I softly seiz'd th' unguarded Power,
Nor scar'd his balmy rest;
And plac'd him, cag'd within the flower,
On spotless Sara's breast.
But when unweeting of the guile
Awoke the pris'ner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile,
And stamp'd his fairy feet.
Ah! soon the soul entrancing-sight
Subdued th' impatient boy!
He gaz'd he thrill'd with deep delight!
Then clapp'd his wings for joy.
And oh ! he cried—" Of magic kind
What charm this Throne endear!
Some other Love let Venus find
I'll fix my empire here."
ONE, kiss, dear Maid! I said and sigh'd
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss?
Can danger lurk within a kiss?
Yon viewless Wand'rer of the vale,
The Spirit of the Western Gale,
At Morning's break, at Evening's close
Inhales the sweetness of the Rose,
And hovers o'er th' uninjur'd Bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigour to the Zephyr's wing
Her nectar-breathing Kisses fling;
And He the glitter of the Dew
Scatters on the Rose's hue.
Bashful lo! she bends her head,
And darts a blush of deeper Red!
Too well those lovely lips disclose
The Triumphs of the op'ning Rose ;
O fair! O graceful! bid them prove
As passive to the breath of Love.
In tender accents, faint and low,
Well-pleas'd I hear the whisper'd "No!"
The whisper'd "No"-
Sweet Falsehood, that endears Consent;
For on those lovely lips the while
Dawns the soft relenting smile,
And tempts with feign'd dissuasion coy
The gentle violence of Joy.
ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT,
POOR little Foal of an oppressed Race!
I love the languid Patience of thy face:
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy ragged Coat, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled Spirits hath dismay'd,
That never thou dost sport along the glade?
And (most unlike the nature of things young)
That earthward still thy moveless head is hung?
Do thy Prophetic Fears anticipate,
Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate?—
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches
Which patient Merit of the Unworthy takes?
Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain
To see thy wretched Mother's shorten❜d Chain?
And truly, very piteous is her Lot—————
Chain'd to a Log within a narrow spot
Where the close-eaten Grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting Green!
Poor Ass! thy Master should have learnt to show
Pity-best taught by fellowship of Woe!
For much I fear me, that he lives, like thee,
Half- famish'd in a land of Luxury!
How askingly its footsteps hither bend?
It seems to say, "And have I then one Friend?"
Innocent Foal! thou poor despis'd Forlorn!
I hail thee Brother-spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell
Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell,
Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his Bride,
And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!
How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,
And frisk about as Lamb or Kitten gay!
Yea! and more musically sweet to me
Thy dissonant harsh Bray of Joy would be,
Than warbled Melodies that sooth to rest
The aching of pale Fashion's vacant breast!
WHEN Youth his fairy reign began
Ere Sorrow had proclaimed me man;
While Peace the present hour beguil'd,
And all the lovely Prospect smil'd:
Then, Mary? 'mid my lightsome glce
I heav'd the painless Sigh for thee.
And when, along the waves of woe,
My harass'd Heart was doom'd to know
The frantic Burst of Outrage keen,
And the slow Pang that gnaws unseen;
Then shipwreck'd on Life's stormy sea
I heav'd an anguish'd Sigh for thee i
But soon Reflection's power imprest
A stiller sadness on my breast;
And sickly Hope with waning eye
Was well content to droop and die:
I yielded to the stern decree,
Yet heav'd a languid Sigh for thee!
And tho' in distant climes to roam,
A wanderer from my native home,
I fain would sooth the sense of Care
And lull to sleep the Joys, that were!
Thy Image may not banish'd be-
Still, Mary! still I sigh for thee.
DOMESTIC PEACE. TELL me, on what holy ground May Domestic Peace be found? Halcyon Daughter of the skies, Far on fearful wings she flies, From the pomp of sceptered State, From the Rebel's noisy hate. In a cottag'd vale She dwells List'ning to the Sabbath bells? Still around her steps are seen Spotless Honour's meeker mien, Love, the sire of pleasing fears, Sorrow smiling through her tears, And conscious of the past employ Memory, bosom-spring of joy.
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT. Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care; The opening bud to Heaven convey'd And bade it blossom there.
WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS, ROSS, FORMERLY
66
THE HOUSE OF THE MAN OF ROSS."
RICHER than Miser o'er his countless hoards,
Nobler than Kings, or king-polluted Lords,
Here dwelt the Man of Ross! O Trav'ller, hear!
Departed Merit claims a reverent tear.
Beneath this roof if thy cheer'd moments pass,
Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass :
To higher zest shall Mem'ry wake thy soul,
And Virtue mingle in th' ennobled bowl.
Friend to the Friendless, to the sick man health,
With Generous joy he viewed his modest wealth;
He hears the widow's heaven-breath'd prayer of praise,
He marks the shelter'd orphan's tearful gaze,
Or where the sorrow-shrivel'd captive lay,
Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noon-tide ray.
But if, like me, thro' life's distressful scene
Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath been;
And if, thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught,
Thou journeyest onward tempest-toss'd in thought;
Here cheat thy cares; in generous visions melt,
And dream of Goodness, thou hast never felt!
TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A VILLAGE.
ONCE more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wand'ring
I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.
Escap'd the flashing of the noontide hours,
With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers,
(Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn)
My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn.
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