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Poems (1806)

Polwhele, Richard (1760-1838)

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VOL. I
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Elegiac Pieces.
  
TO A GENTLEMAN, WHO SHED TEARS IN COMPANY ON THE INTELLIGENCE THAT A FRIEND HAD DIED AT SEA OF A FRENZY FEVER.
  
LAURA's RINGLET.
  
IN MEMORY OF THE LATE Mr. RACK, OF BATH.
  
IN MEMORY OF THE LATE Mr. SLEECH, ARCHDEACON OF CORNWALL.
  
IN MEMORY OF THE LATE Mrs. DOBSON, OF EXETER.
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VOL. II.
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LYRIC PIECES.
  
ODE TO SLEEP,
  
ODE ON THE ISLE OF MANN,
  
ODE WRITTEN AFTER A THUNDER-STORM.
  
ODE WRITTEN IN A PICTURE-GALLERY.
  
PART OF THE EPICEDIUM OF REGNER LODBROG, TRANSLATED.
  
ODE ON THE SUSCEPTIBILITY OF THE POETICAL MIND.
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HEROIC PIECES.
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CLAUDIAN's RAPE of PROSERPINE.
 1. 
BOOK THE FIRST.
 2. 
BOOK THE SECOND.
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ADDRESSES.
  
AN ADDRESS, INTRODUCTORY OF Mrs. SIDDONS,
  
AN ADDRESS, SPOKEN BY Mrs. SIDDONS,
  
A POETICAL ADDRESS TO A WIDOW LADY, OVER A DISH OF TEA IN HER HERMITAGE.
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SONNETS.
 I. 
SONNET I.
 II. 
SONNET II.
 III. 
SONNET III.
 IV. 
SONNET IV.
 V. 
SONNET V.
 VI. 
SONNET VI.
 VII. 
SONNET VII. TO A YOUNG LADY, ON HER WEARING A VEIL,
 VIII. 
SONNET VIII. TO A COLLEGE FRIEND; ON HIS EXPRESSING HIS APPREHENSIONS, THAT THE AUTHOR HAD FORGOTTEN HIM.
 X. 
SONNET X. TO THE SAME. [A COLLEGE FRIEND]
 XI. 
SONNET XI. TO THE SAME. [A COLLEGE FRIEND]
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SONGS.
 I. 
SONG I.
 II. 
SONG II.
 III. 
SONG III. THE BLUSH OF SIMPLICITY.
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SONG IV. THE FAINTING KISS.
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SONG V.
 VI. 
SONG VI.
 VIII. 
SONG VIII. To Miss S*****.
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EPITAPHS.
  
ON THOMAS POLWHELE, Esq; LATE OF POLWHELE, BY THE REVEREND J. B. C. OF GLYNN.
  
ON TWO CHILDREN OF R. POLWHELE, BURIED IN THE SAME GRAVE,
  
LINES TO THE MEMORY OF BRIGADIER GENERAL HOPE, GOVERNOR OF QUEBEC,

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234

SONG VIII. To Miss S*****.

Whene'er I see thy tender breast
With sickness or with grief opprest;
When thy soft looks denote too plain
How exquisite thy sense of pain;
When the tear glitters in thine eye,
For thee, sweet Marianne, I die.
Again, when health resumes its place,
And joy sits smiling on thy face;
Thy humourous wit, and spirits gay,
In frolic mazes as they stray,
Enforce me still, do what I can,
To die for thee, sweet Marianne.
When in yet happier hours I find
Thy soul to harmony inclin'd,
See thy hand touch the trembling strings,
And hear each melting sound it brings;
Then am I lost in extasy,
And die, sweet Marianne, for thee.
W. D.
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