« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
Milesian romances, envelope in shade,
Nor let Bigotry's viper the bosom invade.
Then in fancy we sketch your sequester'd retreat,
(As garlands, and bonfires, your equipage greet,)
Where at mid-day's fierce sun you are tempted to rove,
By the stream's mossy bank, to your shady alcove;
While the blossoms of youth are restor'd to your cheek,
And the “ Soubrette disdains fresh cosmetics to seek.
Too long in seclusion, for each valued friend ;
Months and seasons alike you are destin'd to spend;
For Fashion, to whom, e'en the wisest submit,
Supreme at the toilette, in “ Virtu," and wit;
Forbids and prohibits St. James's gay scene,
'Till the snow-drifted landscape is mantled in green,
'Till each gale is perfum'd by the verdure of Spring, And the woodlands again with wild melody ring. How unlike our fair Belles ! you perchance may have heard,
In the once brilliant Court of great Brunswick the
As both “ Townlys and Grandisons,"
With the good “ Lady Bountifuls” poetry drew ;
When Ranelagh’s dull promenade could inspire,
And a Barry, or Cibber, each theatre fire;
November's dark aspect then bid them prepare,
To quit the damp “ Chateau’s disconsolate air ;
No guests to enliven the ancient saloon ;
From the state of the weather, the roads, or the moon;
No poachers to try, and no tenants to scold,
E’en the Sessions appear'd both deserted and cold ;
While “John Moody and Scrub," with each newly deckt clown,
View'd with joy, the departure, for“ Lunnun's” gay town;
Long since they have vanish’d, and all pass’d away,
And we hail the soft breezes and zephyrs of May,
Which ensure to our exiles a tardy recall,
From domestic pursuits, at the ancestral hall;
As barouches unnumber'd, then rapidly pour,
And lace-cover'd lacqueys encumber each door ;
While the fair“ Prima Donnas,” adorn'd with each wile,
Descend the proud Alps, at our folly to smile;
Then return your connections to cheer and delight,
Like a comet, dispelling the darkness of night;
Restore the gay phantoms of hope to our view,
And Life's thorny passage with roses long strew.
WRITTEN IN A SICK CHAMBER.
" Nessun maggior dolore,
“ Che ricordarsi del tempo felice,
Vain each attempt the anguish to explain,
When sunk and fetter'd, by thine iron chain;
Yet vile Podagra ! torment of our frame,
Let me one moment, thy forbearance claim;
To festive banquets forc'd to bid adieu,
Nor London's gay and brilliant circles view;
Condemn'd no more to mount the gen’rous steed,
And health recover from the flow'ry mead;
Or idly saunt'ring near the briny wave,
Mark the poor sea-bird, his white pinion lave.
Yet, gracious Heav'n! for what (thro thee) remains,
Deign to accept these few, tho' grateful strains ;
Friendship’s warm welcome I can still enjoy,
While dear connections, through the struggle buoy;
Surround my couch, and soothe the aching head,
When Death's dark border we appear to tread;
Too weak and old, the op’ning hound to cheer,
Or at St. Stephen's join the well-known “ Hear;"
Unfit to labour in the classic mine,
Or feel the warmth of Homer's flowing line;
No more with Tully's patriot fire to glow,
(When Rome's great master laid each rival low ;)
Still lighter subjects can the mind engage,
The Poem-Novel-" or the well-trod stage;"
From the fair belles, and tavern rakes of old,
Stamp'd in a Fielding—or a Farquhar's mould ;
To Swift's keen satire, and sarcastic muse,
With all a Cowper's pensive lines diffuse.
Yet when reflecting at pale midnight's gloom,
On friends—long summon’d to the silent tomb,
LINES WRITTEN IN A SICK CHAMBER.
Or those, who rack'd by dire complaints survive, And against Hope, with manly courage strive; Let me most grateful, breathe an humble pray'r, (As with their suff'rings, mine—are light as air ;") “ May my poor bark through Life's dark current glide, 66 And stem the billows of each adverse tide;
“ Her steady course, thro' ev'ry storm pursue,
“And ne'er the shipwreck of affection rue ;
“ But oh! kind Heav'n! protect me from this foe,
“Drive, drive, the demon to the shades below,
“And calm a victim's agonizing woe.”