Yet precious seems each shatter'd part, And every fragment dearer grown, Since he who wears thee, feels thou art A fitter emblem of his own. TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. FEW years have pass'd since thou and 1 Were firmest friends, at least, in name. And childhood's gay sincerity Preserved our feelings long the same. But now, like me, too well thou know st And such the change the heart displays, If so, it never shall be mine To mourn the loss of such a heart, The fault was Nature's fault, not thine Which made thee fickle as thou art As rolls the ocean's changing tide, So human feelings ebb and flow; And who would in a breast confide Where stormy passions ever glow It boots not, that together bred, Our childish days were days of joy: And when we bid adieu to youth, Not so in man's maturer years, With fools in kindred vice the same, We learn at length our faults to blend And those, and those alone, may claim The prostituted name of friend. Such is the common lot of man: Can we then 'scape from folly free? Can we reverse the general plan, Nor be wh it all in turn must be? No, for myself, so dark my fate But thou, with spirit frail and light, Alas! whenever folly calls Where parasites and princes meet, (For cherish'd first in royal halls, The welcome vices kindly greet,) Ev'n now thou'rt nightly seen to add To join the vain, and court the proud. There dost thou glide from fair to fair, That taint the flowers they scarcely taste. But say, what nymph will prize the flame Which seems, as marshy vapors move, To fit along from dame to dame, An ignis-fatuus gleam of love? What friend for thee, howe'er inclin'd, Will deign to own a kindred care? Who will debase his manly mind, For friendship every fool may share? In time forbear; amidst the throng, No more so idly pass along; Be something, anything, but-mean ΤΟ WELL! thou art happy, and I feel That I should thus be happy too; For still my heart regards thy weal Warmly, as it was wont to do. Thy husband's blest-and 'twill impart Some pangs to view his happier lot: But let them pass-Oh! how my heart Would hate him, if he loved thee not! When late I saw thy favorite child, I thought my jealous heart would break, But when th' unconscious infant smiled, I kiss'd it for its mother's sake. 1 kiss'd it, and repress'd my sighs, Mary, adieu! I must away: While thou art blest I'll not repine, But near thee I can never stay; My heart would soon again be thine. I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride Yet was I calm: I knew the time My breast would thrill before thy look, But now to tremble were a crimeWe met, and not a nerve was shook I saw thee gaze upon my face, Away! away! my early dream, Remembrance never must awake, Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream? My foolish heart be still, or break. FROM THE PORTUGUESE. IN moments to delight devoted, "My life!" with tend'rest tone, you cry, Dear words! on which my heart had doted, If youth could neither fade nor die. To death even hours like these must roll, Ah! then repeat those accents never, Or change "my life!" into "my soul!" Which, like my love, exists for ever. IMPROMTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND WHEN from the heart where Sorrow sits, Her dusky shadow mounts too high, And o'er the changing aspect flits, And clouds the brow, or fills the eye, Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink: My thoughts their dungeon know too well; Back to my breast the wanderers shrink, And droop within their silent cell. ADDRESS, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF DRURY-LANE THEA TRE, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812. IN one dread night our city saw, and sigh'd, Bow'd to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride; In one short hour beheld the blazing fane, Apollo sink, and Shakspeare cease to reign. Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourn'd, Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames, Day-shall this new, nor less aspiring pile, Yes-it shall be the magic of that name Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame; On the same spot still consecrates the scene, And bids the Drama be where she hath been. This fabric's birth attest the potent spellIndulge our honest pride, and say, How well! As soars this fane to emulate the last, Oh! might we draw our omens from the past, Dear are the days which made our annals bright, Friends of the stage! to whom both Players and Plays And made us blush that you forbore to blame; This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd, Still may we please-long, long may you preside! 69 TO TIME. TIME! on whose arbitrary wing Hail thou! who on my mirth bestow'd Those boons to all that know thee known Yet better I sustain thy load, For now I bear the weight alone. I would not one fond heart should share The bitter moments thou hast given; And pardon thee, since thou could'st spare All that I loved, to peace or heaven. To them be joy or rest, on me Thy future ills shall press in vain; I nothing owe but years to thee, A debt already paid in pain. Yet even that pain was some relief; It felt, but still forgot thy power: The active agony of grief Retards, but never counts the hour. In joy I've sigh'd to think thy flight For then, however drear and dark, My soul was suited to thy sky; One star alone shot forth a spark To prove thee-not Eternity. That beam hath sunk, and now thou art A blank; a thing to count and curse Through each dull, tedious, trifling part, Which all regret, yet all rehearse. One scene even thou canst not deform; And I can smile to think how weak Thine efforts shortly shall be shown, When all the vengeance thou canst wreak Must fall upon- ɩ nameless stone. TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG AH! Love was never yet without Which rends my heart with ceaseless sigh Without one friend to hear my wo, I faint, I die beneath the blow. That Love had arrows, well I knew; Alas! I find them poison'd too. |