IX.

Unboastful maid! though now the Lily palo

ABSENCE. Transparent grace thy beauties meek;

A FAREWELL ODE ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR JESUS Yet ere again along the empurpling vale,

COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. The purpling vale and elfin-haunted grove, Young Zephyr his fresh flowers profusely throws, WHERE graced with many a classic spoil We'll tinge with livelier hues thy cheek;

Cam rolls his reverend stream along,
And, haply, from the nectar-breathing Rose

I haste to urge the learned toil
Extract a blush for love!

That sternly chides my lovelorn song:
Ah me! too mindful of the days
Numed by Passion's orient rays,
When Peace, and Cheerfulness, and Health

Enrich'd me with the best of wealth.
THE RAVEN.
A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A SCHOOL-BOY TO HIS

Ah fair delights! that o'er my soul

On Memory's wing, like shadows fly! * LITTLE BROTHERS AND SISTERS.

Ah Flowers! which Joy from Eden stole UNDERNEATH a huge oak tree

While Innocence stood smiling by There was, of swine, a huge company,

But cease, fond heart! this bootless moan: That grunted as they crunch'd the mast:

Those hours on rapid pinions flown
For that was ripe, and fell full fast.

Shall yet return, by Absence crown'd,
Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high : And scatter lovelier roses round.
One acorn they left, and no more might you spy.
Next came a raven, that liked not such folly :

The Sun who ne'er remits his fires
He belong'd, they did say, to the witch Melancholy ! On heedless eyes may pour the day :
Blacker was he than blackest jet,

The Moon, that oft from Heaven retires, Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet.

Endears her renovated ray. He pick'd up the acorn and buried it straight

What though she leaves the sky unblest
By the side of a river both deep and great.

To moum awhile in murky vest ?
Where then did the Raven go?

When she relumes her lovely light,
He went high and low,

We bless the wanderer of the night.
Over hill, over dale, did the black Raven go.

Many Autumns, many Springs
Travellid he with wandering wings :
Many Summers, many Winters,

LINES ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING.
I can't tell half his adventures.

O Thou, wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more At length he came back, and with him a Shę. Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds explore ! And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree. Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flight They built them a nest in the topmost bough, Bathed in rich amber-glowing foods of light; And young ones they had, and were happy enow. Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day, But soon came a woodman in leather guise, With western peasants hail the morning ray! His brow, like a pent-house, hung over his eyes. Ah! rather bid the perish'd pleasures move, He'd an ax in his hand, not a word he spoke, A shadowy train, across the soul of Love! But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke, O'er Disappointment's wintry desert fling At length he brought down the poor Raven's own Each flower that wreathed the dewy locks of Spring, oak.

When blushing, like a bride, from Hope's trim His young ones were kill'd; for they could not

bower depart,

She leap'd, awaken'd by the pattering shower. And their mother did die of a broken heart. Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam,

Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy poet's dream!
The boughs from the trunk the woodman did sever; With fairy wand O bid the Maid arise,
And they floated it down on the course of the river. Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes;
They saw'd it in planks, and its bark they did strip, As erst when from the Muses' calm abode
And with this tree and others they made a good ship. I came, with Learning's meed not unbestow'd;
The ship it was launch'd; but in sight of the land When as she twined a laurel round my brow,
Such a storm there did rise as no ship could with. And met my kiss, and half return'd my vow,
stand.

O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrill'd heart,
It bulged on a rock, and the waves rush'd in fast: And every nerve confess'd th' electric dart.
The old Raven flew round and round, and caw'd to
the blast.

O dear deceit! I see the Maiden rise,

Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes! He heard the last shriek of the perishing souls- When first the lark, high soaring, swells his throat, See! see! o'er the topmast the mad water rolls ! Mocks the tired eye, and scatters the wild note,

Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet, I trace her footsteps on the accustom'd lawn, And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet, I mark her glancing 'mid the gleam of dawn. And he thank'd him again and again for this treat: When the bent flower beneath the night-dew weeps They had taken his all, and Revenge was sweet! And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps,

Amid the paly radiance soft and sad,
She meets my lonely path in moon-beams clad.
With her along the streamlet's brink I rove;
With her I list the warblings of the grove;
And seems in each low wind her voice to float,
Lone-whispering Pity in each soothing note!

No more your sky-larks melting from the sight
Shall thrill the attuned heart-string with delight-
No more shall deck your pensive Pleasures sweet
With wreaths of sober hue my evening seat.
Yet dear to Fancy's eye your varied scene
Of wood, hill, dale, and sparkling brook between!
Yet sweet to Fancy's ear the warbled song,
That soars on Morning's wings your vales among.

Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! obey
The powerful spell, and to my haunt repair.
Whether on clustering pinions ye are there,
Where rich snows blossom on the myrtle trees,
Or with fond languishment around my fair
Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her hair;
O heed the spell, and hither wing your way,
Like far-off music, voyaging the breeze!

Scenes of my Hope! the aching eye ye leave,
Like yon bright hues that paint the clouds of eve!
Tearful and saddening with the sadden'd blaze,
Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze,
Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend,
Till chill and damp the moonless night descend.

THE ROSE.

Spirits! to you the infant Maid was given,
Form'd by the wondrous alchemy of heaven!
No fairer maid does Love's wide empire know,
No fairer maid e'er heaved the bosom's snow.
A thousand Loves around her forehead fly;
A thousand Loves sit melting in her eye ;
Love lights her smile—in Joy's red nectar dips
His myrtle flower, and plants it on her lips..
She speaks! and hark that passion-warbled song-
Still, Fancy! still that voice, those notes prolong,
As sweet as when that voice with rapturous falls
Shall wake the soften'd echoes of Heaven's halls !

O (have I sigh'd) were mine the wizard's rod,
Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful god!
A flower-entangled arbor I would seem,
To shield my Love from noontide's sultry beam:
Or bloom a Myrtle, from whose odorous boughs
My love might weave gay garlands for her brows.
When twilight stole across the fading vale,
To fan my love I'd be the Evening Gale;
Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest,
And flutter my faint pinions on her breast !
On Seraph wing I'd float a Dream by night,
To soothe my Love with shadows of delight :-
Or soar aloft to be the Spangled Skies,
And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes !

But when unweeting of the guilo
Awoke the prisoner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile,
And stamp'd his faery feet.

Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight
Subdued the impatient boy!
He gazed! he thrill'd with deep delight!
Then clapp'd his wings for joy.

" And O! he cried—“Of magic kind
What charm this Throne endear!
Some other Love let Venus find
I'll fix my empire here."

As when the Savage, who his drowsy frame
Had bask'd beneath the Sun's unclouded flame,
Awakes amid the troubles of the air,
The skiey deluge, and white lightning's glare-
Aghast he scours before the tempest's sweep,
And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep :-
So toss'd by storms along Life's wildering way,
Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day,
When by my native brook I wont to rove,
While Hope with kisses nursed the Infant Love.

THE KISS.

ONE kiss, dear Maid! I said and sighd-
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss ?
Can danger lurk within a kiss ?

Dear native brook! like Peace, so placidly
Smoothing through fertile fields thy current meek!
Dear native brook! where first young Poesy
Stared wildly-eager in her noontide dream!
Where blameless pleasures dimple Quiet's cheek,
As water-lilies ripple thy slow stream!
Dear native haunts! where Virtue still is gay,
Where Friendship’s fix'd star sheds a mellow'd ray,
Where Love a crown of thornless Roses wears,
Where soften'd Sorrow smiles within her lears;
And Memory, with a Vestal's chaste employ,
Unceasing feeds the lambent flame of joy!

Yon viewless Wanderer 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 the uninjured bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigor 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 !

From the pomp of sceptred state,
From the rebel's noisy hate.
In a cottaged vale She dwells
Listening to the Sabbath bells'
Still around her steps are seen
Spotless Honor'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.

Too well those lovely lips disclose
The triumphs of the opening Rose ;
O fair! O graceful! bid them prove
As passive to the breath of Love.
In tender accents, faint and low,
Well-pleased I hear the whisper'd “ No!”
The whisper'd “ No"-how little meant!
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.

THE SIGH.

TO A YOUNG ASS.

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 thrillid 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!

WHEN Youth his faery reign began
Ere sorrow had proclaim'd me man;
While Peace the present hour beguiled,
And all the lovely prospect smiled;
Then, Mary! 'mid my lightsome glee
I heaved the painless Sigh for thee.
And when, along the waves of woe,
Mỹ 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 heaved an anguish'd Sigh for thee!
But soon reflection's power impress'd
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 heaved a languid Sigh for thee!
And though in distant climes to roam,
A wanderer from my native home,
I fain would soothe 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.
June, 1794.

Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
Pity—best taught by fellowship of woe!

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.
For much I fear me that he lives like thee,
Half famish'd in a land of luxury!

ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
How askingly its footsteps hither bend?

Death came with friendly care ; It seems to say, “ And have I then one friend ?"

The opening bud to Heaven convey'd, Innocent Foal! thou poor despised forlorn!

And bade it blossom there.
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, LINES WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS
And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!

ROSS.
How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,
And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay!

FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF THE “ MAN OF ROSS." Yea! and more musically sweet to me

RICHER than miser o'er his countless hoards, Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be, Nobler than kings, or king-polluted lords, Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest

Here dwelt the man of Ross! O Traveller, hear! The aching of pale fashion's vacant breast! Departed merit claims a reverent tear.

Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health,
With generous joy he view'd his modest wealth ;

He hears the widow's heaven-breath'd prayer of
DOMESTIC PEACE.

praise,

He mark'd the shelter'd orphan's tearful gaze, TELL me, on what holy ground

Or where the sorrow-shrivell'd captive lay, May Domestic Peace be found ?

Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noontide ray. Halcyon Daughter of the skies,

Beneath this roof if thy cheer'd moments pass, Far on fearful wings she flies,

Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass :

To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul, Remorse, the poison'd arrow in his side,
And Virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl.

And loud lewd Mirth, to anguish close allied :
But if, like me, through life's distressful scene, Till Frenzy, fierce-eyed child of moping pain,
Lonely and sad, thy pilgrimage hath been;

Darts her hot lightning flash athwart the brain.
And if thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught, Rest, injured shade! Shall Slander squatting near
Thou journeyest onward tempest-toss’d in thought; Spit her cold venom in a dead Man's ear?
Here cheat thy cares ! in generous visions melt, "Twas thine to feel the sympathetic glow
And dream of goodness, thou hast never felt! In Merit's joy, and Poverty's meek woe;

Thine all that cheer the moment as it flies,
The zoneless Cares, and smiling Courtesies.

Nursed in thy heart the firmer Virtues grew,
LINES TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A

And in thy heart they wither'd! Such chill dew

Wan indolence on each young blossom shed;
VILLAGE.

And Vanity her filmy net-work spread,

With eye that roll’d around, in asking gaze, · Once more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wander- And tongue that traffick'd in the trade of praise. ing near,

Thy follies such! the hard world mark'd them well ! I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.

Were they more wise, the proud who never fell ? Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours Rest, injur'd shade! the poor man’s grateful prayer With one fresh garland of Pierian fowers

On heavenward wing thy wounded soul shall bear. (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn) As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass, My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn. And sit me down upon its recent grass, For not through pathless grove with murmur rude With introverted eye I contemplate Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude; Similitude of soul, perhaps of-Fate! Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well, To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assign'd The Hermit-fountain of some dripping cell! Energic Reason and a shaping mind, Pride of the Vale! thy useful streams supply The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part, The scatter'd cots and peaceful hamlet nigh. And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart. The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks Sloth-jaundic'd all ! and from my graspless hand With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks, Drop Friendship's precious pearls, like hour-glass Released from school, their little hearts at rest,

sand. Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast.

I weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows,
The rustic here at eve with pensive look

A dreamy pang in Morning's feverish doze.
Whistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook,
Or, starting, pauses with hope-mingled dread

Is this piled earth our being's passless mound?
To list the much-loved maid's accustom'd tread :

Tell me, cold grave! is Death with poppies crown'd? She, vainly mindful of her dame's command,

Tired sentinel ! 'mid fitful starts I nod, Loiters, the long-fillid pitcher in her hand.

And fain would sleep, though pillow'd on a clod! Unboastful Stream!'thy fount with pebbled falls The faded form of past delight recalls, What time the morning sun of Hope arose, And all was joy ; save when another's woes A transient gloom upon my soul imprest, Like passing clouds impictured on thy breast.

TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A POEM ON Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon,

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
Or silvery stole beneath the pensive Moon :
Ah! now it works rude brakes and thorns among, Much on my early youth I love to dwell,
Or o'er the rough rock bursts and foams along ! Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell,

Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale,
I heard of guilt and wonder'd at the tale!

Yet though the hours flew by on careless wing,

Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing.
LINES ON A FRIEND,

Aye as the star of evening flung its beam

In broken radiance on the wavy stream, WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER INDUCED BY CALUM- My soul amid the pensive twilight gloom NIOUS REPORTS.

Mourn'd with the breeze, O Lee Boo!* o'er thy tomb,

Where'er I wander'd, Pity still was near, EDMUND! thy grave with aching eye 1 scan, Breathed from the heart and glisten'd in the tear: And inly groan for Heaven's poor outcast-Man! No knell that toll'd, but fill'd my anxious eye, 'Tis tempest all or gloom: in early youth,

And suffering Nature wept that one should die 4 If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth, We force to start amid her feign'd caress

Thus to sad sympathies I soothed my breast,
Vice, siren-hag! in native ugliness ;

Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West :
A brother's fate will haply rouse the tear,
And on we go in heaviness and fear!

When slumbering Freedom roused with high disdain But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower

With giant fury burst her triple chain! Some pigmy Folly in a careless hour, The faithless guest shall stamp the enchanted ground . Lee Boo, the-son of Abba Thule, Prince of the Pelew IslAnd mingled forms of Misery rise around :

ands, came over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the Heart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast,

small-pox, and is buried in Greenwich church-yard.-See Keato's

Account. That courts the future woe to hide the past ;

t Southey's Retrospect.

Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd ; Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul
Her banners, like a midnight meteor, flow'd; Wilder'd with meteor fires. Ah spirit pure !
Amid the yelling of the storm-rent skies !

That error's mist had left thy purged eye:
She came, and scatter'd battles from her eyes ! So might I clasp thee with a mother's joy!
Then Exultation waked the patriot fire,
And swept with wilder hand the Alcxan lyre :
Red from the tyrant's wound I shook the lance,
And strode in joy the reeking plains of France !

SONNET.
Fallen is the oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low,

THOUGH roused by that dark Vizir, Riot rude And my heart aches, though Mercy struck the blow. Have driven our Priest over the ocean swell: With wearied thought once more I seek the shade, Though Superstition and her wolfish brood Where peaceful Virtue weaves the myrtle braid.

Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell ; And 0! if eyes whose holy glances roll,

Calm in his halls of brightness he sball dwell! Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul;

For lo ! Religion at his strong behest If smiles more winning, and a gentler mien

Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell, Than the love-wilder'd Maniac's brain hath seen

And flings to earth her tinsel-glittering vest, Shaping celestial forms in vacant air,

Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy; If these demand the impassion’d poet's care

And Justice wakes to bid the Oppressor wail, If Mirth and soften'd Sense and Wit refined,

Insulting aye the wrongs of patient Folly: The blameless features of a lovely mind ;

And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won, Then haply shall my trembling hand assign

Meek Nature slowly lifts her matron veil
No fading wreath 10 beauty's saintly shrine.

To smile with fondness on her gazing son!
Nor, Sara! thou these early flowers refuse
Ne'er lurk'd the snake beneath their simple hues ;
No purple bloom the child of nature brings
From Flattery's night-shade; as he feels, he sings.

SONNET.
September, 1792.

When British Freedom for a happier land
Spread her broad wings, that flutter'd with affright,
ERSKINE! thy voice she heard, and paused her flight

Sublime of hope! For dreadless thou didst stand
SONNET.

(Thy censer glowing with the hallow'd flame)
A hireless Priest before the insulted shrine,

And at her altar pour the stream divine
Content, as random Fancies might inspire,
If his weak harp at times, or lonely Tyre

Of unmatch'd eloquence. Therefore thy name He struck with desultory band, and drew

Her sons shall venerate, and cheer thy breast Somo soften'd tones to Nature not untrue.

With blessings heavenward breathed. And when Bowles.

the doom

of Nature bids thee die, beyond the tomb My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles ! for those soft Thy light shall shine : as sunk, beneath the West, strains,

Though the great Summer Sun eludes our gaze,
Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring · Still burns wide Heaven with his distended blaze.
Of wild-bees in the sunny showers of spring!
For hence not callous to the mourner's pains
Through youth's gay prime and thornless path I
went :

SONNET.
And when the mightier throes of man began,
And drove me forth, a thought-bewilder'd man!

It was some Spirit, SHERIDAN! that breathed
Their mild and manliest melancholy lent

O'er thy young mind such wildly various power! A mingled charm, such as the pang consign'd

My soul hath mark'd thee in her shaping hour, To slumber, though the big tear it renew'd ;

Thy temples with Hymettian flow'rets wreathed: Bidding a strange mysterious Pleasure brood And sweet thy voice, as when o'er Laura's bier Over the wavy and tumultuous mind,

Sad music trembled through Vauclusa’s glade ; As the great Spirit erst with plastic sweep

Sweet, as at dawn the lovelorn serenade
Moved on the darkness of the unform'd deep.

That wafts soft dreams to Slumber's listening ear.
Now patriot rage and indignation high
Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beams

dance

Meaning of Scorn and Wit's quaint revelry!
SONNET

Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance

The Apostate by the brainless rout adored, As late I lay in slumber's shadowy vale,

As erst that elder fiend beneath great Michael's sword. With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise, I saw the sainted form of Freedom rise : She spake! not sadder moans the autumnal gale"Great Son of Genius! sweet to me thy name,

SONNET Ere in an evil hour with alter'd voice Thou badst Oppression's hireling crew rejoice, O what a loud and fearful shriek was there, Blasting with wizard spell my laurell’d fame. As though a thousand souls one death-groan pour'd! Yet never, Burke! thou drank’st Corruption's bowl! Ah me! they view'd beneath a hireling's sword The stormy Pity and the cherish'd lure

Fallen Kosciusko! Through the burthen'd air