28

LINES ADDRESSED TO A LADY.

"When she chaunts the wild song of her pine-cover'd hills,

"And her bosom with thoughts of past happiness thrills; "While Mem'ry! fond Mem'ry! each object endears, "And relief can be only obtain'd by her tears.

"Then each painful emotion expel from your breast, "Grey hairs and old age, by good humour arrest,

"And thankful to Providence happily rest."

}

UPON A

CONSERVATORY, OPENING INTO A SPLENDID DINING ROOM.

"It is the loss of these enjoyments, that makes Death appear so gloomy."

Dr.

ACCOMPLISH'D, and skill'd to alleviate disease,

With taste and good-humour each circle to please;

While Science unfolds her domain to the view,

My attempt, how presumptuous! to differ with you!
Yet when the stern sisters are weaving their loom,
And
prepare for

poor man his inscrutable doom;

30

LINES UPON A CONSERVATORY,

When all the Divine, and the Parent imprest,

Bewilder or soothe the disconsolate breast;

While the nights are grown sleepless thro' languor and pain,

And long vanish'd phantoms flit over the brain;

"Tis not the clematis perfuming the hall,

Or the jasmine's fragrance our thoughts can recall;
Nor all the gay colours around us that rise,

Of flowers, that were rear'd beneath tropical skies;
"Tis not the bright orange from Taio's green wave,
(Once abode of the fearless, enlighten'd, and brave ;)
Nor Persia's sweet rose-bud that gladdens our sight,
(Of each Poet and Lover, the theme and delight ;)

'Tis not the rich side-board of family plate,

Or all Francatelli's disciples create ;

Nor refinements, a Sybarite almost defy,

That sadden the bosom and moisten the eye.

How vain! and how trifling! these baubles appear,
(Tho' Time's hallow'd wand may each object endear ;)
The pang that unnerves amidst anguish and woe,
Is the parting from those, whom we cherish below.
That to all whom we love, we must whisper-adieu!
And their features no more will enliven our view :

OPENING INTO A SPLENDID DINING ROOM.

31

That no more we shall meet in "the Hall and the Bower,"

Or feel the soft magic of feminine power;

The yule-log in winter no longer will blaze,

And renew the bright sunshine of happier days.
Farewell then alike to the laurel and lyre,

With all that devotion and duty inspire;

Our hopes, fears, and wishes, seem only a dream,

And are buried for ever by Time's rapid stream.

UPON A

COUNTRY RESIDENCE, AT THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.