>Is Edward King? Is Hubert's heir,</p> + + <p class="i2">Escap'd from death and harm?"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"The sun of Lancaster is set,</p> + + <p class="i2">And never more to rise;"</p> + + <p>Return'd the knight, "I know not yet</p> + + <p class="i2">If Edgar lives or dies!"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And scarce he check'd the flowing rein,</p> + + <p class="i2">In hurried accents spoke,</p> + + <p>And, dull and hollow was the strain</p> + + <p class="i2">That through the helmet broke.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Where is he?" shriek'd fair Ellen forth,</p> + + <p class="i2">He started at the sound,</p> + + <p>And, leaping sudden on the earth,</p> + + <p class="i2">His armour rang around.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Queen of my destiny!" he cried,</p> + + <p class="i2">"Thy faithful Edgar see!</p> + + <p>Whose welfare thou canst best decide,</p> + + <p class="i2">For it depends on thee!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I sav'd our youthful Monarch's life,</p> + + <p class="i2">Whose bounteous hand accords,</p> + + <p>A dower to grace the noblest wife</p> + + <p class="i2">That England's realm affords.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>With thee his splendid gifts I share,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or soon this youthful head</p> + + <p>A solemn monk's dark cowl shall wear,</p> + + <p class="i2">To love and glory dead.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Perhaps that tear upon thy cheek</p> + + <p class="i2">Foretels a milder doom!</p> + + <p>Thou wilt again our mansion seek,</p> + + <p class="i2">Oh! let me lead thee home!"</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h3>FINIS.</h3> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Poems + +Author: Matilda Betham + +Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9998] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on November 6, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +POEMS + +BY + +MATILDA BETHAM. + + +1808. + + +TO LADY ROUSE BOUGHTON, AS A TESTIMONY OF RESPECT AND GRATITUDE FOR +LONG CONTINUED FRIENDSHIP, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY HER +OBLIGED HUMBLE SERVANT, MATILDA BETHAM. + +_New Cavendish-street,_ + +Feb. 3, 1809. + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + +Before this book was printed, I thoughtlessly concluded there must be a +preface; but, on consideration, see no particular purpose it would +answer, and gladly decline a task I should have undertaken with much +timidity and reluctance. All I feel necessary to premise, is, that the +tale in the Old Shepherd's Recollections is founded on an event which +happened in Ireland; and that last spring I suppressed the song ending +in page 65 [The Old Man's Farewell], some time after it had been in the +hands of the composer, from meeting accidentally with a quotation in a +magazine that resembled it. + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + POEMS.-- + The Old Fisherman + Lines to Mrs. Radcliffe, on first reading The Mysteries of + Udolpho + The Heir + To a Llangollen Rose, the day after it had been given me by + Miss Ponsonby + L'Homme de l'Ennui + The Grandfather's Departure + Reflections occasioned by the Death of Friends + To Mrs. T. Fancourt + To a Young Gentleman + Fragment + + SONGS.-- + "Thrice lovely Babe" + "What do I love?" + A Sailor's Song + Another + Once more, then farewell! + Henry, on the Departure of his Wife from Calcutta + Sonnet + On the Regret of Youth + Elegy on Sophia Graham + To Miss Rouse Boughton + To the Same + To the River which separates itself from the Dee at Bedkellert + The Old Man's Farewell + Song--Distance from the Place of our Nativity. + The Old Shepherd's Recollections + Reflection + Retrospect of Youth + The Daughter + Youth unsuspicious of evil + The Mother + Edgar and Ellen + + + + +POEMS. + + +THE OLD FISHERMAN. + + 'My bosom is chill'd with the cold, + My limbs their lost vigour deplore! + Alas! to the lonely and old, + Hope warbles her promise no more! + + 'Worn out with the length of my way, + I must rest me awhile on the beach, + To feel the salt dash of the spray, + If haply so far it may reach. + + 'As the white-foaming billows arise, + I reflect on the days that are past, + When the pride of my strength could despise + The keen-driving force of the blast. + + 'Though the heavens might menace on high, + I would still push my vessel from shore; + At my calling undauntedly ply, + And sing as I handled the oar. + + 'When fortune rewarded my toil, + And my nets, deeply-laden, I drew, + I hurried me home with the spoil, + And its inmates rejoic'd at the view. + + 'Though the winds and the waves were perverse, + I was sure to be welcom'd with glee; + My presence the cares would disperse, + That were only awaken'd for me. + + 'Whether weary, with toiling in vain, + Or gay, from abundant success, + I heard the same blessing again,-- + I met the same tender caress: + + 'I fancied the perils repay'd, + That could such affection ensure; + By fondness and gratitude sway'd, + I was eager to dare and endure. + + 'My cot did each comfort contain, + And that gave my bosom delight; + When drench'd by the winterly rain, + I watch'd in my vessel at night. + + 'But, alas! from the tyrant, Disease, + What love or what caution can save! + A fever, more harsh than the seas, + Consign'd my poor wife to the grave. + + 'My children, so tenderly rear'd, + And pining for want of her care, + Though more by my sorrows endear'd, + Could not rescue my heart from despair. + + 'I tempted the dangers of night, + And still labour'd hard at the oar, + My sufferings appear'd to be light, + But I suffer'd with pleasure no more. + + 'And yet, when some seasons had roll'd, + I seem'd to awaken anew; + My children I lov'd to behold, + How tall and how comely they grew. + + 'My boy became hardy and bold, + His spirit was buoyant and free; + And, as I grew thoughtful and old, + Was loud and oppressive to me. + + 'But the girl, like a bird in the bower, + Awaken'd my hope and my pride; + She won on my heart ev'ry hour, + And I could not the preference hide. + + 'I mark'd the address and the care, + The manner endearing and mild, + Not dreaming those qualities rare + Were to murther the peace of my child: + + 'That grandeur would ever descend + To seek for so lowly a bride, + Or his fair one, a lover pretend, + From all she held dear to divide: + + 'That beauty was priz'd like a gem, + Expected to dazzle and shine, + Whose value the world would contemn, + Unless trac'd to some Indian mine: + + 'Alas! hapless girl! had I known + Thou hadst learnt to repine at thy lot; + That splendour and rank were thy own, + Thy home and thy father forgot: + + 'That lore and ambition assail'd, + Thou hadst left us, whatever befel! + My pardon and prayers had prevail'd, + I had blest thee, and bade thee farewel! + + 'With thy husband, from this happy clime, + I had seen thee for ever depart! + Still hoping affection and time + Might soften the pride of his heart: + + 'That a moment perhaps would arise, + When, fondling a child on the knee, + He might read, in its innocent eyes + A lesson of pity for me. + + 'But lips, which till then never said + A word to cause any one pain, + Inform'd me, when reason had fled, + Of a conflict it could not sustain. + + 'And he, who had wish'd to conceal + That the woman he lov'd had been poor, + Began all his folly to feel, + When the victim could hearken no more. + + 'Yet still for himself did he mourn, + And, indignant, I fled from the view: + For my wrongs were not easily borne, + And my anger was hard to subdue. + + 'One prop, one sole comfort, remain'd, + Who saw me o'erladen with grief, + Who saw (though I never complain'd) + My heart was too sick for relief. + + 'One, who always attentive and dear, + Every effort exerted to please, + My desolate prospect to cheer, + To study my health and my ease. + + 'For his was each toil and each care, + The due observations to keep; + To sit watching amid the night air, + And fancy his father asleep. + + 'Yet, dejected, and sadly forlorn, + I dar'd in my heart to repine,-- + To lament that I ever was born, + Though such worth and affection were mine. + + 'Alas! I was destin'd to know, + However intense my despair, + I still was reserv'd for a blow, + More painful and cruel to bear. + + 'Yes! this only one fell in the main! + --I eagerly struggled to save; + But I strove with the current in vain, + And saw him sink under the wave! + + 'My head was astounded and wild,-- + Incessant I roam'd on the shore, + To seek the dead corse of my child, + And to weep on his bosom once more. + + 'Seven days undisturb'd was the sky, + The eighth was a tempest most drear, + I saw the huge billow rise high! + I saw my lost treasure appear! + + 'Like a dream it seem'd passing away:-- + I hurried me onward to meet, + And clasp the inanimate clay, + When senseless I sunk at his feet. + + 'These hands, now enfeebled by time, + The last pious offices paid! + Age sorrow'd o'er youth in its prime, + And my boy near his mother was laid. + + 'Now scar'd by the griefs I have known, + Wounds, apathy only can heal, + My joys and my sorrows are flown, + For I have forgotten to feel. + + 'But I know my Creator is just, + That his hand will deliver me soon; + I have learnt to submit and to trust, + Though I finish my journey alone.' + +Aldborough, September 7, 1800. + + * * * * * + + + +LINES TO MRS. RADCLIFFE, + +ON FIRST READING THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO. + + Enchantress! whose transcendant pow'rs, + With ease, the massy fabric raise;-- + Beneath whose sway the tempest low'rs, + Or lucid stream meaend'ring plays;-- + + Accept the tribute of a heart, + Which thou hast often made to glow + With transport, oft with terror start, + Or sink at strains of solemn woe! + + Invention, like a falcon, tam'd + By some expert and daring hand, + For pride, for strength and fierceness fam'd, + Implicit yields to thy command. + Now mounts aloft in soaring flight, + Shoots, like a star, beyond the sight; + Or, in capricious windings borne, + Mocks our faint hopes of safe return; + Delights in trackless paths to roam, + But hears thy call, and hurries home; + Checks his bold wing when tow'ring free, + And sails, without a pause, to thee! + Enchantress, thy behests declare! + And what thy strong delusions are! + + When spirits in thy circle rise, + Gaunt Wonder, panic-struck, and pale, + Impatient Hope, and dread Surmise, + Attendants on the mystic tale! + + How is it, with such vivid hues, + A harmonizing softness flows! + What are the charms that can diffuse, + Such grandeur as thy pencil throws! + + Say! do the nymphs of classic lore, + So simply graceful, light, and fair, + Forsake their consecrated shore, + Their hallow'd groves, and purer air? + + Tir'd of the ancient Grecian loom, + And smit with Fancy's wayward glance, + Weave they amid the Gothic gloom, + The high-wrought fiction of Romance? + + While the dark Genius of our northern clime, + Whose giant limbs the mist of years enshrouds, + Bursts through the veil which hides his head sublime, + And moves majestic through recoiling clouds! + + O yes! they own the wond'rous spell, + And to each form their hands divine + Give, with nice art, the temper'd swell, + The chasten'd touch and faultless line! + + Each fiction under their command, + Assumes an air severely true, + And, every vision, wildly grand, + Life's measur'd pace and modest hue. + + Reason and fancy, rival powers! + Unite, their RADCLIFFE to befriend; + To decorate her way with flowers, + The minor graces all attend! + +This piece, with the exception of a few lines, has +appeared in the Athenaeum. + + * * * * * + + +THE HEIR. + + See yon tall stripling! how he droops forlorn! + How slow his pace! how spiritless his eye! + Like a dark cloud in summer's rosy dawn, + He saddens pleasure as he passes by. + + Long kept in exile by paternal pride, + He feels no joy beneath this splendid dome; + For, till the elder child of promise died, + He knew a dearer, though a humbler home. + + Then the proud sail was spread! The youth obey'd, + Left ev'ry friend, and every scene he knew; + For ever left the soul-affianc'd maid, + Though his heart sicken'd as he said--Adieu; + And nurses still, with superstitious care, + The sigh of fond remembrance and despair. + + * * * * * + + + +TO A LLANGOLLEN ROSE, + +THE DAY AFTER IT HAD BEEN GIVEN BY MISS PONSONBY. + + Soft blushing flow'r! my bosom grieves, + To view thy sadly drooping leaves: + For, while their tender tints decay, + The rose of Fancy fades away! + As pilgrims, who, with zealous care, + Some little treasur'd relic bear, + To re-assure the doubtful mind, + When pausing memory looks behind; + I, from a more enlighten'd shrine, + Had made this sweet memento mine: + But, lo! its fainting head reclines; + It folds the pallid leaf, and pines, + As mourning the unhappy doom, + Which tears it from so sweet a home! + +_July 22, 1799._ + + * * * * * + + + +L'HOMME DE L'ENNUI. + + Forlornly I wander, forlornly I sigh, + And droop my head sadly, I cannot tell why: + When the first breeze of morning blows fresh in my face, + As the wild-waving walks of our woodlands I trace, + Reviv'd for the moment I look all around, + But my eyes soon grow languid, and fix on the ground. + + I have yet no misfortune to rob me of rest, + No love discomposes the peace of my breast; + Ambition ne'er enter'd the verge of my thought, + Nor by honours, by wealth, nor by power am I caught; + Those phantoms of folly disturb not my ease, + Yet Time is a tortoise, and Life a disease. + + With the blessings of youth and of health on my side, + A temper untainted by envy or pride; + No guilt to corrode, and no foes to molest; + There are many who tell me my station is blest. + This I cannot dispute; yet without knowing why-- + I feel that my bosom is big with a sigh. + + Oh! why do I see that all knowledge is vain; + That Science finds Error still keep in her train; + That Imposture or Darkness, with Doubt and Surmise, + Will mislead, will perplex, and then baffle the wise, + Who often, when labours have shorten'd their span, + Declare--not to know--is the province of man? + + In life, as in learning, our views are confin'd, + Our discernment too weak to discover the mind, + Which, subdued and irresolute, keeps out of sight; + Or if, for a moment, her presence delight, + Our air is too gross for the stranger to stay; + And, back to her prison she hurries away! + + If my own narrow precincts I seek to explore, + My wishes how vain, my attainments how poor! + Tenacious of virtue, with caution I move; + I correct, and I wrestle, but cannot approve; + Till, bewilder'd and faint, I would yield up the rein, + But I dare not in peace with my errors remain! + + With zeal all awake in the cause of a friend, + With warmth unrepress'd by my fear to offend, + With sympathy active in hope or distress, + How keen and how anxious I cannot express, + I shrink, lest an eye should my feelings behold, + And my heart seems insensible, selfish and cold. + + I strive to be gay, but my efforts are weak, + And, sick of existence, for pleasure I seek; + I mix with the empty, the loud, and the vain, + Partake of their folly, and double my pain. + In others I meet with depression and strife; + Oh! where shall I seek for the music of life? + + * * * * * + + + +THE GRANDFATHER'S DEPARTURE. + + The Old Man press'd Palemon's hand; + To Lucy nodded with a smile; + Kiss'd all the little ones around; + Then clos'd the gate, and paus'd awhile. + + "When shall I come again!" he thought, + Ere yet the journey had begun; + It was a tedious length of way, + But he beheld an only son. + + And dearly did he love to take + A rosy grandchild on his knee; + To part his shining locks, and say, + "Just such another boy was he!" + + And never felt he greater pride, + And never did he look so gay, + As when the little urchins strove + To make him partner in their play. + + But when, in some more gentle mood, + They silent hung upon his arm, + Or nestled close at ev'ning pray'r, + The old man felt a softer charm; + + And upward rais'd his closing eye, + Whence slow effus'd a grateful tear, + As if his senses own'd a joy, + Too holy for endurance here. + + No heart e'er pray'd so fervently, + Unprompted by an earthly zeal, + None ever knew such tenderness, + That did not true devotion feel. + + As with the pure, uncolour'd flame, + The violet's richest blues unite, + Do our affections soar to heav'n, + And rarify and beam with light. + + * * * * * + + + +REFLECTIONS + +OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF FRIENDS. + + My happiness was once a goodly tree, + Which promis'd every day to grow more fair, + And rear'd its lofty branches in the air, + In sooth, it was a pleasant sight, to see! + Amidst, fair honey-suckles crept along, + Twin'd round the bark, and hung from every bough, + While birds, which Fancy held by slender strings, + Plum'd the dark azure of their shining wings, + Or dipp'd them in the silver stream below, + With many a joyful note, and many a song! + + When lo! a tempest hurtles in the sky! + Dark low'r the clouds! the thunders burst around! + Fiercely the arrowy flakes of lightning fly! + While the scar'd songsters leave the quiv'ring bough, + The blasted honey-suckles droop below, + And many noble branches strew the ground! + + Though soon the air is calm, the sky serene, + Though wide the broad and leafy arms are spread, + Yet still the scars of recent wounds are seen; + Their shelter henceforth seems but insecure; + The winged tribes disdain the frequent lure, + Where many a songster lies benumb'd or dead; + And when I would the flow'ry tendrils train, + I find my late delightful labour vain. + + Affection thus, once light of heart, and gay, + Chasten'd by memory, and, unnerv'd by fear, + Shall sadden each endearment with a tear, + Sorrowing the offices of love shall pay, + And scarcely dare to think that good her own, + Which fate's imperious hand may snatch away, + In the warm sunshine of meridian day, + And when her hopes are full and fairest blown. + + * * * * * + + + +TO MRS. T. FANCOURT, + +July 15, 1803. + + I love not yon gay, painted flower, + Of bold and coarsely blended dye, + But one, whose nicely varied power + May long detain the curious eye. + + I love the tones that softly rise, + And in a fine accordance close; + That waken no abrupt surprise, + Nor leave us to inert repose. + + I love the moon's pure, holy light, + Pour'd on the calm, sequester'd stream; + The gale, fresh from the wings of night, + Which drinks the early solar beam; + + The smile of heaven, when storms subside, + When the moist clouds first break away; + The sober tints of even-tide, + Ere yet forgotten by the day. + + Such sights, such sounds, my fancy please, + And set my wearied spirit free: + And one who takes delight in these, + Can never fail of loving thee! + + * * * * * + + + +TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN. + +July 29th, 1803. + + Dear boy, when you meet with a rose, + Admire you the thorns very much? + Or like you to play with a ball, + When the handling it blisters your touch! + + Yet should it be firm and compact, + It is easy to polish it nice; + If the rose is both pretty and sweet, + The thorns will come off in a trice. + + The thistle has still many more, + As visible too in our eyes, + But who will take pains with a weed, + That nobody ever can prize? + + 'Tis what we deem precious and rare, + We most earnestly seek to amend; + And anxious attention and care, + Is the costliest gift of a friend. + + We all have our follies: what then? + Let us note them, and never look bluff! + Without any caressing at all, + They will cling to us closely enough. + + Weeds are of such obstinate growth, + They elude the most diligent hand; + And, if they were not to be check'd, + Would quickly run over the land. + + If some could be taken away, + That hide part of your worth from the view; + The conquest perhaps would be ours, + But the profit is wholly to you. + + * * * * * + + + +FRAGMENT. + + A Pilgrim weary, toil-subdued, + I reach'd a country, strange and rude, + And trembled, lest approaching eve + My hope of shelter might deceive; + When I espied a hunter train, + Prowling at leisure o'er the plain, + And hasten'd on to ask relief, + Of the ill-omen'd, haughty chief. + His eye was artful, keen, and bold, + His smile malevolently cold, + And had not all my fire been fled, + And every earthly passion dead, + His pity to contempt allied, + Had rous'd my anger and my pride; + But, as it was, I bent my way, + Where his secluded mansion lay, + Which rose before my eyes at length, + A fortress of determin'd strength, + And layers of every colour'd moss + The lofty turrets did emboss, + As tho' the hand of father Time, + Prepar'd a sacrifice sublime,-- + Giving his daily rites away, + To aggrandize some future day. + Here as I roam'd the walk along, + I heard a plaintive broken song; + And ere I to the portal drew, + An open window caught my view, + Where a fair dame appear'd in sight, + Array'd in robes of purest white. + Large snowy folds confin'd her hair, + And left a polish'd forehead bare. + O'er her meek eyes, of deepest blue, + The sable lash long shadows threw; + Her cheek was delicately pale, + And seem'd to tell a piteous tale, + But o'er her looks such patience stole, + Such saint-like tenderness of soul, + That never did my eyes behold, + A beauty of a lovelier mold. + + The Lady sigh'd, and closely prest + A sleeping infant to her breast; + Shook off sweet tears of love, and smil'd, + Kissing the fingers of the child, + Which round her own unconscious clung, + Then fondly gaz'd, and softly sung: + + Once like that sea, which ebbs and flows, + My bosom never knew repose, + And heavily each morn arose. + + I bore with anger and disdain, + I had no power to break my chain, + No one to whom I dar'd complain. + + And when some bird has caught my eye, + Or distant sail been flitting by, + I wish'd I could at freely fly. + + But I can now contented be, + Can tell, dear babe, my griefs to thee. + And feel more brave, and breathe more free. + + And when thy father frowns severe, + Although my spirit faints with fear, + I feel I have a comfort near. + + And when he harshly speaks to me, + If thou art smiling on my knee, + He softens as he looks on thee. + + To soothe him in an evil hour + The bud has balm, oh! may the flower + Possess the same prevailing power! + + Nor forc'd to leave thy native land, + To pledge a cold, unwilling hand, + May'st thou receive the hard command. + + My mother had not half the zeal, + The aching fondness which I feel, + She had no broken heart to heal! + + And I was friendless when she died, + Who could my little failings chide, + And for an hour her fondness hide. + + But I can see no prospect ope, + Can give no fairy vision scope, + If thou art not the spring of hope. + + I cannot thy affection draw, + By childhood's first admiring awe; + Be tender pity then thy law! + + This heart would bleed at every vein, + I could not even life sustain, + If ever thou should'st give me pain. + + O! soul of sweetness! can it be, + That thou could'st prove unkind to me! + That I should fear this blow from thee! + + Alas! e'en then I would not blame, + My love to thee should be the same, + And judge from whence unkindness came! + + Her words grew indistinct and slow, + Her voice more tremulous and low, + When suddenly the song was o'er, + A whisper even heard no more-- + She had discern'd my nearer tread; + Appear'd to feel alarm, and fled. + + * * * * * + + + +SONGS. + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + + Thrice lovely babe! thus hush'd to rest, + Upon thy warrior father's breast! + Avails it, that his eyes behold, + Thy rosy cheeks, thy locks of gold! + Avails it that he bends his ear, + So fondly thy soft breath to hear! + Or, that his rising smiles confess, + A gracious gleam of tenderness! + The sweetest spell will scarce have pow'r + To hold him for one absent hour! + + Some plant that ceases thus to share, + A daily friend's auspicious care, + Relaxes in its feeble grasp, + The flow'ry tendrils soon unclasp, + Loose in the heedless aether play, + And every idle breeze obey! + Thus vainly had I sought to bind; + Thus watch'd that light, forgetful mind, + Till smiles and sunshine could restore, + My often-blighted hopes no more! + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. VOIGHT. + + What do I love? A polish'd mind, + A temper cheerful, meek, and kind; + A graceful air, unsway'd by art, + A voice that sinks into the heart, + A playful and benignant smile-- + Alas! my heart responds the while, + All this, my Emily, is true, + But I love more in loving you! + + I love those roses when they rise, + From joy, from anger, or surprise; + I love the kind, attentive zeal, + So prompt to know what others feel, + The mildness which can ne'er reprove, + But in the sweetest tones of love-- + All this, my Emily, is true, + But I love more in loving you! + + The self-command which can sustain, + In silence, weariness and pain; + The transport at a friend's success, + Which has not words or power to bless, + But, by a sudden, starting tear, + Appears more precious, more sincere-- + All this, my Emily, is true, + And this I love in loving you! + + * * * * * + + + +A SAILOR'S SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. WALSH. + + I ponder many a silent hour, + On friends belov'd when far at sea, + And, tell me, have I not the power + To draw one kindred thought to me! + + The while we linger on the coast, + My truant fancy homeward flies, + And when the view is almost lost, + Unmanly tears bedew my eyes-- + + And oft forgetful do I stand, + Nor crew, nor ship, nor ocean see; + And often does my heart demand, + If friends belov'd thus think on me! + + And when to England bound once more, + I shall with fond impatience burn, + Will not some others on the shore + As fondly look for my return! + + O! let me of your kindness hear! + Repeat the strain as I depart! + It swells like music on my ear, + It falls like balm upon my heart. + +Aug. 21, 1805. + + * * * * * + + + +ANOTHER, + +WRITTEN EARLIER. + + Adieu to old England! adieu to my friends! + Though fortune and fame I pursue, + On thus looking around me, I cannot conceal, + How reluctant I bid them adieu! + + My heart sinks within me, I sigh to the gale, + Thus slowly receding from shore, + While fancy still whispers some terrible tale, + A perhaps I may see it no more! + + There all that I love, that I value, remain, + That only awakens my fears, + For will the same spot its dear inmates contain, + On the lapse of two lingering years? + + They may smile in good fortune, or weep in distress, + I shall know not a word of their fate! + No pain can I soften, no sorrow redress! + I may come, when, alas! 'tis too late! + + I can fly without fear to encounter the foe, + To my earliest wish I am true; + But I cannot unmov'd quit the friends that I love, + Or bid my dear country adieu! + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. A. PETTIT, OF NORWICH. + + Once more then farewell! and whilst I'm away, + Oh! let not another entangle thy fancy! + I shall think upon thee every hour of the day, + And let not my love be forgotten by Nancy! + + Oh! were I forsaken, the flow'r in my heart, + Would fold all its leaves, and re-open them never! + The sunshine of joy and of hope would depart, + And belief in affection would perish for ever! + + To talk thus is folly! I doubt not thy truth, + A few years of absence will quickly pass over, + I scorn other perils that menace my youth, + From that wound, I must own, I could never recover! + + * * * * * + + + +HENRY, + +ON THE DEPARTURE OF HIS WIFE FROM CALCUTTA. + + Long is thy passage o'er the main, + And native air alone can save! + No friend thy weakness will sustain, + But India is, for thee, a grave! + Though winds arise, though surges swell, + Maria, we must say farewell! + + Oh! I bethink me of the time, + When with each airy hope in view, + In triumph to this fervid clime + I bore a flowret nurs'd in dew! + No fears did then my joy reprove, + And it was boundless as my love! + + Yet now to strangers I consign + Thy wounded mind, thy feeble health; + A charge more dear than life resign, + To watch a little worldly wealth. + Duty compels me to remain + But oh! how heavy feels the chain! + + My dear Maria! smile no more? + This seeming patience makes me wild! + So would'st thou once my peace restore, + When, mourning for our only child, + Each faint appeal was lost in air, + Or turn'd my sadness to despair. + + Alas! I only make thee grieve. + And hark! the boat awaits below! + They call aloud! and I must leave, + The tears my folly forc'd to flow. + Oh! had I but the time to prove, + That mine are only fears of love! + + * * * * * + + + +SONNET. + + Urge me no more! nor think, because I seem + Tame and unsorrowing in the world's rude strife, + That anguish and resentment have not life + Within the heart that ye so quiet deem: + In this forc'd stillness only, I sustain + My thought and feeling, wearied out with pain! + Floating as 'twere upon some wild abyss, + Whence, silent Patience, bending o'er the brink, + Would rescue them with strong and steady hand, + And join again, by that connecting link, + Which now is broken:--O, respect her care! + Respect her in this fearful self-command! + No moment teems with greater woe than this, + Should she but pause, or falter in despair! + + * * * * * + + + +ON THE REGRET OF YOUTH. + + Before a rose is fully blown, + The outward leaves announce decay; + So, ere the spring of Youth is flown, + Its tiny pleasures die away; + + The gay security we feel, + The careless soul's delighted rest, + That lively hope, that ardent zeal, + And smiling sunshine of the breast. + + Those simple tints, so bright and clear, + No healing dew-drops can restore; + For joys, which early life endear, + Once blighted, can revive no more. + + Yet lovely is the full-blown rose, + Although its infant graces fly; + The various opening leaves disclose, + A fairer banquet to the eye; + + A ruby's beams on drifted snow, + Such pure, harmonious blushes shed; + If distant, cast a tender glow, + But near, its own imperial red; + + The form assumes a prouder air, + And bends more graceful in the gale; + While, from its cup, of essence rare, + A richer hoard of sweets exhale. + + Could we again, by fancy led, + That bower of swelling leaves confine, + And round that fine, luxuriant head, + The mossy tendrils now entwine, + + Over what multitudes of bloom + Would a few timid leaflets close! + What mental joys resign their room, + To causeless mirth, and tame repose! + + The change to Reason's steady eye, + Would neither good nor wise appear; + And we may lay one precept by, + Our discontent is insincere. + + * * * * * + + + +ELEGY ON SOPHIA GRAHAM, + +WHO DIED JAN. 21, 1800. + + Sweet is the voice of Friendship to the ear, + Sweet is Affection's mildly-beaming eye, + Sweet the applause which flows from lips sincere, + And sweet is Pity's soft responsive sigh! + + But now those flowers of life have lost their bloom, + Faint all their beauty, cold their healing breath, + No object fills my eye but yonder tomb, + No sound awakes me but the name of death. + + When in the world, I bear a look serene, + And veil the gloomy temper of my grief; + Sick with restraint at evening quit the scene, + To find in tears and solitude relief. + + Parent of Hope and Fancy! thoughtful Night! + Why are these nurselings absent from thy bower, + While Memory, with sullen, strange delight, + Stalks lonely centinel the live-long hour? + + O dear Sophia! could we e'er forget, + Such fair endowments and unsullied worth, + Thy partial friendship calls for our regret, + And selfish feeling gives remembrance birth. + + How often when this trembling hand essays + Thy lov'd resemblance once again to trace, + The portrait thought in mimic life arrays + With all the sweet expression of thy face; + + Art may its symmetry and beauty show, + A look, a character, the pencil seize, + Give to the form where youthful graces glow, + An air of pensive dignity and ease, + + But warmth of feeling and sensation fine, + By mild reserve from common eyes conceal'd, + The ray of genius and the heart benign, + In artless gaiety so oft reveal'd-- + + All these are lost; no looks can now arise, + Like those which every little act endear'd, + Which even in the stranger's careless eyes + Like innocence from other worlds appear'd! + + Oft have I fear'd the breath of foolish praise, + Might taint the lily which so humbly grew; + That flattery's sun might shoot delusive rays, + Impede her progress, and distract her view. + + But vain the fear--for she remain'd the same, + To outward charms indifferent or blind, + Heedless alike of either praise or blame, + If it respected not her heart and mind. + + Rich in historic lore, the poet's lyre + Had not, though screen'd by time, forsaken hung, + She felt and studied with a kindred fire, + The lofty strain immortal Maro sung. + + She knew--but why essay to trace her thought + Through its wide range, describe her blooming youth, + The heart whose feelings were so finely wrought, + Its meek ambition, and its love of truth? + + All that parental-vanity desires, + All that the friend can muse upon and mourn, + All that the lover's ardent vow inspires, + In thee, Sophia! from the world was torn! + + But still we yield thee to no stranger's care; + No unknown foe our tender love bereaves; + Thou goest the angels' hallow'd bliss to share, + A Father thy exalted soul receives! + + * * * * * + + + +TO MISS ROUSE BOUGHTON, + +NOW THE RIGHT HON. LADY ST. JOHN. + +Aberystwith, July 5th, 17-- + + Louisa, while thy pliant fingers trace + The solemn beauties of the prospect round, + Or, on thy instrument, with touching grace, + Awaken all the witcheries of sound: + + Mild, as thy manners, do the colours rise, + As soft and unobtrusive meet the view; + And, when the varied notes the ear surprize, + We own the harmony as strictly true. + + Be thine the praise, alas! a gift how rare! + Artless, and unpretending, to excel! + Forget the envied charm of being fair, + To learn the noblest science,--acting well! + And let no world the seal of truth displace, + Or spoil the heart's accordance with the face! + + * * * * * + + + +TO THE SAME, + +ON RECEIVING FROM HER A FEW FLOWERS OUT OF A BOUQUET, FROM MELCHBOURNE, +1807. + + Hail! sweet Louisa! o'er these votive flow'rs + Friendship and Fancy weave the joyful song, + Wing with fresh rose-leaves all the train of hours, + That in the distant aether float along! + + Like those fair flowrets given by thy hand, + Like thy own beauty, blooming and serene, + The vision of thy future life is plann'd, + And forms a clear, a bright, and varied scene! + + That countenance so gentle, and so kind, + That heart, which never gave a harsh decree, + Suit all the turns of thy harmonious mind, + And must, perforce, with destiny agree. + This from the Sibyl's leaves affection drew, + O, be the omen just! the promise true! + + * * * * * + + + +TO THE RIVER + +WHICH SEPARATES ITSELF FROM THE DEE, AT BEDKELLERT. + +July 19, 1799. + + Let others hail the tranquil stream, + Whose glassy waters smoothly flow, + And, in the undulating gleam, + Reflect another world below! + + The yellow Conway as it raves, + Demands my tributary song! + When, rushing forth, resistless waves + O'er rocky fragments foam along! + + Like him, whose vigorous mind reviews + The troubles which around him roll; + The ceaseless warfare still pursues, + And keeps a firm, undaunted soul. + + Though sternly bent by toil and care, + The brow hang darkly o'er his eye-- + His features the fix'd meaning wear + Of one who knows not how to sigh. + + It is not apathy that reigns, + O'erweening arrogance, or pride, + For, in his warmly-flowing veins, + The genial feelings all reside. + + It is the breast-plate fortitude + Should still to injury oppose; + It is the shield with power imbu'd, + To blunt the malice of his foes. + + And should the savage country round, + A more engaging aspect show, + O Conway! it will then be found, + How sweet and clear thy waters flow! + + The birds will dip the taper wing-- + The pilgrim there his thirst assuage, + The wandering minstrel sit and sing, + Or muse upon a distant age! + + Bold River! soon within the deep, + Each weary strife and conflict o'er, + Thy venerable waves shall sleep, + And feel opposing rocks no more! + + * * * * * + + + +THE OLD MAN'S FAREWELL. + + Farewell, my pilgrim guest, farewell, + A few days since thou wert unknown, + None shall thy future fortunes tell, + But sweetly have the moments flown! + + And kindness, like the sun on flowers, + Soon chas'd away thy tender gloom; + New-fledg'd the sable-pinion'd hours, + And wove bright tints in Fancy's loom. + + We sought no secrets to divine, + Neither thy name nor lineage knew, + Our hearts alone have question'd thine, + And found that all was just and true. + + Pass not with hasty step, I pray, + Across the threshold of my door! + But pause awhile, with kind delay, + We shall behold thy face no more! + + Once only in a hundred years, + The aloe's precious blossoms swell, + So, in thy presence it appears, + That Time has blossom'd, fare thee well![A] + + [A] See Preface. + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +DISTANCE FROM THE PLACE OF OUR NATIVITY. + + Since I married Palemon, though happy my lot, + Though my garden is pleasant, and lightsome my cot, + Though love's smile, like a sunshine, I constantly see, + Those blessings are all insufficient for me, + I repine not at labour, I ask not for gold, + But I want the sweet eyes of my friends to behold. + + With Palemon I think o'er the world I could roam, + Though he liv'd in a desert, would make it my home. + From him no allurements his Lucy could bribe, + And, though timid, no dangers, no menaces drive. + But the heart that can love with devotion so true, + Is not cold or forgetful, my parents, to you! + + Oh idle declaimers! how is it ye say, + That affection and tenderness fade and decay? + Though so easily pain'd, they endure like a gem, + And the heart and the mind imbibe colour from them! + In affliction they brighten, in absence refine, + And are causes of sorrow too sweet to resign. + + * * * * * + + + +THE OLD SHEPHERD'S RECOLLECTIONS. + + Low, heavy clouds are hanging on the hills, + And half-impatient of the sun's approach, + Shake sullenly their cold and languid wings! + Oh! it is fine to see his morning beams + Burst on the gloom, while, in disorder'd flight, + The shuddering, mournful vapours steal away; + Like the tenacious spirit of a man, + Shrinking from the loud voice of cheerfulness, + When it breaks in, so sadly out of tune, + Upon his quiet musing, and dispels + The waking dream of a dejected heart: + The dream I cherish in this solitude, + In all the wanderings of my little flock, + That which beguiles my loneliness, and takes + Its charm and change from the surrounding scene. + + Oh! how unwelcome often are to me + The gayest, most exhilarating sounds! + When slow and sickly Memory, tempted forth + By dint of soft persuasion, brings to light + His treasures--and, with childish eagerness, + Arranges and collects--then suddenly + To have him startled by discordance, drag, + Without discrimination, all away-- + And with them leap to his deep hollow cave-- + Not easily to be withdrawn again, + Grieves one who loves to think of other times, + To talk with those long silent in the grave, + And pass from childhood to old age again. + + Behold this stony rock! whose rifted crest, + Lets the rough, roaring torrent force a way, + And, foaming, pour its waters on the vale! + Behold them tumbling from their dizzy height, + Like clouds, of more than snowy whiteness, thrown + Precipitate from heav'n, which, as they fall, + Diffuse a mist, in form of glory, round! + This was my darling haunt a long time past! + Here, when a boy, in pleasing awe, I sate, + Wistfully silent, with uplifted eye, + And heart attun'd to the sad, lulling sound + They made descending. Far below my feet, + Near where yon little, ruin'd cottage lies, + Oft, at the pensive hour of even-tide + I saw young Osborne bearing on his harp, + And, trusting to an aged mother's care, + His darkling steps: Beneath that falling beech, + Whose wide-spread branches touch the water's edge, + He lov'd to sit, and feel the freshen'd gale + Breathe cool upon him. + + Then that falling beech + Was a young, graceful tree; which, starting up, + Amid the looser fragments of the rock, + Rear'd boldly in the air its lofty head, + While, struggling with the stone, the nervous roots + Pursued their own direction, elbowing out, + Their flinty neighbour; who, o'erspread with moss, + Of varied hues, and deck'd with flow'ring heath, + That from each fissure hung luxuriant down, + Became a seat, where, king of all the scene, + The harper sate, and, in sweet melodies, + Now like the lark rejoicing at the dawn, + Now soothing as the nightingale's sad note, + Hail'd the departing sun, whose golden rays + Glitter'd upon the surface of the wave, + And, as a child upon its mother's arm + Seeks to delay the coming hour of rest, + Till sudden slumbers steal upon his smiles + And veil him in a dream of love and joy, + He seem'd reluctant to withdraw his beams; + And, rich in roseate beauty, for awhile + Kept the green waves beneath his glowing head. + + Kind, gentle Osborne! half a century + Has silver'd o'er the crisp and yellow locks + Of thy young auditor, but memory still + Grasps the torn record of my weary life. + And finds full many a page to tell of thee! + Oh! ye who have a friend ye truly love, + One whom your hearts can trust, whose excellence + Was not obtruded boastingly to view, + But time and happy circumstance reveal'd, + Rays of quick light upon a diamond + Which else had lain unnotic'd in the waste! + Oh! hasten! hasten speedily to pay + Each debt of fond affection! lock not up + So cautiously the tribute due to worth! + Nor let reserve, as I have often done, + Enslave the sweetest feelings of the soul! + And hang around them like an envious mist, + O'er the bright radiance of the morning star, + Leaving us nothing but a spot of light + Bereav'd of all its lustre! For my friend, + He never knew that there was one on earth, + After a parent felt the touch of death, + And Love, a weeping pilgrim, turn'd away + Far from his dwelling--Oh! he never knew, + That there was one who would have follow'd him, + With steady kindness, even to the grave! + + Thou dear, neglected friend! to whom I owe + All that sustains my heart, and makes me think + The gift of life a blessing, Oh! forgive + That in thy sorrows, my forgetful tongue + Spake not of zeal and service; of the debt + Which gratitude was emulous to pay! + I might have trimm'd the dying lamp of hope, + And cheer'd the bitter hours of banishment: + But Oh! my youth was fearful, and I felt + So deep an awe of that unspotted worth + And saint-like gentleness--such a mistrust + Of my own powers to tell him what I wish'd, + That I resisted all my feelings claim'd, + In anguish I resisted; but a spell + Hung o'er me and compell'd me to be mute. + + Methinks I still behold him! tall and fair, + He had a look so tranquil and so mild, + That something holy stole upon the sense + When he appear'd; his language had such power + In converse, that the hearer, as entranced + Sate lingering on to listen; while in song, + Or skill upon the many-stringed harp + Was never heard his equal! Then he knew + All our old ballads, all our father's tales, + All the adventurous deeds of early times, + The punishment of blood or sacrilege, + And the reward of virtue, when it seem'd + Deserted by the world, and left alone, + A prey to scorn, oppression, contumely + And all the ills which make the good despair. + When-e'er we circled round him, one young girl + Was always present, of a nicer ear, + And more refin'd perception than the rest. + Now she was lost in thought, while on her cheek + Lay silent tears--and then that cheek grew pale + In wild amazement--but, when he began + To speak of noble deeds, she rais'd her head, + Bending with looks of mingled awe and love, + And zealous admiration, on the youth, + Alone insensible of all around, + To the soft charm of symmetry and grace, + The smile intelligent, the look benign, + And all the outward raiment of the soul. + Yet, though he saw her not, it was his fate + To have an inward and discerning sense, + Which spake of Lora's gentleness and worth. + He lov'd in her the fondness of his art, + And taught her many wild and simple airs, + Suiting the plaintive tenor of her voice, + Which he would mimic with sweet minstrelsy. + When she was absent, and with strange delight, + Repeat her parting words, her kind adieu, + Or sweetly-spoken promise of return. + + And that return was prompt: she linger'd oft + Till evening wet the ground with heavy dew, + Or came to take her lesson in the morn, + Before her father's anxious eyes unclos'd, + To look upon her beauty with delight, + And soothe the rugged temper of his soul, + By views of future grandeur for his child: + Not thinking that her elegance of mind, + The modest dignity of humble worth + Which fits the low-born peasant to become + A crowned monarch, and to wield with grace + The golden sceptre, had instructed her + To feel no paltry jealousy of power, + No bold aspiring, and no wish beyond + The bounded confines of her present state: + Had counsell'd her, that even mines of wealth, + Could purchase nothing to content the wise, + Esteem or friendship, tenderness or love: + That power at best was but a heavy weight; + If well employ'd, a dubious, unpaid toil, + If ill, a curse, to tempt men to their fate. + + Her cheek had often felt the blush of shame, + At his proud boasting; and her heart had sunk + At the cold arrogance that scorn'd the poor; + But she was fain to turn aside, and weep, + To wring her hands in secret, and to raise + The eye of silent anguish up to heaven; + For though he dearly lov'd her, he would ne'er + Submit to hear a murmur at his will. + Oft with her heart oppress'd, and her blue eyes + Full of unshedden tears, she bent her way + Alone to Osborne's lowly cot, and when + Her faint voice call'd the fond inquiry forth, + Would say, "'tis true, my friends, that I am sad, + Nay sick, with vain repining. O! I wish, + That I were either indigent myself, + Or that I had the power, the blessed power + Of cheering the unhappy! for I want, + By kindness to prevent the act of guilt, + And ward the arrows of incroaching Death, + Who comes, before the time, upon his prey. + Think that there should be means to stay his wrath, + To purchase health, life, comfort, innocence, + And yet those means withholden! + + "O! my heart! + It dies with sorrow! and where most I love, + Sheds all its bitterness; delighting still + To tell the many miseries that flit + At times across me! Those I lightly prize + Partake the sunshine of my happier hours, + Although I seek them with far less delight! + The loud laugh dwells not here, the sportive dance, + The carol of unconscious levity, + And yet how oft, how willingly I come!" + + "Know'st thou not, Lora," cried the youthful sage, + "That there are things the mind must prize above + What captivates the senses! That in them + She feels no interest, and she takes no care! + That though sometimes an alien, she receives + Delighted back the ensigns of her power, + And takes her truant vassals into grace! + That when thou bring'st to us that wounded mind, + The grave of many feelings, language is + As yet too poor to utter, thou canst give + No richer, dearer token of regard." + + "Were man indeed the only hope of man, + I never would reprove thee for thy tears! + But, they are vain! man has a surer trust! + The helpless, weary, miserable wretch, + Left by his fellows in the wilderness, + Shall be supported in that trying hour, + By a right arm, which, in his days of strength, + He did not lean upon! A gracious arm, + Which wounds the sick, and heals them by the stroke. + O! Lora! to the Father of the world, + A Judge so patient and so merciful. + That he refuses not the latest sigh. + Nor suffers sorrow but as means to save, + Canst thou not trust the objects of thy care! + + "Hadst thou the power to help them--it were well, + To be most anxious. To collect thy freight + Of human sorrow, and, by merchandize, + Exchange it for the riches of the world: + For health, for comfort, nay, perchance for life, + That gem of countless value, which sometimes, + Not all the treasures of the East can buy, + Tendered with supplications and with tears, + Is often purchas'd at a petty price, + Nay, in exchange for courtesy. What joy + Must in that moment fill the merchant's heart, + To win a jewel, kings monopolize + The sole disposal of! Be patient then! + This glorious privilege may yet be thine! + Deserve it only by fulfilling all + The gentler duties that have present claims + With cheerfulness and zeal--Let no neglect + Press on thy father's age, no discontent + Sour thee with thy companions, no mistrust + Give pain to friendship, and thy usefulness + Though calm and bounded, has no mean award." + + Thus, like a prophet, did he still enforce + Only the virtues and rare qualities + Congenial with her after destiny; + Yet, not foreseeing evil, he himself + Was unprepared, and when her father led, + Her opposition and entreaty past, + The hapless Lora forth, to promise love + And honour to a man, whose vacant mind, + Throughout a course of long succeeding years, + She vainly strove to soften and to raise, + Though he had taught her patience till that hour, + His own at once forsook him, and he fled. + + She murmur'd not, nor even seem'd to mourn, + But losing all her love of solitude, + Appear'd so active in each new pursuit, + So wholly what her anxious father wish'd, + That he repented not his cruelty. + Believing in her happiness, he felt + Himself the author, and became more proud + Of his own wisdom: yet she often heard + His wayward taunt or querulous complaint, + And, from the lordly partner of her fate, + The harsher sound of ignorant rebuke. + She was a matchless woman, when she lost + The timid graces of retiring youth, + She still was lovely, for her shaded eyes + Beam'd with a lofty sweetness, a content + Beyond the pow'r of fortune to destroy. + Careless of let or hindrance, she went on, + Nor shrunk nor started at the many thorns + Strew'd in her toilsome path; still looking forth + To others' weal, forgetful it would seem, + Perchance in heart despairing of her own. + The friend, the help, the comforter of all, + No voice was heard so cheerful, nor a step + So bounding and so light. 'Twas wonderful! + For I have seen her, when her polish'd arm + Has clasp'd the nurseling, with her face conceal'd + Bent fondly o'er; and I have mark'd each limb + To boast a fine expansion, as if thrill'd + With the deep feelings of maternal love + And aching tenderness, too highly wrought + For happy souls to cherish! they delight + In painless joys, and, on the infant's cheek, + Rounded and glowing with a finer bloom + Than the wild-rose, careless imprint the kiss, + Which sorrow always sanctions by a prayer. + They in the radiance of its glancing eyes + See nothing to suffuse with their own tears! + Borne forward on the easy wing of Time, + They travel on, they scarcely meet with Thought, + Or, like a summer cloud, he passes by, + His shadow rests one instant, and again + The scene is calm and brilliant as before! + + Not so with Lora, trouble, sickness, death, + Were busy with the residue of peace, + When years and care had weaken'd her regrets, + Veil'd the sad recollection of past days, + And overgrown the softness of her mind, + As the close-creeping ivy hides and rusts + The smooth and silver surface of the beech. + An orphan and a widow--she became + Decisive, watchful, prudent, nay severe + To wilful disobedience or neglect; + Though generous where she perceiv'd desert. + She taught her children with unceasing zeal, + Sought knowledge for their sakes, and, more than all, + Anxious, inquisitive about the heart, + Search'd all the motives, all the incidents + In which it was unfolded; fencing still + Each treacherous failing with a double guard, + And oft repeated warnings; well conceal'd, + Or given with so much kindness, that they serv'd + To draw more closely every knot of love. + Nor did she cease to urge her pious cares + By constant vigilance, till riper age + Had fix'd the moral sense, when, as a bow + For a long active season tightly strain'd + Relaxes, tumult and contention o'er, + She sunk into indulgence, glad to yield + To mildness, nature, and herself again. + + Youth, e'en when wise and good, requires a change, + Delights in novelty, and hears of nought + Which suddenly it asks not to behold; + And Lora's children oft assail'd her ear + To let them journey to some rumour'd scene, + Some feast, or village wake, or sprightly dance, + Urging her still to bear them company. + She lov'd to give them pleasure, and one time + (The fav'rite legend of our country folk + Hath oft the tale repeated) as they mix'd + Carelessly in the crowd, remember'd notes + Struck by a harper in a distant tent, + Sweet and soul-piercing as the midnight songs + Which are, they say, the harbingers of death, + Flow'd on her ear--when, with impulsive spring, + As if a magic spell had wing'd her feet, + Fearing the sounds would vanish into air, + And prove delusion ere she reach'd the spot, + She forward rush'd, and soon beheld the friend, + The dear companion of her youth. She seiz'd + The hand that lay upon the quivering chords, + Stopping their melody and resting mute. + The pause was awful--He at length exclaim'd, + In a deep, laboured cry, "Ye heavenly powers! + If Lora lives, the hand I feel is hers!" + She could not speak, but with her other hand + Clasp'd his, and sigh'd and rais'd her eyes to heaven, + When straight the big, round tears began to flow; + "And is it thee, dear Lora! Art thou come + Again to gladden one, who never found + 'Mid countless who are good, a heart like thine! + Oh! speak! that I may know if still my ear + Retains a true remembrance of that voice! + For since, it has not drank so sweet a sound." + + "Hail happy day!" cried Lora, "which restores + The friend whose absence I have mourn'd so long! + For thou, O! Osborne! must with me return, + Me and my children! They shall hear again + Those counsels which inform'd their mother's heart; + Gave courage in the hour of enterprize, + Calmness in danger, patience under ills + That like a swarm of insects buz around, + And vex the spirit which they cannot rouse. + Return, my early, long-lost friend! with us + Thou shalt enjoy repose: our cheerful home + Shall gather round thee many an honest heart + Which knows thy virtues, and will hold thee dear." + + She paus'd, and Osborne joyful gave assent. + Fair hopes of joy engaged his faultering mind, + For long-time had he dragg'd a weary life, + Lone, or bereav'd of relative or friend, + Careful to tend his health, and to divert + His sadness; each succeeding hour had press'd + With its slow-passing wing his gentle head + Drooping and prematurely silver'd o'er, + (Like snows depending on the autumn leaf) + Yet warm, benevolent, serene, resign'd, + And like an angel save in youth and joy. + + A winding path round yonder wooded hill, + Leads to a spot where Nature decks herself + In loveliness and beauty: far below + Spreads the green valley, where a silent stream + Turns, like a serpent writhing in its course; + And, rarified by distance, kissing heaven, + In many noble and fantastic shapes, + A giant range of purple mountains sleeps. + Grand is the scene, and in the centre stands + The tomb of Osborne--after many years + Of happiness and friendship, Lora rais'd + This plain memorial, and her children plac'd + A mother's near, to tell succeeding years + Their talents and their virtue. They themselves + More forcibly express the worth of both, + For they are wise and good, without a shade + Of cold severity or selfish pride. + + * * * * * + + + +REFLECTION. + +August 2, 1798. + + Why should we think the years of life + Will pass serenely by, + When, for a day, the Sun himself + Ne'er sees a cloudless sky! + + And, unassuming as she moves, + The meek-eyed Queen of night, + Meets wand'ring vapours in her path + To dim her paler light! + + Then why should we in vain repine + At man's uncertain lot, + That cares will equally assail + The palace and the cot? + + For Heaven ordains this chequer'd scene + Our mortal pow'rs t' employ; + That we might know, compare, select, + Be grateful, and enjoy. + +[For the last verse I am indebted to the pen of a Friend.] + + * * * * * + + + +RETROSPECT OF YOUTH. + + I wander'd forth amid the flow'rs, + And careless sipp'd the morning air; + Nor hail'd the angel-winged hours, + Nor saw that Happiness was there! + Alas! I often since have wept + That Gratitude unconscious slept! + + For Truth and Pity then were young, + And walk'd in simple, narrow bounds; + Affection's meek, assuasive tongue, + Had sweet, but most capricious sounds. + Once, wild with scornful pride, she fled, + And only turn'd to seek the dead! + + Oh! from a garden of delight, + What fair memento did I bring! + What amaranth of colours bright, + To mark the promise of my spring? + Behold this flow'r! its leaves are wet, + With tears of lasting, vain regret! + + * * * * * + + + +THE DAUGHTER. + +1797. + + "Come, mournful lute! dear echo of my woe! + No stranger's tread in this lone spot I fear, + Sweeter thy notes in such wild places flow, + And, what is more, my Henry cannot hear! + + "He will not know my pain and my despair, + When that dread scene arises on my view, + Where my poor father would not hear my pray'r, + Or grant his only child a last adieu! + + "He will not know that still the hour I mourn, + When death all hopes of pardon snatch'd away; + That still this heart by sad remembrance torn, + Repeats the dreadful mandate of that day. + + "Luckless for him has been my constant love, + Luckless the destiny I bade him brave, + For since a parent did our vows reprove, + Sorrow was all the gift my fondness gave. + + "Then, though I knew my father's stern command, + The short-liv'd conflict of affection o'er, + I offer'd to the youth my dowerless hand, + And fondly reason'd thus on being poor, + + "'Can pomp or splendour elevate the soul, + Brighten the lustre that illumes the eye! + Make the rough stream of life more smoothly roll, + Suppress the tear, or waft away the sigh! + + "'Can happiness a purer joy receive, + In the proud mansions of the rich and great? + Or, tell me, can the wounded bosom heave + With blunted anguish under robes of state! + + "'No! Henry, no! Alas! too well you know, + The misery of an affected smile, + The pain of clearing the thought-clouded brow, + To covet for yourself the hateful toil! + + "'And since my choice, and reason both approve, + Since I have known you many a circling year, + And time has well assur'd me of your love, + Tell me, my Henry, what have I to fear? + + "'My father, though by worldly prudence led, + Will pardon when our happiness is told.' + Alas! no curses fell upon my head, + But never did he more his child behold. + + "He would not, dying, hear my ardent prayer! + But, cruel! said, I leave her all my store; + She wrung my doating heart with deep despair, + And even now perhaps desires no more. + + "This is the stroke which all my peace destroys, + The dagger which no art can draw away, + The thought which every faculty employs, + Withers my bloom, and makes my strength decay. + + "His death, his sorrows are the heavy curse + That hangs above my poor, distracted head! + His dying words have scatter'd vain remorse, + For vain, though bitter, are the tears I shed. + + "And yet my father to my soul was dear, + But tender pity was on Henry's side; + I painted him relenting, not severe, + Nor fancied I could be an orphan bride. + + "Ah me! excuses will not cure my pain! + At least, forgetfulness can little plead. + A widow'd parent!--I deserv'd disdain, + 'Tis fit these eyes should weep, this heart should bleed! + + "But yet assist me heaven! to hide my grief, + My waning health from love's suspicious eyes! + This malady admits of no relief, + And nought augments the pain, but Henry's sighs. + + "Perhaps e'en now he wonders at my stay, + Sees the white fogs of evening rise around, + Comes out to seek me in my devious way, + But turns not to this unfrequented ground. + + "Alas! my love, thy anxious care is vain! + Nothing can stop yon wand'rer of the sky; + Nothing can long this fleeting life retain! + For oh! I feel that I must shortly die. + + "But cease my lute, this low, desponding strain, + It floats too long upon the heavy air; + Henry may pass and know that I complain. + One moment's peace to him is worth my care." + + She said, and toward the cheerless mansion flew, + Her slender, sylph-like form array'd in white, + Not clearly seen amidst surrounding dew, + Seem'd like a spirit ling'ring in its flight. + + Poor Henry, who had watch'd her in the shade, + In aching silence list'ning to her song, + At distance follow'd slowly through the glade, + Pausing forgetful as he pass'd along. + + * * * * * + + + +YOUTH UNSUSPICIOUS OF EVIL. + + O bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r! + And look not up so fresh and bright! + The keen, harsh wind, the heavy show'r, + Will spoil thy beauties ere the night. + + I grieve to see thee look so gay. + And so unconscious of thy lot, + For gloom and tempests wait thy day, + And thou, unhappy, fear'st it not! + + Thy tender leaflets all unfold, + Their colours ripen and refine, + Become most lovely to behold, + And, ah! most apt to shrink and pine. + + Then, bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r! + I grieve to see thee look so gay! + Close thy soft wings against the show'r, + And wait a more auspicious day! + + * * * * * + + + +THE MOTHER. + + "And beats my heart again with joy! + And dances now my spirit light! + The skiff that holds my darling boy + This moment burst upon my sight! + + "Not yet distinctly I perceive + Amid the crew his well-known form, + But still his safety I believe, + I know he has escap'd the storm. + + "I feel as if my heart had wings, + And tender from excess of bliss, + His form, which airy fancy brings, + In fond emotion seem to kiss. + + "Welcome the wild, imperfect rest, + Which these bewilder'd spirits share! + Welcome this tumult of the breast, + After the shudder of despair! + + "My Robert he is brave and strong, + He will these flowing tears reprove. + Alas! how little know the young, + The tremor of a Mother's love. + + "For we are weak from many a care, + From many a sleepless, anxious hour, + When fear and hope the bosom tear, + And ride the brain with fevering power. + + "But lo! he cheerly waves his hand! + I hear his voice! I see his face! + And eager now he springs to land, + To meet a Mother's fond embrace! + + "This failing heart! but joy to me, + If heaven in pity is thy guard; + And of the pangs I feel for thee, + Protection be the dear reward!" + + * * * * * + + + +EDGAR AND ELLEN. + + "Arrest thy steps! On these sad plains, + Fair dame, no farther go! + But listen to the martial strains, + Whose wildness speaks of woe! + + Hark! strife is forward on the field, + I hear the trumpet's bray! + Now spear to spear, and shield to shield, + Decides the dreadful day! + + Unfit for thee, oh! Lady fair! + The scenes where men engage; + Thy gentle spirit could not bear + The fearful battle's rage." + + "I prithee, stranger, let me fly! + Though pallid is my cheek, + The lightning's flash delights my eye, + I love the thunder's break. + + And oft beneath our castle tow'rs, + When tempests rush'd along, + My steady hand has painted flowers, + Or voice has rais'd the song." + + "Oh Lady! that bewilder'd eye + Is red with recent tears; + Already that heart-startling sigh + Proclaims thy anxious fears. + + Then let a stranger's words prevail, + Nor thus in danger roam! + Here many frightful ills assail, + But safety is at home!" + + "No, in some peasant's lowly cot + Perhaps she may abide, + To consecrate the humble spot, + But not where I reside. + + In Hubert's halls, my father's foe, + From childhood have I dwelt, + And for his wily murderer too, + A filial fondness felt. + + Ah me! how often have I press'd + The lips which seal'd his doom! + How oft the cruel hand caress'd + Which sent him to the tomb! + + My nurse reveal'd the dreadful truth, + And, as she told the tale, + A sickly blight pass'd o'er my youth, + And turn'd its roses pale. + + The heavy secret on my heart + Like deadly poison prey'd; + For she forbade me to impart + A word of what she said. + + I, who so blithely sung before, + So peacefully had slept, + Fancied gaunt murder at the door, + And listen'd, shook, and wept. + + No longer with an open smile, + I greeted all around; + My fearful looks were fix'd the while, + In terror on the ground. + + All saw the change, and kindly strove + My sadness to relieve; + Base Hubert feign'd a parent's love, + Which could not see me grieve. + + A painful anger flush'd my cheek, + My lip indignant smil'd, + I cried, "And did he e'er bespeak + Thy friendship for his child?" + + "Ellen! when death was drawing nigh, + Thou wert his only care; + Oh! guard her, Hubert, if I die, + It is my latest prayer. + + To none, dear friend, but thee," he cried, + "Whose love and truth are known, + Could I this precious charge confide, + To cherish, as thy own!" + + I pledg'd my honour, to fulfil + My dearest friend's desire! + And I have ever acted still, + As honour's laws require! + + Thy mind, dear Ellen, is the proof + Of my paternal care, + Since form'd beneath this friendly roof, + So excellent and fair. + + Then why that cloud upon thy brow, + That sullen, fearful sigh! + That something which we must not know, + That cold and altered eye? + + Why must thy proud, suspicious air, + Give every heart a pain? + Why must my son, my Edgar bear + Unmerited disdain?" + + I hung my bead, my fault'ring tongue + In feeble murmurs spoke, + His specious art my bosom wrung, + I shudder'd at his look. + + And thus, bewildered with my woes, + I faint and careless rove; + For oh! I cannot dwell with those + I must no longer love." + + "Fair lady, calm that anxious heart, + And to my voice attend! + Thy father died by Hubert's dart, + And yet he was his friend. + + For Lancaster Sir Philip rose, + And many a Yorkist slew; + Till, singling him amidst his foes, + Lord Hubert's arrow flew. + + But soon we saw the victor stand + Beside, in sorrow drown'd; + And soon Sir Philip took the hand, + Which gave the deadly wound. + + "My friend, unweeting was thy aim, + And is by me forgiv'n, + But oh! one sacred oath I claim, + In sight of men, and heav'n! + + Oh! promise with a father's zeal, + My Ellen to protect! + Nor let her like an orphan feel + Dependence, and neglect! + + And then, almost without regret, + I can my charge resign; + For, during life, I never met + So true a heart as thine." + + Lord Hubert pledg'd his sacred word, + He wept, and, kneeling, swore, + In England ne'er to wield a sword, + Or shoot an arrow more. + + From civil war, whose daily crimes + This island long shall rue, + From all the evil of the times, + In anguish he withdrew. + + I wonder that, by nature bold, + He stoop'd to wear disguise, + Or leave the hapless tale untold, + Which wakens thy surprise! + + Yet the sad shame that fill'd his breast, + May well thy pity crave, + A turtle dove may build her nest + Upon thy father's grave--" + + "Stranger, that warrior from the east, + Who comes with headlong speed, + Is Edgar, Hubert's son, at least, + He rides on Edgar's steed!" + + "Be calm, fair maid! Thou gallant knight, + Who speedest o'er the plain, + Give us some tidings of the fight, + The victor and the slain! + + One moment stay! for many a care + Now fills us with alarm! + Is Edward King? Is Hubert's heir, + Escap'd from death and harm?" + + "The sun of Lancaster is set, + And never more to rise;" + Return'd the knight, "I know not yet + If Edgar lives or dies!" + + And scarce he check'd the flowing rein, + In hurried accents spoke, + And, dull and hollow was the strain + That through the helmet broke. + + "Where is he?" shriek'd fair Ellen forth, + He started at the sound, + And, leaping sudden on the earth, + His armour rang around. + + "Queen of my destiny!" he cried, + "Thy faithful Edgar see! + Whose welfare thou canst best decide, + For it depends on thee! + + I sav'd our youthful Monarch's life, + Whose bounteous hand accords, + A dower to grace the noblest wife + That England's realm affords. + + With thee his splendid gifts I share, + Or soon this youthful head + A solemn monk's dark cowl shall wear, + To love and glory dead. + + Perhaps that tear upon thy cheek + Foretels a milder doom! + Thou wilt again our mansion seek, + Oh! let me lead thee home!" + + +_FINIS._ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Matilda Betham + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +This file should be named 7beth10.txt or 7beth10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7beth11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7beth10a.txt + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Poems + +Author: Matilda Betham + +Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9998] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on November 6, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +POEMS + +BY + +MATILDA BETHAM. + + +1808. + + +TO LADY ROUSE BOUGHTON, AS A TESTIMONY OF RESPECT AND GRATITUDE FOR +LONG CONTINUED FRIENDSHIP, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY HER +OBLIGED HUMBLE SERVANT, MATILDA BETHAM. + +_New Cavendish-street,_ + +Feb. 3, 1809. + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + +Before this book was printed, I thoughtlessly concluded there must be a +preface; but, on consideration, see no particular purpose it would +answer, and gladly decline a task I should have undertaken with much +timidity and reluctance. All I feel necessary to premise, is, that the +tale in the Old Shepherd's Recollections is founded on an event which +happened in Ireland; and that last spring I suppressed the song ending +in page 65 [The Old Man's Farewell], some time after it had been in the +hands of the composer, from meeting accidentally with a quotation in a +magazine that resembled it. + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + POEMS.-- + The Old Fisherman + Lines to Mrs. Radcliffe, on first reading The Mysteries of + Udolpho + The Heir + To a Llangollen Rose, the day after it had been given me by + Miss Ponsonby + L'Homme de l'Ennui + The Grandfather's Departure + Reflections occasioned by the Death of Friends + To Mrs. T. Fancourt + To a Young Gentleman + Fragment + + SONGS.-- + "Thrice lovely Babe" + "What do I love?" + A Sailor's Song + Another + Once more, then farewell! + Henry, on the Departure of his Wife from Calcutta + Sonnet + On the Regret of Youth + Elegy on Sophia Graham + To Miss Rouse Boughton + To the Same + To the River which separates itself from the Dee at Bedkellert + The Old Man's Farewell + Song--Distance from the Place of our Nativity. + The Old Shepherd's Recollections + Reflection + Retrospect of Youth + The Daughter + Youth unsuspicious of evil + The Mother + Edgar and Ellen + + + + +POEMS. + + +THE OLD FISHERMAN. + + 'My bosom is chill'd with the cold, + My limbs their lost vigour deplore! + Alas! to the lonely and old, + Hope warbles her promise no more! + + 'Worn out with the length of my way, + I must rest me awhile on the beach, + To feel the salt dash of the spray, + If haply so far it may reach. + + 'As the white-foaming billows arise, + I reflect on the days that are past, + When the pride of my strength could despise + The keen-driving force of the blast. + + 'Though the heavens might menace on high, + I would still push my vessel from shore; + At my calling undauntedly ply, + And sing as I handled the oar. + + 'When fortune rewarded my toil, + And my nets, deeply-laden, I drew, + I hurried me home with the spoil, + And its inmates rejoic'd at the view. + + 'Though the winds and the waves were perverse, + I was sure to be welcom'd with glee; + My presence the cares would disperse, + That were only awaken'd for me. + + 'Whether weary, with toiling in vain, + Or gay, from abundant success, + I heard the same blessing again,-- + I met the same tender caress: + + 'I fancied the perils repay'd, + That could such affection ensure; + By fondness and gratitude sway'd, + I was eager to dare and endure. + + 'My cot did each comfort contain, + And that gave my bosom delight; + When drench'd by the winterly rain, + I watch'd in my vessel at night. + + 'But, alas! from the tyrant, Disease, + What love or what caution can save! + A fever, more harsh than the seas, + Consign'd my poor wife to the grave. + + 'My children, so tenderly rear'd, + And pining for want of her care, + Though more by my sorrows endear'd, + Could not rescue my heart from despair. + + 'I tempted the dangers of night, + And still labour'd hard at the oar, + My sufferings appear'd to be light, + But I suffer'd with pleasure no more. + + 'And yet, when some seasons had roll'd, + I seem'd to awaken anew; + My children I lov'd to behold, + How tall and how comely they grew. + + 'My boy became hardy and bold, + His spirit was buoyant and free; + And, as I grew thoughtful and old, + Was loud and oppressive to me. + + 'But the girl, like a bird in the bower, + Awaken'd my hope and my pride; + She won on my heart ev'ry hour, + And I could not the preference hide. + + 'I mark'd the address and the care, + The manner endearing and mild, + Not dreaming those qualities rare + Were to murther the peace of my child: + + 'That grandeur would ever descend + To seek for so lowly a bride, + Or his fair one, a lover pretend, + From all she held dear to divide: + + 'That beauty was priz'd like a gem, + Expected to dazzle and shine, + Whose value the world would contemn, + Unless trac'd to some Indian mine: + + 'Alas! hapless girl! had I known + Thou hadst learnt to repine at thy lot; + That splendour and rank were thy own, + Thy home and thy father forgot: + + 'That lore and ambition assail'd, + Thou hadst left us, whatever befel! + My pardon and prayers had prevail'd, + I had blest thee, and bade thee farewel! + + 'With thy husband, from this happy clime, + I had seen thee for ever depart! + Still hoping affection and time + Might soften the pride of his heart: + + 'That a moment perhaps would arise, + When, fondling a child on the knee, + He might read, in its innocent eyes + A lesson of pity for me. + + 'But lips, which till then never said + A word to cause any one pain, + Inform'd me, when reason had fled, + Of a conflict it could not sustain. + + 'And he, who had wish'd to conceal + That the woman he lov'd had been poor, + Began all his folly to feel, + When the victim could hearken no more. + + 'Yet still for himself did he mourn, + And, indignant, I fled from the view: + For my wrongs were not easily borne, + And my anger was hard to subdue. + + 'One prop, one sole comfort, remain'd, + Who saw me o'erladen with grief, + Who saw (though I never complain'd) + My heart was too sick for relief. + + 'One, who always attentive and dear, + Every effort exerted to please, + My desolate prospect to cheer, + To study my health and my ease. + + 'For his was each toil and each care, + The due observations to keep; + To sit watching amid the night air, + And fancy his father asleep. + + 'Yet, dejected, and sadly forlorn, + I dar'd in my heart to repine,-- + To lament that I ever was born, + Though such worth and affection were mine. + + 'Alas! I was destin'd to know, + However intense my despair, + I still was reserv'd for a blow, + More painful and cruel to bear. + + 'Yes! this only one fell in the main! + --I eagerly struggled to save; + But I strove with the current in vain, + And saw him sink under the wave! + + 'My head was astounded and wild,-- + Incessant I roam'd on the shore, + To seek the dead corse of my child, + And to weep on his bosom once more. + + 'Seven days undisturb'd was the sky, + The eighth was a tempest most drear, + I saw the huge billow rise high! + I saw my lost treasure appear! + + 'Like a dream it seem'd passing away:-- + I hurried me onward to meet, + And clasp the inanimate clay, + When senseless I sunk at his feet. + + 'These hands, now enfeebled by time, + The last pious offices paid! + Age sorrow'd o'er youth in its prime, + And my boy near his mother was laid. + + 'Now scar'd by the griefs I have known, + Wounds, apathy only can heal, + My joys and my sorrows are flown, + For I have forgotten to feel. + + 'But I know my Creator is just, + That his hand will deliver me soon; + I have learnt to submit and to trust, + Though I finish my journey alone.' + +Aldborough, September 7, 1800. + + * * * * * + + + +LINES TO MRS. RADCLIFFE, + +ON FIRST READING THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO. + + Enchantress! whose transcendant pow'rs, + With ease, the massy fabric raise;-- + Beneath whose sway the tempest low'rs, + Or lucid stream meänd'ring plays;-- + + Accept the tribute of a heart, + Which thou hast often made to glow + With transport, oft with terror start, + Or sink at strains of solemn woe! + + Invention, like a falcon, tam'd + By some expert and daring hand, + For pride, for strength and fierceness fam'd, + Implicit yields to thy command. + Now mounts aloft in soaring flight, + Shoots, like a star, beyond the sight; + Or, in capricious windings borne, + Mocks our faint hopes of safe return; + Delights in trackless paths to roam, + But hears thy call, and hurries home; + Checks his bold wing when tow'ring free, + And sails, without a pause, to thee! + Enchantress, thy behests declare! + And what thy strong delusions are! + + When spirits in thy circle rise, + Gaunt Wonder, panic-struck, and pale, + Impatient Hope, and dread Surmise, + Attendants on the mystic tale! + + How is it, with such vivid hues, + A harmonizing softness flows! + What are the charms that can diffuse, + Such grandeur as thy pencil throws! + + Say! do the nymphs of classic lore, + So simply graceful, light, and fair, + Forsake their consecrated shore, + Their hallow'd groves, and purer air? + + Tir'd of the ancient Grecian loom, + And smit with Fancy's wayward glance, + Weave they amid the Gothic gloom, + The high-wrought fiction of Romance? + + While the dark Genius of our northern clime, + Whose giant limbs the mist of years enshrouds, + Bursts through the veil which hides his head sublime, + And moves majestic through recoiling clouds! + + O yes! they own the wond'rous spell, + And to each form their hands divine + Give, with nice art, the temper'd swell, + The chasten'd touch and faultless line! + + Each fiction under their command, + Assumes an air severely true, + And, every vision, wildly grand, + Life's measur'd pace and modest hue. + + Reason and fancy, rival powers! + Unite, their RADCLIFFE to befriend; + To decorate her way with flowers, + The minor graces all attend! + +This piece, with the exception of a few lines, has +appeared in the Athenaeum. + + * * * * * + + +THE HEIR. + + See yon tall stripling! how he droops forlorn! + How slow his pace! how spiritless his eye! + Like a dark cloud in summer's rosy dawn, + He saddens pleasure as he passes by. + + Long kept in exile by paternal pride, + He feels no joy beneath this splendid dome; + For, till the elder child of promise died, + He knew a dearer, though a humbler home. + + Then the proud sail was spread! The youth obey'd, + Left ev'ry friend, and every scene he knew; + For ever left the soul-affianc'd maid, + Though his heart sicken'd as he said--Adieu; + And nurses still, with superstitious care, + The sigh of fond remembrance and despair. + + * * * * * + + + +TO A LLANGOLLEN ROSE, + +THE DAY AFTER IT HAD BEEN GIVEN BY MISS PONSONBY. + + Soft blushing flow'r! my bosom grieves, + To view thy sadly drooping leaves: + For, while their tender tints decay, + The rose of Fancy fades away! + As pilgrims, who, with zealous care, + Some little treasur'd relic bear, + To re-assure the doubtful mind, + When pausing memory looks behind; + I, from a more enlighten'd shrine, + Had made this sweet memento mine: + But, lo! its fainting head reclines; + It folds the pallid leaf, and pines, + As mourning the unhappy doom, + Which tears it from so sweet a home! + +_July 22, 1799._ + + * * * * * + + + +L'HOMME DE L'ENNUI. + + Forlornly I wander, forlornly I sigh, + And droop my head sadly, I cannot tell why: + When the first breeze of morning blows fresh in my face, + As the wild-waving walks of our woodlands I trace, + Reviv'd for the moment I look all around, + But my eyes soon grow languid, and fix on the ground. + + I have yet no misfortune to rob me of rest, + No love discomposes the peace of my breast; + Ambition ne'er enter'd the verge of my thought, + Nor by honours, by wealth, nor by power am I caught; + Those phantoms of folly disturb not my ease, + Yet Time is a tortoise, and Life a disease. + + With the blessings of youth and of health on my side, + A temper untainted by envy or pride; + No guilt to corrode, and no foes to molest; + There are many who tell me my station is blest. + This I cannot dispute; yet without knowing why-- + I feel that my bosom is big with a sigh. + + Oh! why do I see that all knowledge is vain; + That Science finds Error still keep in her train; + That Imposture or Darkness, with Doubt and Surmise, + Will mislead, will perplex, and then baffle the wise, + Who often, when labours have shorten'd their span, + Declare--not to know--is the province of man? + + In life, as in learning, our views are confin'd, + Our discernment too weak to discover the mind, + Which, subdued and irresolute, keeps out of sight; + Or if, for a moment, her presence delight, + Our air is too gross for the stranger to stay; + And, back to her prison she hurries away! + + If my own narrow precincts I seek to explore, + My wishes how vain, my attainments how poor! + Tenacious of virtue, with caution I move; + I correct, and I wrestle, but cannot approve; + Till, bewilder'd and faint, I would yield up the rein, + But I dare not in peace with my errors remain! + + With zeal all awake in the cause of a friend, + With warmth unrepress'd by my fear to offend, + With sympathy active in hope or distress, + How keen and how anxious I cannot express, + I shrink, lest an eye should my feelings behold, + And my heart seems insensible, selfish and cold. + + I strive to be gay, but my efforts are weak, + And, sick of existence, for pleasure I seek; + I mix with the empty, the loud, and the vain, + Partake of their folly, and double my pain. + In others I meet with depression and strife; + Oh! where shall I seek for the music of life? + + * * * * * + + + +THE GRANDFATHER'S DEPARTURE. + + The Old Man press'd Palemon's hand; + To Lucy nodded with a smile; + Kiss'd all the little ones around; + Then clos'd the gate, and paus'd awhile. + + "When shall I come again!" he thought, + Ere yet the journey had begun; + It was a tedious length of way, + But he beheld an only son. + + And dearly did he love to take + A rosy grandchild on his knee; + To part his shining locks, and say, + "Just such another boy was he!" + + And never felt he greater pride, + And never did he look so gay, + As when the little urchins strove + To make him partner in their play. + + But when, in some more gentle mood, + They silent hung upon his arm, + Or nestled close at ev'ning pray'r, + The old man felt a softer charm; + + And upward rais'd his closing eye, + Whence slow effus'd a grateful tear, + As if his senses own'd a joy, + Too holy for endurance here. + + No heart e'er pray'd so fervently, + Unprompted by an earthly zeal, + None ever knew such tenderness, + That did not true devotion feel. + + As with the pure, uncolour'd flame, + The violet's richest blues unite, + Do our affections soar to heav'n, + And rarify and beam with light. + + * * * * * + + + +REFLECTIONS + +OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF FRIENDS. + + My happiness was once a goodly tree, + Which promis'd every day to grow more fair, + And rear'd its lofty branches in the air, + In sooth, it was a pleasant sight, to see! + Amidst, fair honey-suckles crept along, + Twin'd round the bark, and hung from every bough, + While birds, which Fancy held by slender strings, + Plum'd the dark azure of their shining wings, + Or dipp'd them in the silver stream below, + With many a joyful note, and many a song! + + When lo! a tempest hurtles in the sky! + Dark low'r the clouds! the thunders burst around! + Fiercely the arrowy flakes of lightning fly! + While the scar'd songsters leave the quiv'ring bough, + The blasted honey-suckles droop below, + And many noble branches strew the ground! + + Though soon the air is calm, the sky serene, + Though wide the broad and leafy arms are spread, + Yet still the scars of recent wounds are seen; + Their shelter henceforth seems but insecure; + The winged tribes disdain the frequent lure, + Where many a songster lies benumb'd or dead; + And when I would the flow'ry tendrils train, + I find my late delightful labour vain. + + Affection thus, once light of heart, and gay, + Chasten'd by memory, and, unnerv'd by fear, + Shall sadden each endearment with a tear, + Sorrowing the offices of love shall pay, + And scarcely dare to think that good her own, + Which fate's imperious hand may snatch away, + In the warm sunshine of meridian day, + And when her hopes are full and fairest blown. + + * * * * * + + + +TO MRS. T. FANCOURT, + +July 15, 1803. + + I love not yon gay, painted flower, + Of bold and coarsely blended dye, + But one, whose nicely varied power + May long detain the curious eye. + + I love the tones that softly rise, + And in a fine accordance close; + That waken no abrupt surprise, + Nor leave us to inert repose. + + I love the moon's pure, holy light, + Pour'd on the calm, sequester'd stream; + The gale, fresh from the wings of night, + Which drinks the early solar beam; + + The smile of heaven, when storms subside, + When the moist clouds first break away; + The sober tints of even-tide, + Ere yet forgotten by the day. + + Such sights, such sounds, my fancy please, + And set my wearied spirit free: + And one who takes delight in these, + Can never fail of loving thee! + + * * * * * + + + +TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN. + +July 29th, 1803. + + Dear boy, when you meet with a rose, + Admire you the thorns very much? + Or like you to play with a ball, + When the handling it blisters your touch! + + Yet should it be firm and compact, + It is easy to polish it nice; + If the rose is both pretty and sweet, + The thorns will come off in a trice. + + The thistle has still many more, + As visible too in our eyes, + But who will take pains with a weed, + That nobody ever can prize? + + 'Tis what we deem precious and rare, + We most earnestly seek to amend; + And anxious attention and care, + Is the costliest gift of a friend. + + We all have our follies: what then? + Let us note them, and never look bluff! + Without any caressing at all, + They will cling to us closely enough. + + Weeds are of such obstinate growth, + They elude the most diligent hand; + And, if they were not to be check'd, + Would quickly run over the land. + + If some could be taken away, + That hide part of your worth from the view; + The conquest perhaps would be ours, + But the profit is wholly to you. + + * * * * * + + + +FRAGMENT. + + A Pilgrim weary, toil-subdued, + I reach'd a country, strange and rude, + And trembled, lest approaching eve + My hope of shelter might deceive; + When I espied a hunter train, + Prowling at leisure o'er the plain, + And hasten'd on to ask relief, + Of the ill-omen'd, haughty chief. + His eye was artful, keen, and bold, + His smile malevolently cold, + And had not all my fire been fled, + And every earthly passion dead, + His pity to contempt allied, + Had rous'd my anger and my pride; + But, as it was, I bent my way, + Where his secluded mansion lay, + Which rose before my eyes at length, + A fortress of determin'd strength, + And layers of every colour'd moss + The lofty turrets did emboss, + As tho' the hand of father Time, + Prepar'd a sacrifice sublime,-- + Giving his daily rites away, + To aggrandize some future day. + Here as I roam'd the walk along, + I heard a plaintive broken song; + And ere I to the portal drew, + An open window caught my view, + Where a fair dame appear'd in sight, + Array'd in robes of purest white. + Large snowy folds confin'd her hair, + And left a polish'd forehead bare. + O'er her meek eyes, of deepest blue, + The sable lash long shadows threw; + Her cheek was delicately pale, + And seem'd to tell a piteous tale, + But o'er her looks such patience stole, + Such saint-like tenderness of soul, + That never did my eyes behold, + A beauty of a lovelier mold. + + The Lady sigh'd, and closely prest + A sleeping infant to her breast; + Shook off sweet tears of love, and smil'd, + Kissing the fingers of the child, + Which round her own unconscious clung, + Then fondly gaz'd, and softly sung: + + Once like that sea, which ebbs and flows, + My bosom never knew repose, + And heavily each morn arose. + + I bore with anger and disdain, + I had no power to break my chain, + No one to whom I dar'd complain. + + And when some bird has caught my eye, + Or distant sail been flitting by, + I wish'd I could at freely fly. + + But I can now contented be, + Can tell, dear babe, my griefs to thee. + And feel more brave, and breathe more free. + + And when thy father frowns severe, + Although my spirit faints with fear, + I feel I have a comfort near. + + And when he harshly speaks to me, + If thou art smiling on my knee, + He softens as he looks on thee. + + To soothe him in an evil hour + The bud has balm, oh! may the flower + Possess the same prevailing power! + + Nor forc'd to leave thy native land, + To pledge a cold, unwilling hand, + May'st thou receive the hard command. + + My mother had not half the zeal, + The aching fondness which I feel, + She had no broken heart to heal! + + And I was friendless when she died, + Who could my little failings chide, + And for an hour her fondness hide. + + But I can see no prospect ope, + Can give no fairy vision scope, + If thou art not the spring of hope. + + I cannot thy affection draw, + By childhood's first admiring awe; + Be tender pity then thy law! + + This heart would bleed at every vein, + I could not even life sustain, + If ever thou should'st give me pain. + + O! soul of sweetness! can it be, + That thou could'st prove unkind to me! + That I should fear this blow from thee! + + Alas! e'en then I would not blame, + My love to thee should be the same, + And judge from whence unkindness came! + + Her words grew indistinct and slow, + Her voice more tremulous and low, + When suddenly the song was o'er, + A whisper even heard no more-- + She had discern'd my nearer tread; + Appear'd to feel alarm, and fled. + + * * * * * + + + +SONGS. + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + + Thrice lovely babe! thus hush'd to rest, + Upon thy warrior father's breast! + Avails it, that his eyes behold, + Thy rosy cheeks, thy locks of gold! + Avails it that he bends his ear, + So fondly thy soft breath to hear! + Or, that his rising smiles confess, + A gracious gleam of tenderness! + The sweetest spell will scarce have pow'r + To hold him for one absent hour! + + Some plant that ceases thus to share, + A daily friend's auspicious care, + Relaxes in its feeble grasp, + The flow'ry tendrils soon unclasp, + Loose in the heedless aether play, + And every idle breeze obey! + Thus vainly had I sought to bind; + Thus watch'd that light, forgetful mind, + Till smiles and sunshine could restore, + My often-blighted hopes no more! + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. VOIGHT. + + What do I love? A polish'd mind, + A temper cheerful, meek, and kind; + A graceful air, unsway'd by art, + A voice that sinks into the heart, + A playful and benignant smile-- + Alas! my heart responds the while, + All this, my Emily, is true, + But I love more in loving you! + + I love those roses when they rise, + From joy, from anger, or surprise; + I love the kind, attentive zeal, + So prompt to know what others feel, + The mildness which can ne'er reprove, + But in the sweetest tones of love-- + All this, my Emily, is true, + But I love more in loving you! + + The self-command which can sustain, + In silence, weariness and pain; + The transport at a friend's success, + Which has not words or power to bless, + But, by a sudden, starting tear, + Appears more precious, more sincere-- + All this, my Emily, is true, + And this I love in loving you! + + * * * * * + + + +A SAILOR'S SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. WALSH. + + I ponder many a silent hour, + On friends belov'd when far at sea, + And, tell me, have I not the power + To draw one kindred thought to me! + + The while we linger on the coast, + My truant fancy homeward flies, + And when the view is almost lost, + Unmanly tears bedew my eyes-- + + And oft forgetful do I stand, + Nor crew, nor ship, nor ocean see; + And often does my heart demand, + If friends belov'd thus think on me! + + And when to England bound once more, + I shall with fond impatience burn, + Will not some others on the shore + As fondly look for my return! + + O! let me of your kindness hear! + Repeat the strain as I depart! + It swells like music on my ear, + It falls like balm upon my heart. + +Aug. 21, 1805. + + * * * * * + + + +ANOTHER, + +WRITTEN EARLIER. + + Adieu to old England! adieu to my friends! + Though fortune and fame I pursue, + On thus looking around me, I cannot conceal, + How reluctant I bid them adieu! + + My heart sinks within me, I sigh to the gale, + Thus slowly receding from shore, + While fancy still whispers some terrible tale, + A perhaps I may see it no more! + + There all that I love, that I value, remain, + That only awakens my fears, + For will the same spot its dear inmates contain, + On the lapse of two lingering years? + + They may smile in good fortune, or weep in distress, + I shall know not a word of their fate! + No pain can I soften, no sorrow redress! + I may come, when, alas! 'tis too late! + + I can fly without fear to encounter the foe, + To my earliest wish I am true; + But I cannot unmov'd quit the friends that I love, + Or bid my dear country adieu! + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. A. PETTIT, OF NORWICH. + + Once more then farewell! and whilst I'm away, + Oh! let not another entangle thy fancy! + I shall think upon thee every hour of the day, + And let not my love be forgotten by Nancy! + + Oh! were I forsaken, the flow'r in my heart, + Would fold all its leaves, and re-open them never! + The sunshine of joy and of hope would depart, + And belief in affection would perish for ever! + + To talk thus is folly! I doubt not thy truth, + A few years of absence will quickly pass over, + I scorn other perils that menace my youth, + From that wound, I must own, I could never recover! + + * * * * * + + + +HENRY, + +ON THE DEPARTURE OF HIS WIFE FROM CALCUTTA. + + Long is thy passage o'er the main, + And native air alone can save! + No friend thy weakness will sustain, + But India is, for thee, a grave! + Though winds arise, though surges swell, + Maria, we must say farewell! + + Oh! I bethink me of the time, + When with each airy hope in view, + In triumph to this fervid clime + I bore a flowret nurs'd in dew! + No fears did then my joy reprove, + And it was boundless as my love! + + Yet now to strangers I consign + Thy wounded mind, thy feeble health; + A charge more dear than life resign, + To watch a little worldly wealth. + Duty compels me to remain + But oh! how heavy feels the chain! + + My dear Maria! smile no more? + This seeming patience makes me wild! + So would'st thou once my peace restore, + When, mourning for our only child, + Each faint appeal was lost in air, + Or turn'd my sadness to despair. + + Alas! I only make thee grieve. + And hark! the boat awaits below! + They call aloud! and I must leave, + The tears my folly forc'd to flow. + Oh! had I but the time to prove, + That mine are only fears of love! + + * * * * * + + + +SONNET. + + Urge me no more! nor think, because I seem + Tame and unsorrowing in the world's rude strife, + That anguish and resentment have not life + Within the heart that ye so quiet deem: + In this forc'd stillness only, I sustain + My thought and feeling, wearied out with pain! + Floating as 'twere upon some wild abyss, + Whence, silent Patience, bending o'er the brink, + Would rescue them with strong and steady hand, + And join again, by that connecting link, + Which now is broken:--O, respect her care! + Respect her in this fearful self-command! + No moment teems with greater woe than this, + Should she but pause, or falter in despair! + + * * * * * + + + +ON THE REGRET OF YOUTH. + + Before a rose is fully blown, + The outward leaves announce decay; + So, ere the spring of Youth is flown, + Its tiny pleasures die away; + + The gay security we feel, + The careless soul's delighted rest, + That lively hope, that ardent zeal, + And smiling sunshine of the breast. + + Those simple tints, so bright and clear, + No healing dew-drops can restore; + For joys, which early life endear, + Once blighted, can revive no more. + + Yet lovely is the full-blown rose, + Although its infant graces fly; + The various opening leaves disclose, + A fairer banquet to the eye; + + A ruby's beams on drifted snow, + Such pure, harmonious blushes shed; + If distant, cast a tender glow, + But near, its own imperial red; + + The form assumes a prouder air, + And bends more graceful in the gale; + While, from its cup, of essence rare, + A richer hoard of sweets exhale. + + Could we again, by fancy led, + That bower of swelling leaves confine, + And round that fine, luxuriant head, + The mossy tendrils now entwine, + + Over what multitudes of bloom + Would a few timid leaflets close! + What mental joys resign their room, + To causeless mirth, and tame repose! + + The change to Reason's steady eye, + Would neither good nor wise appear; + And we may lay one precept by, + Our discontent is insincere. + + * * * * * + + + +ELEGY ON SOPHIA GRAHAM, + +WHO DIED JAN. 21, 1800. + + Sweet is the voice of Friendship to the ear, + Sweet is Affection's mildly-beaming eye, + Sweet the applause which flows from lips sincere, + And sweet is Pity's soft responsive sigh! + + But now those flowers of life have lost their bloom, + Faint all their beauty, cold their healing breath, + No object fills my eye but yonder tomb, + No sound awakes me but the name of death. + + When in the world, I bear a look serene, + And veil the gloomy temper of my grief; + Sick with restraint at evening quit the scene, + To find in tears and solitude relief. + + Parent of Hope and Fancy! thoughtful Night! + Why are these nurselings absent from thy bower, + While Memory, with sullen, strange delight, + Stalks lonely centinel the live-long hour? + + O dear Sophia! could we e'er forget, + Such fair endowments and unsullied worth, + Thy partial friendship calls for our regret, + And selfish feeling gives remembrance birth. + + How often when this trembling hand essays + Thy lov'd resemblance once again to trace, + The portrait thought in mimic life arrays + With all the sweet expression of thy face; + + Art may its symmetry and beauty show, + A look, a character, the pencil seize, + Give to the form where youthful graces glow, + An air of pensive dignity and ease, + + But warmth of feeling and sensation fine, + By mild reserve from common eyes conceal'd, + The ray of genius and the heart benign, + In artless gaiety so oft reveal'd-- + + All these are lost; no looks can now arise, + Like those which every little act endear'd, + Which even in the stranger's careless eyes + Like innocence from other worlds appear'd! + + Oft have I fear'd the breath of foolish praise, + Might taint the lily which so humbly grew; + That flattery's sun might shoot delusive rays, + Impede her progress, and distract her view. + + But vain the fear--for she remain'd the same, + To outward charms indifferent or blind, + Heedless alike of either praise or blame, + If it respected not her heart and mind. + + Rich in historic lore, the poet's lyre + Had not, though screen'd by time, forsaken hung, + She felt and studied with a kindred fire, + The lofty strain immortal Maro sung. + + She knew--but why essay to trace her thought + Through its wide range, describe her blooming youth, + The heart whose feelings were so finely wrought, + Its meek ambition, and its love of truth? + + All that parental-vanity desires, + All that the friend can muse upon and mourn, + All that the lover's ardent vow inspires, + In thee, Sophia! from the world was torn! + + But still we yield thee to no stranger's care; + No unknown foe our tender love bereaves; + Thou goest the angels' hallow'd bliss to share, + A Father thy exalted soul receives! + + * * * * * + + + +TO MISS ROUSE BOUGHTON, + +NOW THE RIGHT HON. LADY ST. JOHN. + +Aberystwith, July 5th, 17-- + + Louisa, while thy pliant fingers trace + The solemn beauties of the prospect round, + Or, on thy instrument, with touching grace, + Awaken all the witcheries of sound: + + Mild, as thy manners, do the colours rise, + As soft and unobtrusive meet the view; + And, when the varied notes the ear surprize, + We own the harmony as strictly true. + + Be thine the praise, alas! a gift how rare! + Artless, and unpretending, to excel! + Forget the envied charm of being fair, + To learn the noblest science,--acting well! + And let no world the seal of truth displace, + Or spoil the heart's accordance with the face! + + * * * * * + + + +TO THE SAME, + +ON RECEIVING FROM HER A FEW FLOWERS OUT OF A BOUQUET, FROM MELCHBOURNE, +1807. + + Hail! sweet Louisa! o'er these votive flow'rs + Friendship and Fancy weave the joyful song, + Wing with fresh rose-leaves all the train of hours, + That in the distant aether float along! + + Like those fair flowrets given by thy hand, + Like thy own beauty, blooming and serene, + The vision of thy future life is plann'd, + And forms a clear, a bright, and varied scene! + + That countenance so gentle, and so kind, + That heart, which never gave a harsh decree, + Suit all the turns of thy harmonious mind, + And must, perforce, with destiny agree. + This from the Sibyl's leaves affection drew, + O, be the omen just! the promise true! + + * * * * * + + + +TO THE RIVER + +WHICH SEPARATES ITSELF FROM THE DEE, AT BEDKELLERT. + +July 19, 1799. + + Let others hail the tranquil stream, + Whose glassy waters smoothly flow, + And, in the undulating gleam, + Reflect another world below! + + The yellow Conway as it raves, + Demands my tributary song! + When, rushing forth, resistless waves + O'er rocky fragments foam along! + + Like him, whose vigorous mind reviews + The troubles which around him roll; + The ceaseless warfare still pursues, + And keeps a firm, undaunted soul. + + Though sternly bent by toil and care, + The brow hang darkly o'er his eye-- + His features the fix'd meaning wear + Of one who knows not how to sigh. + + It is not apathy that reigns, + O'erweening arrogance, or pride, + For, in his warmly-flowing veins, + The genial feelings all reside. + + It is the breast-plate fortitude + Should still to injury oppose; + It is the shield with power imbu'd, + To blunt the malice of his foes. + + And should the savage country round, + A more engaging aspect show, + O Conway! it will then be found, + How sweet and clear thy waters flow! + + The birds will dip the taper wing-- + The pilgrim there his thirst assuage, + The wandering minstrel sit and sing, + Or muse upon a distant age! + + Bold River! soon within the deep, + Each weary strife and conflict o'er, + Thy venerable waves shall sleep, + And feel opposing rocks no more! + + * * * * * + + + +THE OLD MAN'S FAREWELL. + + Farewell, my pilgrim guest, farewell, + A few days since thou wert unknown, + None shall thy future fortunes tell, + But sweetly have the moments flown! + + And kindness, like the sun on flowers, + Soon chas'd away thy tender gloom; + New-fledg'd the sable-pinion'd hours, + And wove bright tints in Fancy's loom. + + We sought no secrets to divine, + Neither thy name nor lineage knew, + Our hearts alone have question'd thine, + And found that all was just and true. + + Pass not with hasty step, I pray, + Across the threshold of my door! + But pause awhile, with kind delay, + We shall behold thy face no more! + + Once only in a hundred years, + The aloe's precious blossoms swell, + So, in thy presence it appears, + That Time has blossom'd, fare thee well![A] + + [A] See Preface. + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +DISTANCE FROM THE PLACE OF OUR NATIVITY. + + Since I married Palemon, though happy my lot, + Though my garden is pleasant, and lightsome my cot, + Though love's smile, like a sunshine, I constantly see, + Those blessings are all insufficient for me, + I repine not at labour, I ask not for gold, + But I want the sweet eyes of my friends to behold. + + With Palemon I think o'er the world I could roam, + Though he liv'd in a desert, would make it my home. + From him no allurements his Lucy could bribe, + And, though timid, no dangers, no menaces drive. + But the heart that can love with devotion so true, + Is not cold or forgetful, my parents, to you! + + Oh idle declaimers! how is it ye say, + That affection and tenderness fade and decay? + Though so easily pain'd, they endure like a gem, + And the heart and the mind imbibe colour from them! + In affliction they brighten, in absence refine, + And are causes of sorrow too sweet to resign. + + * * * * * + + + +THE OLD SHEPHERD'S RECOLLECTIONS. + + Low, heavy clouds are hanging on the hills, + And half-impatient of the sun's approach, + Shake sullenly their cold and languid wings! + Oh! it is fine to see his morning beams + Burst on the gloom, while, in disorder'd flight, + The shuddering, mournful vapours steal away; + Like the tenacious spirit of a man, + Shrinking from the loud voice of cheerfulness, + When it breaks in, so sadly out of tune, + Upon his quiet musing, and dispels + The waking dream of a dejected heart: + The dream I cherish in this solitude, + In all the wanderings of my little flock, + That which beguiles my loneliness, and takes + Its charm and change from the surrounding scene. + + Oh! how unwelcome often are to me + The gayest, most exhilarating sounds! + When slow and sickly Memory, tempted forth + By dint of soft persuasion, brings to light + His treasures--and, with childish eagerness, + Arranges and collects--then suddenly + To have him startled by discordance, drag, + Without discrimination, all away-- + And with them leap to his deep hollow cave-- + Not easily to be withdrawn again, + Grieves one who loves to think of other times, + To talk with those long silent in the grave, + And pass from childhood to old age again. + + Behold this stony rock! whose rifted crest, + Lets the rough, roaring torrent force a way, + And, foaming, pour its waters on the vale! + Behold them tumbling from their dizzy height, + Like clouds, of more than snowy whiteness, thrown + Precipitate from heav'n, which, as they fall, + Diffuse a mist, in form of glory, round! + This was my darling haunt a long time past! + Here, when a boy, in pleasing awe, I sate, + Wistfully silent, with uplifted eye, + And heart attun'd to the sad, lulling sound + They made descending. Far below my feet, + Near where yon little, ruin'd cottage lies, + Oft, at the pensive hour of even-tide + I saw young Osborne bearing on his harp, + And, trusting to an aged mother's care, + His darkling steps: Beneath that falling beech, + Whose wide-spread branches touch the water's edge, + He lov'd to sit, and feel the freshen'd gale + Breathe cool upon him. + + Then that falling beech + Was a young, graceful tree; which, starting up, + Amid the looser fragments of the rock, + Rear'd boldly in the air its lofty head, + While, struggling with the stone, the nervous roots + Pursued their own direction, elbowing out, + Their flinty neighbour; who, o'erspread with moss, + Of varied hues, and deck'd with flow'ring heath, + That from each fissure hung luxuriant down, + Became a seat, where, king of all the scene, + The harper sate, and, in sweet melodies, + Now like the lark rejoicing at the dawn, + Now soothing as the nightingale's sad note, + Hail'd the departing sun, whose golden rays + Glitter'd upon the surface of the wave, + And, as a child upon its mother's arm + Seeks to delay the coming hour of rest, + Till sudden slumbers steal upon his smiles + And veil him in a dream of love and joy, + He seem'd reluctant to withdraw his beams; + And, rich in roseate beauty, for awhile + Kept the green waves beneath his glowing head. + + Kind, gentle Osborne! half a century + Has silver'd o'er the crisp and yellow locks + Of thy young auditor, but memory still + Grasps the torn record of my weary life. + And finds full many a page to tell of thee! + Oh! ye who have a friend ye truly love, + One whom your hearts can trust, whose excellence + Was not obtruded boastingly to view, + But time and happy circumstance reveal'd, + Rays of quick light upon a diamond + Which else had lain unnotic'd in the waste! + Oh! hasten! hasten speedily to pay + Each debt of fond affection! lock not up + So cautiously the tribute due to worth! + Nor let reserve, as I have often done, + Enslave the sweetest feelings of the soul! + And hang around them like an envious mist, + O'er the bright radiance of the morning star, + Leaving us nothing but a spot of light + Bereav'd of all its lustre! For my friend, + He never knew that there was one on earth, + After a parent felt the touch of death, + And Love, a weeping pilgrim, turn'd away + Far from his dwelling--Oh! he never knew, + That there was one who would have follow'd him, + With steady kindness, even to the grave! + + Thou dear, neglected friend! to whom I owe + All that sustains my heart, and makes me think + The gift of life a blessing, Oh! forgive + That in thy sorrows, my forgetful tongue + Spake not of zeal and service; of the debt + Which gratitude was emulous to pay! + I might have trimm'd the dying lamp of hope, + And cheer'd the bitter hours of banishment: + But Oh! my youth was fearful, and I felt + So deep an awe of that unspotted worth + And saint-like gentleness--such a mistrust + Of my own powers to tell him what I wish'd, + That I resisted all my feelings claim'd, + In anguish I resisted; but a spell + Hung o'er me and compell'd me to be mute. + + Methinks I still behold him! tall and fair, + He had a look so tranquil and so mild, + That something holy stole upon the sense + When he appear'd; his language had such power + In converse, that the hearer, as entranced + Sate lingering on to listen; while in song, + Or skill upon the many-stringed harp + Was never heard his equal! Then he knew + All our old ballads, all our father's tales, + All the adventurous deeds of early times, + The punishment of blood or sacrilege, + And the reward of virtue, when it seem'd + Deserted by the world, and left alone, + A prey to scorn, oppression, contumely + And all the ills which make the good despair. + When-e'er we circled round him, one young girl + Was always present, of a nicer ear, + And more refin'd perception than the rest. + Now she was lost in thought, while on her cheek + Lay silent tears--and then that cheek grew pale + In wild amazement--but, when he began + To speak of noble deeds, she rais'd her head, + Bending with looks of mingled awe and love, + And zealous admiration, on the youth, + Alone insensible of all around, + To the soft charm of symmetry and grace, + The smile intelligent, the look benign, + And all the outward raiment of the soul. + Yet, though he saw her not, it was his fate + To have an inward and discerning sense, + Which spake of Lora's gentleness and worth. + He lov'd in her the fondness of his art, + And taught her many wild and simple airs, + Suiting the plaintive tenor of her voice, + Which he would mimic with sweet minstrelsy. + When she was absent, and with strange delight, + Repeat her parting words, her kind adieu, + Or sweetly-spoken promise of return. + + And that return was prompt: she linger'd oft + Till evening wet the ground with heavy dew, + Or came to take her lesson in the morn, + Before her father's anxious eyes unclos'd, + To look upon her beauty with delight, + And soothe the rugged temper of his soul, + By views of future grandeur for his child: + Not thinking that her elegance of mind, + The modest dignity of humble worth + Which fits the low-born peasant to become + A crowned monarch, and to wield with grace + The golden sceptre, had instructed her + To feel no paltry jealousy of power, + No bold aspiring, and no wish beyond + The bounded confines of her present state: + Had counsell'd her, that even mines of wealth, + Could purchase nothing to content the wise, + Esteem or friendship, tenderness or love: + That power at best was but a heavy weight; + If well employ'd, a dubious, unpaid toil, + If ill, a curse, to tempt men to their fate. + + Her cheek had often felt the blush of shame, + At his proud boasting; and her heart had sunk + At the cold arrogance that scorn'd the poor; + But she was fain to turn aside, and weep, + To wring her hands in secret, and to raise + The eye of silent anguish up to heaven; + For though he dearly lov'd her, he would ne'er + Submit to hear a murmur at his will. + Oft with her heart oppress'd, and her blue eyes + Full of unshedden tears, she bent her way + Alone to Osborne's lowly cot, and when + Her faint voice call'd the fond inquiry forth, + Would say, "'tis true, my friends, that I am sad, + Nay sick, with vain repining. O! I wish, + That I were either indigent myself, + Or that I had the power, the blessed power + Of cheering the unhappy! for I want, + By kindness to prevent the act of guilt, + And ward the arrows of incroaching Death, + Who comes, before the time, upon his prey. + Think that there should be means to stay his wrath, + To purchase health, life, comfort, innocence, + And yet those means withholden! + + "O! my heart! + It dies with sorrow! and where most I love, + Sheds all its bitterness; delighting still + To tell the many miseries that flit + At times across me! Those I lightly prize + Partake the sunshine of my happier hours, + Although I seek them with far less delight! + The loud laugh dwells not here, the sportive dance, + The carol of unconscious levity, + And yet how oft, how willingly I come!" + + "Know'st thou not, Lora," cried the youthful sage, + "That there are things the mind must prize above + What captivates the senses! That in them + She feels no interest, and she takes no care! + That though sometimes an alien, she receives + Delighted back the ensigns of her power, + And takes her truant vassals into grace! + That when thou bring'st to us that wounded mind, + The grave of many feelings, language is + As yet too poor to utter, thou canst give + No richer, dearer token of regard." + + "Were man indeed the only hope of man, + I never would reprove thee for thy tears! + But, they are vain! man has a surer trust! + The helpless, weary, miserable wretch, + Left by his fellows in the wilderness, + Shall be supported in that trying hour, + By a right arm, which, in his days of strength, + He did not lean upon! A gracious arm, + Which wounds the sick, and heals them by the stroke. + O! Lora! to the Father of the world, + A Judge so patient and so merciful. + That he refuses not the latest sigh. + Nor suffers sorrow but as means to save, + Canst thou not trust the objects of thy care! + + "Hadst thou the power to help them--it were well, + To be most anxious. To collect thy freight + Of human sorrow, and, by merchandize, + Exchange it for the riches of the world: + For health, for comfort, nay, perchance for life, + That gem of countless value, which sometimes, + Not all the treasures of the East can buy, + Tendered with supplications and with tears, + Is often purchas'd at a petty price, + Nay, in exchange for courtesy. What joy + Must in that moment fill the merchant's heart, + To win a jewel, kings monopolize + The sole disposal of! Be patient then! + This glorious privilege may yet be thine! + Deserve it only by fulfilling all + The gentler duties that have present claims + With cheerfulness and zeal--Let no neglect + Press on thy father's age, no discontent + Sour thee with thy companions, no mistrust + Give pain to friendship, and thy usefulness + Though calm and bounded, has no mean award." + + Thus, like a prophet, did he still enforce + Only the virtues and rare qualities + Congenial with her after destiny; + Yet, not foreseeing evil, he himself + Was unprepared, and when her father led, + Her opposition and entreaty past, + The hapless Lora forth, to promise love + And honour to a man, whose vacant mind, + Throughout a course of long succeeding years, + She vainly strove to soften and to raise, + Though he had taught her patience till that hour, + His own at once forsook him, and he fled. + + She murmur'd not, nor even seem'd to mourn, + But losing all her love of solitude, + Appear'd so active in each new pursuit, + So wholly what her anxious father wish'd, + That he repented not his cruelty. + Believing in her happiness, he felt + Himself the author, and became more proud + Of his own wisdom: yet she often heard + His wayward taunt or querulous complaint, + And, from the lordly partner of her fate, + The harsher sound of ignorant rebuke. + She was a matchless woman, when she lost + The timid graces of retiring youth, + She still was lovely, for her shaded eyes + Beam'd with a lofty sweetness, a content + Beyond the pow'r of fortune to destroy. + Careless of let or hindrance, she went on, + Nor shrunk nor started at the many thorns + Strew'd in her toilsome path; still looking forth + To others' weal, forgetful it would seem, + Perchance in heart despairing of her own. + The friend, the help, the comforter of all, + No voice was heard so cheerful, nor a step + So bounding and so light. 'Twas wonderful! + For I have seen her, when her polish'd arm + Has clasp'd the nurseling, with her face conceal'd + Bent fondly o'er; and I have mark'd each limb + To boast a fine expansion, as if thrill'd + With the deep feelings of maternal love + And aching tenderness, too highly wrought + For happy souls to cherish! they delight + In painless joys, and, on the infant's cheek, + Rounded and glowing with a finer bloom + Than the wild-rose, careless imprint the kiss, + Which sorrow always sanctions by a prayer. + They in the radiance of its glancing eyes + See nothing to suffuse with their own tears! + Borne forward on the easy wing of Time, + They travel on, they scarcely meet with Thought, + Or, like a summer cloud, he passes by, + His shadow rests one instant, and again + The scene is calm and brilliant as before! + + Not so with Lora, trouble, sickness, death, + Were busy with the residue of peace, + When years and care had weaken'd her regrets, + Veil'd the sad recollection of past days, + And overgrown the softness of her mind, + As the close-creeping ivy hides and rusts + The smooth and silver surface of the beech. + An orphan and a widow--she became + Decisive, watchful, prudent, nay severe + To wilful disobedience or neglect; + Though generous where she perceiv'd desert. + She taught her children with unceasing zeal, + Sought knowledge for their sakes, and, more than all, + Anxious, inquisitive about the heart, + Search'd all the motives, all the incidents + In which it was unfolded; fencing still + Each treacherous failing with a double guard, + And oft repeated warnings; well conceal'd, + Or given with so much kindness, that they serv'd + To draw more closely every knot of love. + Nor did she cease to urge her pious cares + By constant vigilance, till riper age + Had fix'd the moral sense, when, as a bow + For a long active season tightly strain'd + Relaxes, tumult and contention o'er, + She sunk into indulgence, glad to yield + To mildness, nature, and herself again. + + Youth, e'en when wise and good, requires a change, + Delights in novelty, and hears of nought + Which suddenly it asks not to behold; + And Lora's children oft assail'd her ear + To let them journey to some rumour'd scene, + Some feast, or village wake, or sprightly dance, + Urging her still to bear them company. + She lov'd to give them pleasure, and one time + (The fav'rite legend of our country folk + Hath oft the tale repeated) as they mix'd + Carelessly in the crowd, remember'd notes + Struck by a harper in a distant tent, + Sweet and soul-piercing as the midnight songs + Which are, they say, the harbingers of death, + Flow'd on her ear--when, with impulsive spring, + As if a magic spell had wing'd her feet, + Fearing the sounds would vanish into air, + And prove delusion ere she reach'd the spot, + She forward rush'd, and soon beheld the friend, + The dear companion of her youth. She seiz'd + The hand that lay upon the quivering chords, + Stopping their melody and resting mute. + The pause was awful--He at length exclaim'd, + In a deep, laboured cry, "Ye heavenly powers! + If Lora lives, the hand I feel is hers!" + She could not speak, but with her other hand + Clasp'd his, and sigh'd and rais'd her eyes to heaven, + When straight the big, round tears began to flow; + "And is it thee, dear Lora! Art thou come + Again to gladden one, who never found + 'Mid countless who are good, a heart like thine! + Oh! speak! that I may know if still my ear + Retains a true remembrance of that voice! + For since, it has not drank so sweet a sound." + + "Hail happy day!" cried Lora, "which restores + The friend whose absence I have mourn'd so long! + For thou, O! Osborne! must with me return, + Me and my children! They shall hear again + Those counsels which inform'd their mother's heart; + Gave courage in the hour of enterprize, + Calmness in danger, patience under ills + That like a swarm of insects buz around, + And vex the spirit which they cannot rouse. + Return, my early, long-lost friend! with us + Thou shalt enjoy repose: our cheerful home + Shall gather round thee many an honest heart + Which knows thy virtues, and will hold thee dear." + + She paus'd, and Osborne joyful gave assent. + Fair hopes of joy engaged his faultering mind, + For long-time had he dragg'd a weary life, + Lone, or bereav'd of relative or friend, + Careful to tend his health, and to divert + His sadness; each succeeding hour had press'd + With its slow-passing wing his gentle head + Drooping and prematurely silver'd o'er, + (Like snows depending on the autumn leaf) + Yet warm, benevolent, serene, resign'd, + And like an angel save in youth and joy. + + A winding path round yonder wooded hill, + Leads to a spot where Nature decks herself + In loveliness and beauty: far below + Spreads the green valley, where a silent stream + Turns, like a serpent writhing in its course; + And, rarified by distance, kissing heaven, + In many noble and fantastic shapes, + A giant range of purple mountains sleeps. + Grand is the scene, and in the centre stands + The tomb of Osborne--after many years + Of happiness and friendship, Lora rais'd + This plain memorial, and her children plac'd + A mother's near, to tell succeeding years + Their talents and their virtue. They themselves + More forcibly express the worth of both, + For they are wise and good, without a shade + Of cold severity or selfish pride. + + * * * * * + + + +REFLECTION. + +August 2, 1798. + + Why should we think the years of life + Will pass serenely by, + When, for a day, the Sun himself + Ne'er sees a cloudless sky! + + And, unassuming as she moves, + The meek-eyed Queen of night, + Meets wand'ring vapours in her path + To dim her paler light! + + Then why should we in vain repine + At man's uncertain lot, + That cares will equally assail + The palace and the cot? + + For Heaven ordains this chequer'd scene + Our mortal pow'rs t' employ; + That we might know, compare, select, + Be grateful, and enjoy. + +[For the last verse I am indebted to the pen of a Friend.] + + * * * * * + + + +RETROSPECT OF YOUTH. + + I wander'd forth amid the flow'rs, + And careless sipp'd the morning air; + Nor hail'd the angel-winged hours, + Nor saw that Happiness was there! + Alas! I often since have wept + That Gratitude unconscious slept! + + For Truth and Pity then were young, + And walk'd in simple, narrow bounds; + Affection's meek, assuasive tongue, + Had sweet, but most capricious sounds. + Once, wild with scornful pride, she fled, + And only turn'd to seek the dead! + + Oh! from a garden of delight, + What fair memento did I bring! + What amaranth of colours bright, + To mark the promise of my spring? + Behold this flow'r! its leaves are wet, + With tears of lasting, vain regret! + + * * * * * + + + +THE DAUGHTER. + +1797. + + "Come, mournful lute! dear echo of my woe! + No stranger's tread in this lone spot I fear, + Sweeter thy notes in such wild places flow, + And, what is more, my Henry cannot hear! + + "He will not know my pain and my despair, + When that dread scene arises on my view, + Where my poor father would not hear my pray'r, + Or grant his only child a last adieu! + + "He will not know that still the hour I mourn, + When death all hopes of pardon snatch'd away; + That still this heart by sad remembrance torn, + Repeats the dreadful mandate of that day. + + "Luckless for him has been my constant love, + Luckless the destiny I bade him brave, + For since a parent did our vows reprove, + Sorrow was all the gift my fondness gave. + + "Then, though I knew my father's stern command, + The short-liv'd conflict of affection o'er, + I offer'd to the youth my dowerless hand, + And fondly reason'd thus on being poor, + + "'Can pomp or splendour elevate the soul, + Brighten the lustre that illumes the eye! + Make the rough stream of life more smoothly roll, + Suppress the tear, or waft away the sigh! + + "'Can happiness a purer joy receive, + In the proud mansions of the rich and great? + Or, tell me, can the wounded bosom heave + With blunted anguish under robes of state! + + "'No! Henry, no! Alas! too well you know, + The misery of an affected smile, + The pain of clearing the thought-clouded brow, + To covet for yourself the hateful toil! + + "'And since my choice, and reason both approve, + Since I have known you many a circling year, + And time has well assur'd me of your love, + Tell me, my Henry, what have I to fear? + + "'My father, though by worldly prudence led, + Will pardon when our happiness is told.' + Alas! no curses fell upon my head, + But never did he more his child behold. + + "He would not, dying, hear my ardent prayer! + But, cruel! said, I leave her all my store; + She wrung my doating heart with deep despair, + And even now perhaps desires no more. + + "This is the stroke which all my peace destroys, + The dagger which no art can draw away, + The thought which every faculty employs, + Withers my bloom, and makes my strength decay. + + "His death, his sorrows are the heavy curse + That hangs above my poor, distracted head! + His dying words have scatter'd vain remorse, + For vain, though bitter, are the tears I shed. + + "And yet my father to my soul was dear, + But tender pity was on Henry's side; + I painted him relenting, not severe, + Nor fancied I could be an orphan bride. + + "Ah me! excuses will not cure my pain! + At least, forgetfulness can little plead. + A widow'd parent!--I deserv'd disdain, + 'Tis fit these eyes should weep, this heart should bleed! + + "But yet assist me heaven! to hide my grief, + My waning health from love's suspicious eyes! + This malady admits of no relief, + And nought augments the pain, but Henry's sighs. + + "Perhaps e'en now he wonders at my stay, + Sees the white fogs of evening rise around, + Comes out to seek me in my devious way, + But turns not to this unfrequented ground. + + "Alas! my love, thy anxious care is vain! + Nothing can stop yon wand'rer of the sky; + Nothing can long this fleeting life retain! + For oh! I feel that I must shortly die. + + "But cease my lute, this low, desponding strain, + It floats too long upon the heavy air; + Henry may pass and know that I complain. + One moment's peace to him is worth my care." + + She said, and toward the cheerless mansion flew, + Her slender, sylph-like form array'd in white, + Not clearly seen amidst surrounding dew, + Seem'd like a spirit ling'ring in its flight. + + Poor Henry, who had watch'd her in the shade, + In aching silence list'ning to her song, + At distance follow'd slowly through the glade, + Pausing forgetful as he pass'd along. + + * * * * * + + + +YOUTH UNSUSPICIOUS OF EVIL. + + O bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r! + And look not up so fresh and bright! + The keen, harsh wind, the heavy show'r, + Will spoil thy beauties ere the night. + + I grieve to see thee look so gay. + And so unconscious of thy lot, + For gloom and tempests wait thy day, + And thou, unhappy, fear'st it not! + + Thy tender leaflets all unfold, + Their colours ripen and refine, + Become most lovely to behold, + And, ah! most apt to shrink and pine. + + Then, bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r! + I grieve to see thee look so gay! + Close thy soft wings against the show'r, + And wait a more auspicious day! + + * * * * * + + + +THE MOTHER. + + "And beats my heart again with joy! + And dances now my spirit light! + The skiff that holds my darling boy + This moment burst upon my sight! + + "Not yet distinctly I perceive + Amid the crew his well-known form, + But still his safety I believe, + I know he has escap'd the storm. + + "I feel as if my heart had wings, + And tender from excess of bliss, + His form, which airy fancy brings, + In fond emotion seem to kiss. + + "Welcome the wild, imperfect rest, + Which these bewilder'd spirits share! + Welcome this tumult of the breast, + After the shudder of despair! + + "My Robert he is brave and strong, + He will these flowing tears reprove. + Alas! how little know the young, + The tremor of a Mother's love. + + "For we are weak from many a care, + From many a sleepless, anxious hour, + When fear and hope the bosom tear, + And ride the brain with fevering power. + + "But lo! he cheerly waves his hand! + I hear his voice! I see his face! + And eager now he springs to land, + To meet a Mother's fond embrace! + + "This failing heart! but joy to me, + If heaven in pity is thy guard; + And of the pangs I feel for thee, + Protection be the dear reward!" + + * * * * * + + + +EDGAR AND ELLEN. + + "Arrest thy steps! On these sad plains, + Fair dame, no farther go! + But listen to the martial strains, + Whose wildness speaks of woe! + + Hark! strife is forward on the field, + I hear the trumpet's bray! + Now spear to spear, and shield to shield, + Decides the dreadful day! + + Unfit for thee, oh! Lady fair! + The scenes where men engage; + Thy gentle spirit could not bear + The fearful battle's rage." + + "I prithee, stranger, let me fly! + Though pallid is my cheek, + The lightning's flash delights my eye, + I love the thunder's break. + + And oft beneath our castle tow'rs, + When tempests rush'd along, + My steady hand has painted flowers, + Or voice has rais'd the song." + + "Oh Lady! that bewilder'd eye + Is red with recent tears; + Already that heart-startling sigh + Proclaims thy anxious fears. + + Then let a stranger's words prevail, + Nor thus in danger roam! + Here many frightful ills assail, + But safety is at home!" + + "No, in some peasant's lowly cot + Perhaps she may abide, + To consecrate the humble spot, + But not where I reside. + + In Hubert's halls, my father's foe, + From childhood have I dwelt, + And for his wily murderer too, + A filial fondness felt. + + Ah me! how often have I press'd + The lips which seal'd his doom! + How oft the cruel hand caress'd + Which sent him to the tomb! + + My nurse reveal'd the dreadful truth, + And, as she told the tale, + A sickly blight pass'd o'er my youth, + And turn'd its roses pale. + + The heavy secret on my heart + Like deadly poison prey'd; + For she forbade me to impart + A word of what she said. + + I, who so blithely sung before, + So peacefully had slept, + Fancied gaunt murder at the door, + And listen'd, shook, and wept. + + No longer with an open smile, + I greeted all around; + My fearful looks were fix'd the while, + In terror on the ground. + + All saw the change, and kindly strove + My sadness to relieve; + Base Hubert feign'd a parent's love, + Which could not see me grieve. + + A painful anger flush'd my cheek, + My lip indignant smil'd, + I cried, "And did he e'er bespeak + Thy friendship for his child?" + + "Ellen! when death was drawing nigh, + Thou wert his only care; + Oh! guard her, Hubert, if I die, + It is my latest prayer. + + To none, dear friend, but thee," he cried, + "Whose love and truth are known, + Could I this precious charge confide, + To cherish, as thy own!" + + I pledg'd my honour, to fulfil + My dearest friend's desire! + And I have ever acted still, + As honour's laws require! + + Thy mind, dear Ellen, is the proof + Of my paternal care, + Since form'd beneath this friendly roof, + So excellent and fair. + + Then why that cloud upon thy brow, + That sullen, fearful sigh! + That something which we must not know, + That cold and altered eye? + + Why must thy proud, suspicious air, + Give every heart a pain? + Why must my son, my Edgar bear + Unmerited disdain?" + + I hung my bead, my fault'ring tongue + In feeble murmurs spoke, + His specious art my bosom wrung, + I shudder'd at his look. + + And thus, bewildered with my woes, + I faint and careless rove; + For oh! I cannot dwell with those + I must no longer love." + + "Fair lady, calm that anxious heart, + And to my voice attend! + Thy father died by Hubert's dart, + And yet he was his friend. + + For Lancaster Sir Philip rose, + And many a Yorkist slew; + Till, singling him amidst his foes, + Lord Hubert's arrow flew. + + But soon we saw the victor stand + Beside, in sorrow drown'd; + And soon Sir Philip took the hand, + Which gave the deadly wound. + + "My friend, unweeting was thy aim, + And is by me forgiv'n, + But oh! one sacred oath I claim, + In sight of men, and heav'n! + + Oh! promise with a father's zeal, + My Ellen to protect! + Nor let her like an orphan feel + Dependence, and neglect! + + And then, almost without regret, + I can my charge resign; + For, during life, I never met + So true a heart as thine." + + Lord Hubert pledg'd his sacred word, + He wept, and, kneeling, swore, + In England ne'er to wield a sword, + Or shoot an arrow more. + + From civil war, whose daily crimes + This island long shall rue, + From all the evil of the times, + In anguish he withdrew. + + I wonder that, by nature bold, + He stoop'd to wear disguise, + Or leave the hapless tale untold, + Which wakens thy surprise! + + Yet the sad shame that fill'd his breast, + May well thy pity crave, + A turtle dove may build her nest + Upon thy father's grave--" + + "Stranger, that warrior from the east, + Who comes with headlong speed, + Is Edgar, Hubert's son, at least, + He rides on Edgar's steed!" + + "Be calm, fair maid! Thou gallant knight, + Who speedest o'er the plain, + Give us some tidings of the fight, + The victor and the slain! + + One moment stay! for many a care + Now fills us with alarm! + Is Edward King? Is Hubert's heir, + Escap'd from death and harm?" + + "The sun of Lancaster is set, + And never more to rise;" + Return'd the knight, "I know not yet + If Edgar lives or dies!" + + And scarce he check'd the flowing rein, + In hurried accents spoke, + And, dull and hollow was the strain + That through the helmet broke. + + "Where is he?" shriek'd fair Ellen forth, + He started at the sound, + And, leaping sudden on the earth, + His armour rang around. + + "Queen of my destiny!" he cried, + "Thy faithful Edgar see! + Whose welfare thou canst best decide, + For it depends on thee! + + I sav'd our youthful Monarch's life, + Whose bounteous hand accords, + A dower to grace the noblest wife + That England's realm affords. + + With thee his splendid gifts I share, + Or soon this youthful head + A solemn monk's dark cowl shall wear, + To love and glory dead. + + Perhaps that tear upon thy cheek + Foretels a milder doom! + Thou wilt again our mansion seek, + Oh! let me lead thee home!" + + +_FINIS._ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Matilda Betham + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +This file should be named 8beth10.txt or 8beth10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8beth11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8beth10a.txt + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + diff --git a/old/8beth10.zip b/old/8beth10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..249b400 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8beth10.zip diff --git a/old/8beth10h.htm b/old/8beth10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..971f8a1 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8beth10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4464 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=us-ascii" /> + + <title>Poems, by Matilda Betham</title> + <style type="text/css"> + /*<![CDATA[*/ + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {text-align: justify;} + blockquote {text-align: justify;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {text-align: center;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em;} + + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; width: 50%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + + .note, .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 2em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 4em;} + .poem .caesura {vertical-align: -200%;} + + .comment {font-style: italic; font-size: 0.8em;} + --> + /*]]>*/ + </style> +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Matilda Betham +#5 in our series by Matilda Betham + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Poems + +Author: Matilda Betham + +Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9998] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on November 6, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1>POEMS</h1> + + <h2>BY MATILDA BETHAM.</h2> + <hr /> + + <h4>London:</h4> + + <h4>PRINTED FOR J. HATCHARD, BOOKSELLER TO HER MAJESTY, OPPOSITE ALBANY, + PICCADILLY.</h4> + + <h3>1808.</h3> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h4>TO LADY ROUSE BOUGHTON, AS A TESTIMONY OF RESPECT AND GRATITUDE FOR LONG + CONTINUED FRIENDSHIP, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY HER OBLIGED HUMBLE + SERVANT, MATILDA BETHAM.</h4> + + <h5><i>New Cavendish-street,</i></h5> + + <h5>Feb. 3, 1809.</h5> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h2>ADVERTISEMENT.</h2> + + <p>Before this book was printed, I thoughtlessly concluded there must be a + preface; but, on consideration, see no particular purpose it would answer, + and gladly decline a task I should have undertaken with much timidity and + reluctance. All I feel necessary to premise, is, that the tale in the Old + Shepherd's Recollections is founded on an event which happened in Ireland; + and that last spring I suppressed the song ending in page 65 <span class= + "comment">[The Old Man's Farewell]</span>, some time after it had been in + the hands of the composer, from meeting accidentally with a quotation in a + magazine that resembled it.</p> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + <ul> + <li>POEMS.— + + <ul> + <li><a href="#p01">The Old Fisherman</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p02">Lines to Mrs. Radcliffe, on first reading The + Mysteries of Udolpho</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p03">The Heir</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p04">To a Llangollen Rose, the day after it had been + given me by Miss Ponsonby</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p05">L'Homme de l'Ennui</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p06">The Grandfather's Departure</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p07">Reflections occasioned by the Death of + Friends</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p08">To Mrs. T. Fancourt</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p09">To a Young Gentleman</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p10">Fragment</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + + <li>SONGS.— + + <ul> + <li><a href="#p11">"Thrice lovely Babe"</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p12">"What do I love?"</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p13">A Sailor's Song</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p14">Another</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p15">Once more, then farewell!</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p16">Henry, on the Departure of his Wife from + Calcutta</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p17">Sonnet</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p18">On the Regret of Youth</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p19">Elegy on Sophia Graham</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p20">To Miss Rouse Boughton</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p21">To the Same</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p22">To the River which separates itself from the Dee at + Bedkellert</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p23">The Old Man's Farewell</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p24">Song—Distance from the Place of our + Nativity.</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p25">The Old Shepherd's Recollections</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p26">Reflection</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p27">Retrospect of Youth</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p28">The Daughter</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p29">Youth unsuspicious of evil</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p30">The Mother</a></li> + + <li><a href="#p31">Edgar and Ellen</a></li> + </ul> + </li> + </ul> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h2>POEMS.</h2> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p01" id="p01"></a>THE OLD FISHERMAN.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'My bosom is chill'd with the cold,</p> + + <p class="i2">My limbs their lost vigour deplore!</p> + + <p>Alas! to the lonely and old,</p> + + <p class="i2">Hope warbles her promise no more!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Worn out with the length of my way,</p> + + <p class="i2">I must rest me awhile on the beach,</p> + + <p>To feel the salt dash of the spray,</p> + + <p class="i2">If haply so far it may reach.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'As the white-foaming billows arise,</p> + + <p class="i2">I reflect on the days that are past,</p> + + <p>When the pride of my strength could despise</p> + + <p class="i2">The keen-driving force of the blast.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Though the heavens might menace on high,</p> + + <p class="i2">I would still push my vessel from shore;</p> + + <p>At my calling undauntedly ply,</p> + + <p class="i2">And sing as I handled the oar.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'When fortune rewarded my toil,</p> + + <p class="i2">And my nets, deeply-laden, I drew,</p> + + <p>I hurried me home with the spoil,</p> + + <p class="i2">And its inmates rejoic'd at the view.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Though the winds and the waves were perverse,</p> + + <p class="i2">I was sure to be welcom'd with glee;</p> + + <p>My presence the cares would disperse,</p> + + <p class="i2">That were only awaken'd for me.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Whether weary, with toiling in vain,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or gay, from abundant success,</p> + + <p>I heard the same blessing again,—</p> + + <p class="i2">I met the same tender caress:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'I fancied the perils repay'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">That could such affection ensure;</p> + + <p>By fondness and gratitude sway'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">I was eager to dare and endure.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'My cot did each comfort contain,</p> + + <p class="i2">And that gave my bosom delight;</p> + + <p>When drench'd by the winterly rain,</p> + + <p class="i2">I watch'd in my vessel at night.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'But, alas! from the tyrant, Disease,</p> + + <p class="i2">What love or what caution can save!</p> + + <p>A fever, more harsh than the seas,</p> + + <p class="i2">Consign'd my poor wife to the grave.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'My children, so tenderly rear'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">And pining for want of her care,</p> + + <p>Though more by my sorrows endear'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">Could not rescue my heart from despair.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'I tempted the dangers of night,</p> + + <p class="i2">And still labour'd hard at the oar,</p> + + <p>My sufferings appear'd to be light,</p> + + <p class="i2">But I suffer'd with pleasure no more.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'And yet, when some seasons had roll'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">I seem'd to awaken anew;</p> + + <p>My children I lov'd to behold,</p> + + <p class="i2">How tall and how comely they grew.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'My boy became hardy and bold,</p> + + <p class="i2">His spirit was buoyant and free;</p> + + <p>And, as I grew thoughtful and old,</p> + + <p class="i2">Was loud and oppressive to me.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'But the girl, like a bird in the bower,</p> + + <p class="i2">Awaken'd my hope and my pride;</p> + + <p>She won on my heart ev'ry hour,</p> + + <p class="i2">And I could not the preference hide.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'I mark'd the address and the care,</p> + + <p class="i2">The manner endearing and mild,</p> + + <p>Not dreaming those qualities rare</p> + + <p class="i2">Were to murther the peace of my child:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'That grandeur would ever descend</p> + + <p class="i2">To seek for so lowly a bride,</p> + + <p>Or his fair one, a lover pretend,</p> + + <p class="i2">From all she held dear to divide:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'That beauty was priz'd like a gem,</p> + + <p class="i2">Expected to dazzle and shine,</p> + + <p>Whose value the world would contemn,</p> + + <p class="i2">Unless trac'd to some Indian mine:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Alas! hapless girl! had I known</p> + + <p class="i2">Thou hadst learnt to repine at thy lot;</p> + + <p>That splendour and rank were thy own,</p> + + <p class="i2">Thy home and thy father forgot:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'That lore and ambition assail'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">Thou hadst left us, whatever befel!</p> + + <p>My pardon and prayers had prevail'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">I had blest thee, and bade thee farewel!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'With thy husband, from this happy clime,</p> + + <p class="i2">I had seen thee for ever depart!</p> + + <p>Still hoping affection and time</p> + + <p class="i2">Might soften the pride of his heart:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'That a moment perhaps would arise,</p> + + <p class="i2">When, fondling a child on the knee,</p> + + <p>He might read, in its innocent eyes</p> + + <p class="i2">A lesson of pity for me.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'But lips, which till then never said</p> + + <p class="i2">A word to cause any one pain,</p> + + <p>Inform'd me, when reason had fled,</p> + + <p class="i2">Of a conflict it could not sustain.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'And he, who had wish'd to conceal</p> + + <p class="i2">That the woman he lov'd had been poor,</p> + + <p>Began all his folly to feel,</p> + + <p class="i2">When the victim could hearken no more.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Yet still for himself did he mourn,</p> + + <p class="i2">And, indignant, I fled from the view:</p> + + <p>For my wrongs were not easily borne,</p> + + <p class="i2">And my anger was hard to subdue.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'One prop, one sole comfort, remain'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">Who saw me o'erladen with grief,</p> + + <p>Who saw (though I never complain'd)</p> + + <p class="i2">My heart was too sick for relief.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'One, who always attentive and dear,</p> + + <p class="i2">Every effort exerted to please,</p> + + <p>My desolate prospect to cheer,</p> + + <p class="i2">To study my health and my ease.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'For his was each toil and each care,</p> + + <p class="i2">The due observations to keep;</p> + + <p>To sit watching amid the night air,</p> + + <p class="i2">And fancy his father asleep.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Yet, dejected, and sadly forlorn,</p> + + <p class="i2">I dar'd in my heart to repine,—</p> + + <p>To lament that I ever was born,</p> + + <p class="i2">Though such worth and affection were mine.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Alas! I was destin'd to know,</p> + + <p class="i2">However intense my despair,</p> + + <p>I still was reserv'd for a blow,</p> + + <p class="i2">More painful and cruel to bear.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Yes! this only one fell in the main!</p> + + <p class="i2">—I eagerly struggled to save;</p> + + <p>But I strove with the current in vain,</p> + + <p class="i2">And saw him sink under the wave!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'My head was astounded and wild,—</p> + + <p class="i2">Incessant I roam'd on the shore,</p> + + <p>To seek the dead corse of my child,</p> + + <p class="i2">And to weep on his bosom once more.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Seven days undisturb'd was the sky,</p> + + <p class="i2">The eighth was a tempest most drear,</p> + + <p>I saw the huge billow rise high!</p> + + <p class="i2">I saw my lost treasure appear!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Like a dream it seem'd passing away:—</p> + + <p class="i2">I hurried me onward to meet,</p> + + <p>And clasp the inanimate clay,</p> + + <p class="i2">When senseless I sunk at his feet.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'These hands, now enfeebled by time,</p> + + <p class="i2">The last pious offices paid!</p> + + <p>Age sorrow'd o'er youth in its prime,</p> + + <p class="i2">And my boy near his mother was laid.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Now scar'd by the griefs I have known,</p> + + <p class="i2">Wounds, apathy only can heal,</p> + + <p>My joys and my sorrows are flown,</p> + + <p class="i2">For I have forgotten to feel.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'But I know my Creator is just,</p> + + <p class="i2">That his hand will deliver me soon;</p> + + <p>I have learnt to submit and to trust,</p> + + <p class="i2">Though I finish my journey alone.'</p> + </div> + </div> + + <p>Aldborough, September 7, 1800.</p> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p02" id="p02"></a>LINES TO MRS. RADCLIFFE,</h2> + + <h3>ON FIRST READING THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Enchantress! whose transcendant pow'rs,</p> + + <p class="i2">With ease, the massy fabric raise;—</p> + + <p>Beneath whose sway the tempest low'rs,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or lucid stream meänd'ring plays;—</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Accept the tribute of a heart,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which thou hast often made to glow</p> + + <p>With transport, oft with terror start,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or sink at strains of solemn woe!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Invention, like a falcon, tam'd</p> + + <p class="i2">By some expert and daring hand,</p> + + <p>For pride, for strength and fierceness fam'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">Implicit yields to thy command.</p> + + <p>Now mounts aloft in soaring flight,</p> + + <p>Shoots, like a star, beyond the sight;</p> + + <p>Or, in capricious windings borne,</p> + + <p>Mocks our faint hopes of safe return;</p> + + <p>Delights in trackless paths to roam,</p> + + <p>But hears thy call, and hurries home;</p> + + <p>Checks his bold wing when tow'ring free,</p> + + <p>And sails, without a pause, to thee!</p> + + <p>Enchantress, thy behests declare!</p> + + <p>And what thy strong delusions are!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>When spirits in thy circle rise,</p> + + <p class="i2">Gaunt Wonder, panic-struck, and pale,</p> + + <p>Impatient Hope, and dread Surmise,</p> + + <p class="i2">Attendants on the mystic tale!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>How is it, with such vivid hues,</p> + + <p class="i2">A harmonizing softness flows!</p> + + <p>What are the charms that can diffuse,</p> + + <p class="i2">Such grandeur as thy pencil throws!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Say! do the nymphs of classic lore,</p> + + <p class="i2">So simply graceful, light, and fair,</p> + + <p>Forsake their consecrated shore,</p> + + <p class="i2">Their hallow'd groves, and purer air?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Tir'd of the ancient Grecian loom,</p> + + <p class="i2">And smit with Fancy's wayward glance,</p> + + <p>Weave they amid the Gothic gloom,</p> + + <p class="i2">The high-wrought fiction of Romance?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>While the dark Genius of our northern clime,</p> + + <p class="i2">Whose giant limbs the mist of years enshrouds,</p> + + <p>Bursts through the veil which hides his head sublime,</p> + + <p class="i2">And moves majestic through recoiling clouds!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>O yes! they own the wond'rous spell,</p> + + <p class="i2">And to each form their hands divine</p> + + <p>Give, with nice art, the temper'd swell,</p> + + <p class="i2">The chasten'd touch and faultless line!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Each fiction under their command,</p> + + <p class="i2">Assumes an air severely true,</p> + + <p>And, every vision, wildly grand,</p> + + <p class="i2">Life's measur'd pace and modest hue.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Reason and fancy, rival powers!</p> + + <p class="i2">Unite, their RADCLIFFE to befriend;</p> + + <p>To decorate her way with flowers,</p> + + <p class="i2">The minor graces all attend!</p> + </div> + </div> + + <p>This piece, with the exception of a few lines, has appeared in the + Athenaeum.</p> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p03" id="p03"></a>THE HEIR.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>See yon tall stripling! how he droops forlorn!</p> + + <p class="i2">How slow his pace! how spiritless his eye!</p> + + <p>Like a dark cloud in summer's rosy dawn,</p> + + <p class="i2">He saddens pleasure as he passes by.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Long kept in exile by paternal pride,</p> + + <p class="i2">He feels no joy beneath this splendid dome;</p> + + <p>For, till the elder child of promise died,</p> + + <p class="i2">He knew a dearer, though a humbler home.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Then the proud sail was spread! The youth obey'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">Left ev'ry friend, and every scene he knew;</p> + + <p>For ever left the soul-affianc'd maid,</p> + + <p class="i2">Though his heart sicken'd as he said—Adieu;</p> + + <p>And nurses still, with superstitious care,</p> + + <p>The sigh of fond remembrance and despair.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p04" id="p04"></a>TO A LLANGOLLEN ROSE,</h2> + + <h3>THE DAY AFTER IT HAD BEEN GIVEN BY MISS PONSONBY.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Soft blushing flow'r! my bosom grieves,</p> + + <p>To view thy sadly drooping leaves:</p> + + <p>For, while their tender tints decay,</p> + + <p>The rose of Fancy fades away!</p> + + <p>As pilgrims, who, with zealous care,</p> + + <p>Some little treasur'd relic bear,</p> + + <p>To re-assure the doubtful mind,</p> + + <p>When pausing memory looks behind;</p> + + <p>I, from a more enlighten'd shrine,</p> + + <p>Had made this sweet memento mine:</p> + + <p>But, lo! its fainting head reclines;</p> + + <p>It folds the pallid leaf, and pines,</p> + + <p>As mourning the unhappy doom,</p> + + <p>Which tears it from so sweet a home!</p> + </div> + </div> + + <h4>July 22, 1799.</h4> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p05" id="p05"></a>L'HOMME DE L'ENNUI.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Forlornly I wander, forlornly I sigh,</p> + + <p>And droop my head sadly, I cannot tell why:</p> + + <p>When the first breeze of morning blows fresh in my face,</p> + + <p>As the wild-waving walks of our woodlands I trace,</p> + + <p>Reviv'd for the moment I look all around,</p> + + <p>But my eyes soon grow languid, and fix on the ground.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I have yet no misfortune to rob me of rest,</p> + + <p>No love discomposes the peace of my breast;</p> + + <p>Ambition ne'er enter'd the verge of my thought,</p> + + <p>Nor by honours, by wealth, nor by power am I caught;</p> + + <p>Those phantoms of folly disturb not my ease,</p> + + <p>Yet Time is a tortoise, and Life a disease.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>With the blessings of youth and of health on my side,</p> + + <p>A temper untainted by envy or pride;</p> + + <p>No guilt to corrode, and no foes to molest;</p> + + <p>There are many who tell me my station is blest.</p> + + <p>This I cannot dispute; yet without knowing why—</p> + + <p>I feel that my bosom is big with a sigh.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh! why do I see that all knowledge is vain;</p> + + <p>That Science finds Error still keep in her train;</p> + + <p>That Imposture or Darkness, with Doubt and Surmise,</p> + + <p>Will mislead, will perplex, and then baffle the wise,</p> + + <p>Who often, when labours have shorten'd their span,</p> + + <p>Declare—not to know—is the province of man?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>In life, as in learning, our views are confin'd,</p> + + <p>Our discernment too weak to discover the mind,</p> + + <p>Which, subdued and irresolute, keeps out of sight;</p> + + <p>Or if, for a moment, her presence delight,</p> + + <p>Our air is too gross for the stranger to stay;</p> + + <p>And, back to her prison she hurries away!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>If my own narrow precincts I seek to explore,</p> + + <p>My wishes how vain, my attainments how poor!</p> + + <p>Tenacious of virtue, with caution I move;</p> + + <p>I correct, and I wrestle, but cannot approve;</p> + + <p>Till, bewilder'd and faint, I would yield up the rein,</p> + + <p>But I dare not in peace with my errors remain!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>With zeal all awake in the cause of a friend,</p> + + <p>With warmth unrepress'd by my fear to offend,</p> + + <p>With sympathy active in hope or distress,</p> + + <p>How keen and how anxious I cannot express,</p> + + <p>I shrink, lest an eye should my feelings behold,</p> + + <p>And my heart seems insensible, selfish and cold.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I strive to be gay, but my efforts are weak,</p> + + <p>And, sick of existence, for pleasure I seek;</p> + + <p>I mix with the empty, the loud, and the vain,</p> + + <p>Partake of their folly, and double my pain.</p> + + <p>In others I meet with depression and strife;</p> + + <p>Oh! where shall I seek for the music of life?</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p06" id="p06"></a>THE GRANDFATHER'S DEPARTURE.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The Old Man press'd Palemon's hand;</p> + + <p class="i2">To Lucy nodded with a smile;</p> + + <p>Kiss'd all the little ones around;</p> + + <p class="i2">Then clos'd the gate, and paus'd awhile.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"When shall I come again!" he thought,</p> + + <p class="i2">Ere yet the journey had begun;</p> + + <p>It was a tedious length of way,</p> + + <p class="i2">But he beheld an only son.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And dearly did he love to take</p> + + <p class="i2">A rosy grandchild on his knee;</p> + + <p>To part his shining locks, and say,</p> + + <p class="i2">"Just such another boy was he!"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And never felt he greater pride,</p> + + <p class="i2">And never did he look so gay,</p> + + <p>As when the little urchins strove</p> + + <p class="i2">To make him partner in their play.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But when, in some more gentle mood,</p> + + <p class="i2">They silent hung upon his arm,</p> + + <p>Or nestled close at ev'ning pray'r,</p> + + <p class="i2">The old man felt a softer charm;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And upward rais'd his closing eye,</p> + + <p class="i2">Whence slow effus'd a grateful tear,</p> + + <p>As if his senses own'd a joy,</p> + + <p class="i2">Too holy for endurance here.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>No heart e'er pray'd so fervently,</p> + + <p class="i2">Unprompted by an earthly zeal,</p> + + <p>None ever knew such tenderness,</p> + + <p class="i2">That did not true devotion feel.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>As with the pure, uncolour'd flame,</p> + + <p class="i2">The violet's richest blues unite,</p> + + <p>Do our affections soar to heav'n,</p> + + <p class="i2">And rarify and beam with light.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p07" id="p07"></a>REFLECTIONS</h2> + + <h3>OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF FRIENDS.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>My happiness was once a goodly tree,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which promis'd every day to grow more fair,</p> + + <p class="i2">And rear'd its lofty branches in the air,</p> + + <p>In sooth, it was a pleasant sight, to see!</p> + + <p>Amidst, fair honey-suckles crept along,</p> + + <p class="i2">Twin'd round the bark, and hung from every bough,</p> + + <p>While birds, which Fancy held by slender strings,</p> + + <p>Plum'd the dark azure of their shining wings,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or dipp'd them in the silver stream below,</p> + + <p>With many a joyful note, and many a song!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>When lo! a tempest hurtles in the sky!</p> + + <p class="i2">Dark low'r the clouds! the thunders burst around!</p> + + <p>Fiercely the arrowy flakes of lightning fly!</p> + + <p class="i2">While the scar'd songsters leave the quiv'ring bough,</p> + + <p class="i2">The blasted honey-suckles droop below,</p> + + <p>And many noble branches strew the ground!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Though soon the air is calm, the sky serene,</p> + + <p class="i2">Though wide the broad and leafy arms are spread,</p> + + <p>Yet still the scars of recent wounds are seen;</p> + + <p class="i2">Their shelter henceforth seems but insecure;</p> + + <p class="i2">The winged tribes disdain the frequent lure,</p> + + <p>Where many a songster lies benumb'd or dead;</p> + + <p>And when I would the flow'ry tendrils train,</p> + + <p>I find my late delightful labour vain.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Affection thus, once light of heart, and gay,</p> + + <p class="i2">Chasten'd by memory, and, unnerv'd by fear,</p> + + <p class="i2">Shall sadden each endearment with a tear,</p> + + <p>Sorrowing the offices of love shall pay,</p> + + <p>And scarcely dare to think that good her own,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which fate's imperious hand may snatch away,</p> + + <p class="i2">In the warm sunshine of meridian day,</p> + + <p>And when her hopes are full and fairest blown.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p08" id="p08"></a>TO MRS. T. FANCOURT,</h2> + + <h4>July 15, 1803.</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I love not yon gay, painted flower,</p> + + <p class="i2">Of bold and coarsely blended dye,</p> + + <p>But one, whose nicely varied power</p> + + <p class="i2">May long detain the curious eye.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I love the tones that softly rise,</p> + + <p class="i2">And in a fine accordance close;</p> + + <p>That waken no abrupt surprise,</p> + + <p class="i2">Nor leave us to inert repose.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I love the moon's pure, holy light,</p> + + <p class="i2">Pour'd on the calm, sequester'd stream;</p> + + <p>The gale, fresh from the wings of night,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which drinks the early solar beam;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The smile of heaven, when storms subside,</p> + + <p class="i2">When the moist clouds first break away;</p> + + <p>The sober tints of even-tide,</p> + + <p class="i2">Ere yet forgotten by the day.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Such sights, such sounds, my fancy please,</p> + + <p class="i2">And set my wearied spirit free:</p> + + <p>And one who takes delight in these,</p> + + <p class="i2">Can never fail of loving thee!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p09" id="p09"></a>TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN.</h2> + + <h4>July 29th, 1803.</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Dear boy, when you meet with a rose,</p> + + <p class="i2">Admire you the thorns very much?</p> + + <p>Or like you to play with a ball,</p> + + <p class="i2">When the handling it blisters your touch!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Yet should it be firm and compact,</p> + + <p class="i2">It is easy to polish it nice;</p> + + <p>If the rose is both pretty and sweet,</p> + + <p class="i2">The thorns will come off in a trice.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The thistle has still many more,</p> + + <p class="i2">As visible too in our eyes,</p> + + <p>But who will take pains with a weed,</p> + + <p class="i2">That nobody ever can prize?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>'Tis what we deem precious and rare,</p> + + <p class="i2">We most earnestly seek to amend;</p> + + <p>And anxious attention and care,</p> + + <p class="i2">Is the costliest gift of a friend.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>We all have our follies: what then?</p> + + <p class="i2">Let us note them, and never look bluff!</p> + + <p>Without any caressing at all,</p> + + <p class="i2">They will cling to us closely enough.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Weeds are of such obstinate growth,</p> + + <p class="i2">They elude the most diligent hand;</p> + + <p>And, if they were not to be check'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">Would quickly run over the land.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>If some could be taken away,</p> + + <p class="i2">That hide part of your worth from the view;</p> + + <p>The conquest perhaps would be ours,</p> + + <p class="i2">But the profit is wholly to you.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p10" id="p10"></a>FRAGMENT.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A Pilgrim weary, toil-subdued,</p> + + <p>I reach'd a country, strange and rude,</p> + + <p>And trembled, lest approaching eve</p> + + <p>My hope of shelter might deceive;</p> + + <p>When I espied a hunter train,</p> + + <p>Prowling at leisure o'er the plain,</p> + + <p>And hasten'd on to ask relief,</p> + + <p>Of the ill-omen'd, haughty chief.</p> + + <p>His eye was artful, keen, and bold,</p> + + <p>His smile malevolently cold,</p> + + <p>And had not all my fire been fled,</p> + + <p>And every earthly passion dead,</p> + + <p>His pity to contempt allied,</p> + + <p>Had rous'd my anger and my pride;</p> + + <p>But, as it was, I bent my way,</p> + + <p>Where his secluded mansion lay,</p> + + <p>Which rose before my eyes at length,</p> + + <p>A fortress of determin'd strength,</p> + + <p>And layers of every colour'd moss</p> + + <p>The lofty turrets did emboss,</p> + + <p>As tho' the hand of father Time,</p> + + <p>Prepar'd a sacrifice sublime,—</p> + + <p>Giving his daily rites away,</p> + + <p>To aggrandize some future day.</p> + + <p>Here as I roam'd the walk along,</p> + + <p>I heard a plaintive broken song;</p> + + <p>And ere I to the portal drew,</p> + + <p>An open window caught my view,</p> + + <p>Where a fair dame appear'd in sight,</p> + + <p>Array'd in robes of purest white.</p> + + <p>Large snowy folds confin'd her hair,</p> + + <p>And left a polish'd forehead bare.</p> + + <p>O'er her meek eyes, of deepest blue,</p> + + <p>The sable lash long shadows threw;</p> + + <p>Her cheek was delicately pale,</p> + + <p>And seem'd to tell a piteous tale,</p> + + <p>But o'er her looks such patience stole,</p> + + <p>Such saint-like tenderness of soul,</p> + + <p>That never did my eyes behold,</p> + + <p>A beauty of a lovelier mold.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The Lady sigh'd, and closely prest</p> + + <p>A sleeping infant to her breast;</p> + + <p>Shook off sweet tears of love, and smil'd,</p> + + <p>Kissing the fingers of the child,</p> + + <p>Which round her own unconscious clung,</p> + + <p>Then fondly gaz'd, and softly sung:</p> + </div> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Once like that sea, which ebbs and flows,</p> + + <p>My bosom never knew repose,</p> + + <p>And heavily each morn arose.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I bore with anger and disdain,</p> + + <p>I had no power to break my chain,</p> + + <p>No one to whom I dar'd complain.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And when some bird has caught my eye,</p> + + <p>Or distant sail been flitting by,</p> + + <p>I wish'd I could at freely fly.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But I can now contented be,</p> + + <p>Can tell, dear babe, my griefs to thee.</p> + + <p>And feel more brave, and breathe more free.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And when thy father frowns severe,</p> + + <p>Although my spirit faints with fear,</p> + + <p>I feel I have a comfort near.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And when he harshly speaks to me,</p> + + <p>If thou art smiling on my knee,</p> + + <p>He softens as he looks on thee.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>To soothe him in an evil hour</p> + + <p>The bud has balm, oh! may the flower</p> + + <p>Possess the same prevailing power!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Nor forc'd to leave thy native land,</p> + + <p>To pledge a cold, unwilling hand,</p> + + <p>May'st thou receive the hard command.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>My mother had not half the zeal,</p> + + <p>The aching fondness which I feel,</p> + + <p>She had no broken heart to heal!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And I was friendless when she died,</p> + + <p>Who could my little failings chide,</p> + + <p>And for an hour her fondness hide.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But I can see no prospect ope,</p> + + <p>Can give no fairy vision scope,</p> + + <p>If thou art not the spring of hope.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I cannot thy affection draw,</p> + + <p>By childhood's first admiring awe;</p> + + <p>Be tender pity then thy law!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>This heart would bleed at every vein,</p> + + <p>I could not even life sustain,</p> + + <p>If ever thou should'st give me pain.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>O! soul of sweetness! can it be,</p> + + <p>That thou could'st prove unkind to me!</p> + + <p>That I should fear this blow from thee!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Alas! e'en then I would not blame,</p> + + <p>My love to thee should be the same,</p> + + <p>And judge from whence unkindness came!</p> + </div> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Her words grew indistinct and slow,</p> + + <p>Her voice more tremulous and low,</p> + + <p>When suddenly the song was o'er,</p> + + <p>A whisper even heard no more—</p> + + <p>She had discern'd my nearer tread;</p> + + <p>Appear'd to feel alarm, and fled.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h2>SONGS.</h2> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p11" id="p11"></a>SONG.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Thrice lovely babe! thus hush'd to rest,</p> + + <p>Upon thy warrior father's breast!</p> + + <p>Avails it, that his eyes behold,</p> + + <p>Thy rosy cheeks, thy locks of gold!</p> + + <p>Avails it that he bends his ear,</p> + + <p>So fondly thy soft breath to hear!</p> + + <p>Or, that his rising smiles confess,</p> + + <p>A gracious gleam of tenderness!</p> + + <p>The sweetest spell will scarce have pow'r</p> + + <p>To hold him for one absent hour!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Some plant that ceases thus to share,</p> + + <p>A daily friend's auspicious care,</p> + + <p>Relaxes in its feeble grasp,</p> + + <p>The flow'ry tendrils soon unclasp,</p> + + <p>Loose in the heedless aether play,</p> + + <p>And every idle breeze obey!</p> + + <p>Thus vainly had I sought to bind;</p> + + <p>Thus watch'd that light, forgetful mind,</p> + + <p>Till smiles and sunshine could restore,</p> + + <p>My often-blighted hopes no more!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p12" id="p12"></a>SONG.</h2> + + <h3>SET TO MUSIC BY MR. VOIGHT.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>What do I love? A polish'd mind,</p> + + <p>A temper cheerful, meek, and kind;</p> + + <p>A graceful air, unsway'd by art,</p> + + <p>A voice that sinks into the heart,</p> + + <p>A playful and benignant smile—</p> + + <p>Alas! my heart responds the while,</p> + + <p class="i2">All this, my Emily, is true,</p> + + <p class="i2">But I love more in loving you!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I love those roses when they rise,</p> + + <p>From joy, from anger, or surprise;</p> + + <p>I love the kind, attentive zeal,</p> + + <p>So prompt to know what others feel,</p> + + <p>The mildness which can ne'er reprove,</p> + + <p>But in the sweetest tones of love—</p> + + <p class="i2">All this, my Emily, is true,</p> + + <p class="i2">But I love more in loving you!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The self-command which can sustain,</p> + + <p>In silence, weariness and pain;</p> + + <p>The transport at a friend's success,</p> + + <p>Which has not words or power to bless,</p> + + <p>But, by a sudden, starting tear,</p> + + <p>Appears more precious, more sincere—</p> + + <p class="i2">All this, my Emily, is true,</p> + + <p class="i2">And this I love in loving you!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p13" id="p13"></a>A SAILOR'S SONG.</h2> + + <h3>SET TO MUSIC BY MR. WALSH.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I ponder many a silent hour,</p> + + <p class="i2">On friends belov'd when far at sea,</p> + + <p>And, tell me, have I not the power</p> + + <p class="i2">To draw one kindred thought to me!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The while we linger on the coast,</p> + + <p class="i2">My truant fancy homeward flies,</p> + + <p>And when the view is almost lost,</p> + + <p class="i2">Unmanly tears bedew my eyes—</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And oft forgetful do I stand,</p> + + <p class="i2">Nor crew, nor ship, nor ocean see;</p> + + <p>And often does my heart demand,</p> + + <p class="i2">If friends belov'd thus think on me!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And when to England bound once more,</p> + + <p class="i2">I shall with fond impatience burn,</p> + + <p>Will not some others on the shore</p> + + <p class="i2">As fondly look for my return!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>O! let me of your kindness hear!</p> + + <p class="i2">Repeat the strain as I depart!</p> + + <p>It swells like music on my ear,</p> + + <p class="i2">It falls like balm upon my heart.</p> + </div> + </div> + + <h4>Aug. 21, 1805.</h4> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p14" id="p14"></a>ANOTHER,</h2> + + <h3>WRITTEN EARLIER.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Adieu to old England! adieu to my friends!</p> + + <p class="i2">Though fortune and fame I pursue,</p> + + <p>On thus looking around me, I cannot conceal,</p> + + <p class="i2">How reluctant I bid them adieu!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>My heart sinks within me, I sigh to the gale,</p> + + <p class="i2">Thus slowly receding from shore,</p> + + <p>While fancy still whispers some terrible tale,</p> + + <p class="i2">A perhaps I may see it no more!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>There all that I love, that I value, remain,</p> + + <p class="i2">That only awakens my fears,</p> + + <p>For will the same spot its dear inmates contain,</p> + + <p class="i2">On the lapse of two lingering years?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>They may smile in good fortune, or weep in distress,</p> + + <p class="i2">I shall know not a word of their fate!</p> + + <p>No pain can I soften, no sorrow redress!</p> + + <p class="i2">I may come, when, alas! 'tis too late!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I can fly without fear to encounter the foe,</p> + + <p class="i2">To my earliest wish I am true;</p> + + <p>But I cannot unmov'd quit the friends that I love,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or bid my dear country adieu!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p15" id="p15"></a>SONG.</h2> + + <h3>SET TO MUSIC BY MR. A. PETTIT, OF NORWICH.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Once more then farewell! and whilst I'm away,</p> + + <p class="i2">Oh! let not another entangle thy fancy!</p> + + <p>I shall think upon thee every hour of the day,</p> + + <p class="i2">And let not my love be forgotten by Nancy!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh! were I forsaken, the flow'r in my heart,</p> + + <p class="i2">Would fold all its leaves, and re-open them never!</p> + + <p>The sunshine of joy and of hope would depart,</p> + + <p class="i2">And belief in affection would perish for ever!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>To talk thus is folly! I doubt not thy truth,</p> + + <p class="i2">A few years of absence will quickly pass over,</p> + + <p>I scorn other perils that menace my youth,</p> + + <p class="i2">From that wound, I must own, I could never recover!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p16" id="p16"></a>HENRY,</h2> + + <h3>ON THE DEPARTURE OF HIS WIFE FROM CALCUTTA.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Long is thy passage o'er the main,</p> + + <p class="i2">And native air alone can save!</p> + + <p>No friend thy weakness will sustain,</p> + + <p class="i2">But India is, for thee, a grave!</p> + + <p>Though winds arise, though surges swell,</p> + + <p>Maria, we must say farewell!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh! I bethink me of the time,</p> + + <p class="i2">When with each airy hope in view,</p> + + <p>In triumph to this fervid clime</p> + + <p class="i2">I bore a flowret nurs'd in dew!</p> + + <p>No fears did then my joy reprove,</p> + + <p class="i2">And it was boundless as my love!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Yet now to strangers I consign</p> + + <p class="i2">Thy wounded mind, thy feeble health;</p> + + <p>A charge more dear than life resign,</p> + + <p class="i2">To watch a little worldly wealth.</p> + + <p>Duty compels me to remain</p> + + <p class="i2">But oh! how heavy feels the chain!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>My dear Maria! smile no more?</p> + + <p class="i2">This seeming patience makes me wild!</p> + + <p>So would'st thou once my peace restore,</p> + + <p class="i2">When, mourning for our only child,</p> + + <p>Each faint appeal was lost in air,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or turn'd my sadness to despair.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Alas! I only make thee grieve.</p> + + <p class="i2">And hark! the boat awaits below!</p> + + <p>They call aloud! and I must leave,</p> + + <p class="i2">The tears my folly forc'd to flow.</p> + + <p>Oh! had I but the time to prove,</p> + + <p class="i2">That mine are only fears of love!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p17" id="p17"></a>SONNET.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Urge me no more! nor think, because I seem</p> + + <p>Tame and unsorrowing in the world's rude strife,</p> + + <p>That anguish and resentment have not life</p> + + <p>Within the heart that ye so quiet deem:</p> + + <p>In this forc'd stillness only, I sustain</p> + + <p>My thought and feeling, wearied out with pain!</p> + + <p>Floating as 'twere upon some wild abyss,</p> + + <p>Whence, silent Patience, bending o'er the brink,</p> + + <p>Would rescue them with strong and steady hand,</p> + + <p>And join again, by that connecting link,</p> + + <p>Which now is broken:—O, respect her care!</p> + + <p>Respect her in this fearful self-command!</p> + + <p>No moment teems with greater woe than this,</p> + + <p>Should she but pause, or falter in despair!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p18" id="p18"></a>ON THE REGRET OF YOUTH.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Before a rose is fully blown,</p> + + <p class="i2">The outward leaves announce decay;</p> + + <p>So, ere the spring of Youth is flown,</p> + + <p class="i2">Its tiny pleasures die away;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The gay security we feel,</p> + + <p class="i2">The careless soul's delighted rest,</p> + + <p>That lively hope, that ardent zeal,</p> + + <p class="i2">And smiling sunshine of the breast.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Those simple tints, so bright and clear,</p> + + <p class="i2">No healing dew-drops can restore;</p> + + <p>For joys, which early life endear,</p> + + <p class="i2">Once blighted, can revive no more.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Yet lovely is the full-blown rose,</p> + + <p class="i2">Although its infant graces fly;</p> + + <p>The various opening leaves disclose,</p> + + <p class="i2">A fairer banquet to the eye;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A ruby's beams on drifted snow,</p> + + <p class="i2">Such pure, harmonious blushes shed;</p> + + <p>If distant, cast a tender glow,</p> + + <p class="i2">But near, its own imperial red;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The form assumes a prouder air,</p> + + <p class="i2">And bends more graceful in the gale;</p> + + <p>While, from its cup, of essence rare,</p> + + <p class="i2">A richer hoard of sweets exhale.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Could we again, by fancy led,</p> + + <p class="i2">That bower of swelling leaves confine,</p> + + <p>And round that fine, luxuriant head,</p> + + <p class="i2">The mossy tendrils now entwine,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Over what multitudes of bloom</p> + + <p class="i2">Would a few timid leaflets close!</p> + + <p>What mental joys resign their room,</p> + + <p class="i2">To causeless mirth, and tame repose!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The change to Reason's steady eye,</p> + + <p class="i2">Would neither good nor wise appear;</p> + + <p>And we may lay one precept by,</p> + + <p class="i2">Our discontent is insincere.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p19" id="p19"></a>ELEGY ON SOPHIA GRAHAM,</h2> + + <h3>WHO DIED JAN. 21, 1800.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Sweet is the voice of Friendship to the ear,</p> + + <p class="i2">Sweet is Affection's mildly-beaming eye,</p> + + <p>Sweet the applause which flows from lips sincere,</p> + + <p class="i2">And sweet is Pity's soft responsive sigh!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But now those flowers of life have lost their bloom,</p> + + <p class="i2">Faint all their beauty, cold their healing breath,</p> + + <p>No object fills my eye but yonder tomb,</p> + + <p class="i2">No sound awakes me but the name of death.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>When in the world, I bear a look serene,</p> + + <p class="i2">And veil the gloomy temper of my grief;</p> + + <p>Sick with restraint at evening quit the scene,</p> + + <p class="i2">To find in tears and solitude relief.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Parent of Hope and Fancy! thoughtful Night!</p> + + <p class="i2">Why are these nurselings absent from thy bower,</p> + + <p>While Memory, with sullen, strange delight,</p> + + <p class="i2">Stalks lonely centinel the live-long hour?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>O dear Sophia! could we e'er forget,</p> + + <p class="i2">Such fair endowments and unsullied worth,</p> + + <p>Thy partial friendship calls for our regret,</p> + + <p class="i2">And selfish feeling gives remembrance birth.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>How often when this trembling hand essays</p> + + <p class="i2">Thy lov'd resemblance once again to trace,</p> + + <p>The portrait thought in mimic life arrays</p> + + <p class="i2">With all the sweet expression of thy face;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Art may its symmetry and beauty show,</p> + + <p class="i2">A look, a character, the pencil seize,</p> + + <p>Give to the form where youthful graces glow,</p> + + <p class="i2">An air of pensive dignity and ease,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But warmth of feeling and sensation fine,</p> + + <p class="i2">By mild reserve from common eyes conceal'd,</p> + + <p>The ray of genius and the heart benign,</p> + + <p class="i2">In artless gaiety so oft reveal'd—</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>All these are lost; no looks can now arise,</p> + + <p class="i2">Like those which every little act endear'd,</p> + + <p>Which even in the stranger's careless eyes</p> + + <p class="i2">Like innocence from other worlds appear'd!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oft have I fear'd the breath of foolish praise,</p> + + <p class="i2">Might taint the lily which so humbly grew;</p> + + <p>That flattery's sun might shoot delusive rays,</p> + + <p class="i2">Impede her progress, and distract her view.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But vain the fear—for she remain'd the same,</p> + + <p class="i2">To outward charms indifferent or blind,</p> + + <p>Heedless alike of either praise or blame,</p> + + <p class="i2">If it respected not her heart and mind.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Rich in historic lore, the poet's lyre</p> + + <p class="i2">Had not, though screen'd by time, forsaken hung,</p> + + <p>She felt and studied with a kindred fire,</p> + + <p class="i2">The lofty strain immortal Maro sung.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>She knew—but why essay to trace her thought</p> + + <p class="i2">Through its wide range, describe her blooming youth,</p> + + <p>The heart whose feelings were so finely wrought,</p> + + <p class="i2">Its meek ambition, and its love of truth?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>All that parental-vanity desires,</p> + + <p class="i2">All that the friend can muse upon and mourn,</p> + + <p>All that the lover's ardent vow inspires,</p> + + <p class="i2">In thee, Sophia! from the world was torn!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But still we yield thee to no stranger's care;</p> + + <p class="i2">No unknown foe our tender love bereaves;</p> + + <p>Thou goest the angels' hallow'd bliss to share,</p> + + <p class="i2">A Father thy exalted soul receives!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p20" id="p20"></a>TO MISS ROUSE BOUGHTON,</h2> + + <h3>NOW THE RIGHT HON. LADY ST. JOHN.</h3> + + <h4>Aberystwith, July 5th, 17—</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Louisa, while thy pliant fingers trace</p> + + <p class="i2">The solemn beauties of the prospect round,</p> + + <p>Or, on thy instrument, with touching grace,</p> + + <p class="i2">Awaken all the witcheries of sound:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Mild, as thy manners, do the colours rise,</p> + + <p class="i2">As soft and unobtrusive meet the view;</p> + + <p>And, when the varied notes the ear surprize,</p> + + <p class="i2">We own the harmony as strictly true.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Be thine the praise, alas! a gift how rare!</p> + + <p class="i2">Artless, and unpretending, to excel!</p> + + <p>Forget the envied charm of being fair,</p> + + <p class="i2">To learn the noblest science,—acting well!</p> + + <p>And let no world the seal of truth displace,</p> + + <p>Or spoil the heart's accordance with the face!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p21" id="p21"></a>TO THE SAME,</h2> + + <h3>ON RECEIVING FROM HER A FEW FLOWERS OUT OF A BOUQUET, FROM MELCHBOURNE, + 1807.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Hail! sweet Louisa! o'er these votive flow'rs</p> + + <p class="i2">Friendship and Fancy weave the joyful song,</p> + + <p>Wing with fresh rose-leaves all the train of hours,</p> + + <p class="i2">That in the distant aether float along!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Like those fair flowrets given by thy hand,</p> + + <p class="i2">Like thy own beauty, blooming and serene,</p> + + <p>The vision of thy future life is plann'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">And forms a clear, a bright, and varied scene!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>That countenance so gentle, and so kind,</p> + + <p class="i2">That heart, which never gave a harsh decree,</p> + + <p>Suit all the turns of thy harmonious mind,</p> + + <p class="i2">And must, perforce, with destiny agree.</p> + + <p>This from the Sibyl's leaves affection drew,</p> + + <p class="i2">O, be the omen just! the promise true!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p22" id="p22"></a>TO THE RIVER</h2> + + <h3>WHICH SEPARATES ITSELF FROM THE DEE, AT BEDKELLERT.</h3> + + <h4>July 19, 1799.</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Let others hail the tranquil stream,</p> + + <p class="i2">Whose glassy waters smoothly flow,</p> + + <p>And, in the undulating gleam,</p> + + <p class="i2">Reflect another world below!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The yellow Conway as it raves,</p> + + <p class="i2">Demands my tributary song!</p> + + <p>When, rushing forth, resistless waves</p> + + <p class="i2">O'er rocky fragments foam along!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Like him, whose vigorous mind reviews</p> + + <p class="i2">The troubles which around him roll;</p> + + <p>The ceaseless warfare still pursues,</p> + + <p class="i2">And keeps a firm, undaunted soul.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Though sternly bent by toil and care,</p> + + <p class="i2">The brow hang darkly o'er his eye—</p> + + <p>His features the fix'd meaning wear</p> + + <p class="i2">Of one who knows not how to sigh.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>It is not apathy that reigns,</p> + + <p class="i2">O'erweening arrogance, or pride,</p> + + <p>For, in his warmly-flowing veins,</p> + + <p class="i2">The genial feelings all reside.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>It is the breast-plate fortitude</p> + + <p class="i2">Should still to injury oppose;</p> + + <p>It is the shield with power imbu'd,</p> + + <p class="i2">To blunt the malice of his foes.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And should the savage country round,</p> + + <p class="i2">A more engaging aspect show,</p> + + <p>O Conway! it will then be found,</p> + + <p class="i2">How sweet and clear thy waters flow!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The birds will dip the taper wing—</p> + + <p class="i2">The pilgrim there his thirst assuage,</p> + + <p>The wandering minstrel sit and sing,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or muse upon a distant age!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Bold River! soon within the deep,</p> + + <p class="i2">Each weary strife and conflict o'er,</p> + + <p>Thy venerable waves shall sleep,</p> + + <p class="i2">And feel opposing rocks no more!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p23" id="p23"></a>THE OLD MAN'S FAREWELL.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Farewell, my pilgrim guest, farewell,</p> + + <p class="i2">A few days since thou wert unknown,</p> + + <p>None shall thy future fortunes tell,</p> + + <p class="i2">But sweetly have the moments flown!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And kindness, like the sun on flowers,</p> + + <p class="i2">Soon chas'd away thy tender gloom;</p> + + <p>New-fledg'd the sable-pinion'd hours,</p> + + <p class="i2">And wove bright tints in Fancy's loom.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>We sought no secrets to divine,</p> + + <p class="i2">Neither thy name nor lineage knew,</p> + + <p>Our hearts alone have question'd thine,</p> + + <p class="i2">And found that all was just and true.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Pass not with hasty step, I pray,</p> + + <p class="i2">Across the threshold of my door!</p> + + <p>But pause awhile, with kind delay,</p> + + <p class="i2">We shall behold thy face no more!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Once only in a hundred years,</p> + + <p class="i2">The aloe's precious blossoms swell,</p> + + <p>So, in thy presence it appears,</p> + + <p class="i2">That Time has blossom'd, fare thee well!<a name= + "footnotetag1" id="footnotetag1"></a><a href= + "#footnote1"><sup>*</sup></a></p> + </div> + </div> + + <p class="footnote"><a name="footnote1" id="footnote1"></a><b>Footnote:</b> + See Preface. <a href="#footnotetag1">(return)</a></p> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p24" id="p24"></a>SONG.</h2> + + <h3>DISTANCE FROM THE PLACE OF OUR NATIVITY.</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Since I married Palemon, though happy my lot,</p> + + <p>Though my garden is pleasant, and lightsome my cot,</p> + + <p>Though love's smile, like a sunshine, I constantly see,</p> + + <p>Those blessings are all insufficient for me,</p> + + <p>I repine not at labour, I ask not for gold,</p> + + <p>But I want the sweet eyes of my friends to behold.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>With Palemon I think o'er the world I could roam,</p> + + <p>Though he liv'd in a desert, would make it my home.</p> + + <p>From him no allurements his Lucy could bribe,</p> + + <p>And, though timid, no dangers, no menaces drive.</p> + + <p>But the heart that can love with devotion so true,</p> + + <p>Is not cold or forgetful, my parents, to you!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh idle declaimers! how is it ye say,</p> + + <p>That affection and tenderness fade and decay?</p> + + <p>Though so easily pain'd, they endure like a gem,</p> + + <p>And the heart and the mind imbibe colour from them!</p> + + <p>In affliction they brighten, in absence refine,</p> + + <p>And are causes of sorrow too sweet to resign.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p25" id="p25"></a>THE OLD SHEPHERD'S RECOLLECTIONS.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Low, heavy clouds are hanging on the hills,</p> + + <p>And half-impatient of the sun's approach,</p> + + <p>Shake sullenly their cold and languid wings!</p> + + <p>Oh! it is fine to see his morning beams</p> + + <p>Burst on the gloom, while, in disorder'd flight,</p> + + <p>The shuddering, mournful vapours steal away;</p> + + <p>Like the tenacious spirit of a man,</p> + + <p>Shrinking from the loud voice of cheerfulness,</p> + + <p>When it breaks in, so sadly out of tune,</p> + + <p>Upon his quiet musing, and dispels</p> + + <p>The waking dream of a dejected heart:</p> + + <p>The dream I cherish in this solitude,</p> + + <p>In all the wanderings of my little flock,</p> + + <p>That which beguiles my loneliness, and takes</p> + + <p>Its charm and change from the surrounding scene.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh! how unwelcome often are to me</p> + + <p>The gayest, most exhilarating sounds!</p> + + <p>When slow and sickly Memory, tempted forth</p> + + <p>By dint of soft persuasion, brings to light</p> + + <p>His treasures—and, with childish eagerness,</p> + + <p>Arranges and collects—then suddenly</p> + + <p>To have him startled by discordance, drag,</p> + + <p>Without discrimination, all away—</p> + + <p>And with them leap to his deep hollow cave—</p> + + <p>Not easily to be withdrawn again,</p> + + <p>Grieves one who loves to think of other times,</p> + + <p>To talk with those long silent in the grave,</p> + + <p>And pass from childhood to old age again.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Behold this stony rock! whose rifted crest,</p> + + <p>Lets the rough, roaring torrent force a way,</p> + + <p>And, foaming, pour its waters on the vale!</p> + + <p>Behold them tumbling from their dizzy height,</p> + + <p>Like clouds, of more than snowy whiteness, thrown</p> + + <p>Precipitate from heav'n, which, as they fall,</p> + + <p>Diffuse a mist, in form of glory, round!</p> + + <p>This was my darling haunt a long time past!</p> + + <p>Here, when a boy, in pleasing awe, I sate,</p> + + <p>Wistfully silent, with uplifted eye,</p> + + <p>And heart attun'd to the sad, lulling sound</p> + + <p>They made descending. Far below my feet,</p> + + <p>Near where yon little, ruin'd cottage lies,</p> + + <p>Oft, at the pensive hour of even-tide</p> + + <p>I saw young Osborne bearing on his harp,</p> + + <p>And, trusting to an aged mother's care,</p> + + <p>His darkling steps: Beneath that falling beech,</p> + + <p>Whose wide-spread branches touch the water's edge,</p> + + <p>He lov'd to sit, and feel the freshen'd gale</p> + + <p>Breathe cool upon him. <span class="caesura">Then that falling + beech</span></p> + + <p>Was a young, graceful tree; which, starting up,</p> + + <p>Amid the looser fragments of the rock,</p> + + <p>Rear'd boldly in the air its lofty head,</p> + + <p>While, struggling with the stone, the nervous roots</p> + + <p>Pursued their own direction, elbowing out,</p> + + <p>Their flinty neighbour; who, o'erspread with moss,</p> + + <p>Of varied hues, and deck'd with flow'ring heath,</p> + + <p>That from each fissure hung luxuriant down,</p> + + <p>Became a seat, where, king of all the scene,</p> + + <p>The harper sate, and, in sweet melodies,</p> + + <p>Now like the lark rejoicing at the dawn,</p> + + <p>Now soothing as the nightingale's sad note,</p> + + <p>Hail'd the departing sun, whose golden rays</p> + + <p>Glitter'd upon the surface of the wave,</p> + + <p>And, as a child upon its mother's arm</p> + + <p>Seeks to delay the coming hour of rest,</p> + + <p>Till sudden slumbers steal upon his smiles</p> + + <p>And veil him in a dream of love and joy,</p> + + <p>He seem'd reluctant to withdraw his beams;</p> + + <p>And, rich in roseate beauty, for awhile</p> + + <p>Kept the green waves beneath his glowing head.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Kind, gentle Osborne! half a century</p> + + <p>Has silver'd o'er the crisp and yellow locks</p> + + <p>Of thy young auditor, but memory still</p> + + <p>Grasps the torn record of my weary life.</p> + + <p>And finds full many a page to tell of thee!</p> + + <p>Oh! ye who have a friend ye truly love,</p> + + <p>One whom your hearts can trust, whose excellence</p> + + <p>Was not obtruded boastingly to view,</p> + + <p>But time and happy circumstance reveal'd,</p> + + <p>Rays of quick light upon a diamond</p> + + <p>Which else had lain unnotic'd in the waste!</p> + + <p>Oh! hasten! hasten speedily to pay</p> + + <p>Each debt of fond affection! lock not up</p> + + <p>So cautiously the tribute due to worth!</p> + + <p>Nor let reserve, as I have often done,</p> + + <p>Enslave the sweetest feelings of the soul!</p> + + <p>And hang around them like an envious mist,</p> + + <p>O'er the bright radiance of the morning star,</p> + + <p>Leaving us nothing but a spot of light</p> + + <p>Bereav'd of all its lustre! For my friend,</p> + + <p>He never knew that there was one on earth,</p> + + <p>After a parent felt the touch of death,</p> + + <p>And Love, a weeping pilgrim, turn'd away</p> + + <p>Far from his dwelling—Oh! he never knew,</p> + + <p>That there was one who would have follow'd him,</p> + + <p>With steady kindness, even to the grave!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Thou dear, neglected friend! to whom I owe</p> + + <p>All that sustains my heart, and makes me think</p> + + <p>The gift of life a blessing, Oh! forgive</p> + + <p>That in thy sorrows, my forgetful tongue</p> + + <p>Spake not of zeal and service; of the debt</p> + + <p>Which gratitude was emulous to pay!</p> + + <p>I might have trimm'd the dying lamp of hope,</p> + + <p>And cheer'd the bitter hours of banishment:</p> + + <p>But Oh! my youth was fearful, and I felt</p> + + <p>So deep an awe of that unspotted worth</p> + + <p>And saint-like gentleness—such a mistrust</p> + + <p>Of my own powers to tell him what I wish'd,</p> + + <p>That I resisted all my feelings claim'd,</p> + + <p>In anguish I resisted; but a spell</p> + + <p>Hung o'er me and compell'd me to be mute.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Methinks I still behold him! tall and fair,</p> + + <p>He had a look so tranquil and so mild,</p> + + <p>That something holy stole upon the sense</p> + + <p>When he appear'd; his language had such power</p> + + <p>In converse, that the hearer, as entranced</p> + + <p>Sate lingering on to listen; while in song,</p> + + <p>Or skill upon the many-stringed harp</p> + + <p>Was never heard his equal! Then he knew</p> + + <p>All our old ballads, all our father's tales,</p> + + <p>All the adventurous deeds of early times,</p> + + <p>The punishment of blood or sacrilege,</p> + + <p>And the reward of virtue, when it seem'd</p> + + <p>Deserted by the world, and left alone,</p> + + <p>A prey to scorn, oppression, contumely</p> + + <p>And all the ills which make the good despair.</p> + + <p>When-e'er we circled round him, one young girl</p> + + <p>Was always present, of a nicer ear,</p> + + <p>And more refin'd perception than the rest.</p> + + <p>Now she was lost in thought, while on her cheek</p> + + <p>Lay silent tears—and then that cheek grew pale</p> + + <p>In wild amazement—but, when he began</p> + + <p>To speak of noble deeds, she rais'd her head,</p> + + <p>Bending with looks of mingled awe and love,</p> + + <p>And zealous admiration, on the youth,</p> + + <p>Alone insensible of all around,</p> + + <p>To the soft charm of symmetry and grace,</p> + + <p>The smile intelligent, the look benign,</p> + + <p>And all the outward raiment of the soul.</p> + + <p>Yet, though he saw her not, it was his fate</p> + + <p>To have an inward and discerning sense,</p> + + <p>Which spake of Lora's gentleness and worth.</p> + + <p>He lov'd in her the fondness of his art,</p> + + <p>And taught her many wild and simple airs,</p> + + <p>Suiting the plaintive tenor of her voice,</p> + + <p>Which he would mimic with sweet minstrelsy.</p> + + <p>When she was absent, and with strange delight,</p> + + <p>Repeat her parting words, her kind adieu,</p> + + <p>Or sweetly-spoken promise of return.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And that return was prompt: she linger'd oft</p> + + <p>Till evening wet the ground with heavy dew,</p> + + <p>Or came to take her lesson in the morn,</p> + + <p>Before her father's anxious eyes unclos'd,</p> + + <p>To look upon her beauty with delight,</p> + + <p>And soothe the rugged temper of his soul,</p> + + <p>By views of future grandeur for his child:</p> + + <p>Not thinking that her elegance of mind,</p> + + <p>The modest dignity of humble worth</p> + + <p>Which fits the low-born peasant to become</p> + + <p>A crowned monarch, and to wield with grace</p> + + <p>The golden sceptre, had instructed her</p> + + <p>To feel no paltry jealousy of power,</p> + + <p>No bold aspiring, and no wish beyond</p> + + <p>The bounded confines of her present state:</p> + + <p>Had counsell'd her, that even mines of wealth,</p> + + <p>Could purchase nothing to content the wise,</p> + + <p>Esteem or friendship, tenderness or love:</p> + + <p>That power at best was but a heavy weight;</p> + + <p>If well employ'd, a dubious, unpaid toil,</p> + + <p>If ill, a curse, to tempt men to their fate.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Her cheek had often felt the blush of shame,</p> + + <p>At his proud boasting; and her heart had sunk</p> + + <p>At the cold arrogance that scorn'd the poor;</p> + + <p>But she was fain to turn aside, and weep,</p> + + <p>To wring her hands in secret, and to raise</p> + + <p>The eye of silent anguish up to heaven;</p> + + <p>For though he dearly lov'd her, he would ne'er</p> + + <p>Submit to hear a murmur at his will.</p> + + <p>Oft with her heart oppress'd, and her blue eyes</p> + + <p>Full of unshedden tears, she bent her way</p> + + <p>Alone to Osborne's lowly cot, and when</p> + + <p>Her faint voice call'd the fond inquiry forth,</p> + + <p>Would say, "'tis true, my friends, that I am sad,</p> + + <p>Nay sick, with vain repining. O! I wish,</p> + + <p>That I were either indigent myself,</p> + + <p>Or that I had the power, the blessed power</p> + + <p>Of cheering the unhappy! for I want,</p> + + <p>By kindness to prevent the act of guilt,</p> + + <p>And ward the arrows of incroaching Death,</p> + + <p>Who comes, before the time, upon his prey.</p> + + <p>Think that there should be means to stay his wrath,</p> + + <p>To purchase health, life, comfort, innocence,</p> + + <p>And yet those means withholden! <span class="caesura">"O! my + heart!</span></p> + + <p>It dies with sorrow! and where most I love,</p> + + <p>Sheds all its bitterness; delighting still</p> + + <p>To tell the many miseries that flit</p> + + <p>At times across me! Those I lightly prize</p> + + <p>Partake the sunshine of my happier hours,</p> + + <p>Although I seek them with far less delight!</p> + + <p>The loud laugh dwells not here, the sportive dance,</p> + + <p>The carol of unconscious levity,</p> + + <p>And yet how oft, how willingly I come!"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Know'st thou not, Lora," cried the youthful sage,</p> + + <p>"That there are things the mind must prize above</p> + + <p>What captivates the senses! That in them</p> + + <p>She feels no interest, and she takes no care!</p> + + <p>That though sometimes an alien, she receives</p> + + <p>Delighted back the ensigns of her power,</p> + + <p>And takes her truant vassals into grace!</p> + + <p>That when thou bring'st to us that wounded mind,</p> + + <p>The grave of many feelings, language is</p> + + <p>As yet too poor to utter, thou canst give</p> + + <p>No richer, dearer token of regard."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Were man indeed the only hope of man,</p> + + <p>I never would reprove thee for thy tears!</p> + + <p>But, they are vain! man has a surer trust!</p> + + <p>The helpless, weary, miserable wretch,</p> + + <p>Left by his fellows in the wilderness,</p> + + <p>Shall be supported in that trying hour,</p> + + <p>By a right arm, which, in his days of strength,</p> + + <p>He did not lean upon! A gracious arm,</p> + + <p>Which wounds the sick, and heals them by the stroke.</p> + + <p>O! Lora! to the Father of the world,</p> + + <p>A Judge so patient and so merciful.</p> + + <p>That he refuses not the latest sigh.</p> + + <p>Nor suffers sorrow but as means to save,</p> + + <p>Canst thou not trust the objects of thy care!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Hadst thou the power to help them—it were well,</p> + + <p>To be most anxious. To collect thy freight</p> + + <p>Of human sorrow, and, by merchandize,</p> + + <p>Exchange it for the riches of the world:</p> + + <p>For health, for comfort, nay, perchance for life,</p> + + <p>That gem of countless value, which sometimes,</p> + + <p>Not all the treasures of the East can buy,</p> + + <p>Tendered with supplications and with tears,</p> + + <p>Is often purchas'd at a petty price,</p> + + <p>Nay, in exchange for courtesy. What joy</p> + + <p>Must in that moment fill the merchant's heart,</p> + + <p>To win a jewel, kings monopolize</p> + + <p>The sole disposal of! Be patient then!</p> + + <p>This glorious privilege may yet be thine!</p> + + <p>Deserve it only by fulfilling all</p> + + <p>The gentler duties that have present claims</p> + + <p>With cheerfulness and zeal—Let no neglect</p> + + <p>Press on thy father's age, no discontent</p> + + <p>Sour thee with thy companions, no mistrust</p> + + <p>Give pain to friendship, and thy usefulness</p> + + <p>Though calm and bounded, has no mean award."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Thus, like a prophet, did he still enforce</p> + + <p>Only the virtues and rare qualities</p> + + <p>Congenial with her after destiny;</p> + + <p>Yet, not foreseeing evil, he himself</p> + + <p>Was unprepared, and when her father led,</p> + + <p>Her opposition and entreaty past,</p> + + <p>The hapless Lora forth, to promise love</p> + + <p>And honour to a man, whose vacant mind,</p> + + <p>Throughout a course of long succeeding years,</p> + + <p>She vainly strove to soften and to raise,</p> + + <p>Though he had taught her patience till that hour,</p> + + <p>His own at once forsook him, and he fled.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>She murmur'd not, nor even seem'd to mourn,</p> + + <p>But losing all her love of solitude,</p> + + <p>Appear'd so active in each new pursuit,</p> + + <p>So wholly what her anxious father wish'd,</p> + + <p>That he repented not his cruelty.</p> + + <p>Believing in her happiness, he felt</p> + + <p>Himself the author, and became more proud</p> + + <p>Of his own wisdom: yet she often heard</p> + + <p>His wayward taunt or querulous complaint,</p> + + <p>And, from the lordly partner of her fate,</p> + + <p>The harsher sound of ignorant rebuke.</p> + + <p>She was a matchless woman, when she lost</p> + + <p>The timid graces of retiring youth,</p> + + <p>She still was lovely, for her shaded eyes</p> + + <p>Beam'd with a lofty sweetness, a content</p> + + <p>Beyond the pow'r of fortune to destroy.</p> + + <p>Careless of let or hindrance, she went on,</p> + + <p>Nor shrunk nor started at the many thorns</p> + + <p>Strew'd in her toilsome path; still looking forth</p> + + <p>To others' weal, forgetful it would seem,</p> + + <p>Perchance in heart despairing of her own.</p> + + <p>The friend, the help, the comforter of all,</p> + + <p>No voice was heard so cheerful, nor a step</p> + + <p>So bounding and so light. 'Twas wonderful!</p> + + <p>For I have seen her, when her polish'd arm</p> + + <p>Has clasp'd the nurseling, with her face conceal'd</p> + + <p>Bent fondly o'er; and I have mark'd each limb</p> + + <p>To boast a fine expansion, as if thrill'd</p> + + <p>With the deep feelings of maternal love</p> + + <p>And aching tenderness, too highly wrought</p> + + <p>For happy souls to cherish! they delight</p> + + <p>In painless joys, and, on the infant's cheek,</p> + + <p>Rounded and glowing with a finer bloom</p> + + <p>Than the wild-rose, careless imprint the kiss,</p> + + <p>Which sorrow always sanctions by a prayer.</p> + + <p>They in the radiance of its glancing eyes</p> + + <p>See nothing to suffuse with their own tears!</p> + + <p>Borne forward on the easy wing of Time,</p> + + <p>They travel on, they scarcely meet with Thought,</p> + + <p>Or, like a summer cloud, he passes by,</p> + + <p>His shadow rests one instant, and again</p> + + <p>The scene is calm and brilliant as before!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Not so with Lora, trouble, sickness, death,</p> + + <p>Were busy with the residue of peace,</p> + + <p>When years and care had weaken'd her regrets,</p> + + <p>Veil'd the sad recollection of past days,</p> + + <p>And overgrown the softness of her mind,</p> + + <p>As the close-creeping ivy hides and rusts</p> + + <p>The smooth and silver surface of the beech.</p> + + <p>An orphan and a widow—she became</p> + + <p>Decisive, watchful, prudent, nay severe</p> + + <p>To wilful disobedience or neglect;</p> + + <p>Though generous where she perceiv'd desert.</p> + + <p>She taught her children with unceasing zeal,</p> + + <p>Sought knowledge for their sakes, and, more than all,</p> + + <p>Anxious, inquisitive about the heart,</p> + + <p>Search'd all the motives, all the incidents</p> + + <p>In which it was unfolded; fencing still</p> + + <p>Each treacherous failing with a double guard,</p> + + <p>And oft repeated warnings; well conceal'd,</p> + + <p>Or given with so much kindness, that they serv'd</p> + + <p>To draw more closely every knot of love.</p> + + <p>Nor did she cease to urge her pious cares</p> + + <p>By constant vigilance, till riper age</p> + + <p>Had fix'd the moral sense, when, as a bow</p> + + <p>For a long active season tightly strain'd</p> + + <p>Relaxes, tumult and contention o'er,</p> + + <p>She sunk into indulgence, glad to yield</p> + + <p>To mildness, nature, and herself again.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Youth, e'en when wise and good, requires a change,</p> + + <p>Delights in novelty, and hears of nought</p> + + <p>Which suddenly it asks not to behold;</p> + + <p>And Lora's children oft assail'd her ear</p> + + <p>To let them journey to some rumour'd scene,</p> + + <p>Some feast, or village wake, or sprightly dance,</p> + + <p>Urging her still to bear them company.</p> + + <p>She lov'd to give them pleasure, and one time</p> + + <p>(The fav'rite legend of our country folk</p> + + <p>Hath oft the tale repeated) as they mix'd</p> + + <p>Carelessly in the crowd, remember'd notes</p> + + <p>Struck by a harper in a distant tent,</p> + + <p>Sweet and soul-piercing as the midnight songs</p> + + <p>Which are, they say, the harbingers of death,</p> + + <p>Flow'd on her ear—when, with impulsive spring,</p> + + <p>As if a magic spell had wing'd her feet,</p> + + <p>Fearing the sounds would vanish into air,</p> + + <p>And prove delusion ere she reach'd the spot,</p> + + <p>She forward rush'd, and soon beheld the friend,</p> + + <p>The dear companion of her youth. She seiz'd</p> + + <p>The hand that lay upon the quivering chords,</p> + + <p>Stopping their melody and resting mute.</p> + + <p>The pause was awful—He at length exclaim'd,</p> + + <p>In a deep, laboured cry, "Ye heavenly powers!</p> + + <p>If Lora lives, the hand I feel is hers!"</p> + + <p>She could not speak, but with her other hand</p> + + <p>Clasp'd his, and sigh'd and rais'd her eyes to heaven,</p> + + <p>When straight the big, round tears began to flow;</p> + + <p>"And is it thee, dear Lora! Art thou come</p> + + <p>Again to gladden one, who never found</p> + + <p>'Mid countless who are good, a heart like thine!</p> + + <p>Oh! speak! that I may know if still my ear</p> + + <p>Retains a true remembrance of that voice!</p> + + <p>For since, it has not drank so sweet a sound."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Hail happy day!" cried Lora, "which restores</p> + + <p>The friend whose absence I have mourn'd so long!</p> + + <p>For thou, O! Osborne! must with me return,</p> + + <p>Me and my children! They shall hear again</p> + + <p>Those counsels which inform'd their mother's heart;</p> + + <p>Gave courage in the hour of enterprize,</p> + + <p>Calmness in danger, patience under ills</p> + + <p>That like a swarm of insects buz around,</p> + + <p>And vex the spirit which they cannot rouse.</p> + + <p>Return, my early, long-lost friend! with us</p> + + <p>Thou shalt enjoy repose: our cheerful home</p> + + <p>Shall gather round thee many an honest heart</p> + + <p>Which knows thy virtues, and will hold thee dear."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>She paus'd, and Osborne joyful gave assent.</p> + + <p>Fair hopes of joy engaged his faultering mind,</p> + + <p>For long-time had he dragg'd a weary life,</p> + + <p>Lone, or bereav'd of relative or friend,</p> + + <p>Careful to tend his health, and to divert</p> + + <p>His sadness; each succeeding hour had press'd</p> + + <p>With its slow-passing wing his gentle head</p> + + <p>Drooping and prematurely silver'd o'er,</p> + + <p>(Like snows depending on the autumn leaf)</p> + + <p>Yet warm, benevolent, serene, resign'd,</p> + + <p>And like an angel save in youth and joy.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A winding path round yonder wooded hill,</p> + + <p>Leads to a spot where Nature decks herself</p> + + <p>In loveliness and beauty: far below</p> + + <p>Spreads the green valley, where a silent stream</p> + + <p>Turns, like a serpent writhing in its course;</p> + + <p>And, rarified by distance, kissing heaven,</p> + + <p>In many noble and fantastic shapes,</p> + + <p>A giant range of purple mountains sleeps.</p> + + <p>Grand is the scene, and in the centre stands</p> + + <p>The tomb of Osborne—after many years</p> + + <p>Of happiness and friendship, Lora rais'd</p> + + <p>This plain memorial, and her children plac'd</p> + + <p>A mother's near, to tell succeeding years</p> + + <p>Their talents and their virtue. They themselves</p> + + <p>More forcibly express the worth of both,</p> + + <p>For they are wise and good, without a shade</p> + + <p>Of cold severity or selfish pride.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p26" id="p26"></a>REFLECTION.</h2> + + <h4>August 2, 1798.</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Why should we think the years of life</p> + + <p class="i2">Will pass serenely by,</p> + + <p>When, for a day, the Sun himself</p> + + <p class="i2">Ne'er sees a cloudless sky!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And, unassuming as she moves,</p> + + <p class="i2">The meek-eyed Queen of night,</p> + + <p>Meets wand'ring vapours in her path</p> + + <p class="i2">To dim her paler light!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Then why should we in vain repine</p> + + <p class="i2">At man's uncertain lot,</p> + + <p>That cares will equally assail</p> + + <p class="i2">The palace and the cot?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>For Heaven ordains this chequer'd scene</p> + + <p class="i2">Our mortal pow'rs t' employ;</p> + + <p>That we might know, compare, select,</p> + + <p class="i2">Be grateful, and enjoy.</p> + </div> + </div> + + <p>[For the last verse I am indebted to the pen of a Friend.]</p> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p27" id="p27"></a>RETROSPECT OF YOUTH.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I wander'd forth amid the flow'rs,</p> + + <p class="i2">And careless sipp'd the morning air;</p> + + <p>Nor hail'd the angel-winged hours,</p> + + <p class="i2">Nor saw that Happiness was there!</p> + + <p>Alas! I often since have wept</p> + + <p>That Gratitude unconscious slept!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>For Truth and Pity then were young,</p> + + <p class="i2">And walk'd in simple, narrow bounds;</p> + + <p>Affection's meek, assuasive tongue,</p> + + <p class="i2">Had sweet, but most capricious sounds.</p> + + <p>Once, wild with scornful pride, she fled,</p> + + <p>And only turn'd to seek the dead!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh! from a garden of delight,</p> + + <p class="i2">What fair memento did I bring!</p> + + <p>What amaranth of colours bright,</p> + + <p class="i2">To mark the promise of my spring?</p> + + <p>Behold this flow'r! its leaves are wet,</p> + + <p>With tears of lasting, vain regret!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p28" id="p28"></a>THE DAUGHTER.</h2> + + <h4>1797.</h4> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Come, mournful lute! dear echo of my woe!</p> + + <p class="i2">No stranger's tread in this lone spot I fear,</p> + + <p>Sweeter thy notes in such wild places flow,</p> + + <p class="i2">And, what is more, my Henry cannot hear!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"He will not know my pain and my despair,</p> + + <p class="i2">When that dread scene arises on my view,</p> + + <p>Where my poor father would not hear my pray'r,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or grant his only child a last adieu!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"He will not know that still the hour I mourn,</p> + + <p class="i2">When death all hopes of pardon snatch'd away;</p> + + <p>That still this heart by sad remembrance torn,</p> + + <p class="i2">Repeats the dreadful mandate of that day.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Luckless for him has been my constant love,</p> + + <p class="i2">Luckless the destiny I bade him brave,</p> + + <p>For since a parent did our vows reprove,</p> + + <p class="i2">Sorrow was all the gift my fondness gave.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Then, though I knew my father's stern command,</p> + + <p class="i2">The short-liv'd conflict of affection o'er,</p> + + <p>I offer'd to the youth my dowerless hand,</p> + + <p class="i2">And fondly reason'd thus on being poor,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"'Can pomp or splendour elevate the soul,</p> + + <p class="i2">Brighten the lustre that illumes the eye!</p> + + <p>Make the rough stream of life more smoothly roll,</p> + + <p class="i2">Suppress the tear, or waft away the sigh!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"'Can happiness a purer joy receive,</p> + + <p class="i2">In the proud mansions of the rich and great?</p> + + <p>Or, tell me, can the wounded bosom heave</p> + + <p class="i2">With blunted anguish under robes of state!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"'No! Henry, no! Alas! too well you know,</p> + + <p class="i2">The misery of an affected smile,</p> + + <p>The pain of clearing the thought-clouded brow,</p> + + <p class="i2">To covet for yourself the hateful toil!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"'And since my choice, and reason both approve,</p> + + <p class="i2">Since I have known you many a circling year,</p> + + <p>And time has well assur'd me of your love,</p> + + <p class="i2">Tell me, my Henry, what have I to fear?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"'My father, though by worldly prudence led,</p> + + <p class="i2">Will pardon when our happiness is told.'</p> + + <p>Alas! no curses fell upon my head,</p> + + <p class="i2">But never did he more his child behold.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"He would not, dying, hear my ardent prayer!</p> + + <p class="i2">But, cruel! said, I leave her all my store;</p> + + <p>She wrung my doating heart with deep despair,</p> + + <p class="i2">And even now perhaps desires no more.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"This is the stroke which all my peace destroys,</p> + + <p class="i2">The dagger which no art can draw away,</p> + + <p>The thought which every faculty employs,</p> + + <p class="i2">Withers my bloom, and makes my strength decay.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"His death, his sorrows are the heavy curse</p> + + <p class="i2">That hangs above my poor, distracted head!</p> + + <p>His dying words have scatter'd vain remorse,</p> + + <p class="i2">For vain, though bitter, are the tears I shed.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"And yet my father to my soul was dear,</p> + + <p class="i2">But tender pity was on Henry's side;</p> + + <p>I painted him relenting, not severe,</p> + + <p class="i2">Nor fancied I could be an orphan bride.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Ah me! excuses will not cure my pain!</p> + + <p class="i2">At least, forgetfulness can little plead.</p> + + <p>A widow'd parent!—I deserv'd disdain,</p> + + <p class="i2">'Tis fit these eyes should weep, this heart should + bleed!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"But yet assist me heaven! to hide my grief,</p> + + <p class="i2">My waning health from love's suspicious eyes!</p> + + <p>This malady admits of no relief,</p> + + <p class="i2">And nought augments the pain, but Henry's sighs.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Perhaps e'en now he wonders at my stay,</p> + + <p class="i2">Sees the white fogs of evening rise around,</p> + + <p>Comes out to seek me in my devious way,</p> + + <p class="i2">But turns not to this unfrequented ground.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Alas! my love, thy anxious care is vain!</p> + + <p class="i2">Nothing can stop yon wand'rer of the sky;</p> + + <p>Nothing can long this fleeting life retain!</p> + + <p class="i2">For oh! I feel that I must shortly die.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"But cease my lute, this low, desponding strain,</p> + + <p class="i2">It floats too long upon the heavy air;</p> + + <p>Henry may pass and know that I complain.</p> + + <p class="i2">One moment's peace to him is worth my care."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>She said, and toward the cheerless mansion flew,</p> + + <p class="i2">Her slender, sylph-like form array'd in white,</p> + + <p>Not clearly seen amidst surrounding dew,</p> + + <p class="i2">Seem'd like a spirit ling'ring in its flight.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Poor Henry, who had watch'd her in the shade,</p> + + <p class="i2">In aching silence list'ning to her song,</p> + + <p>At distance follow'd slowly through the glade,</p> + + <p class="i2">Pausing forgetful as he pass'd along.</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p29" id="p29"></a>YOUTH UNSUSPICIOUS OF EVIL.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>O bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r!</p> + + <p class="i2">And look not up so fresh and bright!</p> + + <p>The keen, harsh wind, the heavy show'r,</p> + + <p class="i2">Will spoil thy beauties ere the night.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I grieve to see thee look so gay.</p> + + <p class="i2">And so unconscious of thy lot,</p> + + <p>For gloom and tempests wait thy day,</p> + + <p class="i2">And thou, unhappy, fear'st it not!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Thy tender leaflets all unfold,</p> + + <p class="i2">Their colours ripen and refine,</p> + + <p>Become most lovely to behold,</p> + + <p class="i2">And, ah! most apt to shrink and pine.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Then, bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r!</p> + + <p class="i2">I grieve to see thee look so gay!</p> + + <p>Close thy soft wings against the show'r,</p> + + <p class="i2">And wait a more auspicious day!</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p30" id="p30"></a>THE MOTHER.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"And beats my heart again with joy!</p> + + <p class="i2">And dances now my spirit light!</p> + + <p>The skiff that holds my darling boy</p> + + <p class="i2">This moment burst upon my sight!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Not yet distinctly I perceive</p> + + <p class="i2">Amid the crew his well-known form,</p> + + <p>But still his safety I believe,</p> + + <p class="i2">I know he has escap'd the storm.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"I feel as if my heart had wings,</p> + + <p class="i2">And tender from excess of bliss,</p> + + <p>His form, which airy fancy brings,</p> + + <p class="i2">In fond emotion seem to kiss.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Welcome the wild, imperfect rest,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which these bewilder'd spirits share!</p> + + <p>Welcome this tumult of the breast,</p> + + <p class="i2">After the shudder of despair!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"My Robert he is brave and strong,</p> + + <p class="i2">He will these flowing tears reprove.</p> + + <p>Alas! how little know the young,</p> + + <p class="i2">The tremor of a Mother's love.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"For we are weak from many a care,</p> + + <p class="i2">From many a sleepless, anxious hour,</p> + + <p>When fear and hope the bosom tear,</p> + + <p class="i2">And ride the brain with fevering power.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"But lo! he cheerly waves his hand!</p> + + <p class="i2">I hear his voice! I see his face!</p> + + <p>And eager now he springs to land,</p> + + <p class="i2">To meet a Mother's fond embrace!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"This failing heart! but joy to me,</p> + + <p class="i2">If heaven in pity is thy guard;</p> + + <p>And of the pangs I feel for thee,</p> + + <p class="i2">Protection be the dear reward!"</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr /> + + <h2><a name="p31" id="p31"></a>EDGAR AND ELLEN.</h2> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Arrest thy steps! On these sad plains,</p> + + <p class="i2">Fair dame, no farther go!</p> + + <p>But listen to the martial strains,</p> + + <p class="i2">Whose wildness speaks of woe!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Hark! strife is forward on the field,</p> + + <p class="i2">I hear the trumpet's bray!</p> + + <p>Now spear to spear, and shield to shield,</p> + + <p class="i2">Decides the dreadful day!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Unfit for thee, oh! Lady fair!</p> + + <p class="i2">The scenes where men engage;</p> + + <p>Thy gentle spirit could not bear</p> + + <p class="i2">The fearful battle's rage."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"I prithee, stranger, let me fly!</p> + + <p class="i2">Though pallid is my cheek,</p> + + <p>The lightning's flash delights my eye,</p> + + <p class="i2">I love the thunder's break.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And oft beneath our castle tow'rs,</p> + + <p class="i2">When tempests rush'd along,</p> + + <p>My steady hand has painted flowers,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or voice has rais'd the song."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Oh Lady! that bewilder'd eye</p> + + <p class="i2">Is red with recent tears;</p> + + <p>Already that heart-startling sigh</p> + + <p class="i2">Proclaims thy anxious fears.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Then let a stranger's words prevail,</p> + + <p class="i2">Nor thus in danger roam!</p> + + <p>Here many frightful ills assail,</p> + + <p class="i2">But safety is at home!"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"No, in some peasant's lowly cot</p> + + <p class="i2">Perhaps she may abide,</p> + + <p>To consecrate the humble spot,</p> + + <p class="i2">But not where I reside.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>In Hubert's halls, my father's foe,</p> + + <p class="i2">From childhood have I dwelt,</p> + + <p>And for his wily murderer too,</p> + + <p class="i2">A filial fondness felt.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Ah me! how often have I press'd</p> + + <p class="i2">The lips which seal'd his doom!</p> + + <p>How oft the cruel hand caress'd</p> + + <p class="i2">Which sent him to the tomb!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>My nurse reveal'd the dreadful truth,</p> + + <p class="i2">And, as she told the tale,</p> + + <p>A sickly blight pass'd o'er my youth,</p> + + <p class="i2">And turn'd its roses pale.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The heavy secret on my heart</p> + + <p class="i2">Like deadly poison prey'd;</p> + + <p>For she forbade me to impart</p> + + <p class="i2">A word of what she said.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I, who so blithely sung before,</p> + + <p class="i2">So peacefully had slept,</p> + + <p>Fancied gaunt murder at the door,</p> + + <p class="i2">And listen'd, shook, and wept.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>No longer with an open smile,</p> + + <p class="i2">I greeted all around;</p> + + <p>My fearful looks were fix'd the while,</p> + + <p class="i2">In terror on the ground.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>All saw the change, and kindly strove</p> + + <p class="i2">My sadness to relieve;</p> + + <p>Base Hubert feign'd a parent's love,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which could not see me grieve.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A painful anger flush'd my cheek,</p> + + <p class="i2">My lip indignant smil'd,</p> + + <p>I cried, "And did he e'er bespeak</p> + + <p class="i2">Thy friendship for his child?"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Ellen! when death was drawing nigh,</p> + + <p class="i2">Thou wert his only care;</p> + + <p>Oh! guard her, Hubert, if I die,</p> + + <p class="i2">It is my latest prayer.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>To none, dear friend, but thee," he cried,</p> + + <p class="i2">"Whose love and truth are known,</p> + + <p>Could I this precious charge confide,</p> + + <p class="i2">To cherish, as thy own!"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I pledg'd my honour, to fulfil</p> + + <p class="i2">My dearest friend's desire!</p> + + <p>And I have ever acted still,</p> + + <p class="i2">As honour's laws require!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Thy mind, dear Ellen, is the proof</p> + + <p class="i2">Of my paternal care,</p> + + <p>Since form'd beneath this friendly roof,</p> + + <p class="i2">So excellent and fair.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Then why that cloud upon thy brow,</p> + + <p class="i2">That sullen, fearful sigh!</p> + + <p>That something which we must not know,</p> + + <p class="i2">That cold and altered eye?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Why must thy proud, suspicious air,</p> + + <p class="i2">Give every heart a pain?</p> + + <p>Why must my son, my Edgar bear</p> + + <p class="i2">Unmerited disdain?"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I hung my bead, my fault'ring tongue</p> + + <p class="i2">In feeble murmurs spoke,</p> + + <p>His specious art my bosom wrung,</p> + + <p class="i2">I shudder'd at his look.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And thus, bewildered with my woes,</p> + + <p class="i2">I faint and careless rove;</p> + + <p>For oh! I cannot dwell with those</p> + + <p class="i2">I must no longer love."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Fair lady, calm that anxious heart,</p> + + <p class="i2">And to my voice attend!</p> + + <p>Thy father died by Hubert's dart,</p> + + <p class="i2">And yet he was his friend.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>For Lancaster Sir Philip rose,</p> + + <p class="i2">And many a Yorkist slew;</p> + + <p>Till, singling him amidst his foes,</p> + + <p class="i2">Lord Hubert's arrow flew.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But soon we saw the victor stand</p> + + <p class="i2">Beside, in sorrow drown'd;</p> + + <p>And soon Sir Philip took the hand,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which gave the deadly wound.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"My friend, unweeting was thy aim,</p> + + <p class="i2">And is by me forgiv'n,</p> + + <p>But oh! one sacred oath I claim,</p> + + <p class="i2">In sight of men, and heav'n!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Oh! promise with a father's zeal,</p> + + <p class="i2">My Ellen to protect!</p> + + <p>Nor let her like an orphan feel</p> + + <p class="i2">Dependence, and neglect!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And then, almost without regret,</p> + + <p class="i2">I can my charge resign;</p> + + <p>For, during life, I never met</p> + + <p class="i2">So true a heart as thine."</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Lord Hubert pledg'd his sacred word,</p> + + <p class="i2">He wept, and, kneeling, swore,</p> + + <p>In England ne'er to wield a sword,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or shoot an arrow more.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>From civil war, whose daily crimes</p> + + <p class="i2">This island long shall rue,</p> + + <p>From all the evil of the times,</p> + + <p class="i2">In anguish he withdrew.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I wonder that, by nature bold,</p> + + <p class="i2">He stoop'd to wear disguise,</p> + + <p>Or leave the hapless tale untold,</p> + + <p class="i2">Which wakens thy surprise!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Yet the sad shame that fill'd his breast,</p> + + <p class="i2">May well thy pity crave,</p> + + <p>A turtle dove may build her nest</p> + + <p class="i2">Upon thy father's grave—"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Stranger, that warrior from the east,</p> + + <p class="i2">Who comes with headlong speed,</p> + + <p>Is Edgar, Hubert's son, at least,</p> + + <p class="i2">He rides on Edgar's steed!"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Be calm, fair maid! Thou gallant knight,</p> + + <p class="i2">Who speedest o'er the plain,</p> + + <p>Give us some tidings of the fight,</p> + + <p class="i2">The victor and the slain!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>One moment stay! for many a care</p> + + <p class="i2">Now fills us with alarm!</p> + + <p>Is Edward King? Is Hubert's heir,</p> + + <p class="i2">Escap'd from death and harm?"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"The sun of Lancaster is set,</p> + + <p class="i2">And never more to rise;"</p> + + <p>Return'd the knight, "I know not yet</p> + + <p class="i2">If Edgar lives or dies!"</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And scarce he check'd the flowing rein,</p> + + <p class="i2">In hurried accents spoke,</p> + + <p>And, dull and hollow was the strain</p> + + <p class="i2">That through the helmet broke.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Where is he?" shriek'd fair Ellen forth,</p> + + <p class="i2">He started at the sound,</p> + + <p>And, leaping sudden on the earth,</p> + + <p class="i2">His armour rang around.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>"Queen of my destiny!" he cried,</p> + + <p class="i2">"Thy faithful Edgar see!</p> + + <p>Whose welfare thou canst best decide,</p> + + <p class="i2">For it depends on thee!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I sav'd our youthful Monarch's life,</p> + + <p class="i2">Whose bounteous hand accords,</p> + + <p>A dower to grace the noblest wife</p> + + <p class="i2">That England's realm affords.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>With thee his splendid gifts I share,</p> + + <p class="i2">Or soon this youthful head</p> + + <p>A solemn monk's dark cowl shall wear,</p> + + <p class="i2">To love and glory dead.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Perhaps that tear upon thy cheek</p> + + <p class="i2">Foretels a milder doom!</p> + + <p>Thou wilt again our mansion seek,</p> + + <p class="i2">Oh! let me lead thee home!"</p> + </div> + </div> + <hr class="full" /> + + <h3>FINIS.</h3> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Matilda Betham + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +This file should be named 8beth10h.htm or 8beth10h.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8beth11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8beth10ah.htm + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poems + +Author: Matilda Betham + +Posting Date: October 24, 2011 [EBook #9998] +Release Date: February, 2006 +First Posted: November 6, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + +POEMS + +BY + +MATILDA BETHAM. + + +1808. + + +TO LADY ROUSE BOUGHTON, AS A TESTIMONY OF RESPECT AND GRATITUDE FOR +LONG CONTINUED FRIENDSHIP, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY HER +OBLIGED HUMBLE SERVANT, MATILDA BETHAM. + +_New Cavendish-street,_ + +Feb. 3, 1809. + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + +Before this book was printed, I thoughtlessly concluded there must be a +preface; but, on consideration, see no particular purpose it would +answer, and gladly decline a task I should have undertaken with much +timidity and reluctance. All I feel necessary to premise, is, that the +tale in the Old Shepherd's Recollections is founded on an event which +happened in Ireland; and that last spring I suppressed the song ending +in page 65 [The Old Man's Farewell], some time after it had been in the +hands of the composer, from meeting accidentally with a quotation in a +magazine that resembled it. + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + POEMS.-- + The Old Fisherman + Lines to Mrs. Radcliffe, on first reading The Mysteries of + Udolpho + The Heir + To a Llangollen Rose, the day after it had been given me by + Miss Ponsonby + L'Homme de l'Ennui + The Grandfather's Departure + Reflections occasioned by the Death of Friends + To Mrs. T. Fancourt + To a Young Gentleman + Fragment + + SONGS.-- + "Thrice lovely Babe" + "What do I love?" + A Sailor's Song + Another + Once more, then farewell! + Henry, on the Departure of his Wife from Calcutta + Sonnet + On the Regret of Youth + Elegy on Sophia Graham + To Miss Rouse Boughton + To the Same + To the River which separates itself from the Dee at Bedkellert + The Old Man's Farewell + Song--Distance from the Place of our Nativity. + The Old Shepherd's Recollections + Reflection + Retrospect of Youth + The Daughter + Youth unsuspicious of evil + The Mother + Edgar and Ellen + + + + +POEMS. + + +THE OLD FISHERMAN. + + 'My bosom is chill'd with the cold, + My limbs their lost vigour deplore! + Alas! to the lonely and old, + Hope warbles her promise no more! + + 'Worn out with the length of my way, + I must rest me awhile on the beach, + To feel the salt dash of the spray, + If haply so far it may reach. + + 'As the white-foaming billows arise, + I reflect on the days that are past, + When the pride of my strength could despise + The keen-driving force of the blast. + + 'Though the heavens might menace on high, + I would still push my vessel from shore; + At my calling undauntedly ply, + And sing as I handled the oar. + + 'When fortune rewarded my toil, + And my nets, deeply-laden, I drew, + I hurried me home with the spoil, + And its inmates rejoic'd at the view. + + 'Though the winds and the waves were perverse, + I was sure to be welcom'd with glee; + My presence the cares would disperse, + That were only awaken'd for me. + + 'Whether weary, with toiling in vain, + Or gay, from abundant success, + I heard the same blessing again,-- + I met the same tender caress: + + 'I fancied the perils repay'd, + That could such affection ensure; + By fondness and gratitude sway'd, + I was eager to dare and endure. + + 'My cot did each comfort contain, + And that gave my bosom delight; + When drench'd by the winterly rain, + I watch'd in my vessel at night. + + 'But, alas! from the tyrant, Disease, + What love or what caution can save! + A fever, more harsh than the seas, + Consign'd my poor wife to the grave. + + 'My children, so tenderly rear'd, + And pining for want of her care, + Though more by my sorrows endear'd, + Could not rescue my heart from despair. + + 'I tempted the dangers of night, + And still labour'd hard at the oar, + My sufferings appear'd to be light, + But I suffer'd with pleasure no more. + + 'And yet, when some seasons had roll'd, + I seem'd to awaken anew; + My children I lov'd to behold, + How tall and how comely they grew. + + 'My boy became hardy and bold, + His spirit was buoyant and free; + And, as I grew thoughtful and old, + Was loud and oppressive to me. + + 'But the girl, like a bird in the bower, + Awaken'd my hope and my pride; + She won on my heart ev'ry hour, + And I could not the preference hide. + + 'I mark'd the address and the care, + The manner endearing and mild, + Not dreaming those qualities rare + Were to murther the peace of my child: + + 'That grandeur would ever descend + To seek for so lowly a bride, + Or his fair one, a lover pretend, + From all she held dear to divide: + + 'That beauty was priz'd like a gem, + Expected to dazzle and shine, + Whose value the world would contemn, + Unless trac'd to some Indian mine: + + 'Alas! hapless girl! had I known + Thou hadst learnt to repine at thy lot; + That splendour and rank were thy own, + Thy home and thy father forgot: + + 'That lore and ambition assail'd, + Thou hadst left us, whatever befel! + My pardon and prayers had prevail'd, + I had blest thee, and bade thee farewel! + + 'With thy husband, from this happy clime, + I had seen thee for ever depart! + Still hoping affection and time + Might soften the pride of his heart: + + 'That a moment perhaps would arise, + When, fondling a child on the knee, + He might read, in its innocent eyes + A lesson of pity for me. + + 'But lips, which till then never said + A word to cause any one pain, + Inform'd me, when reason had fled, + Of a conflict it could not sustain. + + 'And he, who had wish'd to conceal + That the woman he lov'd had been poor, + Began all his folly to feel, + When the victim could hearken no more. + + 'Yet still for himself did he mourn, + And, indignant, I fled from the view: + For my wrongs were not easily borne, + And my anger was hard to subdue. + + 'One prop, one sole comfort, remain'd, + Who saw me o'erladen with grief, + Who saw (though I never complain'd) + My heart was too sick for relief. + + 'One, who always attentive and dear, + Every effort exerted to please, + My desolate prospect to cheer, + To study my health and my ease. + + 'For his was each toil and each care, + The due observations to keep; + To sit watching amid the night air, + And fancy his father asleep. + + 'Yet, dejected, and sadly forlorn, + I dar'd in my heart to repine,-- + To lament that I ever was born, + Though such worth and affection were mine. + + 'Alas! I was destin'd to know, + However intense my despair, + I still was reserv'd for a blow, + More painful and cruel to bear. + + 'Yes! this only one fell in the main! + --I eagerly struggled to save; + But I strove with the current in vain, + And saw him sink under the wave! + + 'My head was astounded and wild,-- + Incessant I roam'd on the shore, + To seek the dead corse of my child, + And to weep on his bosom once more. + + 'Seven days undisturb'd was the sky, + The eighth was a tempest most drear, + I saw the huge billow rise high! + I saw my lost treasure appear! + + 'Like a dream it seem'd passing away:-- + I hurried me onward to meet, + And clasp the inanimate clay, + When senseless I sunk at his feet. + + 'These hands, now enfeebled by time, + The last pious offices paid! + Age sorrow'd o'er youth in its prime, + And my boy near his mother was laid. + + 'Now scar'd by the griefs I have known, + Wounds, apathy only can heal, + My joys and my sorrows are flown, + For I have forgotten to feel. + + 'But I know my Creator is just, + That his hand will deliver me soon; + I have learnt to submit and to trust, + Though I finish my journey alone.' + +Aldborough, September 7, 1800. + + * * * * * + + + +LINES TO MRS. RADCLIFFE, + +ON FIRST READING THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO. + + Enchantress! whose transcendant pow'rs, + With ease, the massy fabric raise;-- + Beneath whose sway the tempest low'rs, + Or lucid stream meänd'ring plays;-- + + Accept the tribute of a heart, + Which thou hast often made to glow + With transport, oft with terror start, + Or sink at strains of solemn woe! + + Invention, like a falcon, tam'd + By some expert and daring hand, + For pride, for strength and fierceness fam'd, + Implicit yields to thy command. + Now mounts aloft in soaring flight, + Shoots, like a star, beyond the sight; + Or, in capricious windings borne, + Mocks our faint hopes of safe return; + Delights in trackless paths to roam, + But hears thy call, and hurries home; + Checks his bold wing when tow'ring free, + And sails, without a pause, to thee! + Enchantress, thy behests declare! + And what thy strong delusions are! + + When spirits in thy circle rise, + Gaunt Wonder, panic-struck, and pale, + Impatient Hope, and dread Surmise, + Attendants on the mystic tale! + + How is it, with such vivid hues, + A harmonizing softness flows! + What are the charms that can diffuse, + Such grandeur as thy pencil throws! + + Say! do the nymphs of classic lore, + So simply graceful, light, and fair, + Forsake their consecrated shore, + Their hallow'd groves, and purer air? + + Tir'd of the ancient Grecian loom, + And smit with Fancy's wayward glance, + Weave they amid the Gothic gloom, + The high-wrought fiction of Romance? + + While the dark Genius of our northern clime, + Whose giant limbs the mist of years enshrouds, + Bursts through the veil which hides his head sublime, + And moves majestic through recoiling clouds! + + O yes! they own the wond'rous spell, + And to each form their hands divine + Give, with nice art, the temper'd swell, + The chasten'd touch and faultless line! + + Each fiction under their command, + Assumes an air severely true, + And, every vision, wildly grand, + Life's measur'd pace and modest hue. + + Reason and fancy, rival powers! + Unite, their RADCLIFFE to befriend; + To decorate her way with flowers, + The minor graces all attend! + +This piece, with the exception of a few lines, has +appeared in the Athenaeum. + + * * * * * + + +THE HEIR. + + See yon tall stripling! how he droops forlorn! + How slow his pace! how spiritless his eye! + Like a dark cloud in summer's rosy dawn, + He saddens pleasure as he passes by. + + Long kept in exile by paternal pride, + He feels no joy beneath this splendid dome; + For, till the elder child of promise died, + He knew a dearer, though a humbler home. + + Then the proud sail was spread! The youth obey'd, + Left ev'ry friend, and every scene he knew; + For ever left the soul-affianc'd maid, + Though his heart sicken'd as he said--Adieu; + And nurses still, with superstitious care, + The sigh of fond remembrance and despair. + + * * * * * + + + +TO A LLANGOLLEN ROSE, + +THE DAY AFTER IT HAD BEEN GIVEN BY MISS PONSONBY. + + Soft blushing flow'r! my bosom grieves, + To view thy sadly drooping leaves: + For, while their tender tints decay, + The rose of Fancy fades away! + As pilgrims, who, with zealous care, + Some little treasur'd relic bear, + To re-assure the doubtful mind, + When pausing memory looks behind; + I, from a more enlighten'd shrine, + Had made this sweet memento mine: + But, lo! its fainting head reclines; + It folds the pallid leaf, and pines, + As mourning the unhappy doom, + Which tears it from so sweet a home! + +_July 22, 1799._ + + * * * * * + + + +L'HOMME DE L'ENNUI. + + Forlornly I wander, forlornly I sigh, + And droop my head sadly, I cannot tell why: + When the first breeze of morning blows fresh in my face, + As the wild-waving walks of our woodlands I trace, + Reviv'd for the moment I look all around, + But my eyes soon grow languid, and fix on the ground. + + I have yet no misfortune to rob me of rest, + No love discomposes the peace of my breast; + Ambition ne'er enter'd the verge of my thought, + Nor by honours, by wealth, nor by power am I caught; + Those phantoms of folly disturb not my ease, + Yet Time is a tortoise, and Life a disease. + + With the blessings of youth and of health on my side, + A temper untainted by envy or pride; + No guilt to corrode, and no foes to molest; + There are many who tell me my station is blest. + This I cannot dispute; yet without knowing why-- + I feel that my bosom is big with a sigh. + + Oh! why do I see that all knowledge is vain; + That Science finds Error still keep in her train; + That Imposture or Darkness, with Doubt and Surmise, + Will mislead, will perplex, and then baffle the wise, + Who often, when labours have shorten'd their span, + Declare--not to know--is the province of man? + + In life, as in learning, our views are confin'd, + Our discernment too weak to discover the mind, + Which, subdued and irresolute, keeps out of sight; + Or if, for a moment, her presence delight, + Our air is too gross for the stranger to stay; + And, back to her prison she hurries away! + + If my own narrow precincts I seek to explore, + My wishes how vain, my attainments how poor! + Tenacious of virtue, with caution I move; + I correct, and I wrestle, but cannot approve; + Till, bewilder'd and faint, I would yield up the rein, + But I dare not in peace with my errors remain! + + With zeal all awake in the cause of a friend, + With warmth unrepress'd by my fear to offend, + With sympathy active in hope or distress, + How keen and how anxious I cannot express, + I shrink, lest an eye should my feelings behold, + And my heart seems insensible, selfish and cold. + + I strive to be gay, but my efforts are weak, + And, sick of existence, for pleasure I seek; + I mix with the empty, the loud, and the vain, + Partake of their folly, and double my pain. + In others I meet with depression and strife; + Oh! where shall I seek for the music of life? + + * * * * * + + + +THE GRANDFATHER'S DEPARTURE. + + The Old Man press'd Palemon's hand; + To Lucy nodded with a smile; + Kiss'd all the little ones around; + Then clos'd the gate, and paus'd awhile. + + "When shall I come again!" he thought, + Ere yet the journey had begun; + It was a tedious length of way, + But he beheld an only son. + + And dearly did he love to take + A rosy grandchild on his knee; + To part his shining locks, and say, + "Just such another boy was he!" + + And never felt he greater pride, + And never did he look so gay, + As when the little urchins strove + To make him partner in their play. + + But when, in some more gentle mood, + They silent hung upon his arm, + Or nestled close at ev'ning pray'r, + The old man felt a softer charm; + + And upward rais'd his closing eye, + Whence slow effus'd a grateful tear, + As if his senses own'd a joy, + Too holy for endurance here. + + No heart e'er pray'd so fervently, + Unprompted by an earthly zeal, + None ever knew such tenderness, + That did not true devotion feel. + + As with the pure, uncolour'd flame, + The violet's richest blues unite, + Do our affections soar to heav'n, + And rarify and beam with light. + + * * * * * + + + +REFLECTIONS + +OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF FRIENDS. + + My happiness was once a goodly tree, + Which promis'd every day to grow more fair, + And rear'd its lofty branches in the air, + In sooth, it was a pleasant sight, to see! + Amidst, fair honey-suckles crept along, + Twin'd round the bark, and hung from every bough, + While birds, which Fancy held by slender strings, + Plum'd the dark azure of their shining wings, + Or dipp'd them in the silver stream below, + With many a joyful note, and many a song! + + When lo! a tempest hurtles in the sky! + Dark low'r the clouds! the thunders burst around! + Fiercely the arrowy flakes of lightning fly! + While the scar'd songsters leave the quiv'ring bough, + The blasted honey-suckles droop below, + And many noble branches strew the ground! + + Though soon the air is calm, the sky serene, + Though wide the broad and leafy arms are spread, + Yet still the scars of recent wounds are seen; + Their shelter henceforth seems but insecure; + The winged tribes disdain the frequent lure, + Where many a songster lies benumb'd or dead; + And when I would the flow'ry tendrils train, + I find my late delightful labour vain. + + Affection thus, once light of heart, and gay, + Chasten'd by memory, and, unnerv'd by fear, + Shall sadden each endearment with a tear, + Sorrowing the offices of love shall pay, + And scarcely dare to think that good her own, + Which fate's imperious hand may snatch away, + In the warm sunshine of meridian day, + And when her hopes are full and fairest blown. + + * * * * * + + + +TO MRS. T. FANCOURT, + +July 15, 1803. + + I love not yon gay, painted flower, + Of bold and coarsely blended dye, + But one, whose nicely varied power + May long detain the curious eye. + + I love the tones that softly rise, + And in a fine accordance close; + That waken no abrupt surprise, + Nor leave us to inert repose. + + I love the moon's pure, holy light, + Pour'd on the calm, sequester'd stream; + The gale, fresh from the wings of night, + Which drinks the early solar beam; + + The smile of heaven, when storms subside, + When the moist clouds first break away; + The sober tints of even-tide, + Ere yet forgotten by the day. + + Such sights, such sounds, my fancy please, + And set my wearied spirit free: + And one who takes delight in these, + Can never fail of loving thee! + + * * * * * + + + +TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN. + +July 29th, 1803. + + Dear boy, when you meet with a rose, + Admire you the thorns very much? + Or like you to play with a ball, + When the handling it blisters your touch! + + Yet should it be firm and compact, + It is easy to polish it nice; + If the rose is both pretty and sweet, + The thorns will come off in a trice. + + The thistle has still many more, + As visible too in our eyes, + But who will take pains with a weed, + That nobody ever can prize? + + 'Tis what we deem precious and rare, + We most earnestly seek to amend; + And anxious attention and care, + Is the costliest gift of a friend. + + We all have our follies: what then? + Let us note them, and never look bluff! + Without any caressing at all, + They will cling to us closely enough. + + Weeds are of such obstinate growth, + They elude the most diligent hand; + And, if they were not to be check'd, + Would quickly run over the land. + + If some could be taken away, + That hide part of your worth from the view; + The conquest perhaps would be ours, + But the profit is wholly to you. + + * * * * * + + + +FRAGMENT. + + A Pilgrim weary, toil-subdued, + I reach'd a country, strange and rude, + And trembled, lest approaching eve + My hope of shelter might deceive; + When I espied a hunter train, + Prowling at leisure o'er the plain, + And hasten'd on to ask relief, + Of the ill-omen'd, haughty chief. + His eye was artful, keen, and bold, + His smile malevolently cold, + And had not all my fire been fled, + And every earthly passion dead, + His pity to contempt allied, + Had rous'd my anger and my pride; + But, as it was, I bent my way, + Where his secluded mansion lay, + Which rose before my eyes at length, + A fortress of determin'd strength, + And layers of every colour'd moss + The lofty turrets did emboss, + As tho' the hand of father Time, + Prepar'd a sacrifice sublime,-- + Giving his daily rites away, + To aggrandize some future day. + Here as I roam'd the walk along, + I heard a plaintive broken song; + And ere I to the portal drew, + An open window caught my view, + Where a fair dame appear'd in sight, + Array'd in robes of purest white. + Large snowy folds confin'd her hair, + And left a polish'd forehead bare. + O'er her meek eyes, of deepest blue, + The sable lash long shadows threw; + Her cheek was delicately pale, + And seem'd to tell a piteous tale, + But o'er her looks such patience stole, + Such saint-like tenderness of soul, + That never did my eyes behold, + A beauty of a lovelier mold. + + The Lady sigh'd, and closely prest + A sleeping infant to her breast; + Shook off sweet tears of love, and smil'd, + Kissing the fingers of the child, + Which round her own unconscious clung, + Then fondly gaz'd, and softly sung: + + Once like that sea, which ebbs and flows, + My bosom never knew repose, + And heavily each morn arose. + + I bore with anger and disdain, + I had no power to break my chain, + No one to whom I dar'd complain. + + And when some bird has caught my eye, + Or distant sail been flitting by, + I wish'd I could at freely fly. + + But I can now contented be, + Can tell, dear babe, my griefs to thee. + And feel more brave, and breathe more free. + + And when thy father frowns severe, + Although my spirit faints with fear, + I feel I have a comfort near. + + And when he harshly speaks to me, + If thou art smiling on my knee, + He softens as he looks on thee. + + To soothe him in an evil hour + The bud has balm, oh! may the flower + Possess the same prevailing power! + + Nor forc'd to leave thy native land, + To pledge a cold, unwilling hand, + May'st thou receive the hard command. + + My mother had not half the zeal, + The aching fondness which I feel, + She had no broken heart to heal! + + And I was friendless when she died, + Who could my little failings chide, + And for an hour her fondness hide. + + But I can see no prospect ope, + Can give no fairy vision scope, + If thou art not the spring of hope. + + I cannot thy affection draw, + By childhood's first admiring awe; + Be tender pity then thy law! + + This heart would bleed at every vein, + I could not even life sustain, + If ever thou should'st give me pain. + + O! soul of sweetness! can it be, + That thou could'st prove unkind to me! + That I should fear this blow from thee! + + Alas! e'en then I would not blame, + My love to thee should be the same, + And judge from whence unkindness came! + + Her words grew indistinct and slow, + Her voice more tremulous and low, + When suddenly the song was o'er, + A whisper even heard no more-- + She had discern'd my nearer tread; + Appear'd to feel alarm, and fled. + + * * * * * + + + +SONGS. + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + + Thrice lovely babe! thus hush'd to rest, + Upon thy warrior father's breast! + Avails it, that his eyes behold, + Thy rosy cheeks, thy locks of gold! + Avails it that he bends his ear, + So fondly thy soft breath to hear! + Or, that his rising smiles confess, + A gracious gleam of tenderness! + The sweetest spell will scarce have pow'r + To hold him for one absent hour! + + Some plant that ceases thus to share, + A daily friend's auspicious care, + Relaxes in its feeble grasp, + The flow'ry tendrils soon unclasp, + Loose in the heedless aether play, + And every idle breeze obey! + Thus vainly had I sought to bind; + Thus watch'd that light, forgetful mind, + Till smiles and sunshine could restore, + My often-blighted hopes no more! + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. VOIGHT. + + What do I love? A polish'd mind, + A temper cheerful, meek, and kind; + A graceful air, unsway'd by art, + A voice that sinks into the heart, + A playful and benignant smile-- + Alas! my heart responds the while, + All this, my Emily, is true, + But I love more in loving you! + + I love those roses when they rise, + From joy, from anger, or surprise; + I love the kind, attentive zeal, + So prompt to know what others feel, + The mildness which can ne'er reprove, + But in the sweetest tones of love-- + All this, my Emily, is true, + But I love more in loving you! + + The self-command which can sustain, + In silence, weariness and pain; + The transport at a friend's success, + Which has not words or power to bless, + But, by a sudden, starting tear, + Appears more precious, more sincere-- + All this, my Emily, is true, + And this I love in loving you! + + * * * * * + + + +A SAILOR'S SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. WALSH. + + I ponder many a silent hour, + On friends belov'd when far at sea, + And, tell me, have I not the power + To draw one kindred thought to me! + + The while we linger on the coast, + My truant fancy homeward flies, + And when the view is almost lost, + Unmanly tears bedew my eyes-- + + And oft forgetful do I stand, + Nor crew, nor ship, nor ocean see; + And often does my heart demand, + If friends belov'd thus think on me! + + And when to England bound once more, + I shall with fond impatience burn, + Will not some others on the shore + As fondly look for my return! + + O! let me of your kindness hear! + Repeat the strain as I depart! + It swells like music on my ear, + It falls like balm upon my heart. + +Aug. 21, 1805. + + * * * * * + + + +ANOTHER, + +WRITTEN EARLIER. + + Adieu to old England! adieu to my friends! + Though fortune and fame I pursue, + On thus looking around me, I cannot conceal, + How reluctant I bid them adieu! + + My heart sinks within me, I sigh to the gale, + Thus slowly receding from shore, + While fancy still whispers some terrible tale, + A perhaps I may see it no more! + + There all that I love, that I value, remain, + That only awakens my fears, + For will the same spot its dear inmates contain, + On the lapse of two lingering years? + + They may smile in good fortune, or weep in distress, + I shall know not a word of their fate! + No pain can I soften, no sorrow redress! + I may come, when, alas! 'tis too late! + + I can fly without fear to encounter the foe, + To my earliest wish I am true; + But I cannot unmov'd quit the friends that I love, + Or bid my dear country adieu! + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. A. PETTIT, OF NORWICH. + + Once more then farewell! and whilst I'm away, + Oh! let not another entangle thy fancy! + I shall think upon thee every hour of the day, + And let not my love be forgotten by Nancy! + + Oh! were I forsaken, the flow'r in my heart, + Would fold all its leaves, and re-open them never! + The sunshine of joy and of hope would depart, + And belief in affection would perish for ever! + + To talk thus is folly! I doubt not thy truth, + A few years of absence will quickly pass over, + I scorn other perils that menace my youth, + From that wound, I must own, I could never recover! + + * * * * * + + + +HENRY, + +ON THE DEPARTURE OF HIS WIFE FROM CALCUTTA. + + Long is thy passage o'er the main, + And native air alone can save! + No friend thy weakness will sustain, + But India is, for thee, a grave! + Though winds arise, though surges swell, + Maria, we must say farewell! + + Oh! I bethink me of the time, + When with each airy hope in view, + In triumph to this fervid clime + I bore a flowret nurs'd in dew! + No fears did then my joy reprove, + And it was boundless as my love! + + Yet now to strangers I consign + Thy wounded mind, thy feeble health; + A charge more dear than life resign, + To watch a little worldly wealth. + Duty compels me to remain + But oh! how heavy feels the chain! + + My dear Maria! smile no more? + This seeming patience makes me wild! + So would'st thou once my peace restore, + When, mourning for our only child, + Each faint appeal was lost in air, + Or turn'd my sadness to despair. + + Alas! I only make thee grieve. + And hark! the boat awaits below! + They call aloud! and I must leave, + The tears my folly forc'd to flow. + Oh! had I but the time to prove, + That mine are only fears of love! + + * * * * * + + + +SONNET. + + Urge me no more! nor think, because I seem + Tame and unsorrowing in the world's rude strife, + That anguish and resentment have not life + Within the heart that ye so quiet deem: + In this forc'd stillness only, I sustain + My thought and feeling, wearied out with pain! + Floating as 'twere upon some wild abyss, + Whence, silent Patience, bending o'er the brink, + Would rescue them with strong and steady hand, + And join again, by that connecting link, + Which now is broken:--O, respect her care! + Respect her in this fearful self-command! + No moment teems with greater woe than this, + Should she but pause, or falter in despair! + + * * * * * + + + +ON THE REGRET OF YOUTH. + + Before a rose is fully blown, + The outward leaves announce decay; + So, ere the spring of Youth is flown, + Its tiny pleasures die away; + + The gay security we feel, + The careless soul's delighted rest, + That lively hope, that ardent zeal, + And smiling sunshine of the breast. + + Those simple tints, so bright and clear, + No healing dew-drops can restore; + For joys, which early life endear, + Once blighted, can revive no more. + + Yet lovely is the full-blown rose, + Although its infant graces fly; + The various opening leaves disclose, + A fairer banquet to the eye; + + A ruby's beams on drifted snow, + Such pure, harmonious blushes shed; + If distant, cast a tender glow, + But near, its own imperial red; + + The form assumes a prouder air, + And bends more graceful in the gale; + While, from its cup, of essence rare, + A richer hoard of sweets exhale. + + Could we again, by fancy led, + That bower of swelling leaves confine, + And round that fine, luxuriant head, + The mossy tendrils now entwine, + + Over what multitudes of bloom + Would a few timid leaflets close! + What mental joys resign their room, + To causeless mirth, and tame repose! + + The change to Reason's steady eye, + Would neither good nor wise appear; + And we may lay one precept by, + Our discontent is insincere. + + * * * * * + + + +ELEGY ON SOPHIA GRAHAM, + +WHO DIED JAN. 21, 1800. + + Sweet is the voice of Friendship to the ear, + Sweet is Affection's mildly-beaming eye, + Sweet the applause which flows from lips sincere, + And sweet is Pity's soft responsive sigh! + + But now those flowers of life have lost their bloom, + Faint all their beauty, cold their healing breath, + No object fills my eye but yonder tomb, + No sound awakes me but the name of death. + + When in the world, I bear a look serene, + And veil the gloomy temper of my grief; + Sick with restraint at evening quit the scene, + To find in tears and solitude relief. + + Parent of Hope and Fancy! thoughtful Night! + Why are these nurselings absent from thy bower, + While Memory, with sullen, strange delight, + Stalks lonely centinel the live-long hour? + + O dear Sophia! could we e'er forget, + Such fair endowments and unsullied worth, + Thy partial friendship calls for our regret, + And selfish feeling gives remembrance birth. + + How often when this trembling hand essays + Thy lov'd resemblance once again to trace, + The portrait thought in mimic life arrays + With all the sweet expression of thy face; + + Art may its symmetry and beauty show, + A look, a character, the pencil seize, + Give to the form where youthful graces glow, + An air of pensive dignity and ease, + + But warmth of feeling and sensation fine, + By mild reserve from common eyes conceal'd, + The ray of genius and the heart benign, + In artless gaiety so oft reveal'd-- + + All these are lost; no looks can now arise, + Like those which every little act endear'd, + Which even in the stranger's careless eyes + Like innocence from other worlds appear'd! + + Oft have I fear'd the breath of foolish praise, + Might taint the lily which so humbly grew; + That flattery's sun might shoot delusive rays, + Impede her progress, and distract her view. + + But vain the fear--for she remain'd the same, + To outward charms indifferent or blind, + Heedless alike of either praise or blame, + If it respected not her heart and mind. + + Rich in historic lore, the poet's lyre + Had not, though screen'd by time, forsaken hung, + She felt and studied with a kindred fire, + The lofty strain immortal Maro sung. + + She knew--but why essay to trace her thought + Through its wide range, describe her blooming youth, + The heart whose feelings were so finely wrought, + Its meek ambition, and its love of truth? + + All that parental-vanity desires, + All that the friend can muse upon and mourn, + All that the lover's ardent vow inspires, + In thee, Sophia! from the world was torn! + + But still we yield thee to no stranger's care; + No unknown foe our tender love bereaves; + Thou goest the angels' hallow'd bliss to share, + A Father thy exalted soul receives! + + * * * * * + + + +TO MISS ROUSE BOUGHTON, + +NOW THE RIGHT HON. LADY ST. JOHN. + +Aberystwith, July 5th, 17-- + + Louisa, while thy pliant fingers trace + The solemn beauties of the prospect round, + Or, on thy instrument, with touching grace, + Awaken all the witcheries of sound: + + Mild, as thy manners, do the colours rise, + As soft and unobtrusive meet the view; + And, when the varied notes the ear surprize, + We own the harmony as strictly true. + + Be thine the praise, alas! a gift how rare! + Artless, and unpretending, to excel! + Forget the envied charm of being fair, + To learn the noblest science,--acting well! + And let no world the seal of truth displace, + Or spoil the heart's accordance with the face! + + * * * * * + + + +TO THE SAME, + +ON RECEIVING FROM HER A FEW FLOWERS OUT OF A BOUQUET, FROM MELCHBOURNE, +1807. + + Hail! sweet Louisa! o'er these votive flow'rs + Friendship and Fancy weave the joyful song, + Wing with fresh rose-leaves all the train of hours, + That in the distant aether float along! + + Like those fair flowrets given by thy hand, + Like thy own beauty, blooming and serene, + The vision of thy future life is plann'd, + And forms a clear, a bright, and varied scene! + + That countenance so gentle, and so kind, + That heart, which never gave a harsh decree, + Suit all the turns of thy harmonious mind, + And must, perforce, with destiny agree. + This from the Sibyl's leaves affection drew, + O, be the omen just! the promise true! + + * * * * * + + + +TO THE RIVER + +WHICH SEPARATES ITSELF FROM THE DEE, AT BEDKELLERT. + +July 19, 1799. + + Let others hail the tranquil stream, + Whose glassy waters smoothly flow, + And, in the undulating gleam, + Reflect another world below! + + The yellow Conway as it raves, + Demands my tributary song! + When, rushing forth, resistless waves + O'er rocky fragments foam along! + + Like him, whose vigorous mind reviews + The troubles which around him roll; + The ceaseless warfare still pursues, + And keeps a firm, undaunted soul. + + Though sternly bent by toil and care, + The brow hang darkly o'er his eye-- + His features the fix'd meaning wear + Of one who knows not how to sigh. + + It is not apathy that reigns, + O'erweening arrogance, or pride, + For, in his warmly-flowing veins, + The genial feelings all reside. + + It is the breast-plate fortitude + Should still to injury oppose; + It is the shield with power imbu'd, + To blunt the malice of his foes. + + And should the savage country round, + A more engaging aspect show, + O Conway! it will then be found, + How sweet and clear thy waters flow! + + The birds will dip the taper wing-- + The pilgrim there his thirst assuage, + The wandering minstrel sit and sing, + Or muse upon a distant age! + + Bold River! soon within the deep, + Each weary strife and conflict o'er, + Thy venerable waves shall sleep, + And feel opposing rocks no more! + + * * * * * + + + +THE OLD MAN'S FAREWELL. + + Farewell, my pilgrim guest, farewell, + A few days since thou wert unknown, + None shall thy future fortunes tell, + But sweetly have the moments flown! + + And kindness, like the sun on flowers, + Soon chas'd away thy tender gloom; + New-fledg'd the sable-pinion'd hours, + And wove bright tints in Fancy's loom. + + We sought no secrets to divine, + Neither thy name nor lineage knew, + Our hearts alone have question'd thine, + And found that all was just and true. + + Pass not with hasty step, I pray, + Across the threshold of my door! + But pause awhile, with kind delay, + We shall behold thy face no more! + + Once only in a hundred years, + The aloe's precious blossoms swell, + So, in thy presence it appears, + That Time has blossom'd, fare thee well![A] + + [A] See Preface. + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +DISTANCE FROM THE PLACE OF OUR NATIVITY. + + Since I married Palemon, though happy my lot, + Though my garden is pleasant, and lightsome my cot, + Though love's smile, like a sunshine, I constantly see, + Those blessings are all insufficient for me, + I repine not at labour, I ask not for gold, + But I want the sweet eyes of my friends to behold. + + With Palemon I think o'er the world I could roam, + Though he liv'd in a desert, would make it my home. + From him no allurements his Lucy could bribe, + And, though timid, no dangers, no menaces drive. + But the heart that can love with devotion so true, + Is not cold or forgetful, my parents, to you! + + Oh idle declaimers! how is it ye say, + That affection and tenderness fade and decay? + Though so easily pain'd, they endure like a gem, + And the heart and the mind imbibe colour from them! + In affliction they brighten, in absence refine, + And are causes of sorrow too sweet to resign. + + * * * * * + + + +THE OLD SHEPHERD'S RECOLLECTIONS. + + Low, heavy clouds are hanging on the hills, + And half-impatient of the sun's approach, + Shake sullenly their cold and languid wings! + Oh! it is fine to see his morning beams + Burst on the gloom, while, in disorder'd flight, + The shuddering, mournful vapours steal away; + Like the tenacious spirit of a man, + Shrinking from the loud voice of cheerfulness, + When it breaks in, so sadly out of tune, + Upon his quiet musing, and dispels + The waking dream of a dejected heart: + The dream I cherish in this solitude, + In all the wanderings of my little flock, + That which beguiles my loneliness, and takes + Its charm and change from the surrounding scene. + + Oh! how unwelcome often are to me + The gayest, most exhilarating sounds! + When slow and sickly Memory, tempted forth + By dint of soft persuasion, brings to light + His treasures--and, with childish eagerness, + Arranges and collects--then suddenly + To have him startled by discordance, drag, + Without discrimination, all away-- + And with them leap to his deep hollow cave-- + Not easily to be withdrawn again, + Grieves one who loves to think of other times, + To talk with those long silent in the grave, + And pass from childhood to old age again. + + Behold this stony rock! whose rifted crest, + Lets the rough, roaring torrent force a way, + And, foaming, pour its waters on the vale! + Behold them tumbling from their dizzy height, + Like clouds, of more than snowy whiteness, thrown + Precipitate from heav'n, which, as they fall, + Diffuse a mist, in form of glory, round! + This was my darling haunt a long time past! + Here, when a boy, in pleasing awe, I sate, + Wistfully silent, with uplifted eye, + And heart attun'd to the sad, lulling sound + They made descending. Far below my feet, + Near where yon little, ruin'd cottage lies, + Oft, at the pensive hour of even-tide + I saw young Osborne bearing on his harp, + And, trusting to an aged mother's care, + His darkling steps: Beneath that falling beech, + Whose wide-spread branches touch the water's edge, + He lov'd to sit, and feel the freshen'd gale + Breathe cool upon him. + + Then that falling beech + Was a young, graceful tree; which, starting up, + Amid the looser fragments of the rock, + Rear'd boldly in the air its lofty head, + While, struggling with the stone, the nervous roots + Pursued their own direction, elbowing out, + Their flinty neighbour; who, o'erspread with moss, + Of varied hues, and deck'd with flow'ring heath, + That from each fissure hung luxuriant down, + Became a seat, where, king of all the scene, + The harper sate, and, in sweet melodies, + Now like the lark rejoicing at the dawn, + Now soothing as the nightingale's sad note, + Hail'd the departing sun, whose golden rays + Glitter'd upon the surface of the wave, + And, as a child upon its mother's arm + Seeks to delay the coming hour of rest, + Till sudden slumbers steal upon his smiles + And veil him in a dream of love and joy, + He seem'd reluctant to withdraw his beams; + And, rich in roseate beauty, for awhile + Kept the green waves beneath his glowing head. + + Kind, gentle Osborne! half a century + Has silver'd o'er the crisp and yellow locks + Of thy young auditor, but memory still + Grasps the torn record of my weary life. + And finds full many a page to tell of thee! + Oh! ye who have a friend ye truly love, + One whom your hearts can trust, whose excellence + Was not obtruded boastingly to view, + But time and happy circumstance reveal'd, + Rays of quick light upon a diamond + Which else had lain unnotic'd in the waste! + Oh! hasten! hasten speedily to pay + Each debt of fond affection! lock not up + So cautiously the tribute due to worth! + Nor let reserve, as I have often done, + Enslave the sweetest feelings of the soul! + And hang around them like an envious mist, + O'er the bright radiance of the morning star, + Leaving us nothing but a spot of light + Bereav'd of all its lustre! For my friend, + He never knew that there was one on earth, + After a parent felt the touch of death, + And Love, a weeping pilgrim, turn'd away + Far from his dwelling--Oh! he never knew, + That there was one who would have follow'd him, + With steady kindness, even to the grave! + + Thou dear, neglected friend! to whom I owe + All that sustains my heart, and makes me think + The gift of life a blessing, Oh! forgive + That in thy sorrows, my forgetful tongue + Spake not of zeal and service; of the debt + Which gratitude was emulous to pay! + I might have trimm'd the dying lamp of hope, + And cheer'd the bitter hours of banishment: + But Oh! my youth was fearful, and I felt + So deep an awe of that unspotted worth + And saint-like gentleness--such a mistrust + Of my own powers to tell him what I wish'd, + That I resisted all my feelings claim'd, + In anguish I resisted; but a spell + Hung o'er me and compell'd me to be mute. + + Methinks I still behold him! tall and fair, + He had a look so tranquil and so mild, + That something holy stole upon the sense + When he appear'd; his language had such power + In converse, that the hearer, as entranced + Sate lingering on to listen; while in song, + Or skill upon the many-stringed harp + Was never heard his equal! Then he knew + All our old ballads, all our father's tales, + All the adventurous deeds of early times, + The punishment of blood or sacrilege, + And the reward of virtue, when it seem'd + Deserted by the world, and left alone, + A prey to scorn, oppression, contumely + And all the ills which make the good despair. + When-e'er we circled round him, one young girl + Was always present, of a nicer ear, + And more refin'd perception than the rest. + Now she was lost in thought, while on her cheek + Lay silent tears--and then that cheek grew pale + In wild amazement--but, when he began + To speak of noble deeds, she rais'd her head, + Bending with looks of mingled awe and love, + And zealous admiration, on the youth, + Alone insensible of all around, + To the soft charm of symmetry and grace, + The smile intelligent, the look benign, + And all the outward raiment of the soul. + Yet, though he saw her not, it was his fate + To have an inward and discerning sense, + Which spake of Lora's gentleness and worth. + He lov'd in her the fondness of his art, + And taught her many wild and simple airs, + Suiting the plaintive tenor of her voice, + Which he would mimic with sweet minstrelsy. + When she was absent, and with strange delight, + Repeat her parting words, her kind adieu, + Or sweetly-spoken promise of return. + + And that return was prompt: she linger'd oft + Till evening wet the ground with heavy dew, + Or came to take her lesson in the morn, + Before her father's anxious eyes unclos'd, + To look upon her beauty with delight, + And soothe the rugged temper of his soul, + By views of future grandeur for his child: + Not thinking that her elegance of mind, + The modest dignity of humble worth + Which fits the low-born peasant to become + A crowned monarch, and to wield with grace + The golden sceptre, had instructed her + To feel no paltry jealousy of power, + No bold aspiring, and no wish beyond + The bounded confines of her present state: + Had counsell'd her, that even mines of wealth, + Could purchase nothing to content the wise, + Esteem or friendship, tenderness or love: + That power at best was but a heavy weight; + If well employ'd, a dubious, unpaid toil, + If ill, a curse, to tempt men to their fate. + + Her cheek had often felt the blush of shame, + At his proud boasting; and her heart had sunk + At the cold arrogance that scorn'd the poor; + But she was fain to turn aside, and weep, + To wring her hands in secret, and to raise + The eye of silent anguish up to heaven; + For though he dearly lov'd her, he would ne'er + Submit to hear a murmur at his will. + Oft with her heart oppress'd, and her blue eyes + Full of unshedden tears, she bent her way + Alone to Osborne's lowly cot, and when + Her faint voice call'd the fond inquiry forth, + Would say, "'tis true, my friends, that I am sad, + Nay sick, with vain repining. O! I wish, + That I were either indigent myself, + Or that I had the power, the blessed power + Of cheering the unhappy! for I want, + By kindness to prevent the act of guilt, + And ward the arrows of incroaching Death, + Who comes, before the time, upon his prey. + Think that there should be means to stay his wrath, + To purchase health, life, comfort, innocence, + And yet those means withholden! + + "O! my heart! + It dies with sorrow! and where most I love, + Sheds all its bitterness; delighting still + To tell the many miseries that flit + At times across me! Those I lightly prize + Partake the sunshine of my happier hours, + Although I seek them with far less delight! + The loud laugh dwells not here, the sportive dance, + The carol of unconscious levity, + And yet how oft, how willingly I come!" + + "Know'st thou not, Lora," cried the youthful sage, + "That there are things the mind must prize above + What captivates the senses! That in them + She feels no interest, and she takes no care! + That though sometimes an alien, she receives + Delighted back the ensigns of her power, + And takes her truant vassals into grace! + That when thou bring'st to us that wounded mind, + The grave of many feelings, language is + As yet too poor to utter, thou canst give + No richer, dearer token of regard." + + "Were man indeed the only hope of man, + I never would reprove thee for thy tears! + But, they are vain! man has a surer trust! + The helpless, weary, miserable wretch, + Left by his fellows in the wilderness, + Shall be supported in that trying hour, + By a right arm, which, in his days of strength, + He did not lean upon! A gracious arm, + Which wounds the sick, and heals them by the stroke. + O! Lora! to the Father of the world, + A Judge so patient and so merciful. + That he refuses not the latest sigh. + Nor suffers sorrow but as means to save, + Canst thou not trust the objects of thy care! + + "Hadst thou the power to help them--it were well, + To be most anxious. To collect thy freight + Of human sorrow, and, by merchandize, + Exchange it for the riches of the world: + For health, for comfort, nay, perchance for life, + That gem of countless value, which sometimes, + Not all the treasures of the East can buy, + Tendered with supplications and with tears, + Is often purchas'd at a petty price, + Nay, in exchange for courtesy. What joy + Must in that moment fill the merchant's heart, + To win a jewel, kings monopolize + The sole disposal of! Be patient then! + This glorious privilege may yet be thine! + Deserve it only by fulfilling all + The gentler duties that have present claims + With cheerfulness and zeal--Let no neglect + Press on thy father's age, no discontent + Sour thee with thy companions, no mistrust + Give pain to friendship, and thy usefulness + Though calm and bounded, has no mean award." + + Thus, like a prophet, did he still enforce + Only the virtues and rare qualities + Congenial with her after destiny; + Yet, not foreseeing evil, he himself + Was unprepared, and when her father led, + Her opposition and entreaty past, + The hapless Lora forth, to promise love + And honour to a man, whose vacant mind, + Throughout a course of long succeeding years, + She vainly strove to soften and to raise, + Though he had taught her patience till that hour, + His own at once forsook him, and he fled. + + She murmur'd not, nor even seem'd to mourn, + But losing all her love of solitude, + Appear'd so active in each new pursuit, + So wholly what her anxious father wish'd, + That he repented not his cruelty. + Believing in her happiness, he felt + Himself the author, and became more proud + Of his own wisdom: yet she often heard + His wayward taunt or querulous complaint, + And, from the lordly partner of her fate, + The harsher sound of ignorant rebuke. + She was a matchless woman, when she lost + The timid graces of retiring youth, + She still was lovely, for her shaded eyes + Beam'd with a lofty sweetness, a content + Beyond the pow'r of fortune to destroy. + Careless of let or hindrance, she went on, + Nor shrunk nor started at the many thorns + Strew'd in her toilsome path; still looking forth + To others' weal, forgetful it would seem, + Perchance in heart despairing of her own. + The friend, the help, the comforter of all, + No voice was heard so cheerful, nor a step + So bounding and so light. 'Twas wonderful! + For I have seen her, when her polish'd arm + Has clasp'd the nurseling, with her face conceal'd + Bent fondly o'er; and I have mark'd each limb + To boast a fine expansion, as if thrill'd + With the deep feelings of maternal love + And aching tenderness, too highly wrought + For happy souls to cherish! they delight + In painless joys, and, on the infant's cheek, + Rounded and glowing with a finer bloom + Than the wild-rose, careless imprint the kiss, + Which sorrow always sanctions by a prayer. + They in the radiance of its glancing eyes + See nothing to suffuse with their own tears! + Borne forward on the easy wing of Time, + They travel on, they scarcely meet with Thought, + Or, like a summer cloud, he passes by, + His shadow rests one instant, and again + The scene is calm and brilliant as before! + + Not so with Lora, trouble, sickness, death, + Were busy with the residue of peace, + When years and care had weaken'd her regrets, + Veil'd the sad recollection of past days, + And overgrown the softness of her mind, + As the close-creeping ivy hides and rusts + The smooth and silver surface of the beech. + An orphan and a widow--she became + Decisive, watchful, prudent, nay severe + To wilful disobedience or neglect; + Though generous where she perceiv'd desert. + She taught her children with unceasing zeal, + Sought knowledge for their sakes, and, more than all, + Anxious, inquisitive about the heart, + Search'd all the motives, all the incidents + In which it was unfolded; fencing still + Each treacherous failing with a double guard, + And oft repeated warnings; well conceal'd, + Or given with so much kindness, that they serv'd + To draw more closely every knot of love. + Nor did she cease to urge her pious cares + By constant vigilance, till riper age + Had fix'd the moral sense, when, as a bow + For a long active season tightly strain'd + Relaxes, tumult and contention o'er, + She sunk into indulgence, glad to yield + To mildness, nature, and herself again. + + Youth, e'en when wise and good, requires a change, + Delights in novelty, and hears of nought + Which suddenly it asks not to behold; + And Lora's children oft assail'd her ear + To let them journey to some rumour'd scene, + Some feast, or village wake, or sprightly dance, + Urging her still to bear them company. + She lov'd to give them pleasure, and one time + (The fav'rite legend of our country folk + Hath oft the tale repeated) as they mix'd + Carelessly in the crowd, remember'd notes + Struck by a harper in a distant tent, + Sweet and soul-piercing as the midnight songs + Which are, they say, the harbingers of death, + Flow'd on her ear--when, with impulsive spring, + As if a magic spell had wing'd her feet, + Fearing the sounds would vanish into air, + And prove delusion ere she reach'd the spot, + She forward rush'd, and soon beheld the friend, + The dear companion of her youth. She seiz'd + The hand that lay upon the quivering chords, + Stopping their melody and resting mute. + The pause was awful--He at length exclaim'd, + In a deep, laboured cry, "Ye heavenly powers! + If Lora lives, the hand I feel is hers!" + She could not speak, but with her other hand + Clasp'd his, and sigh'd and rais'd her eyes to heaven, + When straight the big, round tears began to flow; + "And is it thee, dear Lora! Art thou come + Again to gladden one, who never found + 'Mid countless who are good, a heart like thine! + Oh! speak! that I may know if still my ear + Retains a true remembrance of that voice! + For since, it has not drank so sweet a sound." + + "Hail happy day!" cried Lora, "which restores + The friend whose absence I have mourn'd so long! + For thou, O! Osborne! must with me return, + Me and my children! They shall hear again + Those counsels which inform'd their mother's heart; + Gave courage in the hour of enterprize, + Calmness in danger, patience under ills + That like a swarm of insects buz around, + And vex the spirit which they cannot rouse. + Return, my early, long-lost friend! with us + Thou shalt enjoy repose: our cheerful home + Shall gather round thee many an honest heart + Which knows thy virtues, and will hold thee dear." + + She paus'd, and Osborne joyful gave assent. + Fair hopes of joy engaged his faultering mind, + For long-time had he dragg'd a weary life, + Lone, or bereav'd of relative or friend, + Careful to tend his health, and to divert + His sadness; each succeeding hour had press'd + With its slow-passing wing his gentle head + Drooping and prematurely silver'd o'er, + (Like snows depending on the autumn leaf) + Yet warm, benevolent, serene, resign'd, + And like an angel save in youth and joy. + + A winding path round yonder wooded hill, + Leads to a spot where Nature decks herself + In loveliness and beauty: far below + Spreads the green valley, where a silent stream + Turns, like a serpent writhing in its course; + And, rarified by distance, kissing heaven, + In many noble and fantastic shapes, + A giant range of purple mountains sleeps. + Grand is the scene, and in the centre stands + The tomb of Osborne--after many years + Of happiness and friendship, Lora rais'd + This plain memorial, and her children plac'd + A mother's near, to tell succeeding years + Their talents and their virtue. They themselves + More forcibly express the worth of both, + For they are wise and good, without a shade + Of cold severity or selfish pride. + + * * * * * + + + +REFLECTION. + +August 2, 1798. + + Why should we think the years of life + Will pass serenely by, + When, for a day, the Sun himself + Ne'er sees a cloudless sky! + + And, unassuming as she moves, + The meek-eyed Queen of night, + Meets wand'ring vapours in her path + To dim her paler light! + + Then why should we in vain repine + At man's uncertain lot, + That cares will equally assail + The palace and the cot? + + For Heaven ordains this chequer'd scene + Our mortal pow'rs t' employ; + That we might know, compare, select, + Be grateful, and enjoy. + +[For the last verse I am indebted to the pen of a Friend.] + + * * * * * + + + +RETROSPECT OF YOUTH. + + I wander'd forth amid the flow'rs, + And careless sipp'd the morning air; + Nor hail'd the angel-winged hours, + Nor saw that Happiness was there! + Alas! I often since have wept + That Gratitude unconscious slept! + + For Truth and Pity then were young, + And walk'd in simple, narrow bounds; + Affection's meek, assuasive tongue, + Had sweet, but most capricious sounds. + Once, wild with scornful pride, she fled, + And only turn'd to seek the dead! + + Oh! from a garden of delight, + What fair memento did I bring! + What amaranth of colours bright, + To mark the promise of my spring? + Behold this flow'r! its leaves are wet, + With tears of lasting, vain regret! + + * * * * * + + + +THE DAUGHTER. + +1797. + + "Come, mournful lute! dear echo of my woe! + No stranger's tread in this lone spot I fear, + Sweeter thy notes in such wild places flow, + And, what is more, my Henry cannot hear! + + "He will not know my pain and my despair, + When that dread scene arises on my view, + Where my poor father would not hear my pray'r, + Or grant his only child a last adieu! + + "He will not know that still the hour I mourn, + When death all hopes of pardon snatch'd away; + That still this heart by sad remembrance torn, + Repeats the dreadful mandate of that day. + + "Luckless for him has been my constant love, + Luckless the destiny I bade him brave, + For since a parent did our vows reprove, + Sorrow was all the gift my fondness gave. + + "Then, though I knew my father's stern command, + The short-liv'd conflict of affection o'er, + I offer'd to the youth my dowerless hand, + And fondly reason'd thus on being poor, + + "'Can pomp or splendour elevate the soul, + Brighten the lustre that illumes the eye! + Make the rough stream of life more smoothly roll, + Suppress the tear, or waft away the sigh! + + "'Can happiness a purer joy receive, + In the proud mansions of the rich and great? + Or, tell me, can the wounded bosom heave + With blunted anguish under robes of state! + + "'No! Henry, no! Alas! too well you know, + The misery of an affected smile, + The pain of clearing the thought-clouded brow, + To covet for yourself the hateful toil! + + "'And since my choice, and reason both approve, + Since I have known you many a circling year, + And time has well assur'd me of your love, + Tell me, my Henry, what have I to fear? + + "'My father, though by worldly prudence led, + Will pardon when our happiness is told.' + Alas! no curses fell upon my head, + But never did he more his child behold. + + "He would not, dying, hear my ardent prayer! + But, cruel! said, I leave her all my store; + She wrung my doating heart with deep despair, + And even now perhaps desires no more. + + "This is the stroke which all my peace destroys, + The dagger which no art can draw away, + The thought which every faculty employs, + Withers my bloom, and makes my strength decay. + + "His death, his sorrows are the heavy curse + That hangs above my poor, distracted head! + His dying words have scatter'd vain remorse, + For vain, though bitter, are the tears I shed. + + "And yet my father to my soul was dear, + But tender pity was on Henry's side; + I painted him relenting, not severe, + Nor fancied I could be an orphan bride. + + "Ah me! excuses will not cure my pain! + At least, forgetfulness can little plead. + A widow'd parent!--I deserv'd disdain, + 'Tis fit these eyes should weep, this heart should bleed! + + "But yet assist me heaven! to hide my grief, + My waning health from love's suspicious eyes! + This malady admits of no relief, + And nought augments the pain, but Henry's sighs. + + "Perhaps e'en now he wonders at my stay, + Sees the white fogs of evening rise around, + Comes out to seek me in my devious way, + But turns not to this unfrequented ground. + + "Alas! my love, thy anxious care is vain! + Nothing can stop yon wand'rer of the sky; + Nothing can long this fleeting life retain! + For oh! I feel that I must shortly die. + + "But cease my lute, this low, desponding strain, + It floats too long upon the heavy air; + Henry may pass and know that I complain. + One moment's peace to him is worth my care." + + She said, and toward the cheerless mansion flew, + Her slender, sylph-like form array'd in white, + Not clearly seen amidst surrounding dew, + Seem'd like a spirit ling'ring in its flight. + + Poor Henry, who had watch'd her in the shade, + In aching silence list'ning to her song, + At distance follow'd slowly through the glade, + Pausing forgetful as he pass'd along. + + * * * * * + + + +YOUTH UNSUSPICIOUS OF EVIL. + + O bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r! + And look not up so fresh and bright! + The keen, harsh wind, the heavy show'r, + Will spoil thy beauties ere the night. + + I grieve to see thee look so gay. + And so unconscious of thy lot, + For gloom and tempests wait thy day, + And thou, unhappy, fear'st it not! + + Thy tender leaflets all unfold, + Their colours ripen and refine, + Become most lovely to behold, + And, ah! most apt to shrink and pine. + + Then, bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r! + I grieve to see thee look so gay! + Close thy soft wings against the show'r, + And wait a more auspicious day! + + * * * * * + + + +THE MOTHER. + + "And beats my heart again with joy! + And dances now my spirit light! + The skiff that holds my darling boy + This moment burst upon my sight! + + "Not yet distinctly I perceive + Amid the crew his well-known form, + But still his safety I believe, + I know he has escap'd the storm. + + "I feel as if my heart had wings, + And tender from excess of bliss, + His form, which airy fancy brings, + In fond emotion seem to kiss. + + "Welcome the wild, imperfect rest, + Which these bewilder'd spirits share! + Welcome this tumult of the breast, + After the shudder of despair! + + "My Robert he is brave and strong, + He will these flowing tears reprove. + Alas! how little know the young, + The tremor of a Mother's love. + + "For we are weak from many a care, + From many a sleepless, anxious hour, + When fear and hope the bosom tear, + And ride the brain with fevering power. + + "But lo! he cheerly waves his hand! + I hear his voice! I see his face! + And eager now he springs to land, + To meet a Mother's fond embrace! + + "This failing heart! but joy to me, + If heaven in pity is thy guard; + And of the pangs I feel for thee, + Protection be the dear reward!" + + * * * * * + + + +EDGAR AND ELLEN. + + "Arrest thy steps! On these sad plains, + Fair dame, no farther go! + But listen to the martial strains, + Whose wildness speaks of woe! + + Hark! strife is forward on the field, + I hear the trumpet's bray! + Now spear to spear, and shield to shield, + Decides the dreadful day! + + Unfit for thee, oh! Lady fair! + The scenes where men engage; + Thy gentle spirit could not bear + The fearful battle's rage." + + "I prithee, stranger, let me fly! + Though pallid is my cheek, + The lightning's flash delights my eye, + I love the thunder's break. + + And oft beneath our castle tow'rs, + When tempests rush'd along, + My steady hand has painted flowers, + Or voice has rais'd the song." + + "Oh Lady! that bewilder'd eye + Is red with recent tears; + Already that heart-startling sigh + Proclaims thy anxious fears. + + Then let a stranger's words prevail, + Nor thus in danger roam! + Here many frightful ills assail, + But safety is at home!" + + "No, in some peasant's lowly cot + Perhaps she may abide, + To consecrate the humble spot, + But not where I reside. + + In Hubert's halls, my father's foe, + From childhood have I dwelt, + And for his wily murderer too, + A filial fondness felt. + + Ah me! how often have I press'd + The lips which seal'd his doom! + How oft the cruel hand caress'd + Which sent him to the tomb! + + My nurse reveal'd the dreadful truth, + And, as she told the tale, + A sickly blight pass'd o'er my youth, + And turn'd its roses pale. + + The heavy secret on my heart + Like deadly poison prey'd; + For she forbade me to impart + A word of what she said. + + I, who so blithely sung before, + So peacefully had slept, + Fancied gaunt murder at the door, + And listen'd, shook, and wept. + + No longer with an open smile, + I greeted all around; + My fearful looks were fix'd the while, + In terror on the ground. + + All saw the change, and kindly strove + My sadness to relieve; + Base Hubert feign'd a parent's love, + Which could not see me grieve. + + A painful anger flush'd my cheek, + My lip indignant smil'd, + I cried, "And did he e'er bespeak + Thy friendship for his child?" + + "Ellen! when death was drawing nigh, + Thou wert his only care; + Oh! guard her, Hubert, if I die, + It is my latest prayer. + + To none, dear friend, but thee," he cried, + "Whose love and truth are known, + Could I this precious charge confide, + To cherish, as thy own!" + + I pledg'd my honour, to fulfil + My dearest friend's desire! + And I have ever acted still, + As honour's laws require! + + Thy mind, dear Ellen, is the proof + Of my paternal care, + Since form'd beneath this friendly roof, + So excellent and fair. + + Then why that cloud upon thy brow, + That sullen, fearful sigh! + That something which we must not know, + That cold and altered eye? + + Why must thy proud, suspicious air, + Give every heart a pain? + Why must my son, my Edgar bear + Unmerited disdain?" + + I hung my bead, my fault'ring tongue + In feeble murmurs spoke, + His specious art my bosom wrung, + I shudder'd at his look. + + And thus, bewildered with my woes, + I faint and careless rove; + For oh! I cannot dwell with those + I must no longer love." + + "Fair lady, calm that anxious heart, + And to my voice attend! + Thy father died by Hubert's dart, + And yet he was his friend. + + For Lancaster Sir Philip rose, + And many a Yorkist slew; + Till, singling him amidst his foes, + Lord Hubert's arrow flew. + + But soon we saw the victor stand + Beside, in sorrow drown'd; + And soon Sir Philip took the hand, + Which gave the deadly wound. + + "My friend, unweeting was thy aim, + And is by me forgiv'n, + But oh! one sacred oath I claim, + In sight of men, and heav'n! + + Oh! promise with a father's zeal, + My Ellen to protect! + Nor let her like an orphan feel + Dependence, and neglect! + + And then, almost without regret, + I can my charge resign; + For, during life, I never met + So true a heart as thine." + + Lord Hubert pledg'd his sacred word, + He wept, and, kneeling, swore, + In England ne'er to wield a sword, + Or shoot an arrow more. + + From civil war, whose daily crimes + This island long shall rue, + From all the evil of the times, + In anguish he withdrew. + + I wonder that, by nature bold, + He stoop'd to wear disguise, + Or leave the hapless tale untold, + Which wakens thy surprise! + + Yet the sad shame that fill'd his breast, + May well thy pity crave, + A turtle dove may build her nest + Upon thy father's grave--" + + "Stranger, that warrior from the east, + Who comes with headlong speed, + Is Edgar, Hubert's son, at least, + He rides on Edgar's steed!" + + "Be calm, fair maid! Thou gallant knight, + Who speedest o'er the plain, + Give us some tidings of the fight, + The victor and the slain! + + One moment stay! for many a care + Now fills us with alarm! + Is Edward King? Is Hubert's heir, + Escap'd from death and harm?" + + "The sun of Lancaster is set, + And never more to rise;" + Return'd the knight, "I know not yet + If Edgar lives or dies!" + + And scarce he check'd the flowing rein, + In hurried accents spoke, + And, dull and hollow was the strain + That through the helmet broke. + + "Where is he?" shriek'd fair Ellen forth, + He started at the sound, + And, leaping sudden on the earth, + His armour rang around. + + "Queen of my destiny!" he cried, + "Thy faithful Edgar see! + Whose welfare thou canst best decide, + For it depends on thee! + + I sav'd our youthful Monarch's life, + Whose bounteous hand accords, + A dower to grace the noblest wife + That England's realm affords. + + With thee his splendid gifts I share, + Or soon this youthful head + A solemn monk's dark cowl shall wear, + To love and glory dead. + + Perhaps that tear upon thy cheek + Foretels a milder doom! + Thou wilt again our mansion seek, + Oh! let me lead thee home!" + + +_FINIS._ + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Matilda Betham + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 9998-8.txt or 9998-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/9/9/9998/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/9998-8.zip b/old/9998-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..abab208 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/9998-8.zip diff --git a/old/9998.txt b/old/9998.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a2322cc --- /dev/null +++ b/old/9998.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2577 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Matilda Betham + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poems + +Author: Matilda Betham + +Posting Date: October 24, 2011 [EBook #9998] +Release Date: February, 2006 +First Posted: November 6, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + +POEMS + +BY + +MATILDA BETHAM. + + +1808. + + +TO LADY ROUSE BOUGHTON, AS A TESTIMONY OF RESPECT AND GRATITUDE FOR +LONG CONTINUED FRIENDSHIP, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY HER +OBLIGED HUMBLE SERVANT, MATILDA BETHAM. + +_New Cavendish-street,_ + +Feb. 3, 1809. + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + +Before this book was printed, I thoughtlessly concluded there must be a +preface; but, on consideration, see no particular purpose it would +answer, and gladly decline a task I should have undertaken with much +timidity and reluctance. All I feel necessary to premise, is, that the +tale in the Old Shepherd's Recollections is founded on an event which +happened in Ireland; and that last spring I suppressed the song ending +in page 65 [The Old Man's Farewell], some time after it had been in the +hands of the composer, from meeting accidentally with a quotation in a +magazine that resembled it. + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + POEMS.-- + The Old Fisherman + Lines to Mrs. Radcliffe, on first reading The Mysteries of + Udolpho + The Heir + To a Llangollen Rose, the day after it had been given me by + Miss Ponsonby + L'Homme de l'Ennui + The Grandfather's Departure + Reflections occasioned by the Death of Friends + To Mrs. T. Fancourt + To a Young Gentleman + Fragment + + SONGS.-- + "Thrice lovely Babe" + "What do I love?" + A Sailor's Song + Another + Once more, then farewell! + Henry, on the Departure of his Wife from Calcutta + Sonnet + On the Regret of Youth + Elegy on Sophia Graham + To Miss Rouse Boughton + To the Same + To the River which separates itself from the Dee at Bedkellert + The Old Man's Farewell + Song--Distance from the Place of our Nativity. + The Old Shepherd's Recollections + Reflection + Retrospect of Youth + The Daughter + Youth unsuspicious of evil + The Mother + Edgar and Ellen + + + + +POEMS. + + +THE OLD FISHERMAN. + + 'My bosom is chill'd with the cold, + My limbs their lost vigour deplore! + Alas! to the lonely and old, + Hope warbles her promise no more! + + 'Worn out with the length of my way, + I must rest me awhile on the beach, + To feel the salt dash of the spray, + If haply so far it may reach. + + 'As the white-foaming billows arise, + I reflect on the days that are past, + When the pride of my strength could despise + The keen-driving force of the blast. + + 'Though the heavens might menace on high, + I would still push my vessel from shore; + At my calling undauntedly ply, + And sing as I handled the oar. + + 'When fortune rewarded my toil, + And my nets, deeply-laden, I drew, + I hurried me home with the spoil, + And its inmates rejoic'd at the view. + + 'Though the winds and the waves were perverse, + I was sure to be welcom'd with glee; + My presence the cares would disperse, + That were only awaken'd for me. + + 'Whether weary, with toiling in vain, + Or gay, from abundant success, + I heard the same blessing again,-- + I met the same tender caress: + + 'I fancied the perils repay'd, + That could such affection ensure; + By fondness and gratitude sway'd, + I was eager to dare and endure. + + 'My cot did each comfort contain, + And that gave my bosom delight; + When drench'd by the winterly rain, + I watch'd in my vessel at night. + + 'But, alas! from the tyrant, Disease, + What love or what caution can save! + A fever, more harsh than the seas, + Consign'd my poor wife to the grave. + + 'My children, so tenderly rear'd, + And pining for want of her care, + Though more by my sorrows endear'd, + Could not rescue my heart from despair. + + 'I tempted the dangers of night, + And still labour'd hard at the oar, + My sufferings appear'd to be light, + But I suffer'd with pleasure no more. + + 'And yet, when some seasons had roll'd, + I seem'd to awaken anew; + My children I lov'd to behold, + How tall and how comely they grew. + + 'My boy became hardy and bold, + His spirit was buoyant and free; + And, as I grew thoughtful and old, + Was loud and oppressive to me. + + 'But the girl, like a bird in the bower, + Awaken'd my hope and my pride; + She won on my heart ev'ry hour, + And I could not the preference hide. + + 'I mark'd the address and the care, + The manner endearing and mild, + Not dreaming those qualities rare + Were to murther the peace of my child: + + 'That grandeur would ever descend + To seek for so lowly a bride, + Or his fair one, a lover pretend, + From all she held dear to divide: + + 'That beauty was priz'd like a gem, + Expected to dazzle and shine, + Whose value the world would contemn, + Unless trac'd to some Indian mine: + + 'Alas! hapless girl! had I known + Thou hadst learnt to repine at thy lot; + That splendour and rank were thy own, + Thy home and thy father forgot: + + 'That lore and ambition assail'd, + Thou hadst left us, whatever befel! + My pardon and prayers had prevail'd, + I had blest thee, and bade thee farewel! + + 'With thy husband, from this happy clime, + I had seen thee for ever depart! + Still hoping affection and time + Might soften the pride of his heart: + + 'That a moment perhaps would arise, + When, fondling a child on the knee, + He might read, in its innocent eyes + A lesson of pity for me. + + 'But lips, which till then never said + A word to cause any one pain, + Inform'd me, when reason had fled, + Of a conflict it could not sustain. + + 'And he, who had wish'd to conceal + That the woman he lov'd had been poor, + Began all his folly to feel, + When the victim could hearken no more. + + 'Yet still for himself did he mourn, + And, indignant, I fled from the view: + For my wrongs were not easily borne, + And my anger was hard to subdue. + + 'One prop, one sole comfort, remain'd, + Who saw me o'erladen with grief, + Who saw (though I never complain'd) + My heart was too sick for relief. + + 'One, who always attentive and dear, + Every effort exerted to please, + My desolate prospect to cheer, + To study my health and my ease. + + 'For his was each toil and each care, + The due observations to keep; + To sit watching amid the night air, + And fancy his father asleep. + + 'Yet, dejected, and sadly forlorn, + I dar'd in my heart to repine,-- + To lament that I ever was born, + Though such worth and affection were mine. + + 'Alas! I was destin'd to know, + However intense my despair, + I still was reserv'd for a blow, + More painful and cruel to bear. + + 'Yes! this only one fell in the main! + --I eagerly struggled to save; + But I strove with the current in vain, + And saw him sink under the wave! + + 'My head was astounded and wild,-- + Incessant I roam'd on the shore, + To seek the dead corse of my child, + And to weep on his bosom once more. + + 'Seven days undisturb'd was the sky, + The eighth was a tempest most drear, + I saw the huge billow rise high! + I saw my lost treasure appear! + + 'Like a dream it seem'd passing away:-- + I hurried me onward to meet, + And clasp the inanimate clay, + When senseless I sunk at his feet. + + 'These hands, now enfeebled by time, + The last pious offices paid! + Age sorrow'd o'er youth in its prime, + And my boy near his mother was laid. + + 'Now scar'd by the griefs I have known, + Wounds, apathy only can heal, + My joys and my sorrows are flown, + For I have forgotten to feel. + + 'But I know my Creator is just, + That his hand will deliver me soon; + I have learnt to submit and to trust, + Though I finish my journey alone.' + +Aldborough, September 7, 1800. + + * * * * * + + + +LINES TO MRS. RADCLIFFE, + +ON FIRST READING THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO. + + Enchantress! whose transcendant pow'rs, + With ease, the massy fabric raise;-- + Beneath whose sway the tempest low'rs, + Or lucid stream meaend'ring plays;-- + + Accept the tribute of a heart, + Which thou hast often made to glow + With transport, oft with terror start, + Or sink at strains of solemn woe! + + Invention, like a falcon, tam'd + By some expert and daring hand, + For pride, for strength and fierceness fam'd, + Implicit yields to thy command. + Now mounts aloft in soaring flight, + Shoots, like a star, beyond the sight; + Or, in capricious windings borne, + Mocks our faint hopes of safe return; + Delights in trackless paths to roam, + But hears thy call, and hurries home; + Checks his bold wing when tow'ring free, + And sails, without a pause, to thee! + Enchantress, thy behests declare! + And what thy strong delusions are! + + When spirits in thy circle rise, + Gaunt Wonder, panic-struck, and pale, + Impatient Hope, and dread Surmise, + Attendants on the mystic tale! + + How is it, with such vivid hues, + A harmonizing softness flows! + What are the charms that can diffuse, + Such grandeur as thy pencil throws! + + Say! do the nymphs of classic lore, + So simply graceful, light, and fair, + Forsake their consecrated shore, + Their hallow'd groves, and purer air? + + Tir'd of the ancient Grecian loom, + And smit with Fancy's wayward glance, + Weave they amid the Gothic gloom, + The high-wrought fiction of Romance? + + While the dark Genius of our northern clime, + Whose giant limbs the mist of years enshrouds, + Bursts through the veil which hides his head sublime, + And moves majestic through recoiling clouds! + + O yes! they own the wond'rous spell, + And to each form their hands divine + Give, with nice art, the temper'd swell, + The chasten'd touch and faultless line! + + Each fiction under their command, + Assumes an air severely true, + And, every vision, wildly grand, + Life's measur'd pace and modest hue. + + Reason and fancy, rival powers! + Unite, their RADCLIFFE to befriend; + To decorate her way with flowers, + The minor graces all attend! + +This piece, with the exception of a few lines, has +appeared in the Athenaeum. + + * * * * * + + +THE HEIR. + + See yon tall stripling! how he droops forlorn! + How slow his pace! how spiritless his eye! + Like a dark cloud in summer's rosy dawn, + He saddens pleasure as he passes by. + + Long kept in exile by paternal pride, + He feels no joy beneath this splendid dome; + For, till the elder child of promise died, + He knew a dearer, though a humbler home. + + Then the proud sail was spread! The youth obey'd, + Left ev'ry friend, and every scene he knew; + For ever left the soul-affianc'd maid, + Though his heart sicken'd as he said--Adieu; + And nurses still, with superstitious care, + The sigh of fond remembrance and despair. + + * * * * * + + + +TO A LLANGOLLEN ROSE, + +THE DAY AFTER IT HAD BEEN GIVEN BY MISS PONSONBY. + + Soft blushing flow'r! my bosom grieves, + To view thy sadly drooping leaves: + For, while their tender tints decay, + The rose of Fancy fades away! + As pilgrims, who, with zealous care, + Some little treasur'd relic bear, + To re-assure the doubtful mind, + When pausing memory looks behind; + I, from a more enlighten'd shrine, + Had made this sweet memento mine: + But, lo! its fainting head reclines; + It folds the pallid leaf, and pines, + As mourning the unhappy doom, + Which tears it from so sweet a home! + +_July 22, 1799._ + + * * * * * + + + +L'HOMME DE L'ENNUI. + + Forlornly I wander, forlornly I sigh, + And droop my head sadly, I cannot tell why: + When the first breeze of morning blows fresh in my face, + As the wild-waving walks of our woodlands I trace, + Reviv'd for the moment I look all around, + But my eyes soon grow languid, and fix on the ground. + + I have yet no misfortune to rob me of rest, + No love discomposes the peace of my breast; + Ambition ne'er enter'd the verge of my thought, + Nor by honours, by wealth, nor by power am I caught; + Those phantoms of folly disturb not my ease, + Yet Time is a tortoise, and Life a disease. + + With the blessings of youth and of health on my side, + A temper untainted by envy or pride; + No guilt to corrode, and no foes to molest; + There are many who tell me my station is blest. + This I cannot dispute; yet without knowing why-- + I feel that my bosom is big with a sigh. + + Oh! why do I see that all knowledge is vain; + That Science finds Error still keep in her train; + That Imposture or Darkness, with Doubt and Surmise, + Will mislead, will perplex, and then baffle the wise, + Who often, when labours have shorten'd their span, + Declare--not to know--is the province of man? + + In life, as in learning, our views are confin'd, + Our discernment too weak to discover the mind, + Which, subdued and irresolute, keeps out of sight; + Or if, for a moment, her presence delight, + Our air is too gross for the stranger to stay; + And, back to her prison she hurries away! + + If my own narrow precincts I seek to explore, + My wishes how vain, my attainments how poor! + Tenacious of virtue, with caution I move; + I correct, and I wrestle, but cannot approve; + Till, bewilder'd and faint, I would yield up the rein, + But I dare not in peace with my errors remain! + + With zeal all awake in the cause of a friend, + With warmth unrepress'd by my fear to offend, + With sympathy active in hope or distress, + How keen and how anxious I cannot express, + I shrink, lest an eye should my feelings behold, + And my heart seems insensible, selfish and cold. + + I strive to be gay, but my efforts are weak, + And, sick of existence, for pleasure I seek; + I mix with the empty, the loud, and the vain, + Partake of their folly, and double my pain. + In others I meet with depression and strife; + Oh! where shall I seek for the music of life? + + * * * * * + + + +THE GRANDFATHER'S DEPARTURE. + + The Old Man press'd Palemon's hand; + To Lucy nodded with a smile; + Kiss'd all the little ones around; + Then clos'd the gate, and paus'd awhile. + + "When shall I come again!" he thought, + Ere yet the journey had begun; + It was a tedious length of way, + But he beheld an only son. + + And dearly did he love to take + A rosy grandchild on his knee; + To part his shining locks, and say, + "Just such another boy was he!" + + And never felt he greater pride, + And never did he look so gay, + As when the little urchins strove + To make him partner in their play. + + But when, in some more gentle mood, + They silent hung upon his arm, + Or nestled close at ev'ning pray'r, + The old man felt a softer charm; + + And upward rais'd his closing eye, + Whence slow effus'd a grateful tear, + As if his senses own'd a joy, + Too holy for endurance here. + + No heart e'er pray'd so fervently, + Unprompted by an earthly zeal, + None ever knew such tenderness, + That did not true devotion feel. + + As with the pure, uncolour'd flame, + The violet's richest blues unite, + Do our affections soar to heav'n, + And rarify and beam with light. + + * * * * * + + + +REFLECTIONS + +OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF FRIENDS. + + My happiness was once a goodly tree, + Which promis'd every day to grow more fair, + And rear'd its lofty branches in the air, + In sooth, it was a pleasant sight, to see! + Amidst, fair honey-suckles crept along, + Twin'd round the bark, and hung from every bough, + While birds, which Fancy held by slender strings, + Plum'd the dark azure of their shining wings, + Or dipp'd them in the silver stream below, + With many a joyful note, and many a song! + + When lo! a tempest hurtles in the sky! + Dark low'r the clouds! the thunders burst around! + Fiercely the arrowy flakes of lightning fly! + While the scar'd songsters leave the quiv'ring bough, + The blasted honey-suckles droop below, + And many noble branches strew the ground! + + Though soon the air is calm, the sky serene, + Though wide the broad and leafy arms are spread, + Yet still the scars of recent wounds are seen; + Their shelter henceforth seems but insecure; + The winged tribes disdain the frequent lure, + Where many a songster lies benumb'd or dead; + And when I would the flow'ry tendrils train, + I find my late delightful labour vain. + + Affection thus, once light of heart, and gay, + Chasten'd by memory, and, unnerv'd by fear, + Shall sadden each endearment with a tear, + Sorrowing the offices of love shall pay, + And scarcely dare to think that good her own, + Which fate's imperious hand may snatch away, + In the warm sunshine of meridian day, + And when her hopes are full and fairest blown. + + * * * * * + + + +TO MRS. T. FANCOURT, + +July 15, 1803. + + I love not yon gay, painted flower, + Of bold and coarsely blended dye, + But one, whose nicely varied power + May long detain the curious eye. + + I love the tones that softly rise, + And in a fine accordance close; + That waken no abrupt surprise, + Nor leave us to inert repose. + + I love the moon's pure, holy light, + Pour'd on the calm, sequester'd stream; + The gale, fresh from the wings of night, + Which drinks the early solar beam; + + The smile of heaven, when storms subside, + When the moist clouds first break away; + The sober tints of even-tide, + Ere yet forgotten by the day. + + Such sights, such sounds, my fancy please, + And set my wearied spirit free: + And one who takes delight in these, + Can never fail of loving thee! + + * * * * * + + + +TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN. + +July 29th, 1803. + + Dear boy, when you meet with a rose, + Admire you the thorns very much? + Or like you to play with a ball, + When the handling it blisters your touch! + + Yet should it be firm and compact, + It is easy to polish it nice; + If the rose is both pretty and sweet, + The thorns will come off in a trice. + + The thistle has still many more, + As visible too in our eyes, + But who will take pains with a weed, + That nobody ever can prize? + + 'Tis what we deem precious and rare, + We most earnestly seek to amend; + And anxious attention and care, + Is the costliest gift of a friend. + + We all have our follies: what then? + Let us note them, and never look bluff! + Without any caressing at all, + They will cling to us closely enough. + + Weeds are of such obstinate growth, + They elude the most diligent hand; + And, if they were not to be check'd, + Would quickly run over the land. + + If some could be taken away, + That hide part of your worth from the view; + The conquest perhaps would be ours, + But the profit is wholly to you. + + * * * * * + + + +FRAGMENT. + + A Pilgrim weary, toil-subdued, + I reach'd a country, strange and rude, + And trembled, lest approaching eve + My hope of shelter might deceive; + When I espied a hunter train, + Prowling at leisure o'er the plain, + And hasten'd on to ask relief, + Of the ill-omen'd, haughty chief. + His eye was artful, keen, and bold, + His smile malevolently cold, + And had not all my fire been fled, + And every earthly passion dead, + His pity to contempt allied, + Had rous'd my anger and my pride; + But, as it was, I bent my way, + Where his secluded mansion lay, + Which rose before my eyes at length, + A fortress of determin'd strength, + And layers of every colour'd moss + The lofty turrets did emboss, + As tho' the hand of father Time, + Prepar'd a sacrifice sublime,-- + Giving his daily rites away, + To aggrandize some future day. + Here as I roam'd the walk along, + I heard a plaintive broken song; + And ere I to the portal drew, + An open window caught my view, + Where a fair dame appear'd in sight, + Array'd in robes of purest white. + Large snowy folds confin'd her hair, + And left a polish'd forehead bare. + O'er her meek eyes, of deepest blue, + The sable lash long shadows threw; + Her cheek was delicately pale, + And seem'd to tell a piteous tale, + But o'er her looks such patience stole, + Such saint-like tenderness of soul, + That never did my eyes behold, + A beauty of a lovelier mold. + + The Lady sigh'd, and closely prest + A sleeping infant to her breast; + Shook off sweet tears of love, and smil'd, + Kissing the fingers of the child, + Which round her own unconscious clung, + Then fondly gaz'd, and softly sung: + + Once like that sea, which ebbs and flows, + My bosom never knew repose, + And heavily each morn arose. + + I bore with anger and disdain, + I had no power to break my chain, + No one to whom I dar'd complain. + + And when some bird has caught my eye, + Or distant sail been flitting by, + I wish'd I could at freely fly. + + But I can now contented be, + Can tell, dear babe, my griefs to thee. + And feel more brave, and breathe more free. + + And when thy father frowns severe, + Although my spirit faints with fear, + I feel I have a comfort near. + + And when he harshly speaks to me, + If thou art smiling on my knee, + He softens as he looks on thee. + + To soothe him in an evil hour + The bud has balm, oh! may the flower + Possess the same prevailing power! + + Nor forc'd to leave thy native land, + To pledge a cold, unwilling hand, + May'st thou receive the hard command. + + My mother had not half the zeal, + The aching fondness which I feel, + She had no broken heart to heal! + + And I was friendless when she died, + Who could my little failings chide, + And for an hour her fondness hide. + + But I can see no prospect ope, + Can give no fairy vision scope, + If thou art not the spring of hope. + + I cannot thy affection draw, + By childhood's first admiring awe; + Be tender pity then thy law! + + This heart would bleed at every vein, + I could not even life sustain, + If ever thou should'st give me pain. + + O! soul of sweetness! can it be, + That thou could'st prove unkind to me! + That I should fear this blow from thee! + + Alas! e'en then I would not blame, + My love to thee should be the same, + And judge from whence unkindness came! + + Her words grew indistinct and slow, + Her voice more tremulous and low, + When suddenly the song was o'er, + A whisper even heard no more-- + She had discern'd my nearer tread; + Appear'd to feel alarm, and fled. + + * * * * * + + + +SONGS. + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + + Thrice lovely babe! thus hush'd to rest, + Upon thy warrior father's breast! + Avails it, that his eyes behold, + Thy rosy cheeks, thy locks of gold! + Avails it that he bends his ear, + So fondly thy soft breath to hear! + Or, that his rising smiles confess, + A gracious gleam of tenderness! + The sweetest spell will scarce have pow'r + To hold him for one absent hour! + + Some plant that ceases thus to share, + A daily friend's auspicious care, + Relaxes in its feeble grasp, + The flow'ry tendrils soon unclasp, + Loose in the heedless aether play, + And every idle breeze obey! + Thus vainly had I sought to bind; + Thus watch'd that light, forgetful mind, + Till smiles and sunshine could restore, + My often-blighted hopes no more! + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. VOIGHT. + + What do I love? A polish'd mind, + A temper cheerful, meek, and kind; + A graceful air, unsway'd by art, + A voice that sinks into the heart, + A playful and benignant smile-- + Alas! my heart responds the while, + All this, my Emily, is true, + But I love more in loving you! + + I love those roses when they rise, + From joy, from anger, or surprise; + I love the kind, attentive zeal, + So prompt to know what others feel, + The mildness which can ne'er reprove, + But in the sweetest tones of love-- + All this, my Emily, is true, + But I love more in loving you! + + The self-command which can sustain, + In silence, weariness and pain; + The transport at a friend's success, + Which has not words or power to bless, + But, by a sudden, starting tear, + Appears more precious, more sincere-- + All this, my Emily, is true, + And this I love in loving you! + + * * * * * + + + +A SAILOR'S SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. WALSH. + + I ponder many a silent hour, + On friends belov'd when far at sea, + And, tell me, have I not the power + To draw one kindred thought to me! + + The while we linger on the coast, + My truant fancy homeward flies, + And when the view is almost lost, + Unmanly tears bedew my eyes-- + + And oft forgetful do I stand, + Nor crew, nor ship, nor ocean see; + And often does my heart demand, + If friends belov'd thus think on me! + + And when to England bound once more, + I shall with fond impatience burn, + Will not some others on the shore + As fondly look for my return! + + O! let me of your kindness hear! + Repeat the strain as I depart! + It swells like music on my ear, + It falls like balm upon my heart. + +Aug. 21, 1805. + + * * * * * + + + +ANOTHER, + +WRITTEN EARLIER. + + Adieu to old England! adieu to my friends! + Though fortune and fame I pursue, + On thus looking around me, I cannot conceal, + How reluctant I bid them adieu! + + My heart sinks within me, I sigh to the gale, + Thus slowly receding from shore, + While fancy still whispers some terrible tale, + A perhaps I may see it no more! + + There all that I love, that I value, remain, + That only awakens my fears, + For will the same spot its dear inmates contain, + On the lapse of two lingering years? + + They may smile in good fortune, or weep in distress, + I shall know not a word of their fate! + No pain can I soften, no sorrow redress! + I may come, when, alas! 'tis too late! + + I can fly without fear to encounter the foe, + To my earliest wish I am true; + But I cannot unmov'd quit the friends that I love, + Or bid my dear country adieu! + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +SET TO MUSIC BY MR. A. PETTIT, OF NORWICH. + + Once more then farewell! and whilst I'm away, + Oh! let not another entangle thy fancy! + I shall think upon thee every hour of the day, + And let not my love be forgotten by Nancy! + + Oh! were I forsaken, the flow'r in my heart, + Would fold all its leaves, and re-open them never! + The sunshine of joy and of hope would depart, + And belief in affection would perish for ever! + + To talk thus is folly! I doubt not thy truth, + A few years of absence will quickly pass over, + I scorn other perils that menace my youth, + From that wound, I must own, I could never recover! + + * * * * * + + + +HENRY, + +ON THE DEPARTURE OF HIS WIFE FROM CALCUTTA. + + Long is thy passage o'er the main, + And native air alone can save! + No friend thy weakness will sustain, + But India is, for thee, a grave! + Though winds arise, though surges swell, + Maria, we must say farewell! + + Oh! I bethink me of the time, + When with each airy hope in view, + In triumph to this fervid clime + I bore a flowret nurs'd in dew! + No fears did then my joy reprove, + And it was boundless as my love! + + Yet now to strangers I consign + Thy wounded mind, thy feeble health; + A charge more dear than life resign, + To watch a little worldly wealth. + Duty compels me to remain + But oh! how heavy feels the chain! + + My dear Maria! smile no more? + This seeming patience makes me wild! + So would'st thou once my peace restore, + When, mourning for our only child, + Each faint appeal was lost in air, + Or turn'd my sadness to despair. + + Alas! I only make thee grieve. + And hark! the boat awaits below! + They call aloud! and I must leave, + The tears my folly forc'd to flow. + Oh! had I but the time to prove, + That mine are only fears of love! + + * * * * * + + + +SONNET. + + Urge me no more! nor think, because I seem + Tame and unsorrowing in the world's rude strife, + That anguish and resentment have not life + Within the heart that ye so quiet deem: + In this forc'd stillness only, I sustain + My thought and feeling, wearied out with pain! + Floating as 'twere upon some wild abyss, + Whence, silent Patience, bending o'er the brink, + Would rescue them with strong and steady hand, + And join again, by that connecting link, + Which now is broken:--O, respect her care! + Respect her in this fearful self-command! + No moment teems with greater woe than this, + Should she but pause, or falter in despair! + + * * * * * + + + +ON THE REGRET OF YOUTH. + + Before a rose is fully blown, + The outward leaves announce decay; + So, ere the spring of Youth is flown, + Its tiny pleasures die away; + + The gay security we feel, + The careless soul's delighted rest, + That lively hope, that ardent zeal, + And smiling sunshine of the breast. + + Those simple tints, so bright and clear, + No healing dew-drops can restore; + For joys, which early life endear, + Once blighted, can revive no more. + + Yet lovely is the full-blown rose, + Although its infant graces fly; + The various opening leaves disclose, + A fairer banquet to the eye; + + A ruby's beams on drifted snow, + Such pure, harmonious blushes shed; + If distant, cast a tender glow, + But near, its own imperial red; + + The form assumes a prouder air, + And bends more graceful in the gale; + While, from its cup, of essence rare, + A richer hoard of sweets exhale. + + Could we again, by fancy led, + That bower of swelling leaves confine, + And round that fine, luxuriant head, + The mossy tendrils now entwine, + + Over what multitudes of bloom + Would a few timid leaflets close! + What mental joys resign their room, + To causeless mirth, and tame repose! + + The change to Reason's steady eye, + Would neither good nor wise appear; + And we may lay one precept by, + Our discontent is insincere. + + * * * * * + + + +ELEGY ON SOPHIA GRAHAM, + +WHO DIED JAN. 21, 1800. + + Sweet is the voice of Friendship to the ear, + Sweet is Affection's mildly-beaming eye, + Sweet the applause which flows from lips sincere, + And sweet is Pity's soft responsive sigh! + + But now those flowers of life have lost their bloom, + Faint all their beauty, cold their healing breath, + No object fills my eye but yonder tomb, + No sound awakes me but the name of death. + + When in the world, I bear a look serene, + And veil the gloomy temper of my grief; + Sick with restraint at evening quit the scene, + To find in tears and solitude relief. + + Parent of Hope and Fancy! thoughtful Night! + Why are these nurselings absent from thy bower, + While Memory, with sullen, strange delight, + Stalks lonely centinel the live-long hour? + + O dear Sophia! could we e'er forget, + Such fair endowments and unsullied worth, + Thy partial friendship calls for our regret, + And selfish feeling gives remembrance birth. + + How often when this trembling hand essays + Thy lov'd resemblance once again to trace, + The portrait thought in mimic life arrays + With all the sweet expression of thy face; + + Art may its symmetry and beauty show, + A look, a character, the pencil seize, + Give to the form where youthful graces glow, + An air of pensive dignity and ease, + + But warmth of feeling and sensation fine, + By mild reserve from common eyes conceal'd, + The ray of genius and the heart benign, + In artless gaiety so oft reveal'd-- + + All these are lost; no looks can now arise, + Like those which every little act endear'd, + Which even in the stranger's careless eyes + Like innocence from other worlds appear'd! + + Oft have I fear'd the breath of foolish praise, + Might taint the lily which so humbly grew; + That flattery's sun might shoot delusive rays, + Impede her progress, and distract her view. + + But vain the fear--for she remain'd the same, + To outward charms indifferent or blind, + Heedless alike of either praise or blame, + If it respected not her heart and mind. + + Rich in historic lore, the poet's lyre + Had not, though screen'd by time, forsaken hung, + She felt and studied with a kindred fire, + The lofty strain immortal Maro sung. + + She knew--but why essay to trace her thought + Through its wide range, describe her blooming youth, + The heart whose feelings were so finely wrought, + Its meek ambition, and its love of truth? + + All that parental-vanity desires, + All that the friend can muse upon and mourn, + All that the lover's ardent vow inspires, + In thee, Sophia! from the world was torn! + + But still we yield thee to no stranger's care; + No unknown foe our tender love bereaves; + Thou goest the angels' hallow'd bliss to share, + A Father thy exalted soul receives! + + * * * * * + + + +TO MISS ROUSE BOUGHTON, + +NOW THE RIGHT HON. LADY ST. JOHN. + +Aberystwith, July 5th, 17-- + + Louisa, while thy pliant fingers trace + The solemn beauties of the prospect round, + Or, on thy instrument, with touching grace, + Awaken all the witcheries of sound: + + Mild, as thy manners, do the colours rise, + As soft and unobtrusive meet the view; + And, when the varied notes the ear surprize, + We own the harmony as strictly true. + + Be thine the praise, alas! a gift how rare! + Artless, and unpretending, to excel! + Forget the envied charm of being fair, + To learn the noblest science,--acting well! + And let no world the seal of truth displace, + Or spoil the heart's accordance with the face! + + * * * * * + + + +TO THE SAME, + +ON RECEIVING FROM HER A FEW FLOWERS OUT OF A BOUQUET, FROM MELCHBOURNE, +1807. + + Hail! sweet Louisa! o'er these votive flow'rs + Friendship and Fancy weave the joyful song, + Wing with fresh rose-leaves all the train of hours, + That in the distant aether float along! + + Like those fair flowrets given by thy hand, + Like thy own beauty, blooming and serene, + The vision of thy future life is plann'd, + And forms a clear, a bright, and varied scene! + + That countenance so gentle, and so kind, + That heart, which never gave a harsh decree, + Suit all the turns of thy harmonious mind, + And must, perforce, with destiny agree. + This from the Sibyl's leaves affection drew, + O, be the omen just! the promise true! + + * * * * * + + + +TO THE RIVER + +WHICH SEPARATES ITSELF FROM THE DEE, AT BEDKELLERT. + +July 19, 1799. + + Let others hail the tranquil stream, + Whose glassy waters smoothly flow, + And, in the undulating gleam, + Reflect another world below! + + The yellow Conway as it raves, + Demands my tributary song! + When, rushing forth, resistless waves + O'er rocky fragments foam along! + + Like him, whose vigorous mind reviews + The troubles which around him roll; + The ceaseless warfare still pursues, + And keeps a firm, undaunted soul. + + Though sternly bent by toil and care, + The brow hang darkly o'er his eye-- + His features the fix'd meaning wear + Of one who knows not how to sigh. + + It is not apathy that reigns, + O'erweening arrogance, or pride, + For, in his warmly-flowing veins, + The genial feelings all reside. + + It is the breast-plate fortitude + Should still to injury oppose; + It is the shield with power imbu'd, + To blunt the malice of his foes. + + And should the savage country round, + A more engaging aspect show, + O Conway! it will then be found, + How sweet and clear thy waters flow! + + The birds will dip the taper wing-- + The pilgrim there his thirst assuage, + The wandering minstrel sit and sing, + Or muse upon a distant age! + + Bold River! soon within the deep, + Each weary strife and conflict o'er, + Thy venerable waves shall sleep, + And feel opposing rocks no more! + + * * * * * + + + +THE OLD MAN'S FAREWELL. + + Farewell, my pilgrim guest, farewell, + A few days since thou wert unknown, + None shall thy future fortunes tell, + But sweetly have the moments flown! + + And kindness, like the sun on flowers, + Soon chas'd away thy tender gloom; + New-fledg'd the sable-pinion'd hours, + And wove bright tints in Fancy's loom. + + We sought no secrets to divine, + Neither thy name nor lineage knew, + Our hearts alone have question'd thine, + And found that all was just and true. + + Pass not with hasty step, I pray, + Across the threshold of my door! + But pause awhile, with kind delay, + We shall behold thy face no more! + + Once only in a hundred years, + The aloe's precious blossoms swell, + So, in thy presence it appears, + That Time has blossom'd, fare thee well![A] + + [A] See Preface. + + * * * * * + + + +SONG. + +DISTANCE FROM THE PLACE OF OUR NATIVITY. + + Since I married Palemon, though happy my lot, + Though my garden is pleasant, and lightsome my cot, + Though love's smile, like a sunshine, I constantly see, + Those blessings are all insufficient for me, + I repine not at labour, I ask not for gold, + But I want the sweet eyes of my friends to behold. + + With Palemon I think o'er the world I could roam, + Though he liv'd in a desert, would make it my home. + From him no allurements his Lucy could bribe, + And, though timid, no dangers, no menaces drive. + But the heart that can love with devotion so true, + Is not cold or forgetful, my parents, to you! + + Oh idle declaimers! how is it ye say, + That affection and tenderness fade and decay? + Though so easily pain'd, they endure like a gem, + And the heart and the mind imbibe colour from them! + In affliction they brighten, in absence refine, + And are causes of sorrow too sweet to resign. + + * * * * * + + + +THE OLD SHEPHERD'S RECOLLECTIONS. + + Low, heavy clouds are hanging on the hills, + And half-impatient of the sun's approach, + Shake sullenly their cold and languid wings! + Oh! it is fine to see his morning beams + Burst on the gloom, while, in disorder'd flight, + The shuddering, mournful vapours steal away; + Like the tenacious spirit of a man, + Shrinking from the loud voice of cheerfulness, + When it breaks in, so sadly out of tune, + Upon his quiet musing, and dispels + The waking dream of a dejected heart: + The dream I cherish in this solitude, + In all the wanderings of my little flock, + That which beguiles my loneliness, and takes + Its charm and change from the surrounding scene. + + Oh! how unwelcome often are to me + The gayest, most exhilarating sounds! + When slow and sickly Memory, tempted forth + By dint of soft persuasion, brings to light + His treasures--and, with childish eagerness, + Arranges and collects--then suddenly + To have him startled by discordance, drag, + Without discrimination, all away-- + And with them leap to his deep hollow cave-- + Not easily to be withdrawn again, + Grieves one who loves to think of other times, + To talk with those long silent in the grave, + And pass from childhood to old age again. + + Behold this stony rock! whose rifted crest, + Lets the rough, roaring torrent force a way, + And, foaming, pour its waters on the vale! + Behold them tumbling from their dizzy height, + Like clouds, of more than snowy whiteness, thrown + Precipitate from heav'n, which, as they fall, + Diffuse a mist, in form of glory, round! + This was my darling haunt a long time past! + Here, when a boy, in pleasing awe, I sate, + Wistfully silent, with uplifted eye, + And heart attun'd to the sad, lulling sound + They made descending. Far below my feet, + Near where yon little, ruin'd cottage lies, + Oft, at the pensive hour of even-tide + I saw young Osborne bearing on his harp, + And, trusting to an aged mother's care, + His darkling steps: Beneath that falling beech, + Whose wide-spread branches touch the water's edge, + He lov'd to sit, and feel the freshen'd gale + Breathe cool upon him. + + Then that falling beech + Was a young, graceful tree; which, starting up, + Amid the looser fragments of the rock, + Rear'd boldly in the air its lofty head, + While, struggling with the stone, the nervous roots + Pursued their own direction, elbowing out, + Their flinty neighbour; who, o'erspread with moss, + Of varied hues, and deck'd with flow'ring heath, + That from each fissure hung luxuriant down, + Became a seat, where, king of all the scene, + The harper sate, and, in sweet melodies, + Now like the lark rejoicing at the dawn, + Now soothing as the nightingale's sad note, + Hail'd the departing sun, whose golden rays + Glitter'd upon the surface of the wave, + And, as a child upon its mother's arm + Seeks to delay the coming hour of rest, + Till sudden slumbers steal upon his smiles + And veil him in a dream of love and joy, + He seem'd reluctant to withdraw his beams; + And, rich in roseate beauty, for awhile + Kept the green waves beneath his glowing head. + + Kind, gentle Osborne! half a century + Has silver'd o'er the crisp and yellow locks + Of thy young auditor, but memory still + Grasps the torn record of my weary life. + And finds full many a page to tell of thee! + Oh! ye who have a friend ye truly love, + One whom your hearts can trust, whose excellence + Was not obtruded boastingly to view, + But time and happy circumstance reveal'd, + Rays of quick light upon a diamond + Which else had lain unnotic'd in the waste! + Oh! hasten! hasten speedily to pay + Each debt of fond affection! lock not up + So cautiously the tribute due to worth! + Nor let reserve, as I have often done, + Enslave the sweetest feelings of the soul! + And hang around them like an envious mist, + O'er the bright radiance of the morning star, + Leaving us nothing but a spot of light + Bereav'd of all its lustre! For my friend, + He never knew that there was one on earth, + After a parent felt the touch of death, + And Love, a weeping pilgrim, turn'd away + Far from his dwelling--Oh! he never knew, + That there was one who would have follow'd him, + With steady kindness, even to the grave! + + Thou dear, neglected friend! to whom I owe + All that sustains my heart, and makes me think + The gift of life a blessing, Oh! forgive + That in thy sorrows, my forgetful tongue + Spake not of zeal and service; of the debt + Which gratitude was emulous to pay! + I might have trimm'd the dying lamp of hope, + And cheer'd the bitter hours of banishment: + But Oh! my youth was fearful, and I felt + So deep an awe of that unspotted worth + And saint-like gentleness--such a mistrust + Of my own powers to tell him what I wish'd, + That I resisted all my feelings claim'd, + In anguish I resisted; but a spell + Hung o'er me and compell'd me to be mute. + + Methinks I still behold him! tall and fair, + He had a look so tranquil and so mild, + That something holy stole upon the sense + When he appear'd; his language had such power + In converse, that the hearer, as entranced + Sate lingering on to listen; while in song, + Or skill upon the many-stringed harp + Was never heard his equal! Then he knew + All our old ballads, all our father's tales, + All the adventurous deeds of early times, + The punishment of blood or sacrilege, + And the reward of virtue, when it seem'd + Deserted by the world, and left alone, + A prey to scorn, oppression, contumely + And all the ills which make the good despair. + When-e'er we circled round him, one young girl + Was always present, of a nicer ear, + And more refin'd perception than the rest. + Now she was lost in thought, while on her cheek + Lay silent tears--and then that cheek grew pale + In wild amazement--but, when he began + To speak of noble deeds, she rais'd her head, + Bending with looks of mingled awe and love, + And zealous admiration, on the youth, + Alone insensible of all around, + To the soft charm of symmetry and grace, + The smile intelligent, the look benign, + And all the outward raiment of the soul. + Yet, though he saw her not, it was his fate + To have an inward and discerning sense, + Which spake of Lora's gentleness and worth. + He lov'd in her the fondness of his art, + And taught her many wild and simple airs, + Suiting the plaintive tenor of her voice, + Which he would mimic with sweet minstrelsy. + When she was absent, and with strange delight, + Repeat her parting words, her kind adieu, + Or sweetly-spoken promise of return. + + And that return was prompt: she linger'd oft + Till evening wet the ground with heavy dew, + Or came to take her lesson in the morn, + Before her father's anxious eyes unclos'd, + To look upon her beauty with delight, + And soothe the rugged temper of his soul, + By views of future grandeur for his child: + Not thinking that her elegance of mind, + The modest dignity of humble worth + Which fits the low-born peasant to become + A crowned monarch, and to wield with grace + The golden sceptre, had instructed her + To feel no paltry jealousy of power, + No bold aspiring, and no wish beyond + The bounded confines of her present state: + Had counsell'd her, that even mines of wealth, + Could purchase nothing to content the wise, + Esteem or friendship, tenderness or love: + That power at best was but a heavy weight; + If well employ'd, a dubious, unpaid toil, + If ill, a curse, to tempt men to their fate. + + Her cheek had often felt the blush of shame, + At his proud boasting; and her heart had sunk + At the cold arrogance that scorn'd the poor; + But she was fain to turn aside, and weep, + To wring her hands in secret, and to raise + The eye of silent anguish up to heaven; + For though he dearly lov'd her, he would ne'er + Submit to hear a murmur at his will. + Oft with her heart oppress'd, and her blue eyes + Full of unshedden tears, she bent her way + Alone to Osborne's lowly cot, and when + Her faint voice call'd the fond inquiry forth, + Would say, "'tis true, my friends, that I am sad, + Nay sick, with vain repining. O! I wish, + That I were either indigent myself, + Or that I had the power, the blessed power + Of cheering the unhappy! for I want, + By kindness to prevent the act of guilt, + And ward the arrows of incroaching Death, + Who comes, before the time, upon his prey. + Think that there should be means to stay his wrath, + To purchase health, life, comfort, innocence, + And yet those means withholden! + + "O! my heart! + It dies with sorrow! and where most I love, + Sheds all its bitterness; delighting still + To tell the many miseries that flit + At times across me! Those I lightly prize + Partake the sunshine of my happier hours, + Although I seek them with far less delight! + The loud laugh dwells not here, the sportive dance, + The carol of unconscious levity, + And yet how oft, how willingly I come!" + + "Know'st thou not, Lora," cried the youthful sage, + "That there are things the mind must prize above + What captivates the senses! That in them + She feels no interest, and she takes no care! + That though sometimes an alien, she receives + Delighted back the ensigns of her power, + And takes her truant vassals into grace! + That when thou bring'st to us that wounded mind, + The grave of many feelings, language is + As yet too poor to utter, thou canst give + No richer, dearer token of regard." + + "Were man indeed the only hope of man, + I never would reprove thee for thy tears! + But, they are vain! man has a surer trust! + The helpless, weary, miserable wretch, + Left by his fellows in the wilderness, + Shall be supported in that trying hour, + By a right arm, which, in his days of strength, + He did not lean upon! A gracious arm, + Which wounds the sick, and heals them by the stroke. + O! Lora! to the Father of the world, + A Judge so patient and so merciful. + That he refuses not the latest sigh. + Nor suffers sorrow but as means to save, + Canst thou not trust the objects of thy care! + + "Hadst thou the power to help them--it were well, + To be most anxious. To collect thy freight + Of human sorrow, and, by merchandize, + Exchange it for the riches of the world: + For health, for comfort, nay, perchance for life, + That gem of countless value, which sometimes, + Not all the treasures of the East can buy, + Tendered with supplications and with tears, + Is often purchas'd at a petty price, + Nay, in exchange for courtesy. What joy + Must in that moment fill the merchant's heart, + To win a jewel, kings monopolize + The sole disposal of! Be patient then! + This glorious privilege may yet be thine! + Deserve it only by fulfilling all + The gentler duties that have present claims + With cheerfulness and zeal--Let no neglect + Press on thy father's age, no discontent + Sour thee with thy companions, no mistrust + Give pain to friendship, and thy usefulness + Though calm and bounded, has no mean award." + + Thus, like a prophet, did he still enforce + Only the virtues and rare qualities + Congenial with her after destiny; + Yet, not foreseeing evil, he himself + Was unprepared, and when her father led, + Her opposition and entreaty past, + The hapless Lora forth, to promise love + And honour to a man, whose vacant mind, + Throughout a course of long succeeding years, + She vainly strove to soften and to raise, + Though he had taught her patience till that hour, + His own at once forsook him, and he fled. + + She murmur'd not, nor even seem'd to mourn, + But losing all her love of solitude, + Appear'd so active in each new pursuit, + So wholly what her anxious father wish'd, + That he repented not his cruelty. + Believing in her happiness, he felt + Himself the author, and became more proud + Of his own wisdom: yet she often heard + His wayward taunt or querulous complaint, + And, from the lordly partner of her fate, + The harsher sound of ignorant rebuke. + She was a matchless woman, when she lost + The timid graces of retiring youth, + She still was lovely, for her shaded eyes + Beam'd with a lofty sweetness, a content + Beyond the pow'r of fortune to destroy. + Careless of let or hindrance, she went on, + Nor shrunk nor started at the many thorns + Strew'd in her toilsome path; still looking forth + To others' weal, forgetful it would seem, + Perchance in heart despairing of her own. + The friend, the help, the comforter of all, + No voice was heard so cheerful, nor a step + So bounding and so light. 'Twas wonderful! + For I have seen her, when her polish'd arm + Has clasp'd the nurseling, with her face conceal'd + Bent fondly o'er; and I have mark'd each limb + To boast a fine expansion, as if thrill'd + With the deep feelings of maternal love + And aching tenderness, too highly wrought + For happy souls to cherish! they delight + In painless joys, and, on the infant's cheek, + Rounded and glowing with a finer bloom + Than the wild-rose, careless imprint the kiss, + Which sorrow always sanctions by a prayer. + They in the radiance of its glancing eyes + See nothing to suffuse with their own tears! + Borne forward on the easy wing of Time, + They travel on, they scarcely meet with Thought, + Or, like a summer cloud, he passes by, + His shadow rests one instant, and again + The scene is calm and brilliant as before! + + Not so with Lora, trouble, sickness, death, + Were busy with the residue of peace, + When years and care had weaken'd her regrets, + Veil'd the sad recollection of past days, + And overgrown the softness of her mind, + As the close-creeping ivy hides and rusts + The smooth and silver surface of the beech. + An orphan and a widow--she became + Decisive, watchful, prudent, nay severe + To wilful disobedience or neglect; + Though generous where she perceiv'd desert. + She taught her children with unceasing zeal, + Sought knowledge for their sakes, and, more than all, + Anxious, inquisitive about the heart, + Search'd all the motives, all the incidents + In which it was unfolded; fencing still + Each treacherous failing with a double guard, + And oft repeated warnings; well conceal'd, + Or given with so much kindness, that they serv'd + To draw more closely every knot of love. + Nor did she cease to urge her pious cares + By constant vigilance, till riper age + Had fix'd the moral sense, when, as a bow + For a long active season tightly strain'd + Relaxes, tumult and contention o'er, + She sunk into indulgence, glad to yield + To mildness, nature, and herself again. + + Youth, e'en when wise and good, requires a change, + Delights in novelty, and hears of nought + Which suddenly it asks not to behold; + And Lora's children oft assail'd her ear + To let them journey to some rumour'd scene, + Some feast, or village wake, or sprightly dance, + Urging her still to bear them company. + She lov'd to give them pleasure, and one time + (The fav'rite legend of our country folk + Hath oft the tale repeated) as they mix'd + Carelessly in the crowd, remember'd notes + Struck by a harper in a distant tent, + Sweet and soul-piercing as the midnight songs + Which are, they say, the harbingers of death, + Flow'd on her ear--when, with impulsive spring, + As if a magic spell had wing'd her feet, + Fearing the sounds would vanish into air, + And prove delusion ere she reach'd the spot, + She forward rush'd, and soon beheld the friend, + The dear companion of her youth. She seiz'd + The hand that lay upon the quivering chords, + Stopping their melody and resting mute. + The pause was awful--He at length exclaim'd, + In a deep, laboured cry, "Ye heavenly powers! + If Lora lives, the hand I feel is hers!" + She could not speak, but with her other hand + Clasp'd his, and sigh'd and rais'd her eyes to heaven, + When straight the big, round tears began to flow; + "And is it thee, dear Lora! Art thou come + Again to gladden one, who never found + 'Mid countless who are good, a heart like thine! + Oh! speak! that I may know if still my ear + Retains a true remembrance of that voice! + For since, it has not drank so sweet a sound." + + "Hail happy day!" cried Lora, "which restores + The friend whose absence I have mourn'd so long! + For thou, O! Osborne! must with me return, + Me and my children! They shall hear again + Those counsels which inform'd their mother's heart; + Gave courage in the hour of enterprize, + Calmness in danger, patience under ills + That like a swarm of insects buz around, + And vex the spirit which they cannot rouse. + Return, my early, long-lost friend! with us + Thou shalt enjoy repose: our cheerful home + Shall gather round thee many an honest heart + Which knows thy virtues, and will hold thee dear." + + She paus'd, and Osborne joyful gave assent. + Fair hopes of joy engaged his faultering mind, + For long-time had he dragg'd a weary life, + Lone, or bereav'd of relative or friend, + Careful to tend his health, and to divert + His sadness; each succeeding hour had press'd + With its slow-passing wing his gentle head + Drooping and prematurely silver'd o'er, + (Like snows depending on the autumn leaf) + Yet warm, benevolent, serene, resign'd, + And like an angel save in youth and joy. + + A winding path round yonder wooded hill, + Leads to a spot where Nature decks herself + In loveliness and beauty: far below + Spreads the green valley, where a silent stream + Turns, like a serpent writhing in its course; + And, rarified by distance, kissing heaven, + In many noble and fantastic shapes, + A giant range of purple mountains sleeps. + Grand is the scene, and in the centre stands + The tomb of Osborne--after many years + Of happiness and friendship, Lora rais'd + This plain memorial, and her children plac'd + A mother's near, to tell succeeding years + Their talents and their virtue. They themselves + More forcibly express the worth of both, + For they are wise and good, without a shade + Of cold severity or selfish pride. + + * * * * * + + + +REFLECTION. + +August 2, 1798. + + Why should we think the years of life + Will pass serenely by, + When, for a day, the Sun himself + Ne'er sees a cloudless sky! + + And, unassuming as she moves, + The meek-eyed Queen of night, + Meets wand'ring vapours in her path + To dim her paler light! + + Then why should we in vain repine + At man's uncertain lot, + That cares will equally assail + The palace and the cot? + + For Heaven ordains this chequer'd scene + Our mortal pow'rs t' employ; + That we might know, compare, select, + Be grateful, and enjoy. + +[For the last verse I am indebted to the pen of a Friend.] + + * * * * * + + + +RETROSPECT OF YOUTH. + + I wander'd forth amid the flow'rs, + And careless sipp'd the morning air; + Nor hail'd the angel-winged hours, + Nor saw that Happiness was there! + Alas! I often since have wept + That Gratitude unconscious slept! + + For Truth and Pity then were young, + And walk'd in simple, narrow bounds; + Affection's meek, assuasive tongue, + Had sweet, but most capricious sounds. + Once, wild with scornful pride, she fled, + And only turn'd to seek the dead! + + Oh! from a garden of delight, + What fair memento did I bring! + What amaranth of colours bright, + To mark the promise of my spring? + Behold this flow'r! its leaves are wet, + With tears of lasting, vain regret! + + * * * * * + + + +THE DAUGHTER. + +1797. + + "Come, mournful lute! dear echo of my woe! + No stranger's tread in this lone spot I fear, + Sweeter thy notes in such wild places flow, + And, what is more, my Henry cannot hear! + + "He will not know my pain and my despair, + When that dread scene arises on my view, + Where my poor father would not hear my pray'r, + Or grant his only child a last adieu! + + "He will not know that still the hour I mourn, + When death all hopes of pardon snatch'd away; + That still this heart by sad remembrance torn, + Repeats the dreadful mandate of that day. + + "Luckless for him has been my constant love, + Luckless the destiny I bade him brave, + For since a parent did our vows reprove, + Sorrow was all the gift my fondness gave. + + "Then, though I knew my father's stern command, + The short-liv'd conflict of affection o'er, + I offer'd to the youth my dowerless hand, + And fondly reason'd thus on being poor, + + "'Can pomp or splendour elevate the soul, + Brighten the lustre that illumes the eye! + Make the rough stream of life more smoothly roll, + Suppress the tear, or waft away the sigh! + + "'Can happiness a purer joy receive, + In the proud mansions of the rich and great? + Or, tell me, can the wounded bosom heave + With blunted anguish under robes of state! + + "'No! Henry, no! Alas! too well you know, + The misery of an affected smile, + The pain of clearing the thought-clouded brow, + To covet for yourself the hateful toil! + + "'And since my choice, and reason both approve, + Since I have known you many a circling year, + And time has well assur'd me of your love, + Tell me, my Henry, what have I to fear? + + "'My father, though by worldly prudence led, + Will pardon when our happiness is told.' + Alas! no curses fell upon my head, + But never did he more his child behold. + + "He would not, dying, hear my ardent prayer! + But, cruel! said, I leave her all my store; + She wrung my doating heart with deep despair, + And even now perhaps desires no more. + + "This is the stroke which all my peace destroys, + The dagger which no art can draw away, + The thought which every faculty employs, + Withers my bloom, and makes my strength decay. + + "His death, his sorrows are the heavy curse + That hangs above my poor, distracted head! + His dying words have scatter'd vain remorse, + For vain, though bitter, are the tears I shed. + + "And yet my father to my soul was dear, + But tender pity was on Henry's side; + I painted him relenting, not severe, + Nor fancied I could be an orphan bride. + + "Ah me! excuses will not cure my pain! + At least, forgetfulness can little plead. + A widow'd parent!--I deserv'd disdain, + 'Tis fit these eyes should weep, this heart should bleed! + + "But yet assist me heaven! to hide my grief, + My waning health from love's suspicious eyes! + This malady admits of no relief, + And nought augments the pain, but Henry's sighs. + + "Perhaps e'en now he wonders at my stay, + Sees the white fogs of evening rise around, + Comes out to seek me in my devious way, + But turns not to this unfrequented ground. + + "Alas! my love, thy anxious care is vain! + Nothing can stop yon wand'rer of the sky; + Nothing can long this fleeting life retain! + For oh! I feel that I must shortly die. + + "But cease my lute, this low, desponding strain, + It floats too long upon the heavy air; + Henry may pass and know that I complain. + One moment's peace to him is worth my care." + + She said, and toward the cheerless mansion flew, + Her slender, sylph-like form array'd in white, + Not clearly seen amidst surrounding dew, + Seem'd like a spirit ling'ring in its flight. + + Poor Henry, who had watch'd her in the shade, + In aching silence list'ning to her song, + At distance follow'd slowly through the glade, + Pausing forgetful as he pass'd along. + + * * * * * + + + +YOUTH UNSUSPICIOUS OF EVIL. + + O bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r! + And look not up so fresh and bright! + The keen, harsh wind, the heavy show'r, + Will spoil thy beauties ere the night. + + I grieve to see thee look so gay. + And so unconscious of thy lot, + For gloom and tempests wait thy day, + And thou, unhappy, fear'st it not! + + Thy tender leaflets all unfold, + Their colours ripen and refine, + Become most lovely to behold, + And, ah! most apt to shrink and pine. + + Then, bend thy head, sweet morning flow'r! + I grieve to see thee look so gay! + Close thy soft wings against the show'r, + And wait a more auspicious day! + + * * * * * + + + +THE MOTHER. + + "And beats my heart again with joy! + And dances now my spirit light! + The skiff that holds my darling boy + This moment burst upon my sight! + + "Not yet distinctly I perceive + Amid the crew his well-known form, + But still his safety I believe, + I know he has escap'd the storm. + + "I feel as if my heart had wings, + And tender from excess of bliss, + His form, which airy fancy brings, + In fond emotion seem to kiss. + + "Welcome the wild, imperfect rest, + Which these bewilder'd spirits share! + Welcome this tumult of the breast, + After the shudder of despair! + + "My Robert he is brave and strong, + He will these flowing tears reprove. + Alas! how little know the young, + The tremor of a Mother's love. + + "For we are weak from many a care, + From many a sleepless, anxious hour, + When fear and hope the bosom tear, + And ride the brain with fevering power. + + "But lo! he cheerly waves his hand! + I hear his voice! I see his face! + And eager now he springs to land, + To meet a Mother's fond embrace! + + "This failing heart! but joy to me, + If heaven in pity is thy guard; + And of the pangs I feel for thee, + Protection be the dear reward!" + + * * * * * + + + +EDGAR AND ELLEN. + + "Arrest thy steps! On these sad plains, + Fair dame, no farther go! + But listen to the martial strains, + Whose wildness speaks of woe! + + Hark! strife is forward on the field, + I hear the trumpet's bray! + Now spear to spear, and shield to shield, + Decides the dreadful day! + + Unfit for thee, oh! Lady fair! + The scenes where men engage; + Thy gentle spirit could not bear + The fearful battle's rage." + + "I prithee, stranger, let me fly! + Though pallid is my cheek, + The lightning's flash delights my eye, + I love the thunder's break. + + And oft beneath our castle tow'rs, + When tempests rush'd along, + My steady hand has painted flowers, + Or voice has rais'd the song." + + "Oh Lady! that bewilder'd eye + Is red with recent tears; + Already that heart-startling sigh + Proclaims thy anxious fears. + + Then let a stranger's words prevail, + Nor thus in danger roam! + Here many frightful ills assail, + But safety is at home!" + + "No, in some peasant's lowly cot + Perhaps she may abide, + To consecrate the humble spot, + But not where I reside. + + In Hubert's halls, my father's foe, + From childhood have I dwelt, + And for his wily murderer too, + A filial fondness felt. + + Ah me! how often have I press'd + The lips which seal'd his doom! + How oft the cruel hand caress'd + Which sent him to the tomb! + + My nurse reveal'd the dreadful truth, + And, as she told the tale, + A sickly blight pass'd o'er my youth, + And turn'd its roses pale. + + The heavy secret on my heart + Like deadly poison prey'd; + For she forbade me to impart + A word of what she said. + + I, who so blithely sung before, + So peacefully had slept, + Fancied gaunt murder at the door, + And listen'd, shook, and wept. + + No longer with an open smile, + I greeted all around; + My fearful looks were fix'd the while, + In terror on the ground. + + All saw the change, and kindly strove + My sadness to relieve; + Base Hubert feign'd a parent's love, + Which could not see me grieve. + + A painful anger flush'd my cheek, + My lip indignant smil'd, + I cried, "And did he e'er bespeak + Thy friendship for his child?" + + "Ellen! when death was drawing nigh, + Thou wert his only care; + Oh! guard her, Hubert, if I die, + It is my latest prayer. + + To none, dear friend, but thee," he cried, + "Whose love and truth are known, + Could I this precious charge confide, + To cherish, as thy own!" + + I pledg'd my honour, to fulfil + My dearest friend's desire! + And I have ever acted still, + As honour's laws require! + + Thy mind, dear Ellen, is the proof + Of my paternal care, + Since form'd beneath this friendly roof, + So excellent and fair. + + Then why that cloud upon thy brow, + That sullen, fearful sigh! + That something which we must not know, + That cold and altered eye? + + Why must thy proud, suspicious air, + Give every heart a pain? + Why must my son, my Edgar bear + Unmerited disdain?" + + I hung my bead, my fault'ring tongue + In feeble murmurs spoke, + His specious art my bosom wrung, + I shudder'd at his look. + + And thus, bewildered with my woes, + I faint and careless rove; + For oh! I cannot dwell with those + I must no longer love." + + "Fair lady, calm that anxious heart, + And to my voice attend! + Thy father died by Hubert's dart, + And yet he was his friend. + + For Lancaster Sir Philip rose, + And many a Yorkist slew; + Till, singling him amidst his foes, + Lord Hubert's arrow flew. + + But soon we saw the victor stand + Beside, in sorrow drown'd; + And soon Sir Philip took the hand, + Which gave the deadly wound. + + "My friend, unweeting was thy aim, + And is by me forgiv'n, + But oh! one sacred oath I claim, + In sight of men, and heav'n! + + Oh! promise with a father's zeal, + My Ellen to protect! + Nor let her like an orphan feel + Dependence, and neglect! + + And then, almost without regret, + I can my charge resign; + For, during life, I never met + So true a heart as thine." + + Lord Hubert pledg'd his sacred word, + He wept, and, kneeling, swore, + In England ne'er to wield a sword, + Or shoot an arrow more. + + From civil war, whose daily crimes + This island long shall rue, + From all the evil of the times, + In anguish he withdrew. + + I wonder that, by nature bold, + He stoop'd to wear disguise, + Or leave the hapless tale untold, + Which wakens thy surprise! + + Yet the sad shame that fill'd his breast, + May well thy pity crave, + A turtle dove may build her nest + Upon thy father's grave--" + + "Stranger, that warrior from the east, + Who comes with headlong speed, + Is Edgar, Hubert's son, at least, + He rides on Edgar's steed!" + + "Be calm, fair maid! Thou gallant knight, + Who speedest o'er the plain, + Give us some tidings of the fight, + The victor and the slain! + + One moment stay! for many a care + Now fills us with alarm! + Is Edward King? Is Hubert's heir, + Escap'd from death and harm?" + + "The sun of Lancaster is set, + And never more to rise;" + Return'd the knight, "I know not yet + If Edgar lives or dies!" + + And scarce he check'd the flowing rein, + In hurried accents spoke, + And, dull and hollow was the strain + That through the helmet broke. + + "Where is he?" shriek'd fair Ellen forth, + He started at the sound, + And, leaping sudden on the earth, + His armour rang around. + + "Queen of my destiny!" he cried, + "Thy faithful Edgar see! + Whose welfare thou canst best decide, + For it depends on thee! + + I sav'd our youthful Monarch's life, + Whose bounteous hand accords, + A dower to grace the noblest wife + That England's realm affords. + + With thee his splendid gifts I share, + Or soon this youthful head + A solemn monk's dark cowl shall wear, + To love and glory dead. + + Perhaps that tear upon thy cheek + Foretels a milder doom! + Thou wilt again our mansion seek, + Oh! let me lead thee home!" + + +_FINIS._ + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Matilda Betham + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 9998.txt or 9998.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/9/9/9998/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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