The Tineum Containing Estianomy, or The Art of Stirring a Fire: The Icead, A Mock-Heroic Poem: An Imitation of Horace, Ep. I. lib. I. Epigrams: A Fragment, &c. By C. V. Le Grice |
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| Amoto quæramus seria ludo. |
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Amoto quæramus seria ludo.
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EMMA TO EDWARD.
How long will you Edward delay
To restore to your Emma her peace?
For alas! as each hour glides away
Her disgrace and her sorrows increase!
Oh! haste, or a pledge of our love
Will the shame of it's parent declare;
Ah! soon the sad tale will it prove;
Ah! soon in my misery share.
To restore to your Emma her peace?
For alas! as each hour glides away
Her disgrace and her sorrows increase!
Oh! haste, or a pledge of our love
Will the shame of it's parent declare;
Ah! soon the sad tale will it prove;
Ah! soon in my misery share.
Your passion could brook no delay,
Till your poor Emma's heart you had won;
You esteemed every moment a day,
Till you saw your poor Emma undone.
Oh! haste to dispel the sad fear,
Which you gave my bosom to know!
Be as speedy to wipe off the tear
As you once were to cause it to flow!
Till your poor Emma's heart you had won;
You esteemed every moment a day,
Till you saw your poor Emma undone.
Oh! haste to dispel the sad fear,
Which you gave my bosom to know!
Be as speedy to wipe off the tear
As you once were to cause it to flow!
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TO SOPHIA.
'Twas not thy sparkling eyes,
That float in liquid love;
Nor yet thy form that vies
With her's, who won the prize,
That did my passion move:
Nor wealth;—for from thy lowly shed
On her golden pinions
To her fav'rite minions
Fortune far away has fled.
That float in liquid love;
Nor yet thy form that vies
With her's, who won the prize,
That did my passion move:
Nor wealth;—for from thy lowly shed
On her golden pinions
To her fav'rite minions
Fortune far away has fled.
But when with piteous sighs
Was told a tale of woe,
I marked thy tearful eyes,
I saw thy bosom rise
To ease the labouring throe.
Nor I can boast or wealth or power;
But in my tender breast
Does gentle Pity rest:
—Then mutual is the dower.
Was told a tale of woe,
I marked thy tearful eyes,
I saw thy bosom rise
To ease the labouring throe.
Nor I can boast or wealth or power;
But in my tender breast
Does gentle Pity rest:
—Then mutual is the dower.
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On seeing Mrs. Siddons the first time, and then in the Character of Isabella.
Pity! my breast ne'er knew thee for it's own,Nor Sympathy, dear parent of the sigh!
Tho' oft the tear fell trickling from my eye,
A moment vanished,—and the scene was gone:
A cold Promethean form!—Till Siddons' spell
Waked every feeling from it's icy cell.
The Mourner came—and Pity was my own.
O! I did hear each accent of her woe;
Grief rushed on grief, till all my senses flown
Forgot to ease the torrent in a throe;
My soul had fled it's nook, and in my eye
Suspended hung in tearful extasy.
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SONNET To a Gentleman, who presented the Author with a Violin.
O! Harmony, sweet minstrel of the spheres,Who know'st to raise the rapturous glow,
Or wake the tenderest tear of woe,
Come, dear companion of my future years!
Oft in sorrow's saddest hour
The softest magic of thy power,
Shall sooth my troubled breast to peace,
Till the hushed storm shall seem to cease;
Oft, when the tumults of my joy run high,
Shall lull my melted soul in extasy.
—While still, O L------n, still shall Memory
Uprear her listening head, and, as they float,
Still catch the cadence of each thrilling note
Thinking it sounds of Gratitude and Thee.
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A FRAGMENT.
[Thro' the stained windows of the gloomy arch]
Thro' the stained windows of the gloomy arch
The moon's pale beam reflects a varied ray;
Across the long cold aile with sounding wing
The midnight Storm was passing on its way.
The moon's pale beam reflects a varied ray;
Across the long cold aile with sounding wing
The midnight Storm was passing on its way.
Her fearful step no listening echo heard,
Her breath suspended on her bosom hung,
Big swelled the tear that trembled in her eye,
And her clasped hands in agony she wrung.
Her breath suspended on her bosom hung,
Big swelled the tear that trembled in her eye,
And her clasped hands in agony she wrung.
A lamp's small blaze beneath a mouldering nich
Chaced the dank vapours of the vault away;
And the faint sickly gleam, which round it spread,
Shewed where the relics of her Edward lay.
Chaced the dank vapours of the vault away;
And the faint sickly gleam, which round it spread,
Shewed where the relics of her Edward lay.
The large helm glittered to the lamp's dull light;
Her babe affrighted hid it's little head;
At the cold tomb in holy awe She knelt— [OMITTED]
Her babe affrighted hid it's little head;
At the cold tomb in holy awe She knelt— [OMITTED]
Cætera desunt.
FINIS.
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