Rest, injured shade! Shall SLANDER squatting near In Merit's joy, and Poverty's meek woe; And sit me down upon its recent grass, Similitude of soul, perhaps of-Fate! To me hath Heaven with bounteous hard assigned The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part, VOL. I. E I weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows, Is this piled earth our Being's passless mound? And fain would sleep, though pillowed on a clod! TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A POEM ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. MUCH on my early youth I love to dwell, Mourned with the breeze, O LEE Boo!* o'er thy tomb. Breathed from the heart and glistened in the tear: * LEE Boo, the son of ABBA THULE, Prince of the Pelew Islands, came over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the small-pox, and is buried in Greenwich church-yard. See Keate's Account. No knell that tolled, but filled my anxious eye, Thus to sad sympathies I soothed my breast, Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glowed; She came, and scattered battles from her eyes! Fallen is the oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low, If SMILES more winning, and a gentler MIEN *Southey's Retrospect. Shaping celestial forms in vacant air, If these demand the empassioned Poet's care- Then haply shall my trembling hand assign September, 1792. |