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1
POEMS.
LOVE AT SALE.
Come buy my ware! come buy! come buy!
Fond youths and curious maids, draw nigh;
I have this lovely wicked boy to sell.
Go not, fair girls, his cage too near!
Though mild his looks, his arrows fear;
Be still, the urchin's faults and merits while I tell.
Fond youths and curious maids, draw nigh;
I have this lovely wicked boy to sell.
Go not, fair girls, his cage too near!
Though mild his looks, his arrows fear;
Be still, the urchin's faults and merits while I tell.
He in this little form unites
The pangs of hell, and Heaven's delights;
He reigns the lord of every mortal heart:
He wounds the peasant, wounds the king,
And is the fairest, falsest thing,
That e'er excited joy, or bade a bosom smart.
The pangs of hell, and Heaven's delights;
He reigns the lord of every mortal heart:
He wounds the peasant, wounds the king,
And is the fairest, falsest thing,
That e'er excited joy, or bade a bosom smart.
2
Light as the wind, wild as the wave,
He's both a tyrant and a slave;
A fire that freezes, and a frost that's hot;
A bitter sweet, and luscious sour!—
Wretched is He, who knows his power;
Yet far more wretched still is He, who knows it not.
He's both a tyrant and a slave;
A fire that freezes, and a frost that's hot;
A bitter sweet, and luscious sour!—
Wretched is He, who knows his power;
Yet far more wretched still is He, who knows it not.
His tongue is with persuasion tipt;
His darts in poisoned honey dipt
Speed to the bosom their unerring flight;
His lips are rich in flattering lies,
And oft a fillet o'er his eyes
He binds, and so conceals his faults from his own sight.
His darts in poisoned honey dipt
Speed to the bosom their unerring flight;
His lips are rich in flattering lies,
And oft a fillet o'er his eyes
He binds, and so conceals his faults from his own sight.
He has two cheeks of blushing red;
He has two wings which still are spread,
When most his stay is wished, most swift to fly:
He joys in wanton tricks and wiles,
And mark! that when he sweetest smiles,
Then is the rogue most sure those tricks and wiles to try.
He has two wings which still are spread,
When most his stay is wished, most swift to fly:
He joys in wanton tricks and wiles,
And mark! that when he sweetest smiles,
Then is the rogue most sure those tricks and wiles to try.
3
For well alas! too well I know,
He is the source of every woe,
To faith a stranger, 'gainst contrition steeled;
But yet when first the false one came,
And kindled in my heart a flame,
Who had believed Deceit in such a form concealed!
He is the source of every woe,
To faith a stranger, 'gainst contrition steeled;
But yet when first the false one came,
And kindled in my heart a flame,
Who had believed Deceit in such a form concealed!
He begged so gently on my breast
Awhile his little head to rest!
He seemed so good, so grateful, and so meek!
He said, “he long had sought around
“A resting place—but none had found!”—
And then I saw a tear pearl down his rosy cheek.
Awhile his little head to rest!
He seemed so good, so grateful, and so meek!
He said, “he long had sought around
“A resting place—but none had found!”—
And then I saw a tear pearl down his rosy cheek.
Who could, unmoved, his accents hear?
Who had not wiped away that tear?
His tale of guile my ready ear believed;
He looked so sweet, he spoke so fair,
With ease the traitor gained his prayer,
And in my heart of hearts with transport was received.
Who had not wiped away that tear?
His tale of guile my ready ear believed;
He looked so sweet, he spoke so fair,
With ease the traitor gained his prayer,
And in my heart of hearts with transport was received.
4
But since I find, his friends most true
Have reason most his spite to rue,
I'll take dear-bought Conviction's sage advice,
And drive him from my breast away:
He shall no more my trust betray,
But be the slave of him who bids the highest price.
Have reason most his spite to rue,
I'll take dear-bought Conviction's sage advice,
And drive him from my breast away:
He shall no more my trust betray,
But be the slave of him who bids the highest price.
Observe, whoe'er shall buy this boy,
This offspring of Despair and Joy,
May have besides, (I've use for them no more)
A lot of jealous doubts and fears,
Of fainting Virtue's last pure tears,
Of treacherous smiles, and oaths which perjured lovers swore:
This offspring of Despair and Joy,
May have besides, (I've use for them no more)
A lot of jealous doubts and fears,
Of fainting Virtue's last pure tears,
Of treacherous smiles, and oaths which perjured lovers swore:
Of torches, their unsteady fires
Kindled by sweet Fifteen's desires;
Of hopes created by a guileful sigh;
Of worn-out wings; of broken darts,
Whose points still rankle in the hearts
Of fond forsaken maids!—Come buy! come buy! come buy!
Kindled by sweet Fifteen's desires;
Of hopes created by a guileful sigh;
Of worn-out wings; of broken darts,
Whose points still rankle in the hearts
Of fond forsaken maids!—Come buy! come buy! come buy!
5
But see him now for pardon sue!
See, how his eye of glossy blue
With mingled hope and grief he lifts to me!
Ah! lovely boy, thy fears dismiss,
Convinced by that forgiving kiss,
That I can never part from Julia and from thee.
See, how his eye of glossy blue
With mingled hope and grief he lifts to me!
Ah! lovely boy, thy fears dismiss,
Convinced by that forgiving kiss,
That I can never part from Julia and from thee.
6
TO VANITY.
Oh! Thou, whom thankless men revile,
Best soother of their pains;
Thou, in whose gay complacent smile
Eternal sunshine reigns;
On wounded pride and feelings sore
Whose friendly hand can balsam pour,
And blunt the shafts of scorn;
This votive wreath for Thee I twine,
And bid the Muse thy gaudy shrine,
Sweet Vanity, adorn!
Best soother of their pains;
Thou, in whose gay complacent smile
Eternal sunshine reigns;
On wounded pride and feelings sore
Whose friendly hand can balsam pour,
And blunt the shafts of scorn;
This votive wreath for Thee I twine,
And bid the Muse thy gaudy shrine,
Sweet Vanity, adorn!
7
Hark!—Some, whose pride this name offends,
My blunt confession blame,
And while beneath thy sway he bends,
Each terms thee, “Love of Fame.”
I, [who where-ever rests mine eye,
In various forms thy power descry,
Employed mankind to bless;]
Despise such paltry shifts, and dare,
Kind Vanity, to Thee my prayer
And grateful verse address.
My blunt confession blame,
And while beneath thy sway he bends,
Each terms thee, “Love of Fame.”
I, [who where-ever rests mine eye,
In various forms thy power descry,
Employed mankind to bless;]
Despise such paltry shifts, and dare,
Kind Vanity, to Thee my prayer
And grateful verse address.
The pliant form does Nature cramp
In rude unsightly cast?
Do withered features wear the stamp
Of many a winter past?
To limbs mis-shaped and wrinkled face
Thy magic glass can easy grace
And youthful bloom impart;
Crimson pale cheeks, blanch sallow hands,
And squinting eyes at thy commands
Love's brightest fires can dart.
In rude unsightly cast?
Do withered features wear the stamp
Of many a winter past?
To limbs mis-shaped and wrinkled face
Thy magic glass can easy grace
And youthful bloom impart;
Crimson pale cheeks, blanch sallow hands,
And squinting eyes at thy commands
Love's brightest fires can dart.
8
When shallow politicians fain
Their reasoning powers would show,
Thou bid'st each nerve its strength maintain,
And giv'st the tongue its flow.
And when some witless rhymster tries
His Lesbia's lips, or Chloe's eyes,
In maudlin verse to praise,
Thy hand still mends each limping line,
Attests the work correct, divine,
And wreathes his brow with bays!
Their reasoning powers would show,
Thou bid'st each nerve its strength maintain,
And giv'st the tongue its flow.
And when some witless rhymster tries
His Lesbia's lips, or Chloe's eyes,
In maudlin verse to praise,
Thy hand still mends each limping line,
Attests the work correct, divine,
And wreathes his brow with bays!
Oft when neglected genius drooped,
Crushed by Misfortune's shower,
At thy persuasion Rank hath stooped,
And raised the fading flower.
Oft too, the hand which clenched remained,
While suppliant worth of want complained
In accents sad and sweet,
Soon as thy voice was heard to plead,
Its captive thousands straight hath freed,
And poured them at thy feet.
Crushed by Misfortune's shower,
At thy persuasion Rank hath stooped,
And raised the fading flower.
Oft too, the hand which clenched remained,
While suppliant worth of want complained
In accents sad and sweet,
Soon as thy voice was heard to plead,
Its captive thousands straight hath freed,
And poured them at thy feet.
9
Oh! Fair Enchantress, now display
On me thy magic art;
Spread round my couch thy visions gay,
And calm my swelling heart!
Myself no longer let me see,
So far from all I fain would be;
Paint me from faults exempt:
Bid cruel sense obey thy rule,
And make me....like yon happy Fool,
My envy and contempt.
On me thy magic art;
Spread round my couch thy visions gay,
And calm my swelling heart!
Myself no longer let me see,
So far from all I fain would be;
Paint me from faults exempt:
Bid cruel sense obey thy rule,
And make me....like yon happy Fool,
My envy and contempt.
Pleased with himself, no busy thought
Suggests, he can displease;
In all he does or says, he nought
But sterling merit sees.
To him his voice, though cracked and sharp,
More tuneful sounds than golden harp
By hands of seraphs strung;
And while his prate each hearer tires,
He thinks Apollo's self inspires
The nothings of his tongue.
Suggests, he can displease;
In all he does or says, he nought
But sterling merit sees.
To him his voice, though cracked and sharp,
More tuneful sounds than golden harp
By hands of seraphs strung;
And while his prate each hearer tires,
He thinks Apollo's self inspires
The nothings of his tongue.
10
He ne'er perceives from every eye
Contemptuous glances sent;
He ne'er suspects that keen reply
To mock his folly meant:
Half-stifled laugh, retort severe,
Bombastic praise, and open sneer,
In him no anguish cause;
To modest fear his soul is dead,
And if in scorn you wave your head,
He thinks you nod applause.
Contemptuous glances sent;
He ne'er suspects that keen reply
To mock his folly meant:
Half-stifled laugh, retort severe,
Bombastic praise, and open sneer,
In him no anguish cause;
To modest fear his soul is dead,
And if in scorn you wave your head,
He thinks you nod applause.
Vain happy Thing! for one like thine
My soul to change I sue,
At errors past who still repine,
Though still committing new!
Where folly leads, I darkling stray,
With thorns while Reason strews my way,
And paints in colours strong
Each fault to shock my conscious sight;
But never warns me what is right,
'Till certain that I'm wrong.
My soul to change I sue,
At errors past who still repine,
Though still committing new!
Where folly leads, I darkling stray,
With thorns while Reason strews my way,
And paints in colours strong
Each fault to shock my conscious sight;
But never warns me what is right,
'Till certain that I'm wrong.
11
Quite fool enough the world to show
Unvarnished each defect;
Just wise enough my faults to know,
But not those faults correct;
With keen regret on follies past
I dwell, and when my heart at last
With bitter grief flows o'er,
To mark each weakness still awake,
What sense is mine, but serves to make
Me feel I should have more.
Unvarnished each defect;
Just wise enough my faults to know,
But not those faults correct;
With keen regret on follies past
I dwell, and when my heart at last
With bitter grief flows o'er,
To mark each weakness still awake,
What sense is mine, but serves to make
Me feel I should have more.
What though my soul, warm, grateful, kind,
Still sighs for social joys;
Truth with suspicion taints my mind,
And all my bliss destroys.
In vain may Love and Friendship tell,
Spite of his whims and faults, how well
They prize the wayward elf:
Nor Love nor Friendship seem sincere;
For can I be to others dear,
Thus hateful to myself?
Still sighs for social joys;
Truth with suspicion taints my mind,
And all my bliss destroys.
In vain may Love and Friendship tell,
Spite of his whims and faults, how well
They prize the wayward elf:
Nor Love nor Friendship seem sincere;
For can I be to others dear,
Thus hateful to myself?
12
But Truth shall mar my peace no more!
Her empire I abjure,
Who still delights to show the sore,
But never shows the cure.
No more her gall shall drug my bowl;
No more beneath her harsh controul
My swelling heart shall pine:
Her burning chains I burst, and now
To bind my willing senses vow,
Blest Vanity, in thine!
Her empire I abjure,
Who still delights to show the sore,
But never shows the cure.
No more her gall shall drug my bowl;
No more beneath her harsh controul
My swelling heart shall pine:
Her burning chains I burst, and now
To bind my willing senses vow,
Blest Vanity, in thine!
Hear, loved Deluder! hear my prayer!
Restore my bosom's rest;
Borne on yon rainbow cleave the air,
And lull me on thy breast!
Thy glittering fillet o'er my view
Bind with benignant hand; renew
The flattering dreams of youth;
For sure, 'tis better far to cheat
The mind to bliss with kind deceit,
Than wound with painful truth!
Restore my bosom's rest;
Borne on yon rainbow cleave the air,
And lull me on thy breast!
Thy glittering fillet o'er my view
Bind with benignant hand; renew
The flattering dreams of youth;
For sure, 'tis better far to cheat
The mind to bliss with kind deceit,
Than wound with painful truth!
13
PLEASURE AND DESIRE.
In yonder bower lies Pleasure sleeping,
And near him mourns a blooming maid!
He will not wake, and She sits weeping,
When lo! a stranger proffers aid:
His hurried step, his glance of fire
The God of wishes wild declare!
—“Fond Pleasure wake!” exclaims Desire,
And Pleasure wakes to bless the fair.
And near him mourns a blooming maid!
He will not wake, and She sits weeping,
When lo! a stranger proffers aid:
His hurried step, his glance of fire
The God of wishes wild declare!
—“Fond Pleasure wake!” exclaims Desire,
And Pleasure wakes to bless the fair.
But soon the nymph in evil hour,
Desire asleep is doomed to view;
—“Try, Pleasure, try,” she cries, “your power,
“And wake Desire, as He woke you.”—
Fond girl, thy prayer exceeds all measure,
Distinct must each his province keep:
Desire must still awaken Pleasure,
And Pleasure lull Desire to sleep.
Desire asleep is doomed to view;
—“Try, Pleasure, try,” she cries, “your power,
“And wake Desire, as He woke you.”—
Fond girl, thy prayer exceeds all measure,
Distinct must each his province keep:
Desire must still awaken Pleasure,
And Pleasure lull Desire to sleep.
14
15
Since writing the above lines I met with some French stanzas on the same idea, but in what book I cannot recollect: I believed them to be the production of Ségur, but have sought them in his works without success. I remember of them only that the first line was “Plaisir sur un monceau de roses;” that the Torch of Desire played a principal part; and that the Poem consisted of seven or eight stanzas of eight lines each. I am firmly persuaded, that I never saw the French verses previous to my writing the above trifle; and the leading idea is one so obvious, that its having occurred to two persons appears to me by no means improbable. However, if any Reader prefers the belief, that I am indebted to the French Poem for the idea of my own, I have no sort of objection: nor should I have thought it worth the expense of my ink to disclaim a plagiary of so little consequence, if an honour, which has been conferred on my verses, had not stamped them with a value, to which they could never have been entitled by their individual merits. At a particular period when the late Mr. Fox was in the habit of amusing his leisure by composing in various languages, my little Poem was shewn to him by a common friend, the Hon. William Lamb. It happened to strike his fancy, and soon after he wrote to me as follows.
“I take the liberty of sending you an attempt of mine at an imitation of your ‘Pleasure and Desire.’ I have, like other bungling translators, been obliged to double the number of lines in the original, which alone would be fault enough, if there were not plenty of others; but at any rate, my having turned it into my favorite language, will serve as a proof, how much I am delighted with the thing.”
19
ON EXCESS.
—“Les Hommes le plupart sont étrangement faits;
Dans la juste nature on ne les voit jamais:
La Raison a pour eux des bornes trop petites;
En chaque caracètre ils passent ses limites;
Et la plus noble chose, ils la gâtent souvent
Pour la vouloir outrer et pousser trop avant.”—
Moliere.
While so various our faculties, passions, and views,
How comes it, so few can true happiness find?
'Tis because Man, what-e'er be the course he pursues,
Still aims to be more, than what Nature designed.
'Tis because with contempt Moderation we see;
To be wise, happy, great, or good none ever tries;
But with ceaseless exertion each labours to be
Too great, or too happy, too good, or too wise.
How comes it, so few can true happiness find?
'Tis because Man, what-e'er be the course he pursues,
Still aims to be more, than what Nature designed.
'Tis because with contempt Moderation we see;
To be wise, happy, great, or good none ever tries;
But with ceaseless exertion each labours to be
Too great, or too happy, too good, or too wise.
20
To be Man and no more Man should limit his care,
And hold the mid station 'twixt Angel and Brute,
Active Virtue composing his every-day's wear,
And harmless Enjoyment his holiday's suit.
But while Moderation despising, we strive
In pleasure or virtue perfection to gain,
From excess to excess on life's ocean we drive,
And the harbour of happiness seldom attain.
And hold the mid station 'twixt Angel and Brute,
Active Virtue composing his every-day's wear,
And harmless Enjoyment his holiday's suit.
But while Moderation despising, we strive
In pleasure or virtue perfection to gain,
From excess to excess on life's ocean we drive,
And the harbour of happiness seldom attain.
Some, holding that Man but exists to enjoy,
Bid their days winged with rapture voluptuously fly;
Others, finding that libertine pleasures soon cloy,
Reject the delights, which their senses supply.
Like Maniacs the First wildly riot along,
Forlorn to the Last seems their earthly abode:
Both fly to extremes, find too late they were wrong,
And have mist the true blessings, which chequer life's road.
Bid their days winged with rapture voluptuously fly;
Others, finding that libertine pleasures soon cloy,
Reject the delights, which their senses supply.
Like Maniacs the First wildly riot along,
Forlorn to the Last seems their earthly abode:
Both fly to extremes, find too late they were wrong,
And have mist the true blessings, which chequer life's road.
21
The Hermit, with Man and with Nature at strife,
Shunning pleasure, and careless who sink or who swim,
Leads alone and inactive a dull selfish life,
Neither useful to others, nor pleasing to him:
Nor e'er by such cold flinty hearts can be proved
That sunshine, which chears his benevolent breast,
Who by loving his neighbours has made himself loved,
And by blessing another, can make himself blest.
Shunning pleasure, and careless who sink or who swim,
Leads alone and inactive a dull selfish life,
Neither useful to others, nor pleasing to him:
Nor e'er by such cold flinty hearts can be proved
That sunshine, which chears his benevolent breast,
Who by loving his neighbours has made himself loved,
And by blessing another, can make himself blest.
The Rake, from all conscience and prejudice freed,
God and Man in pursuit of enjoyment defies:
Though Prudence may warn him, though Virtue may plead,
Invited by Pleasure, still onward he flies.
But ne'er tastes the Libertine's lip that sweet stream,
Unsullied which flows in life's chrystalline bowl,
When Love joins with Nature, with Passion Esteem,
And the senses in ecstasy yield to the soul.
God and Man in pursuit of enjoyment defies:
Though Prudence may warn him, though Virtue may plead,
Invited by Pleasure, still onward he flies.
But ne'er tastes the Libertine's lip that sweet stream,
Unsullied which flows in life's chrystalline bowl,
When Love joins with Nature, with Passion Esteem,
And the senses in ecstasy yield to the soul.
22
Despised be the Hermit, detested the Rake;
The Last is a Villain, the First is a Fool:
Not theirs be the lives which for models I take,
Not theirs be the maxims my conduct to rule.
I'll aim not at virtues for Man too sublime,
I'll pervert not my pleasures by vicious excess;
But while Bacchus and Love aid the progress of Time,
May Honour and Sense their encroachments repress.
The Last is a Villain, the First is a Fool:
Not theirs be the lives which for models I take,
Not theirs be the maxims my conduct to rule.
I'll aim not at virtues for Man too sublime,
I'll pervert not my pleasures by vicious excess;
But while Bacchus and Love aid the progress of Time,
May Honour and Sense their encroachments repress.
When Remorse with my kisses her poison would blend,
May Beauty's soft bosom ne'er throb against mine;
When the grape proves my Tyrant, no longer my Friend,
Oh Lips! may I ne'er again bathe you in wine!
But when at the tears of a stranger I melt,
Or my spirits are sunk by the pressure of care,
May Love give me thanks, that for others I felt,
And Wine give me strength my own burthen to bear.
May Beauty's soft bosom ne'er throb against mine;
When the grape proves my Tyrant, no longer my Friend,
Oh Lips! may I ne'er again bathe you in wine!
But when at the tears of a stranger I melt,
Or my spirits are sunk by the pressure of care,
May Love give me thanks, that for others I felt,
And Wine give me strength my own burthen to bear.
23
Let Honour the pleasures I covet approve,
Or never by me let those pleasures be tried;
Let the kiss I solicit be granted by Love,
Or still to my lip may that kiss be denied:
And when for my sorrows a solace to find,
I bid in my goblet champagne bubble high,
May each globe on its surface recall to my mind
A tear drawn by Kindness from Gratitude's eye!
Or never by me let those pleasures be tried;
Let the kiss I solicit be granted by Love,
Or still to my lip may that kiss be denied:
And when for my sorrows a solace to find,
I bid in my goblet champagne bubble high,
May each globe on its surface recall to my mind
A tear drawn by Kindness from Gratitude's eye!
24
CRAZY JANE.
Stay, fair Maid!—On every feature
Why are marks of dread imprest?
Can a wretched helpless creature
Raise such terrors in your breast?
Do my frantic looks alarm you?
Trust me, Sweet, your fears are vain:
Not for kingdoms would I harm you;
Shun not then poor Crazy Jane!
Why are marks of dread imprest?
Can a wretched helpless creature
Raise such terrors in your breast?
Do my frantic looks alarm you?
Trust me, Sweet, your fears are vain:
Not for kingdoms would I harm you;
Shun not then poor Crazy Jane!
Dost thou weep to see my anguish?
Mark me, and escape my woe!
When Men flatter, sigh, and languish,
Think them false;—I found them so!
For I loved.......Oh! so sincerely
None will ever love again!
Yet the Man I prized most dearly,
Broke the heart of Crazy Jane.
Mark me, and escape my woe!
When Men flatter, sigh, and languish,
Think them false;—I found them so!
For I loved.......Oh! so sincerely
None will ever love again!
Yet the Man I prized most dearly,
Broke the heart of Crazy Jane.
25
Gladly that young heart received him,
Which has never loved but one!
He seemed true, and I believed him;
He was false, and I undone.
Since that hour, has reason never
Held her empire in my brain:
Henry fled: with him for ever
Fled the wits of Crazy Jane!
Which has never loved but one!
He seemed true, and I believed him;
He was false, and I undone.
Since that hour, has reason never
Held her empire in my brain:
Henry fled: with him for ever
Fled the wits of Crazy Jane!
Now forlorn, and broken-hearted,
Still with frenzied thoughts beset,
Near that spot where last we parted,
Near that spot where first we met,
Thus I chaunt my love-lorn ditty,
While I sadly pace the plain;
And each passer-by in pity
Sighs—“God help thee, Crazy Jane!”—
Still with frenzied thoughts beset,
Near that spot where last we parted,
Near that spot where first we met,
Thus I chaunt my love-lorn ditty,
While I sadly pace the plain;
And each passer-by in pity
Sighs—“God help thee, Crazy Jane!”—
26
LINES Written on returning from the Funeral of the RIGHT HON. C. J. FOX,
Friday, October 10, 1806.
ADDRESSED TO LORD HOLLAND.
—“Pianger ben merti ognor, s'ora non piangi!”—
Tasso.
Tasso.
And is this all?—that vast and vigorous mind,
Whose views embraced the good of all mankind;
That reasoning Eloquence, whose rapid course
Bore down the Opposer with resistless force;
That Genius, from all trick and tinsel free,
Bright as the Sun, and boundless as the Sea;
That heart, with friendship, love, and feeling fraught;
That world of knowledge, and that depth of thought;
That Truth, Taste, Sense, Simplicity, and Worth.......
Oh! and are all these hid in that small heap of Earth?
Whose views embraced the good of all mankind;
That reasoning Eloquence, whose rapid course
Bore down the Opposer with resistless force;
That Genius, from all trick and tinsel free,
Bright as the Sun, and boundless as the Sea;
27
That world of knowledge, and that depth of thought;
That Truth, Taste, Sense, Simplicity, and Worth.......
Oh! and are all these hid in that small heap of Earth?
Weep, Aebion, weep! thou wilt not weep alone;
The Globe's four quarters shall repeat thy moan:
For where's the clime, which hath not felt the care
Of Him, whose liberal love all Nature seemed to share?
India , whose cause He laboured to uphold,
Whose rights he pleaded, and whose wrongs He told,
Shall feel her breast with fond remembrance swell,
And mourn his loss, who mourned her woes so well.
The Globe's four quarters shall repeat thy moan:
For where's the clime, which hath not felt the care
Of Him, whose liberal love all Nature seemed to share?
India , whose cause He laboured to uphold,
Whose rights he pleaded, and whose wrongs He told,
Shall feel her breast with fond remembrance swell,
And mourn his loss, who mourned her woes so well.
28
America
shall grateful weep the Sage,
Who stemmed the torrent of Oppression's rage,
Cherished her generous zeal, and joyed to see
Her injured Offspring's efforts to be free.
On Afric's burning plains her sable Sons,
While down their cheeks the stream of sorrow runs,
Shall bless the Man, who bade them dread no more
The servile chain, and scourge which streams with gore.
And (nearer home) embattled Powers, who sigh
To sheath the sword, and hoped, that rest was nigh,
Shall feel with Fox's death those hopes decrease,
And bleeding Europe mourn the Friend of Peace.
Who stemmed the torrent of Oppression's rage,
Cherished her generous zeal, and joyed to see
Her injured Offspring's efforts to be free.
On Afric's burning plains her sable Sons,
While down their cheeks the stream of sorrow runs,
Shall bless the Man, who bade them dread no more
The servile chain, and scourge which streams with gore.
And (nearer home) embattled Powers, who sigh
To sheath the sword, and hoped, that rest was nigh,
Shall feel with Fox's death those hopes decrease,
And bleeding Europe mourn the Friend of Peace.
In forms of fire stamped on my heart and brain,
This day's funereal pomp shall still remain:
Still I'll repeat,—“Fate gave me once to see
Malice herself to Virtue bend the knee:
Yes! Fox was mourned, as Fox deserved to be!”—
The Sovereign's power enjoined no public show;
The pomp was public, for the grief was so!
No Courtier here displayed his gilded wand,
And mourned obsequious at his King's command:
No pensioned Hireling showed his careless face
To please his Patron, and preserve his place:
Here thronged with swelling hearts and streaming eyes
The Good, the Great, the Learned, and the Wise.
Here met to grieve firm Faith and Love sincere,
And patriot Worth sustained the kindred bier.
Here Britain sighed o'er many a rained plan,
Friends o'er the Friend, and Nature o'er the Man!
This day's funereal pomp shall still remain:
29
Malice herself to Virtue bend the knee:
Yes! Fox was mourned, as Fox deserved to be!”—
The Sovereign's power enjoined no public show;
The pomp was public, for the grief was so!
No Courtier here displayed his gilded wand,
And mourned obsequious at his King's command:
No pensioned Hireling showed his careless face
To please his Patron, and preserve his place:
Here thronged with swelling hearts and streaming eyes
The Good, the Great, the Learned, and the Wise.
Here met to grieve firm Faith and Love sincere,
And patriot Worth sustained the kindred bier.
Here Britain sighed o'er many a rained plan,
Friends o'er the Friend, and Nature o'er the Man!
Nor did the Nobler ranks all tears engross;
A general anguish spoke a general loss.
As moved with measured pace the pomp along,
How reverent grief to statues turned the throng!
No smile of vacant pleasure shocked the eye;
No sound the ear, unless a stifled sigh.
The Mourners past, alone marked out to view
By weeds of black; the Crowd were Mourners too:
And though nor flowing scarves nor sable dress
Declared by outward signs the mind's distress,
They wore [what grief of heart more surely speaks]
Swoll'n eyes, dejected looks, and bloodless cheeks.
It seemed, as slowly swung the passing bell,
On each full heart the solemn chimings fell:
Methought, on every lip a blessing hung,
But pious awe restrained the obedient tongue.
Each limb shook agueish; scarce a cheek was dry;
And blinded by the gush of tears, each eye
Spoke in the native tongue of genuine woe,
—“We come to weep the friend; not to admire the show.”—
A general anguish spoke a general loss.
As moved with measured pace the pomp along,
How reverent grief to statues turned the throng!
No smile of vacant pleasure shocked the eye;
No sound the ear, unless a stifled sigh.
30
By weeds of black; the Crowd were Mourners too:
And though nor flowing scarves nor sable dress
Declared by outward signs the mind's distress,
They wore [what grief of heart more surely speaks]
Swoll'n eyes, dejected looks, and bloodless cheeks.
It seemed, as slowly swung the passing bell,
On each full heart the solemn chimings fell:
Methought, on every lip a blessing hung,
But pious awe restrained the obedient tongue.
Each limb shook agueish; scarce a cheek was dry;
And blinded by the gush of tears, each eye
Spoke in the native tongue of genuine woe,
—“We come to weep the friend; not to admire the show.”—
Hail, hallowed Towers
!—Oh! spread your portals wide;
Guest more illustrious never swelled your pride!
To meet his corse, ye Kindred Shades, arise,
Shades of the Good, the Glorious, and the Wise,
For He was glorious, wise, and good, like You!
Give place, ye Kings, and pay him reverence due:
Nor plead superior power, nor loftier birth;
His deeds are greatness, and He ranks from worth.
Guest more illustrious never swelled your pride!
31
Shades of the Good, the Glorious, and the Wise,
For He was glorious, wise, and good, like You!
Give place, ye Kings, and pay him reverence due:
Nor plead superior power, nor loftier birth;
His deeds are greatness, and He ranks from worth.
Oh! sad strange moment! when that awful word
Soul-felt, soul-rending “Dust to Dust!” was heard,
How stood the blood congealed in every vein!
How Memory wrung the heart, and fired the brain!
Oft as these walls have heard the solemn sound,
And oft as tears have dewed that hallowed ground,
From nobler eyes a tribute more sincere
Ne'er flowed, Oh! Fox, than flowed to bathe thy bier!
There princely Devon laboured to restrain
His bursting grief, but laboured still in vain.
In sorrow dignified there Moira stood,
Moira, the brave, the generous, and the good.
There Howick's heart was torn by many a sigh,
And soft affection dimmed his burning eye,
When in the grave He saw for aye descend
His mind's best model, and his soul's best Friend.
He too, the just, the true, the pure, the kind,
The mild in manners, and the firm in mind,
[Whose heart might bleed, but not whose virtue bend;
Who left the Statesman, yet still kept the Friend,
And counting Fox's love his proudest boast,
Who, e'en when most they differed, prized him most ]
Fitzwilliam there, as swelled the requiem strain,
Wept o'er his earliest friendship's broken chain.
And there too Thou, Heir to the Patriot's flame,
Heir to his worth, his talents, and his name,
Allied by virtue as allied by blood,
Like Fox sincere, warm, candid, kind, and good,
Thou, Holland.....No! let others fill the line;
'Twould pain my heart too much to speak the pains of thine!
Soul-felt, soul-rending “Dust to Dust!” was heard,
How stood the blood congealed in every vein!
How Memory wrung the heart, and fired the brain!
Oft as these walls have heard the solemn sound,
And oft as tears have dewed that hallowed ground,
From nobler eyes a tribute more sincere
Ne'er flowed, Oh! Fox, than flowed to bathe thy bier!
There princely Devon laboured to restrain
His bursting grief, but laboured still in vain.
In sorrow dignified there Moira stood,
Moira, the brave, the generous, and the good.
There Howick's heart was torn by many a sigh,
And soft affection dimmed his burning eye,
32
His mind's best model, and his soul's best Friend.
He too, the just, the true, the pure, the kind,
The mild in manners, and the firm in mind,
[Whose heart might bleed, but not whose virtue bend;
Who left the Statesman, yet still kept the Friend,
And counting Fox's love his proudest boast,
Who, e'en when most they differed, prized him most ]
Fitzwilliam there, as swelled the requiem strain,
Wept o'er his earliest friendship's broken chain.
And there too Thou, Heir to the Patriot's flame,
Heir to his worth, his talents, and his name,
Allied by virtue as allied by blood,
Like Fox sincere, warm, candid, kind, and good,
Thou, Holland.....No! let others fill the line;
'Twould pain my heart too much to speak the pains of thine!
33
Nor Those alone, whom earthly grief excites,
Here hang the head.—To grace the funeral rites,
Lo! where a band of bright ethereal Powers
Sigh o'er his corse, and deck his grave with flowers.
There stand the Patriot-Virtues, loath to part
For ever from their favourite home, his heart.
There History droops absorbed in speechless grief,
Blotting with idle tears the unfinished leaf,
And trampling in the dust those useless boughs
Of Bays, she gathered to adorn his brows.
Mourning her Sons disfranchised, while her eyes
Pursue the Patriot's shade to opening skies,
Religion there in sable garments stands,
And clasps in meek despair her shackled hands. .
And there too Peace her olive loves to wave,
And strows its withered leaves on Fox's grave;
For well she knows, e'en at that last sad hour
When Nature yielded to Disease's power,
Compelled from Fame, from Life, from Love to part,
Her absence still weighed heaviest on his heart.
And Freedom there, distracted and forlorn,
With heart all bleeding, and with locks all torn,
Weeps for his loss, nor weeps his loss alone;
She feels, that Fox's fate involves her own.
E'en now She hears from Afric's shores again
The moan of sorrow and the shriek of pain,
And sees, round sable limbs that chains are wound,
Limbs, had He lived, which never had been bound.
Here hang the head.—To grace the funeral rites,
Lo! where a band of bright ethereal Powers
Sigh o'er his corse, and deck his grave with flowers.
There stand the Patriot-Virtues, loath to part
For ever from their favourite home, his heart.
There History droops absorbed in speechless grief,
Blotting with idle tears the unfinished leaf,
And trampling in the dust those useless boughs
Of Bays, she gathered to adorn his brows.
Mourning her Sons disfranchised, while her eyes
Pursue the Patriot's shade to opening skies,
Religion there in sable garments stands,
And clasps in meek despair her shackled hands. .
And there too Peace her olive loves to wave,
And strows its withered leaves on Fox's grave;
For well she knows, e'en at that last sad hour
When Nature yielded to Disease's power,
34
Her absence still weighed heaviest on his heart.
And Freedom there, distracted and forlorn,
With heart all bleeding, and with locks all torn,
Weeps for his loss, nor weeps his loss alone;
She feels, that Fox's fate involves her own.
E'en now She hears from Afric's shores again
The moan of sorrow and the shriek of pain,
And sees, round sable limbs that chains are wound,
Limbs, had He lived, which never had been bound.
Oh! Thou, my Friend! [a name I give to few;
A name, which forms my pride, when given to you!]
I will not tell thee, Holland,—“seek relief
From sport or study, and forget thy grief!”—
No!—still preserve it! still before thy view
Keep Thou that great good Man; His plans pursue;
Recall his thoughts, words, looks, and what He was, Be you!
Though great by talents, virtue, birth, and fame,
—“The People's Friend”—was sure his proudest name:
Still in his race that gracious name should run
From patriot Sire to still more patriot Son.
Still should his Line its public virtue prove;
Till Britain's Gratitude and Britain's Love
The Epithet and Name so well shall blend,
That who says—“Fox”—has said—“the People's Friend.”—
A name, which forms my pride, when given to you!]
I will not tell thee, Holland,—“seek relief
From sport or study, and forget thy grief!”—
35
Keep Thou that great good Man; His plans pursue;
Recall his thoughts, words, looks, and what He was, Be you!
Though great by talents, virtue, birth, and fame,
—“The People's Friend”—was sure his proudest name:
Still in his race that gracious name should run
From patriot Sire to still more patriot Son.
Still should his Line its public virtue prove;
Till Britain's Gratitude and Britain's Love
The Epithet and Name so well shall blend,
That who says—“Fox”—has said—“the People's Friend.”—
So burned in Vesta's shrine the sacred Fire:
Oft though it saw the Guardian-Maid expire,
From age to age still blazed the immortal Flame,
The Priestess altered, but the Fire the same.
Oft though it saw the Guardian-Maid expire,
From age to age still blazed the immortal Flame,
The Priestess altered, but the Fire the same.
His efforts to abolish the Slave-Trade; in which He had succeeded so far as to prevent more vessels from being employed in this traffic.
Alluding to the difference of opinion between Lord Fitzwilliam and Mr. Fox respecting the French Revolution.
Great fears were entertained, that Mr. Fox's death would occasion the continuance of the Slave-Trade; but these apprehensions fortunately proved unfounded.
36
THE LOVER'S ASTRONOMY.
Come! on my knee, Love, take thy seat,
And learn, while last the moonlight hours,
In order just and concord sweet
What rules maintain yon starry powers.
And learn, while last the moonlight hours,
In order just and concord sweet
What rules maintain yon starry powers.
I'll teach thee, how Attraction's Law
Each planet's destined movement traces;
How still yon Orbs each other draw,
Though fated ne'er to change their places:
Each planet's destined movement traces;
How still yon Orbs each other draw,
Though fated ne'er to change their places:
And then I'll say [the case to prove]
—“Thus in harmonious concert beating
Our hearts towards each other move,
Attracted still, though never meeting.”—
—“Thus in harmonious concert beating
Our hearts towards each other move,
Attracted still, though never meeting.”—
37
I'll teach thee, how yon Planet bright,
Which from the Sun too far is lying,
Is girdled with a ring of light
The want of solar rays supplying:
Which from the Sun too far is lying,
Is girdled with a ring of light
The want of solar rays supplying:
And then I'll say—“as draws yon star
Light from its ring, my soul's affection,
When from thy radiant eyes I'm far,
Still draws support from Recollection.”—
Light from its ring, my soul's affection,
When from thy radiant eyes I'm far,
Still draws support from Recollection.”—
Oh! see, the Moon is waning fast!—
Oh! see, her transient reign expires!—
So, Love, ere many a year is past,
Shall fade in death our amorous Fires!
Oh! see, her transient reign expires!—
So, Love, ere many a year is past,
Shall fade in death our amorous Fires!
Gone is the Moon: And shall not Tears,
Mourning her loss of light, attend her?—
No; for that brilliant Orb appears,
From whence She drew her borrowed splendour:
Mourning her loss of light, attend her?—
No; for that brilliant Orb appears,
From whence She drew her borrowed splendour:
More pure, more bright He flames on high,
Nor asks from foreign rays assistance—
So when those amorous fires shall die,
Which here received their brief existence,
Nor asks from foreign rays assistance—
So when those amorous fires shall die,
Which here received their brief existence,
38
Our souls escaped from earthly strife,
By many a fault and folly lighter,
Placed in another better life
Shall love with flames far purer, brighter.
By many a fault and folly lighter,
Placed in another better life
Shall love with flames far purer, brighter.
39
HOPE AND FEAR.
Two Pilgrims, Hope and Fear, agreed,
To Pleasure's Altar They'd proceed,
And sacrifice together;
Fair Hope was young; but Fear was old,
And drooped with heat, and shrunk with cold,
While Hope still praised the weather.
To Pleasure's Altar They'd proceed,
And sacrifice together;
Fair Hope was young; but Fear was old,
And drooped with heat, and shrunk with cold,
While Hope still praised the weather.
Quoth Fear,—“I guess, ere long 'twill rain!”—
—“And then,” said Hope, “'twill clear again.”—
—“Yon rock, so steep and frightful,
To climb,” said Fear, “'twere vain to try!”—
—“Oh! yes, we will,” was Hope's reply;
“The view must be delightful!”—
—“And then,” said Hope, “'twill clear again.”—
—“Yon rock, so steep and frightful,
To climb,” said Fear, “'twere vain to try!”—
—“Oh! yes, we will,” was Hope's reply;
“The view must be delightful!”—
40
—“I'm sure,” said Fear, “we've missed the way,
And ne'er shall reach the shrine to-day;
My strength, my spirits falter!”—
—“On! On!” said Hope, “I know, we're right!”—
And oft mistook the Northern Light
For lamps on Pleasure's Altar!
And ne'er shall reach the shrine to-day;
My strength, my spirits falter!”—
—“On! On!” said Hope, “I know, we're right!”—
And oft mistook the Northern Light
For lamps on Pleasure's Altar!
At length they reached the blooming Fane
In spite of danger, toil, and pain,
Rough ways, and stormy weather;
When lo! From Pleasure's torch there came
A flash of roseate fire, whose flame
Killed Hope and Fear together.
In spite of danger, toil, and pain,
Rough ways, and stormy weather;
When lo! From Pleasure's torch there came
A flash of roseate fire, whose flame
Killed Hope and Fear together.
Hope, while she lived, was well beloved;
Yet when she died, no soul was moved
To feel one hour's depression,
All thought her place so well supplied
By mild Content's cœlestial Bride,
Whom Mortals call—“Possession!”—
Yet when she died, no soul was moved
To feel one hour's depression,
All thought her place so well supplied
By mild Content's cœlestial Bride,
Whom Mortals call—“Possession!”—
41
LINES WRITTEN ON A JOURNEY.
I hasten once more to the place,
Which saw the first dawn of my woes!
Once more I shall gaze on the face,
Which banished my bosom's repose.
Ah! Madman, be wise, and retire,
The danger while still you may shun;
You will gaze, and again will admire,
Will again be despised and undone!
Which saw the first dawn of my woes!
Once more I shall gaze on the face,
Which banished my bosom's repose.
Ah! Madman, be wise, and retire,
The danger while still you may shun;
You will gaze, and again will admire,
Will again be despised and undone!
Oh! well I remember the morn,
Which first showed me Amoret's eyes!
She repaid my affection with scorn,
I only reproached her with sighs!
She laughed at a passion so wild,
She called it presumptuous and vain;
And the Madman rejoiced that she smiled,
Though he knew, she but smiled in disdain.
Which first showed me Amoret's eyes!
She repaid my affection with scorn,
I only reproached her with sighs!
She laughed at a passion so wild,
She called it presumptuous and vain;
And the Madman rejoiced that she smiled,
Though he knew, she but smiled in disdain.
42
How oft in the dream of the night
Have I doated on Amoret's charms!
How oft at return of the light
Have I wished she were clasped in my arms!
How I grieved that it was but a dream,
And vainly looked round for relief!
The grief which I felt was extreme,
And my folly was great as my grief:
Have I doated on Amoret's charms!
How oft at return of the light
Have I wished she were clasped in my arms!
How I grieved that it was but a dream,
And vainly looked round for relief!
The grief which I felt was extreme,
And my folly was great as my grief:
For though I could never persuade
My heart, that She e'er would be mine,
Though I knew to be loved by a Maid
In mind and in form thus divine,
Was bliss so peculiar, so high,
That it never could fall to my lot,
Yet I loved her, and never thought why,
And hoped, though I dared not say what!
My heart, that She e'er would be mine,
Though I knew to be loved by a Maid
In mind and in form thus divine,
Was bliss so peculiar, so high,
That it never could fall to my lot,
Yet I loved her, and never thought why,
And hoped, though I dared not say what!
I sighed for that bliss night and day,
Which I feared I should never obtain;
I mourned that the Maid was away,
Though I thought we should ne'er meet again.
My folly in vain I discerned,
In vain to forget her I strove,
For Nature, where-ever I turned,
Still bade me remember my love!
Which I feared I should never obtain;
I mourned that the Maid was away,
Though I thought we should ne'er meet again.
My folly in vain I discerned,
In vain to forget her I strove,
For Nature, where-ever I turned,
Still bade me remember my love!
43
The trees as they streamed in the air,
The Rose where the Bee loved to sip,
Showed the waving of Amoret's hair,
Showed the coral of Amoret's Lip:
And when the bright Sky or blue Sea
Others viewed with delight and surprize,
No thought was suggested to me
But the colour of Amoret's eyes!
The Rose where the Bee loved to sip,
Showed the waving of Amoret's hair,
Showed the coral of Amoret's Lip:
And when the bright Sky or blue Sea
Others viewed with delight and surprize,
No thought was suggested to me
But the colour of Amoret's eyes!
Ah! me! with what tender delight
Did my doating eyes dwell on each face,
In whose features my love-quickened sight
Could find of her beauties a trace!
To all, whom I saw her prefer,
Good-will did my bosom extend;
And they, who spoke kindly of her,
In me were secure of a Friend.
Did my doating eyes dwell on each face,
In whose features my love-quickened sight
Could find of her beauties a trace!
To all, whom I saw her prefer,
Good-will did my bosom extend;
And they, who spoke kindly of her,
In me were secure of a Friend.
At the moment She first met my view,
I felt 'twas my fate to adore;
With each moment tha over me flew,
I felt that I loved her the more:
And when I was forced to depart,
My feelings no language can tell:
I bade her adieu in my heart,
But my lips could not murmur—“Farewell!”—
I felt 'twas my fate to adore;
With each moment tha over me flew,
I felt that I loved her the more:
And when I was forced to depart,
My feelings no language can tell:
I bade her adieu in my heart,
But my lips could not murmur—“Farewell!”—
44
Yet absence has proved to me kind,
And my bosom once more is at rest;
Healed up is the wound of my mind,
And cold is the flame in my breast:
But again when her beauties I view,
I feel I again shall adore;
My wound will burst open anew,
And my flame burn as fierce as before.
And my bosom once more is at rest;
Healed up is the wound of my mind,
And cold is the flame in my breast:
But again when her beauties I view,
I feel I again shall adore;
My wound will burst open anew,
And my flame burn as fierce as before.
Yet my danger in vain I perceive;
Though I know to my ruin I run,
I will not my reason believe,
Which bids me the precipice shun:
For if Amoret fastens my chains,
I never shall wish to be free;
And if she is pleased with my pains,
Those pains shall be cherished by me!
Though I know to my ruin I run,
I will not my reason believe,
Which bids me the precipice shun:
For if Amoret fastens my chains,
I never shall wish to be free;
And if she is pleased with my pains,
Those pains shall be cherished by me!
45
TO THE HON. CHARLES W. S---.
While Youth's gay visions charm your view;
While Health and Strength and Peace are yours;
While Fortune's smile for all you do,
The venal World's applause secures;
While Health and Strength and Peace are yours;
While Fortune's smile for all you do,
The venal World's applause secures;
While Honour guides your steps to Fame,
And Pleasure strows your couch with flowers,
Friendship withdraws her humbler claim,
And yields to Love and War your hours.
And Pleasure strows your couch with flowers,
Friendship withdraws her humbler claim,
And yields to Love and War your hours.
But should the world applaud no more,
Or fleeting Health elude your arms;
Should Slander make your feelings sore,
Or withering Glory lose her charms;
Or fleeting Health elude your arms;
Should Slander make your feelings sore,
Or withering Glory lose her charms;
46
Or should some Syren drop her mask,
Whose arts had made your soul her slave,
Oh! then, my Charles, be mine the task
To ease the pain, which others gave.
Whose arts had made your soul her slave,
Oh! then, my Charles, be mine the task
To ease the pain, which others gave.
As o'er the sky does Solar Light
At morn diffuse a brilliant blaze,
So Love and Fame with splendour bright
Gild Man-the-Pilgrim's youthful days:
At morn diffuse a brilliant blaze,
So Love and Fame with splendour bright
Gild Man-the-Pilgrim's youthful days:
But when those splendours disappear,
And night and grief their place assume,
Mild rises Friendship's Moon, to chear
And guide the Wanderer through the gloom.
And night and grief their place assume,
Mild rises Friendship's Moon, to chear
And guide the Wanderer through the gloom.
47
DELIA TO EDMUND.
[_]
WRITTEN AT A LADY'S DESIRE, IN ANSWER TO THE FOLLOWING STANZAS BY P. PINDAR.
[Ah! why to others art thou fair?Why from thy bosom's snowy white,
Thy smiles, thy cheeks, thy glossy hair,
Must other Shepherds steal delight?
From morn to eve let me admire,
Untired thy converse sweet approve;
Thy charms which other Shepherds fire,
Oh! Delia, wrong my constant love.
I feel the beauties that are thine,
Yet let my heart alone adore:
An avarice of love is mine,
That doats, like Misers, on their Store.
48
And with thy smiles indulge the Swain;
How blest to tell the love-sick tale,
To Her, whom thousands seek in vain!]
Ye powers, who oft have heard my prayer,
To make him your peculiar care,
Witness with how much rapture I could fly
With Edmund to the lowliest cell,
And there unknown, unknowing dwell,
Nor give to aught I left one tear or sigh!
To make him your peculiar care,
Witness with how much rapture I could fly
With Edmund to the lowliest cell,
And there unknown, unknowing dwell,
Nor give to aught I left one tear or sigh!
49
But did not Pride inspire the lay,
Which courts me to that cell away?
Lurks in his lines no selfish envious thought?
And would his faith unchanged remain,
“To her whom thousands seek in vain,”
If she by thousands should no more be sought?
Which courts me to that cell away?
Lurks in his lines no selfish envious thought?
And would his faith unchanged remain,
“To her whom thousands seek in vain,”
If she by thousands should no more be sought?
Does not his conscious heart feel proud,
When turning from the adoring croud,
My eyes are only anxious his to meet?
Joys He not, when by every tongue
He hears his Delia's praises rung,
And finds that praise from his alone is sweet?
When turning from the adoring croud,
My eyes are only anxious his to meet?
Joys He not, when by every tongue
He hears his Delia's praises rung,
And finds that praise from his alone is sweet?
He does! And now his power to try,
From all but him he bids me fly,
And shew the world, how wildly I adore!
Dear Youth, the ungenerous wish repress:
It has not made me love thee less......
But has not, Edmund, made me love thee more.
From all but him he bids me fly,
And shew the world, how wildly I adore!
Dear Youth, the ungenerous wish repress:
It has not made me love thee less......
But has not, Edmund, made me love thee more.
50
Yet if I wrong thee, if indeed
'Tis fear that makes thy poor heart bleed,
Lest She thou lov'st, some other should prefer,
Let me thy jealous doubts efface,
Wrong me not with a thought so base,
For Delia trusts in thee!—Oh! trust in Her!
'Tis fear that makes thy poor heart bleed,
Lest She thou lov'st, some other should prefer,
Let me thy jealous doubts efface,
Wrong me not with a thought so base,
For Delia trusts in thee!—Oh! trust in Her!
Believe, that in my own sincere
All vows but thine offend my ear;
Then hush thy anxious bosom's care to rest;
And when thou hear'st a Rival's name,
Think that his sighs but fan the flame,
Which thou alone hast kindled in my breast.
All vows but thine offend my ear;
Then hush thy anxious bosom's care to rest;
And when thou hear'st a Rival's name,
Think that his sighs but fan the flame,
Which thou alone hast kindled in my breast.
That wealth and title sue to me,
Glads me, I own, since 'tis for thee
Such glorious glittering baubles I resign;
Or should a smile my cheek adorn,
Oh! trust me, I but smile in scorn,
To think their merits should contend with thine.
Glads me, I own, since 'tis for thee
Such glorious glittering baubles I resign;
Or should a smile my cheek adorn,
Oh! trust me, I but smile in scorn,
To think their merits should contend with thine.
51
Then conscious that my heart is true,
Unmoved for that see others sue,
Which to thy care long since I gladly gave;
With me the palm of Conquest share,
My chains when Captive Thousands wear,
And triumph in the thought, — “their Sovereign is my Slave.”—
Unmoved for that see others sue,
Which to thy care long since I gladly gave;
With me the palm of Conquest share,
My chains when Captive Thousands wear,
And triumph in the thought, — “their Sovereign is my Slave.”—
52
THE ORPHAN'S PRAYER.
The frozen streets in moonshine glitter,
The midnight hour has long been past!
Oh! God! the wind blows keen and bitter,
I sink beneath the piercing blast.
In every vein life seems to languish,
Their weight my limbs no more can bear:
But no one soothes the Orphan's anguish,
And no one heeds the Orphan's prayer.
The midnight hour has long been past!
Oh! God! the wind blows keen and bitter,
I sink beneath the piercing blast.
In every vein life seems to languish,
Their weight my limbs no more can bear:
But no one soothes the Orphan's anguish,
And no one heeds the Orphan's prayer.
53
Hark! Hark! for surely footsteps near me
Advancing press the drifted snow.
I die for food!—Oh! Stranger, hear me,
I die for food!—Some alms bestow!
You see no guilty wretch implore you,
No Wanton pleads in feigned despair;
A famished Orphan kneels before you,
Oh! grant the famished Orphan's prayer!
Advancing press the drifted snow.
I die for food!—Oh! Stranger, hear me,
I die for food!—Some alms bestow!
You see no guilty wretch implore you,
No Wanton pleads in feigned despair;
A famished Orphan kneels before you,
Oh! grant the famished Orphan's prayer!
Perhaps you think, my lips dissembling
Of virtuous sorrows feign a tale?
Mark then my frame with anguish trembling,
My hollow eyes, and features pale.
E'en should my story not be real,
Too well these wasted limbs declare,
My wants at least are not ideal;
Then, Stranger, grant the Orphan's prayer.
Of virtuous sorrows feign a tale?
Mark then my frame with anguish trembling,
My hollow eyes, and features pale.
E'en should my story not be real,
Too well these wasted limbs declare,
My wants at least are not ideal;
Then, Stranger, grant the Orphan's prayer.
He's gone!—No mercy Man will show me;
In prayers no more I'll waste my breath:
Here on the frozen earth I'll throw me,
And wait in mute despair for death.
Farewell, thou cruel world!—To-morrow
No more thy scorn my heart shall tear;
The grave will shield the child of sorrow,
And Heaven will hear the Orphan's prayer
In prayers no more I'll waste my breath:
Here on the frozen earth I'll throw me,
And wait in mute despair for death.
Farewell, thou cruel world!—To-morrow
No more thy scorn my heart shall tear;
The grave will shield the child of sorrow,
And Heaven will hear the Orphan's prayer
54
But Thou, proud Man, the Beggar scorning,
Unmoved who saw'st me kneel for bread,
Thy heart shall ache to hear at morning,
That morning found the Beggar dead:
And when the room resounds with laughter,
My famished cry thy mirth shall scare,
And often shalt Thou wish hereafter,
Thou hadst not scorned the Orphan's prayer.
Unmoved who saw'st me kneel for bread,
Thy heart shall ache to hear at morning,
That morning found the Beggar dead:
And when the room resounds with laughter,
My famished cry thy mirth shall scare,
And often shalt Thou wish hereafter,
Thou hadst not scorned the Orphan's prayer.
55
LAURA VINDICATED.
TO A FRIEND.
No, 'twas not love, in Laura's bower
Which made me oft consume the day;
She knew my heart owned Julia's power,
She knew my heart was far away.
Each soul but joyed a soul to meet,
With which itself could well agree:
Grief made to me her soothing sweet,
And Pity made her cherish me.
Which made me oft consume the day;
She knew my heart owned Julia's power,
She knew my heart was far away.
Each soul but joyed a soul to meet,
With which itself could well agree:
Grief made to me her soothing sweet,
And Pity made her cherish me.
56
'Twas not because its purer white
From Scythian snow would gain the prize,
Which made me for whole hours delight
To watch her bosom's fall and rise:
But 'twas because that bosom swelled
With passions free from vice and art;
And 'twas because that bosom held
A generous, fond, and feeling heart.
From Scythian snow would gain the prize,
Which made me for whole hours delight
To watch her bosom's fall and rise:
But 'twas because that bosom swelled
With passions free from vice and art;
And 'twas because that bosom held
A generous, fond, and feeling heart.
'Twas not because her eyes were bright,
Which made me still with rapture view
Their orbs illume with azure light
Encircling seas of diamond-dew.
But 'twas [when first She heard, I pined
With love, which Honour's laws forbid]
Because a tear-drop soft and kind
Escaped from either lovely lid.
Which made me still with rapture view
Their orbs illume with azure light
Encircling seas of diamond-dew.
But 'twas [when first She heard, I pined
With love, which Honour's laws forbid]
Because a tear-drop soft and kind
Escaped from either lovely lid.
Oh! I've with her past days alone,
Nor bade her lips one kiss confer:
And oft we've talked in tenderest tone
Of love, yet ne'er of love for her:
But sometimes [when her gentle art
To lull my care some means has found]
So much her Friendship eased its smart,
I've thought, her Love might cure my wound,
Nor bade her lips one kiss confer:
And oft we've talked in tenderest tone
Of love, yet ne'er of love for her:
But sometimes [when her gentle art
To lull my care some means has found]
So much her Friendship eased its smart,
I've thought, her Love might cure my wound,
57
But scarce the wish my mind could frame,
Before I scorned the selfish thought
Which aimed to load her soul with shame,
Who balm to mine had often brought.—
Friend, let these lines thy doubts remove,
For Laura's breast is Virtue's shrine:
It felt for me a Sister's love,
And found a Brother's heart in mine.
Before I scorned the selfish thought
Which aimed to load her soul with shame,
Who balm to mine had often brought.—
Friend, let these lines thy doubts remove,
For Laura's breast is Virtue's shrine:
It felt for me a Sister's love,
And found a Brother's heart in mine.
58
THE CONSOLER.
It seemed, as Nature's flame were dead!—No beam
From Sun or Moon diffused its chearing gleam
O'er that dark sky, at morn which seemed so fair,
It thence seemed darker now. The mirky air
Close, thick, and lowering, with its burthen prest
The spirits down, and clogged the labouring breast.
The birds were silent on the leafless spray;
And wild and waste the soul's Elysium lay,
Spoiled of its floral treasure. Cankerous Want
And Sorrow's worm had killed Health's blooming plant:
Hope, the fond sun-flower, turned no more its eye,
Where orient lustre fired the eastern sky:
The Primrose, Youth, was dead, untimely dead;
The Lily, Virtue, lived, but drooped its head:
And Bliss [that Empress-Rose, whose odorous power
And blushing cups at Morn's delicious hour
Poured on my senses from its emerald seats
A blaze of beauties and a cloud of sweets].
Now, lost its glowing gems and green attire,
Met my sad eyes a rude unsightly briar,
Menaced my hand with thorns, as near I drew,
And wept its ravished flowers in tears of dew.
From Sun or Moon diffused its chearing gleam
O'er that dark sky, at morn which seemed so fair,
It thence seemed darker now. The mirky air
Close, thick, and lowering, with its burthen prest
The spirits down, and clogged the labouring breast.
The birds were silent on the leafless spray;
And wild and waste the soul's Elysium lay,
Spoiled of its floral treasure. Cankerous Want
And Sorrow's worm had killed Health's blooming plant:
59
Where orient lustre fired the eastern sky:
The Primrose, Youth, was dead, untimely dead;
The Lily, Virtue, lived, but drooped its head:
And Bliss [that Empress-Rose, whose odorous power
And blushing cups at Morn's delicious hour
Poured on my senses from its emerald seats
A blaze of beauties and a cloud of sweets].
Now, lost its glowing gems and green attire,
Met my sad eyes a rude unsightly briar,
Menaced my hand with thorns, as near I drew,
And wept its ravished flowers in tears of dew.
Oh! I was sad at soul!—No aid was nigh,
No present joy, no future hope!—Mine eye
Where-e'er in suppliant anxious search I turned,
'Twas anguish, 'twas despair!—My bosom burned,
My heart was broken! Now in sullen mood
And dull dark apathy I silent stood,
Like one to marble changed: and now again
Wild Memory flashed her torch athwart my brain,
And fired it into madness. Then the ground
Istruck with throbbing front, and scattered round
Locks of torn hair; and still in frantic tone
Of mingled rage and pain, half shriek, half groan,
I raved of honest hearts with treachery paid,
Of perjured love, false Friends, and trust betrayed,
And curst in bitter grief and fury vain
Man's flinty heart, and woman's fickle brain.
No present joy, no future hope!—Mine eye
Where-e'er in suppliant anxious search I turned,
'Twas anguish, 'twas despair!—My bosom burned,
My heart was broken! Now in sullen mood
And dull dark apathy I silent stood,
Like one to marble changed: and now again
Wild Memory flashed her torch athwart my brain,
And fired it into madness. Then the ground
Istruck with throbbing front, and scattered round
60
Of mingled rage and pain, half shriek, half groan,
I raved of honest hearts with treachery paid,
Of perjured love, false Friends, and trust betrayed,
And curst in bitter grief and fury vain
Man's flinty heart, and woman's fickle brain.
When lo! as thus in maniac state I lay,
A Matron tow'rds me won her easy way.
With solemn step She moved: Her robes of white
Of vestal-make, though not so dazzling bright,
Were pure as Virtue's own: and o'er her head
A cyprus veil in decent guise was spread,
Fixt on her forehead by a sacred wreath,
And past in graceful folds her chin beneath.
Inspiring awe, but awe unmixed with fear,
Calm was her cloudless eye: Her brow, so clear
From wrinkles, spoke [though pale] a heart, which ne'er
Had known the withering touch of guilt or care.
A bowl, around whose brim the poppy reigned,
In her right hand She bore: Her left sustained
A mirror, on whose polished breast were shown
A thousand mingling shapes of things unknown,
Where Fancy bade the enraptured thought unite
All that was pure and precious, fair and bright.
Yet what those objects were, in vain mine eyes
I strained to know; For still would mists arise,
Which, o'er the crystal surface as they played,
Confounded light with light, and shade with shade.
Yet Oh! so beauteous showed those clouded views,
So bright those doubtful forms and blended hues,
I thought, while gazing on their lines obscure,
All witnessed pomp seemed mean, all dreamt-of wealth seemed poor!
A Matron tow'rds me won her easy way.
With solemn step She moved: Her robes of white
Of vestal-make, though not so dazzling bright,
Were pure as Virtue's own: and o'er her head
A cyprus veil in decent guise was spread,
Fixt on her forehead by a sacred wreath,
And past in graceful folds her chin beneath.
Inspiring awe, but awe unmixed with fear,
Calm was her cloudless eye: Her brow, so clear
From wrinkles, spoke [though pale] a heart, which ne'er
Had known the withering touch of guilt or care.
A bowl, around whose brim the poppy reigned,
In her right hand She bore: Her left sustained
61
A thousand mingling shapes of things unknown,
Where Fancy bade the enraptured thought unite
All that was pure and precious, fair and bright.
Yet what those objects were, in vain mine eyes
I strained to know; For still would mists arise,
Which, o'er the crystal surface as they played,
Confounded light with light, and shade with shade.
Yet Oh! so beauteous showed those clouded views,
So bright those doubtful forms and blended hues,
I thought, while gazing on their lines obscure,
All witnessed pomp seemed mean, all dreamt-of wealth seemed poor!
She waved her hand; the clouds disperst!—'tis true,
The gaudy Sun no dazzling lustre threw
Athwart Heaven's vault; but that clear tranquil Grey,
Whose sober hue attends on closing day,
Stole o'er the skies, eye-soothing!—On, the Dame
With lofty head and port majestic came;
And as She past, oft cropt some drooping flower,
Whose beauties bloomed unmarked in sunless bower,
Till plucked by Her, then first perceived the eye,
Its form how graceful, and how rich its dye.
As on She moved, Want, Sorrow, Pain, and Care
Fled from her glance, and sought less sacred air.
Soothed by her voice, inveterate Malice poured
His arrows at her feet, and broke his sword.
Deep Slumber bound the Passions' stormy train;
No more did Slander hiss, or hissed in vain:
And where that Matron's hallowed step once trod,
Envy herself with flowers oft drest the sod.
The gaudy Sun no dazzling lustre threw
Athwart Heaven's vault; but that clear tranquil Grey,
Whose sober hue attends on closing day,
Stole o'er the skies, eye-soothing!—On, the Dame
With lofty head and port majestic came;
62
Whose beauties bloomed unmarked in sunless bower,
Till plucked by Her, then first perceived the eye,
Its form how graceful, and how rich its dye.
As on She moved, Want, Sorrow, Pain, and Care
Fled from her glance, and sought less sacred air.
Soothed by her voice, inveterate Malice poured
His arrows at her feet, and broke his sword.
Deep Slumber bound the Passions' stormy train;
No more did Slander hiss, or hissed in vain:
And where that Matron's hallowed step once trod,
Envy herself with flowers oft drest the sod.
With awful hope I gazed, while near She drew,
And from her bowl on my parched forehead threw
Some opiate drops.—Oh! then how swift my soul
Cast off her burthen! Grateful languor stole
O'er all my frame, and soon my temples round
Sleep with soft hand her wreath of poppies bound.
Yet ere I sank to rest—“Oh! Thou,” I said,
“Pain's readiest balm, and Sorrow's surest aid,
Whose power can every pang and care repell,
Oh! Friend of Misery, deign thy name to tell!”—
And from her bowl on my parched forehead threw
Some opiate drops.—Oh! then how swift my soul
Cast off her burthen! Grateful languor stole
O'er all my frame, and soon my temples round
Sleep with soft hand her wreath of poppies bound.
63
“Pain's readiest balm, and Sorrow's surest aid,
Whose power can every pang and care repell,
Oh! Friend of Misery, deign thy name to tell!”—
I paused.—Her gracious smile consent revealed;
With holiest kiss my weary eyes She sealed,
And while her lips inhaled my sighing breath,
Softly She whispered—“Friend, my name is Death.”—
With holiest kiss my weary eyes She sealed,
And while her lips inhaled my sighing breath,
Softly She whispered—“Friend, my name is Death.”—
64
THE BLIND LOVER.
It's true, my Love, of precious light
These sightless orbs admit no ray;
Dark are to me the Stars of Night,
And blush of morn, and blaze of day.
Yet think not, Sweet, the want of eyes
Can e'er thine Arthur's mind annoy,
While Mary's hand that want supplies,
And kindly guides her poor blind Boy.
These sightless orbs admit no ray;
Dark are to me the Stars of Night,
And blush of morn, and blaze of day.
Yet think not, Sweet, the want of eyes
Can e'er thine Arthur's mind annoy,
While Mary's hand that want supplies,
And kindly guides her poor blind Boy.
65
I boast no teasure but a heart,
'Tis thine, and thine shall still remain;
I boast no science, but the art
To wake sweet Music's plaintive strain:
Yet if it yields one pleasing thought,
When thus my hands the lyre employ,
Oh! 'tis because 'twas Mary taught
That science to her poor Blind Boy.
'Tis thine, and thine shall still remain;
I boast no science, but the art
To wake sweet Music's plaintive strain:
Yet if it yields one pleasing thought,
When thus my hands the lyre employ,
Oh! 'tis because 'twas Mary taught
That science to her poor Blind Boy.
Though knowledge hides her stores from me,
And Glory's Clarions vainly call,
In lieu of these Heaven gave me Thee,
And giving Thee, it gave me all!
And while of love I hear thee tell,
And cherish hope, and promise joy,
Oh! Kings and Sages sure might well
With envy view the poor Blind Boy!
And Glory's Clarions vainly call,
In lieu of these Heaven gave me Thee,
And giving Thee, it gave me all!
And while of love I hear thee tell,
And cherish hope, and promise joy,
Oh! Kings and Sages sure might well
With envy view the poor Blind Boy!
Oft, when of loss of sight I speak,
I hear thee breathe a tender sigh;
And oft I feel on Arthur's cheek
A tear, which fell from Mary's eye:
Which when I feel, which when I hear,
Not Thrones could yield me half such joy
As that one sigh, as that one tear,
Which Pity gives the poor Blind Boy.
I hear thee breathe a tender sigh;
And oft I feel on Arthur's cheek
A tear, which fell from Mary's eye:
Which when I feel, which when I hear,
Not Thrones could yield me half such joy
As that one sigh, as that one tear,
Which Pity gives the poor Blind Boy.
66
Let others Independence prize,
And proudly boast their actions free;
Unenvying, I their power despise,
And boast, that I depend on Thee!
Depend for guidance, food, and aid,
For every comfort, every joy
Of Him.....who but for Thee, dear Maid,
Would be a friendless poor Blind Boy!
And proudly boast their actions free;
Unenvying, I their power despise,
And boast, that I depend on Thee!
Depend for guidance, food, and aid,
For every comfort, every joy
Of Him.....who but for Thee, dear Maid,
Would be a friendless poor Blind Boy!
Then love me still, nor e'er forsake
A Being so forlorn as I!
Oh! love me still, nor bid to break
His heart, who robbed of Thee must die!
That hour, which hears thee say “Adieu!”
Will love and life at once destroy:
But love me, love me still,......and who
Is blest like Thee, thou poor Blind Boy!
A Being so forlorn as I!
Oh! love me still, nor bid to break
His heart, who robbed of Thee must die!
That hour, which hears thee say “Adieu!”
Will love and life at once destroy:
But love me, love me still,......and who
Is blest like Thee, thou poor Blind Boy!
67
TO GEORGINA,
ON HER BIRTH-DAY.
Nor Love's complaint, nor Passion's prayer,
Nor Harp that's strung with Cupid's hair
Salutes thine ear, and bids the air
Spread round thy charms and worth:
'Tis Friendship, pure, serene, and mild,
Esteem's and Admiration's child,
Whose voice now hails the morn, which smiled
On fair Georgina's birth.
Nor Harp that's strung with Cupid's hair
Salutes thine ear, and bids the air
Spread round thy charms and worth:
'Tis Friendship, pure, serene, and mild,
Esteem's and Admiration's child,
Whose voice now hails the morn, which smiled
On fair Georgina's birth.
68
But gentle Sylphids, to her ear
More tender should my strains appear,
Than Friend should use, or Friend should hear,
While thus my lyre I strike,
Tell her, when poured in Beauty's praise
Nature so soft makes Friendship's lays,
Though 'tis not Love each line pourtrays,
'Tis something very like.
More tender should my strains appear,
Than Friend should use, or Friend should hear,
While thus my lyre I strike,
Tell her, when poured in Beauty's praise
Nature so soft makes Friendship's lays,
Though 'tis not Love each line pourtrays,
'Tis something very like.
When manly worth claims Friendship's song,
His brazen Harp, firm, clear, and strong,
He strikes, and roves those chords among
Which sense and honour suit:
But when he sings for woman's sake,
More melting tones He joys to make,
And strives with gentlest touch to wake
Affection's silver Lute.
His brazen Harp, firm, clear, and strong,
He strikes, and roves those chords among
Which sense and honour suit:
But when he sings for woman's sake,
More melting tones He joys to make,
And strives with gentlest touch to wake
Affection's silver Lute.
Georgina, I'll not call thee fair,
Nor praise thy radiant eyes, nor swear,
That Beauty's crown with splendour rare
Shines glorious round thy brows;
For why should I misuse my time,
[On stilts poetic raised sublime]
To tell the world in maudlin rhyme,
What all the world allows.
Nor praise thy radiant eyes, nor swear,
That Beauty's crown with splendour rare
Shines glorious round thy brows;
For why should I misuse my time,
[On stilts poetic raised sublime]
To tell the world in maudlin rhyme,
What all the world allows.
69
I will not wish, no time nor change
From thee thy Friends may e'er estrange;
For sure no heart can ever range,
The worth of thine which knows:
I will not wish, thy form divine
By each fresh year improved may shine;
For sure to add new charms to thine
Would be to scent a rose .
From thee thy Friends may e'er estrange;
For sure no heart can ever range,
The worth of thine which knows:
I will not wish, thy form divine
By each fresh year improved may shine;
For sure to add new charms to thine
Would be to scent a rose .
I'll rather wish [and could'st thou see
My heart, thou would'st perforce agree,
No mortal Wight, who-e'er He be,
Could breathe a kinder vow]
I'll wish [with all that Heaven's best will
Can give of good two lines to fill]
—“May Heaven, sweet Girl, preserve thee still,
“Just what I think thee now!”—
My heart, thou would'st perforce agree,
No mortal Wight, who-e'er He be,
Could breathe a kinder vow]
I'll wish [with all that Heaven's best will
Can give of good two lines to fill]
—“May Heaven, sweet Girl, preserve thee still,
“Just what I think thee now!”—
70
ON SORROW.
[WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF A MUCH-VALUED FEMALE FRIEND.]
Yes! I'll away, and seek that kind relief,
Which rural scenes and Nature's smiles impart:
I am not of their kind, who cherish grief,
And love to fold it to a bleeding heart.
Which rural scenes and Nature's smiles impart:
I am not of their kind, who cherish grief,
And love to fold it to a bleeding heart.
Deep is my wound! No time can e'er efface
The lines by anguish on my soul imprest;
But shall I strengthen still each painful trace,
And drive the poniard further in my breast?
The lines by anguish on my soul imprest;
But shall I strengthen still each painful trace,
And drive the poniard further in my breast?
71
Shall I reject kind Pleasure's smiles as snares,
Prolong with cruel art the embittered pain,
Neglect all friendly means to soothe my cares,
And “weep the more, because I weep in vain ?”—
Prolong with cruel art the embittered pain,
Neglect all friendly means to soothe my cares,
And “weep the more, because I weep in vain ?”—
No! while Disease conducts with slow sure pangs
Some pale and lingering Victim to the Tomb,
Or while some Mother o'er her Darling hangs,
Destined to fall in pride of youthful bloom,
Some pale and lingering Victim to the Tomb,
Or while some Mother o'er her Darling hangs,
Destined to fall in pride of youthful bloom,
Then Sorrow claim me thine, thine wholly!—Ne'er
Shall Mirth's unfeeling smile my cheek prophane:
Each look, each thought shall sympathetic share
The sacred sadness of the House of Pain.
Shall Mirth's unfeeling smile my cheek prophane:
Each look, each thought shall sympathetic share
The sacred sadness of the House of Pain.
But when the Sufferer's ear is sealed with dust,
Each struggle past, and closed the tragic tale,
I'll weep no moment longer, than I must,
And check those sorrows, which no more avail.
Each struggle past, and closed the tragic tale,
I'll weep no moment longer, than I must,
And check those sorrows, which no more avail.
72
God knows, could tears recall the Saint to life,
Make fell disease her bloom and strength restore,
Give the fond Husband back his faultless Wife,
And bid her mourning children mourn no more,
Make fell disease her bloom and strength restore,
Give the fond Husband back his faultless Wife,
And bid her mourning children mourn no more,
To weep should be my study, pleasure, pride!
From sounds of woe my lips should never rest;
I'd woo pale Sorrow as the loveliest Bride,
And kiss the hand, with which She stabbed my breast:
From sounds of woe my lips should never rest;
I'd woo pale Sorrow as the loveliest Bride,
And kiss the hand, with which She stabbed my breast:
In charnel-vaults, with bones I'd form my bed,
There waste the sleepless night and joyless day,
Rest on that Dear-one's tomb my aching head,
And wear with ceaseless tears the stone away!
There waste the sleepless night and joyless day,
Rest on that Dear-one's tomb my aching head,
And wear with ceaseless tears the stone away!
Vain wishes, vain regrets! Her thread of days
Is spun; The die is cast, the shaft is sped:
That name, which none e'er mentioned but with praise,
Swells the dark records of the virtuous dead:
Is spun; The die is cast, the shaft is sped:
That name, which none e'er mentioned but with praise,
Swells the dark records of the virtuous dead:
73
By Her unheard these painful sighs ascend,
By Her unseen this bitter flood I pour:
Then why with fruitless grief my bosom rend?
Why dwell on blessings, which return no more?
By Her unseen this bitter flood I pour:
Then why with fruitless grief my bosom rend?
Why dwell on blessings, which return no more?
Be calm, my soul! Fond rivers, cease to flow!
Hush the sad bell, remove the sable bier;
I loathe the pomp of ostentatious woe,
And blame the indulgence of one useless tear.
Hush the sad bell, remove the sable bier;
I loathe the pomp of ostentatious woe,
And blame the indulgence of one useless tear.
But come, ye Liberal Arts, and bring your train
Of bright Pursuits, calm Joys, and talents rare!
Come, Poesy, and waft me once again
To happier worlds, unknown to guilt or care.
Of bright Pursuits, calm Joys, and talents rare!
Come, Poesy, and waft me once again
To happier worlds, unknown to guilt or care.
Come, Painting; lift on high thy magic wand,
And pour enchantment on my dazzled sight!
Come, Music; wake the Lyre with raptured hand,
Soothe me to peace, or rouze me to delight!
And pour enchantment on my dazzled sight!
Come, Music; wake the Lyre with raptured hand,
Soothe me to peace, or rouze me to delight!
74
Come, social Pleasure; with thy goblet steal
My thoughts from musing o'er Death's mournful Lists!
Come, Friendship; Let thy converse make me feel
The blest conviction—“Virtue still exists!”—
My thoughts from musing o'er Death's mournful Lists!
Come, Friendship; Let thy converse make me feel
The blest conviction—“Virtue still exists!”—
And “last, not least,” Come, Love! It's pain to sooth,
Bid round my burning front thy pinions play;
With gentle hand my scattered tresses smooth,
And kiss with roseate lips my tears away:
Bid round my burning front thy pinions play;
With gentle hand my scattered tresses smooth,
And kiss with roseate lips my tears away:
And for that generous service, gracious Elf,
Through life I'll bless thee, whose benignant art
For one sweet moment stole me from myself,
And poured kind balsam on a wounded Heart.
Through life I'll bless thee, whose benignant art
For one sweet moment stole me from myself,
And poured kind balsam on a wounded Heart.
75
TO MY SISTER.
SENT WITH A RUBY, SET ROUND WITH BRILLIANTS.
To form this ruby, know [what time
The full moon silvered grove and field]
The Fairy-Queen by magic rhyme
Of my best blood a drop congealed:
The full moon silvered grove and field]
The Fairy-Queen by magic rhyme
Of my best blood a drop congealed:
Next to compose the circle bright
Girdling that gem of crimson dye,
She caught some sparks of pure delight,
While glittering in my laughing eye.
Girdling that gem of crimson dye,
She caught some sparks of pure delight,
While glittering in my laughing eye.
This done, Titania formed the ring,
Which now to you, dear Girl! I send;
No idle toy, no common thing,
And tendered by no common Friend.
Which now to you, dear Girl! I send;
No idle toy, no common thing,
And tendered by no common Friend.
76
Know, while these mystic gems are yours,
That spell at midnight muttered o'er
By viewless chains my faith secures
To keep the vow, which now I pour.
That spell at midnight muttered o'er
By viewless chains my faith secures
To keep the vow, which now I pour.
—“The fellows of this drop shall flow
In thy defence, while life is mine;
And sparks like these my eyes shall show,
When-e'er they read content in thine.”—
In thy defence, while life is mine;
And sparks like these my eyes shall show,
When-e'er they read content in thine.”—
77
THE INCONSTANT'S APOLOGY.
Love, I've lov'd you passing well,
Loved you long, and loved sincerely;
How I loved, no tongue can tell,
'Twas so truly, 'twas so dearly;
But my fond delirium o'er,
Love, adieu;—We'll love no more.
Loved you long, and loved sincerely;
How I loved, no tongue can tell,
'Twas so truly, 'twas so dearly;
But my fond delirium o'er,
Love, adieu;—We'll love no more.
When I owned your Beauty's sway,
All my vows were gospel-true, Love;
That I'm changed, no doubt, you'll say;
Ah! believe me, so are you, Love.
Bloom departing, youth removed,
You 're no more the love I loved!
All my vows were gospel-true, Love;
That I'm changed, no doubt, you'll say;
Ah! believe me, so are you, Love.
Bloom departing, youth removed,
You 're no more the love I loved!
78
Can I still the casket prize,
Whence the Gem by Time is plundered?
Can the stalk delight mine eyes,
Whence the Rose for aye is sundered?
These possess no charms for Me,
And alas! are types of Thee.
Whence the Gem by Time is plundered?
Can the stalk delight mine eyes,
Whence the Rose for aye is sundered?
These possess no charms for Me,
And alas! are types of Thee.
Pouting lip, and melting eye,
Teeth of pearl, and cheek of roses,
Limbs that might with Paphia's vie,
Bosom where delight reposes,
These the Love I love must show.
Say, can you, Love?—No, Love, No!
Teeth of pearl, and cheek of roses,
Limbs that might with Paphia's vie,
Bosom where delight reposes,
These the Love I love must show.
Say, can you, Love?—No, Love, No!
Now in Aura's blooming form
Charms, once yours, mine eyes discover:
Since my soul they still can warm,
Wherefore call me Faithless Lover?
What You were, and She is now,
Still obtains my fervent vow.
Charms, once yours, mine eyes discover:
Since my soul they still can warm,
Wherefore call me Faithless Lover?
What You were, and She is now,
Still obtains my fervent vow.
79
Still my heart remains the same;
Still it doats on youth and beauty:
Still [what-e'er their owner's name]
'Tis to them I pay my duty:
And where-e'er their charms I see,
Still their charms have charms for Me.
Still it doats on youth and beauty:
Still [what-e'er their owner's name]
'Tis to them I pay my duty:
And where-e'er their charms I see,
Still their charms have charms for Me.
Chide no more then; for I vow,
If my heart adores a new love,
'Tis because She gives me now
Joys like those, I shared with you, Love.
Loving Her, I still love you:
Hark! She calls me!—Love, Adieu!
If my heart adores a new love,
'Tis because She gives me now
Joys like those, I shared with you, Love.
Loving Her, I still love you:
Hark! She calls me!—Love, Adieu!
80
LOVE AND HIS ENEMY.
[IMITATED FROM FONTENELLE.]
'Twas in the Golden Age, ere shame
Was e'er attached to Pleasure's name,
But Mortals loved as free as sparrows,
That Jove heard Cupid thus complain:
—“I blush o'er none but Slaves to reign,
“Who kiss my chains, and court my arrows.
Was e'er attached to Pleasure's name,
But Mortals loved as free as sparrows,
That Jove heard Cupid thus complain:
—“I blush o'er none but Slaves to reign,
“Who kiss my chains, and court my arrows.
“On nobler Game I fain would try
“My shafts, and make some Monster die,
“Whose fall next Mars himself may place me!
“Deign then, imperial Sire, to show,
“Where I can find some worthy Foe;
“These easy triumphs but disgrace me!”—
“My shafts, and make some Monster die,
“Whose fall next Mars himself may place me!
“Deign then, imperial Sire, to show,
“Where I can find some worthy Foe;
“These easy triumphs but disgrace me!”—
81
Jove smiled, then bade the Earth unclose,
And Lo! before them Honour rose!
—“Look,” cried the Sire;” Your suit is granted!”—
Half-pleased, half-frightened, Love surveyed
His new-born foe—“Thanks, Jove!” He said;
“Here's just the Monster that I wanted!”—
And Lo! before them Honour rose!
—“Look,” cried the Sire;” Your suit is granted!”—
Half-pleased, half-frightened, Love surveyed
His new-born foe—“Thanks, Jove!” He said;
“Here's just the Monster that I wanted!”—
82
WAR, VICTORY, AND PEACE.
War blew his trumpet, and Man cried—“Destroy!”—
Soon yonder hills heard the cannon's loud rattle:
Morn saw the Warriors rush on to the battle,
Gallant and gay, full of life, full of joy.
Vanquish'd and Victors, with blood their arms blushing,
Pant on the plain, now the night-dew descends:
Fast from their wounds, Lo! the life-stream is gushing;
Faster gush tears from the eyes of their Friends.—
Soon yonder hills heard the cannon's loud rattle:
Morn saw the Warriors rush on to the battle,
Gallant and gay, full of life, full of joy.
Vanquish'd and Victors, with blood their arms blushing,
Pant on the plain, now the night-dew descends:
Fast from their wounds, Lo! the life-stream is gushing;
Faster gush tears from the eyes of their Friends.—
83
Freighted with Conquest, the Fleet is in sight!—
Why joins Despair her complaints with our praises?
Oh! 'tis a Mother, in frenzy who raises
Shrieks for her Only-one slain in the fight!
She [to our shoutings when cannons replying
Tell from each fort, that the battle is won]
Hears in the roar but her Boy's murmur dying,
Sees in the flash but the fate of her Son.
Why joins Despair her complaints with our praises?
Oh! 'tis a Mother, in frenzy who raises
Shrieks for her Only-one slain in the fight!
She [to our shoutings when cannons replying
Tell from each fort, that the battle is won]
Hears in the roar but her Boy's murmur dying,
Sees in the flash but the fate of her Son.
Closed is the contest, and Peace again smiles—
Why by that Beauty is sorrow still cherished?
Oh! 'tis a Widow, whose Soldier-love perished,
Struck by that plague, which lays waste the West Isles.
Lost all she valued, War shows her no danger,
Peace for her broken heart nothing can save:
She, whose torn bosom to Hope is a stranger,
Knows of no Peace—but the Peace of the Grave!
Why by that Beauty is sorrow still cherished?
Oh! 'tis a Widow, whose Soldier-love perished,
Struck by that plague, which lays waste the West Isles.
Lost all she valued, War shows her no danger,
Peace for her broken heart nothing can save:
She, whose torn bosom to Hope is a stranger,
Knows of no Peace—but the Peace of the Grave!
84
NANINE, OR, THE EMIGRANT.
On the waves the winds were sleeping,
Swift my boat approached the land:
There I found a Maiden weeping;
Who can female tears withstand?
Ceased at once my joyous ditty,
Gently moved my silent oar,
While I said in sounds of pity,
—“Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more!”—
Swift my boat approached the land:
There I found a Maiden weeping;
Who can female tears withstand?
Ceased at once my joyous ditty,
Gently moved my silent oar,
While I said in sounds of pity,
—“Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more!”—
85
Then on land I sprang so lightly,
While with mingled hopes and fears
Raised the Maid her head, and brightly
Beamed her blue eyes through her tears.
—“Left exposed to want and danger,
Friendless on a foreign shore,
Ah!” She said, “you vainly, Stranger,
Kindly tell me “weep no more!”
While with mingled hopes and fears
Raised the Maid her head, and brightly
Beamed her blue eyes through her tears.
—“Left exposed to want and danger,
Friendless on a foreign shore,
Ah!” She said, “you vainly, Stranger,
Kindly tell me “weep no more!”
“Far from home an exile roving,
Where shall now my shelter be?
Lost each friend so loved, so loving,
Now what heart shall feel for me?
Poor Nanine, thy brain is turning,
Poor Nanine, thy heart is sore;
Poor Nanine, thy tears are burning,
Die, Nanine, and weep no more!”—
Where shall now my shelter be?
Lost each friend so loved, so loving,
Now what heart shall feel for me?
Poor Nanine, thy brain is turning,
Poor Nanine, thy heart is sore;
Poor Nanine, thy tears are burning,
Die, Nanine, and weep no more!”—
—“Damsel, mark yon distant city;
There my shelter thine shall be:
Mark my bosom heaved by pity;
There's a heart that feels for thee!
All my wealth I here surrender,
'Tis not gems, nor shining ore:
'Tis a heart warm, honest, tender....
Take it, Sweet, and weep no more.”—
There my shelter thine shall be:
Mark my bosom heaved by pity;
There's a heart that feels for thee!
All my wealth I here surrender,
'Tis not gems, nor shining ore:
'Tis a heart warm, honest, tender....
Take it, Sweet, and weep no more.”—
86
Tow'rds my boat I gently led her;
Soon it touched my native strand:
There my labour cloathed and fed her,
There I gained her heart and hand.
Still with love my eyes behold her;
Yes, though many a year is o'er,
Still I bless the hour I told her,
—“Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more.”—
Soon it touched my native strand:
There my labour cloathed and fed her,
There I gained her heart and hand.
Still with love my eyes behold her;
Yes, though many a year is o'er,
Still I bless the hour I told her,
—“Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more.”—
See, she waits me near yon willows!
Swift, my boat, to reach her fly.—
See, her breast my baby pillows,
Transport for a father's eye!
Grant, oh! God, such transports may not
E'er bless those, who seeing pour
Tears from female eye-lids, say not,
—“Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more!”—
Swift, my boat, to reach her fly.—
See, her breast my baby pillows,
Transport for a father's eye!
Grant, oh! God, such transports may not
E'er bless those, who seeing pour
Tears from female eye-lids, say not,
—“Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more!”—
87
THE MOTHER'S ALARM.
[IMITATED FROM THE GREEK.]
With gaudy flowers the cliff was gay;
Thither a Child had crept to play,
And o'er the brink was bending.
The Mother came—she saw her boy,
Her only care, her only joy,
One crag his fall suspending.
Thither a Child had crept to play,
And o'er the brink was bending.
The Mother came—she saw her boy,
Her only care, her only joy,
One crag his fall suspending.
He stretched to reach the flowers below—
Ah! should she now to seize him go,
Some start or hasty action
Might plunge him headlong in the flood!
That thought with horror chilled her blood!
'Twas anguish! 'twas distraction!
Ah! should she now to seize him go,
Some start or hasty action
Might plunge him headlong in the flood!
That thought with horror chilled her blood!
'Twas anguish! 'twas distraction!
88
As none but mothers feel, she felt!—
In trembling silence down she knelt,
And prayed to Heaven for pity;
Then from her breast the gauze removed,
And softly sang the tune He loved,
Some lullabying ditty.
In trembling silence down she knelt,
And prayed to Heaven for pity;
Then from her breast the gauze removed,
And softly sang the tune He loved,
Some lullabying ditty.
He knew the song, which oft to rest
Had charmed his eyes; He knew the breast,
Which food so oft had brought him;
And still she sang....and still she wept....
And near....and nearer....crept....and crept.....
Till to her heart she caught him.
Had charmed his eyes; He knew the breast,
Which food so oft had brought him;
And still she sang....and still she wept....
And near....and nearer....crept....and crept.....
Till to her heart she caught him.
89
THE CAPTIVE.
A SCENE IN A PRIVATE MAD-HOUSE.
Stay, Gaoler, stay, and hear my woe!
She is not mad who kneels to thee,
For what I'm now too well I know,
And what I was, and what should be.
I'll rave no more in proud despair;
My language shall be mild, though sad:
But yet I'll firmly, truly swear,
I am not mad! I am not mad!
She is not mad who kneels to thee,
For what I'm now too well I know,
And what I was, and what should be.
I'll rave no more in proud despair;
My language shall be mild, though sad:
But yet I'll firmly, truly swear,
I am not mad! I am not mad!
90
My tyrant Husband forged the tale,
Which chains me in this dismal cell:
My fate unknown my Friends bewail;
Oh! Gaoler, haste that fate to tell!
Oh! haste my Father's heart to chear:
His heart at once 'twill grieve and glad
To know, though kept a Captive here,
I am not mad! I am not mad!
Which chains me in this dismal cell:
My fate unknown my Friends bewail;
Oh! Gaoler, haste that fate to tell!
Oh! haste my Father's heart to chear:
His heart at once 'twill grieve and glad
To know, though kept a Captive here,
I am not mad! I am not mad!
He smiles in scorn, and turns the key!
He quits the Grate! I knelt in vain!—
His glimmering Lamp still....still I see!—
'Tis gone....and all is gloom again!
Cold, bitter cold!—no warmth! no light!—
Life, all thy comforts once I had;
Yet here I'm chained this freezing night,
Although not mad! No, no! not mad!
He quits the Grate! I knelt in vain!—
His glimmering Lamp still....still I see!—
'Tis gone....and all is gloom again!
Cold, bitter cold!—no warmth! no light!—
Life, all thy comforts once I had;
Yet here I'm chained this freezing night,
Although not mad! No, no! not mad!
'Tis sure some dream! some vision vain!—
What? I, the Child of rank and wealth,
Am I the wretch, who clanks this chain,
Bereft of freedom, friends and health?
Ah! while I dwell on blessings fled,
Which never more my heart must glad,
How aches my heart! how burns my head!—
But 'tis not mad!—no!—'Tis not mad!
What? I, the Child of rank and wealth,
Am I the wretch, who clanks this chain,
Bereft of freedom, friends and health?
Ah! while I dwell on blessings fled,
Which never more my heart must glad,
How aches my heart! how burns my head!—
But 'tis not mad!—no!—'Tis not mad!
91
Hast thou, my Child, forgot ere this
A Mother's face, a Mother's tongue?
She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss,
Nor round her neck how fast you clung:
Nor how with Me you sued to stay,
Nor how that suit your Sire forbad;
Nor how....I'll drive such thoughts away:
They'll make me mad! They'll make me mad!
A Mother's face, a Mother's tongue?
She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss,
Nor round her neck how fast you clung:
Nor how with Me you sued to stay,
Nor how that suit your Sire forbad;
Nor how....I'll drive such thoughts away:
They'll make me mad! They'll make me mad!
His rosy lips, how sweet They smiled!
His mild blue eyes, how bright They shone!
None ever bore a lovelier Child!—
And art Thou now for ever gone,
And must I never see thee more,
My pretty, pretty, pretty Lad!
I will be free! unbar the door!
I am not mad! I am not mad!
His mild blue eyes, how bright They shone!
None ever bore a lovelier Child!—
And art Thou now for ever gone,
And must I never see thee more,
My pretty, pretty, pretty Lad!
I will be free! unbar the door!
I am not mad! I am not mad!
Oh! Hark!—what mean those yells and cries?—
His chain some furious Madman breaks!—
He comes!—I see his glaring eyes!—
Now, now my dungeon-grate He shakes!—
Help, help!—He's gone!—Oh! fearful woe,
Such screams to hear, such sights to see!
My brain, my brain!—I know, I know,
I am not mad....but soon shall be!
His chain some furious Madman breaks!—
He comes!—I see his glaring eyes!—
Now, now my dungeon-grate He shakes!—
Help, help!—He's gone!—Oh! fearful woe,
Such screams to hear, such sights to see!
My brain, my brain!—I know, I know,
I am not mad....but soon shall be!
92
Yes! soon!—For Lo you!....while I speak.....
Mark, how yon Dæmon's eye-balls glare!—
He sees me!—Now with dreadful shriek
He whirls a Serpent high in air!—
Horror!—The Reptile strikes his tooth
Deep in my heart so crushed and sad!—
Aye, laugh, ye Fiends!—I feel the truth!
Your task is done!—I'm mad! I'm mad!
Mark, how yon Dæmon's eye-balls glare!—
He sees me!—Now with dreadful shriek
He whirls a Serpent high in air!—
Horror!—The Reptile strikes his tooth
Deep in my heart so crushed and sad!—
Aye, laugh, ye Fiends!—I feel the truth!
Your task is done!—I'm mad! I'm mad!
93
ADDRESS TO YOUTH
—“Turn, wanderer, turn, and rest with me;
Let not yon glittering Fane allure you:
My Temple shall your shelter be,
My sacred fire from cold secure you:
Let not yon glittering Fane allure you:
My Temple shall your shelter be,
My sacred fire from cold secure you:
“Nor scorn it, though your dazzled sight
No burst of lustrous flame surprizes,
As with mild warmth and lambent light
It gently on the altar rises.
No burst of lustrous flame surprizes,
As with mild warmth and lambent light
It gently on the altar rises.
“More vivid fires gild yonder shrine,
More heat and radiance round them casting;
But trust me, Youth, though bright they shine,
Their rage is fierce, their power is blasting.
More heat and radiance round them casting;
But trust me, Youth, though bright they shine,
Their rage is fierce, their power is blasting.
94
“Ah! Pilgrim, shun the fatal blaze,
Thy forward steps forbear to number;
The flame, which on my altar plays,
Gives genial warmth and gentle slumber:
Thy forward steps forbear to number;
The flame, which on my altar plays,
Gives genial warmth and gentle slumber:
“Here Reason as the Priestess stands,
Here Tranquil Pleasure often lingers,—
At Friendship's fire then warm thy hands,
At Love's thou'lt surely burn thy fingers!”—
Here Tranquil Pleasure often lingers,—
At Friendship's fire then warm thy hands,
At Love's thou'lt surely burn thy fingers!”—
Friendship.
95
THE FELON.
Oh! mark his wan and hollow cheeks, and mark his eye-balls glare!
And mark his teeth in anguish clenched, the anguish of despair!
Know, since three days [his penance done] yon Felon left a jail;
And since three days no food has past those lips so parched and pale.
And mark his teeth in anguish clenched, the anguish of despair!
Know, since three days [his penance done] yon Felon left a jail;
And since three days no food has past those lips so parched and pale.
96
—“Where shall I turn,” the wretch exclaims; “where lay my shameful head?
How fly from scorn, or how contrive to earn an honest bread?
This branded hand would gladly toil; but when for work I pray,
Who sees this mark—“A Felon!” cries, and loathing turns away.
How fly from scorn, or how contrive to earn an honest bread?
This branded hand would gladly toil; but when for work I pray,
Who sees this mark—“A Felon!” cries, and loathing turns away.
“My heart has greatly erred, but now would fain revert to good;
My hand has deeply sinned, but yet has ne'er been stained with blood;
For work or alms in vain I sue; the scorners both deny:
I starve! I starve! then what remains? this choice: To sin, or die.
My hand has deeply sinned, but yet has ne'er been stained with blood;
For work or alms in vain I sue; the scorners both deny:
I starve! I starve! then what remains? this choice: To sin, or die.
“Here, Virtue spurns me with disdain; there, Pleasure spreads her snare;
Strong Habit drags me back to vice; and urged by fierce Despair,
I strive, while Hunger gnaws my heart, to fly from shame in vain:
World, 'tis thy cruel will! I yield, and plunge in guilt again.
Strong Habit drags me back to vice; and urged by fierce Despair,
I strive, while Hunger gnaws my heart, to fly from shame in vain:
World, 'tis thy cruel will! I yield, and plunge in guilt again.
97
“There's mercy in each ray of light, that mortal eyes e'er knew;
There's mercy in each breath of air, that mortal lips e'er drew;
There's mercy both for bird and beast in God's indulgent plan;
There's mercy for each creeping thing, but Man has none for Man.
There's mercy in each breath of air, that mortal lips e'er drew;
There's mercy both for bird and beast in God's indulgent plan;
There's mercy for each creeping thing, but Man has none for Man.
Ye proudly-honest, when ye heard my wounded conscience groan,
Had liberal hand or feeling heart one glimpse of mercy shown,
That act had made from burning eyes sweet tears of virtue roll,
Had cheared my heart, had fixed my faith, and God had gained a soul.
Had liberal hand or feeling heart one glimpse of mercy shown,
That act had made from burning eyes sweet tears of virtue roll,
Had cheared my heart, had fixed my faith, and God had gained a soul.
98
THE FATE OF KINGS.
An Elegy.
[WRITTEN ON VISITING A ROYAL MAUSOLEUM.]
—“Then happy low-lie down!
“Uneasy rests the head, that wears a crown.”
Shakspeare.
“Uneasy rests the head, that wears a crown.”
Shakspeare.
Peace to these aisles, through which I pensive stray,
And press with reverent feet the time-worn stones,
Led by yon glimmering Lamp's sepulchral ray,
Which marks the spot, where rest a Monarch's bones.
And press with reverent feet the time-worn stones,
Led by yon glimmering Lamp's sepulchral ray,
Which marks the spot, where rest a Monarch's bones.
Languid and cold, to light, but not to chear,
Falls the faint gleam upon the tomb below,
Like Pity's voice on some lone widow's ear,
Mocking the majesty of buried Woe!
Falls the faint gleam upon the tomb below,
Like Pity's voice on some lone widow's ear,
Mocking the majesty of buried Woe!
99
Here will I pause, our pious requiem pour,
And greet his exit from Life's tragic stage;
Nor ask, what name the exalted sufferer bore,
Nor how 'tis blazoned on the historic page.
And greet his exit from Life's tragic stage;
Nor ask, what name the exalted sufferer bore,
Nor how 'tis blazoned on the historic page.
Whether in Valour's lists He vainly toiled,
Or Conquest clasped him with her crimson hand;
Whether tyrannic Pride his purple soiled,
Or patriot Subjects loved his mild command;
Or Conquest clasped him with her crimson hand;
Whether tyrannic Pride his purple soiled,
Or patriot Subjects loved his mild command;
Whether, fair Peace, He held thy olive dear,
Or stretched his power o'er many a bleeding state,
What-e'er his deeds, his station claims a tear;
What-e'er his faults, his griefs were sure as great.
Or stretched his power o'er many a bleeding state,
What-e'er his deeds, his station claims a tear;
What-e'er his faults, his griefs were sure as great.
Treason's chief Victim, Policy's prime Tool,
Feared by the Weak, Derided by the Strong,
Jest of the Stoic, Envy of the Fool,
When right the Nation's Slave, the Nation's Curse when wrong;
Feared by the Weak, Derided by the Strong,
Jest of the Stoic, Envy of the Fool,
When right the Nation's Slave, the Nation's Curse when wrong;
100
His Crown, a burning band which sears his brain;
His power, a bubble the next hour may burst;
His life, a glittering web of pomp and pain,
Gorgeously wretched, and supremely curst;
His power, a bubble the next hour may burst;
His life, a glittering web of pomp and pain,
Gorgeously wretched, and supremely curst;
Of all their lots, whose threads the sisters spin,
None sadder than a King's, Reflection views:
Life shows him nothing He can wish to win,
And bids him only breathe to fear, and lose!
None sadder than a King's, Reflection views:
Life shows him nothing He can wish to win,
And bids him only breathe to fear, and lose!
Low in the heavens may sink his Star of Fate,
But ne'er can hope in loftier course to move:
His couch may shine the burning throne of Hate,
But ne'er can bloom the roseate bower of Love.
But ne'er can hope in loftier course to move:
His couch may shine the burning throne of Hate,
But ne'er can bloom the roseate bower of Love.
He bids no flame in virtuous bosom rise;
He forms no plan of fond connubial bliss:
He reads no chaste consent in down-cast eyes,
Nor thanks the Trembler with a blameless kiss:
He forms no plan of fond connubial bliss:
He reads no chaste consent in down-cast eyes,
Nor thanks the Trembler with a blameless kiss:
Unknown her virtues, undesired her charms,
Comes his unwilling Bride to share his chains;
Cold Policy conducts her to his arms,
And angry Love to bless his bed disdains.
Comes his unwilling Bride to share his chains;
Cold Policy conducts her to his arms,
And angry Love to bless his bed disdains.
101
'Tis his, to life when trembling Wretches cling,
Whose worldly guilt despairs of heavenly bliss,
With fatal breath the untimely shaft to wing,
And drive them shuddering down the dread abyss:
Whose worldly guilt despairs of heavenly bliss,
With fatal breath the untimely shaft to wing,
And drive them shuddering down the dread abyss:
'Tis his, to hear Contrition plead in vain,
To crush the last poor hope on Mercy built,
Yet still each sigh suppress, each tear restrain,
For grief is weakness, when to spare were guilt.
To crush the last poor hope on Mercy built,
Yet still each sigh suppress, each tear restrain,
For grief is weakness, when to spare were guilt.
Lo! for her culprit-husband kneels a Wife!
Hark! for a Child a Father pours his prayer!
But Justice claims the Felon's forfeit life,
And though He can, the Monarch must not spare.
Hark! for a Child a Father pours his prayer!
But Justice claims the Felon's forfeit life,
And though He can, the Monarch must not spare.
He signs the bond of blood with pain severe;
But does not Friendship then allay the smart?
Lends She not, while He mourns her gracious ear?
Heals not her sympathy his wounded heart?
But does not Friendship then allay the smart?
Lends She not, while He mourns her gracious ear?
Heals not her sympathy his wounded heart?
Alas! No Friend has He!—No tear He finds
Mix with the stream, which from his eye-lid rolls:
He knows no intercourse of equal minds,
No kind expansion of congenial souls.
Mix with the stream, which from his eye-lid rolls:
He knows no intercourse of equal minds,
No kind expansion of congenial souls.
102
Or is there midst his Followers One, whom best
His partial eye and springing heart approve?
Lock, royal Wretch, the secret in your breast,
Nor bid distinction damn the Man you love!
His partial eye and springing heart approve?
Lock, royal Wretch, the secret in your breast,
Nor bid distinction damn the Man you love!
The Sovereign's Friend is still the People's hate;
Whom Kings still favour, Subjects still revile.—
Rise, Shade of B—! Thy mystic tale relate,
And say, what blessings followed G---'s smile.
Whom Kings still favour, Subjects still revile.—
Rise, Shade of B—! Thy mystic tale relate,
And say, what blessings followed G---'s smile.
Thou best canst tell,—“none more for insult born,
Than Him none branded more with public shame,
Who bears the Courtier's hate, the Nation's scorn,
The Favourite's office, and the Minion's name.”—
Than Him none branded more with public shame,
Who bears the Courtier's hate, the Nation's scorn,
The Favourite's office, and the Minion's name.”—
Yet much a Friend He needs, who born to reign
Is born the prey of Rapine, Vice, and Art;
While Pomp and Power unite to fire his brain,
And Pride and Passion to mislead his heart.
Is born the prey of Rapine, Vice, and Art;
While Pomp and Power unite to fire his brain,
And Pride and Passion to mislead his heart.
103
Lo! round his throne what hideous Phantoms throng!—
There wild Ambition bids his firebrands glare!
There leering Flattery pours her Syren song!
The rank witch Luxury plants her nightshade there!
There wild Ambition bids his firebrands glare!
There leering Flattery pours her Syren song!
The rank witch Luxury plants her nightshade there!
And there Suspicion rolls her eagle eye,
Weighs every word, and starts at every breath;
And Treason there in robes of varying dye,
Through paths mysterious guides the spectre Death!
Weighs every word, and starts at every breath;
And Treason there in robes of varying dye,
Through paths mysterious guides the spectre Death!
Nor hope, fond Monarch, by thy Subjects blest,
Their grateful arms will guard thy valued life,
Thy martial fame appal the Assassin's breast,
Thy patriot virtue blunt his brandished knife:
Their grateful arms will guard thy valued life,
Thy martial fame appal the Assassin's breast,
Thy patriot virtue blunt his brandished knife:
Could Valour aught avail, or Public-Love,
France had not mourned Navarre's brave Henry slain;
If wit or beauty might compassion move,
The Rose of Scotland had not wept in vain.
France had not mourned Navarre's brave Henry slain;
If wit or beauty might compassion move,
The Rose of Scotland had not wept in vain.
104
Prayers of a People, Voice of bright Renown,
Fair eyes and honied lips, ye vainly plead;
Doomed to support that glittering curse, a Crown,
Alike the Hero and the Beauty bleed!
Fair eyes and honied lips, ye vainly plead;
Doomed to support that glittering curse, a Crown,
Alike the Hero and the Beauty bleed!
—“Yet mark these martial bands around me placed;
“Observe my palace strictly watched and barred!”—
Vain Man! in Friendship's garb, with favour graced,
Fate lurks within, and mocks thy doubled guard!
“Observe my palace strictly watched and barred!”—
Vain Man! in Friendship's garb, with favour graced,
Fate lurks within, and mocks thy doubled guard!
Thy trusted Servant, midst thy Foes enrolled,
To drug thy bowl employs his baleful art;
Thy favourite Mistress, bribed with foreign gold,
Waits but thy sleep to pierce thy doating heart:
To drug thy bowl employs his baleful art;
Thy favourite Mistress, bribed with foreign gold,
Waits but thy sleep to pierce thy doating heart:
And Lo! thy darling Son [most false of Friends!]
By dire Ambition steeled against remorse,
Tears from thy brow the crown, thy throne ascends,
Nor doubts to mount by trampling on thy corse.
By dire Ambition steeled against remorse,
Tears from thy brow the crown, thy throne ascends,
Nor doubts to mount by trampling on thy corse.
105
Heard'st thou that sound? — Earth trembles! Meteors glare!
Red glows the Moon, as charmed by Sorcerer's verse!
Ocean rolls back! Fiends wing the lurid air!—
Knew'st Thou that sound?—It was a Father's curse!
Red glows the Moon, as charmed by Sorcerer's verse!
Ocean rolls back! Fiends wing the lurid air!—
Knew'st Thou that sound?—It was a Father's curse!
Yon crazy Bark, so swift which flies the land,
Thence came the word, which Nature hears with fright:
High on the deck see royal Stuart stand,
And fix on Albion's fading rocks his sight.
Thence came the word, which Nature hears with fright:
High on the deck see royal Stuart stand,
And fix on Albion's fading rocks his sight.
From Friends, from home, from all his soul holds dear,
In foreign climes to waste his closing day,
Ambitious Daughters drive this second Lear;—
But no Cordelia wipes his tears away!
In foreign climes to waste his closing day,
Ambitious Daughters drive this second Lear;—
But no Cordelia wipes his tears away!
Gushes the flood fast from the Exile's lids;
Stream his grey locks wild in the winds of night;
And now he rends them in despair, and bids
Heaven's bitterest curse on his proud daughters light!
Stream his grey locks wild in the winds of night;
And now he rends them in despair, and bids
Heaven's bitterest curse on his proud daughters light!
106
—“Ye shames of Nature!” thus the Monarch cries,
“Your Father loaths the hour, when breath ye drew!
What-e'er my faults in angry Britain's eyes,
Usurping Harpies, I have none to you.
“Your Father loaths the hour, when breath ye drew!
What-e'er my faults in angry Britain's eyes,
Usurping Harpies, I have none to you.
“And must your Sire now stray from court to court
A royal Beggar, bowed with age and woes?
Must foreign alms his irksome life support,
And foreign hands in death his limbs compose?
A royal Beggar, bowed with age and woes?
Must foreign alms his irksome life support,
And foreign hands in death his limbs compose?
“Ah! while this last sad image fills your sight,
Does not accusing guilt your souls dismay?—
Cold as the Moon-beams which direct my flight,
Deaf as the seas which bear my bark away,
Does not accusing guilt your souls dismay?—
Cold as the Moon-beams which direct my flight,
Deaf as the seas which bear my bark away,
“Say, can ye calmly still my anguish view,
And calmly still a Father's faults condemn?
Still are ye deaf?—When at thy feet they sue,
Judge of the world, be Thou as deaf to them!
And calmly still a Father's faults condemn?
Still are ye deaf?—When at thy feet they sue,
Judge of the world, be Thou as deaf to them!
107
“I curse ye, Snakes!—Alike of Foe and Friend
May doubt and dread your cankering souls devour;
May civil broils your kingdom's bosom rend,
And foreign wars destroy your Nation's flower:
May doubt and dread your cankering souls devour;
May civil broils your kingdom's bosom rend,
And foreign wars destroy your Nation's flower:
“On earth be wretched, and of heaven despair!
Changed be your good to ill, your bad to worse!
And ne'er may child of your's survive to wear
That crown, you purchased with your Father's curse !”—
Changed be your good to ill, your bad to worse!
And ne'er may child of your's survive to wear
That crown, you purchased with your Father's curse !”—
He said!—Heaven heard the prayer of regal woe!
Lo! Mary's hand a barren sceptre waves;
While Anne but teems, “how Mother's love” to know,
See her sweet Blossoms fall, and languish o'er their graves .
Lo! Mary's hand a barren sceptre waves;
While Anne but teems, “how Mother's love” to know,
See her sweet Blossoms fall, and languish o'er their graves .
108
While such the pangs which purple robes enfold,
While griefs like these a Sovereign's peace devour,
Should Hate or Envy follow those, who hold
This sad pre-eminence of painful power?
While griefs like these a Sovereign's peace devour,
Should Hate or Envy follow those, who hold
This sad pre-eminence of painful power?
Far be from me such thoughts!—My heart to stone
Perhaps may change, while Hunger vainly pleads;
Mine ear may coldly list the Maniac's moan,
Nor my tears flow, though virtuous Beauty bleeds:
Perhaps may change, while Hunger vainly pleads;
Mine ear may coldly list the Maniac's moan,
Nor my tears flow, though virtuous Beauty bleeds:
But while my breast one feeling throb supplies,
And while one pitying drop these lids contain,
Oh! sceptred Grief, a sigh for thee shall rise,
And a tear trickle on thy golden chain.
And while one pitying drop these lids contain,
Oh! sceptred Grief, a sigh for thee shall rise,
And a tear trickle on thy golden chain.
Lord of all life! Fountain of good and ill!
If thorniest paths must guide me to my bier,
My neck shall humbly bow beneath thy will,
Nor one proud murmur term that will severe:
If thorniest paths must guide me to my bier,
My neck shall humbly bow beneath thy will,
Nor one proud murmur term that will severe:
109
With aches and anguish rack each quivering limb,
Crush this poor frame, and rob these orbs of sight;
Bid Slander's breath my fame's pure mirror dim,
And freezing want hope's lovely harvest blight.
Crush this poor frame, and rob these orbs of sight;
Bid Slander's breath my fame's pure mirror dim,
And freezing want hope's lovely harvest blight.
Make me, of all who drink Heaven's vital air,
The poorest, lowliest, vilest, saddest thing!—
My load of griefs with patience still I'll bear,
And thank my God, I was not born a King!
The poorest, lowliest, vilest, saddest thing!—
My load of griefs with patience still I'll bear,
And thank my God, I was not born a King!
James the IId. sent Q. Mary word, that if she suffered herself to be crowned, he should leave her his dying curse.— v. Dalrymple's Memoirs.
“The Queen attributes the loss of her children to the dethroning of her father; having been very sensibly touched by an affecting letter which he wrote to her before his death.”—Schutz's Letter to Bothmar, Sept. 29, 1713.
THE END.
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