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hat if thy deep and ample stream should be l 'Tis vain to struggle-let me perish youngmirror of my heart, where she may read Live as I lived, and love as I have loved : e thousand thoughts I now betray to thee, To dust if I return, from dust I sprung, ild as thy wave,and head long as thy speed? And then at least my heart can ne'er be

moved. hat do I say-a mirror of my heart? e not thy waters sweeping, dark and

strong ? ch as my feelings were and are, thou art;

DRINKING-SONG. d such as thou art, were my passions long. Fill the goblet again, for I never before

| Felt the glow that now gladdens my heart me may have somewhat tamed them, not

to its core : for ever:

Let us drink-who would not? since, thro' lou overflowst thy banks, and not for aye;

life's varied round, y bosom overboils, congenial river !

In the goblet alone no deception is found. uy floods subside; and mine have sunk

away

I have tried in its turn all that life can supply; It left long wrecks behind them, and again

I have bask'd in the beams of a dark rolling rne on our old unchanged career, we move; I have lov'd-who has not ? but what tongue hou tendest wildly onward to the main,

will declare id I to loving one I should not love.

That pleasure existed while passion was

there? he current I behold will sweep beneath er native walls, and murmur at her feet;

In the days of our youth, when the heart's er eyes will look on thee, when she shall |

in its spring, breathe

And dreams that affection can never tako he twilight-air, unharm’d by summer's

wing, heat.

I had friends, who has not? but what le will look on thee: I have look'd on thee,

tongue will avow all of that thought, and from that

That friends, rosy wine, are so faithful as

thou? moment ne'er hy waters could I dream of, name or see, 'ithout the inseparable sigh for her.

The breast of a mistress some boy may

estrange; er bright eyes will be imaged in thy

Friendship shifts with the sun-beam,- thou stream ;

never canst change. es, they will meet the wave I gaze on now:

Thou growst old—who does not ? but on ine cannot witness, even in a dream,

earth what appears,

Whose virtues, like thine, but increase hat happy wave repass me in its flow.

with our years ? he wave that bears my tears returns no

more:

Yet if blest to the utmost that love can Till she return by whom that wave shall

bestow, sweep?

Should a rival bow down to our idol below, oth tread thy banks, both wander on thy We are jealous—who 's not? thou hast no shore ;

such alloy, near thy source, she by the dark-blue deep. For the more that enjoy thee, the more they

enjoy. nt that which keepeth us apart is not istance, nor depth of wave, nor space of When, the season of youth and its jollities earth,

past, ut the distraction of a various lot, For refuge we fly to the goblet at last, s various as the climates of our birth. Then we find—who does not ? in the flow

of the soul, stranger loves a lady of the land, That truth, as of yore, is confin'd to the bowl. forn far beyond the mountains, but his

blood

When the box of Pandora was opened on y all meridian, as if never fann'd

earth, 'y the bleak wind that chills the polar flood. And Memory's triumph commenced over

Mirth, ly blood is all meridian; were it not, Hope was left-was she not? but the goblet had not left my clime;-I shall not be

we kiss, n spite of tortures ne'er to be forgot, | And care not for hope, who are certain of slave again of love, at least of thee.

bliss.

w

- attributes a

Long life to the grape! and when summer (Few and short were the prayers we said,

is flown,

And we spoke not a word of sorrow; • The age of our nectar shall gladden my own. But we stedfastly gazed on the face of the We must die-who does not? may our sing

dead,
be forgiven! And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
And Hebe shall never be idle in Heaven.

We thought, as we heap'd his narrow bed.
And smooth'd down his lonely pillow,
That the foe and the stranger would tread

o'er his head ON SIR JOHN MOORE'S BURIAL. And we far away on the billow!

Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,

note,

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him; As his corse to the ramparts we hurried; But nothing he'll reck, if they let bin Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot

sleep on O'er the grave where our hero we buried. In the grave where a Briton has laid hin

We buried him darkly at dead of night, But half of our heavy task was done,
The sods with our bayonets turning, When the clock told the hour for retiring;
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And we heard by the distant and random gu,
And the lantern dimly burning.

That the foe was suddenly firing.

No useless coffin confined his breast, Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
Nor in sheet nor in shrouds we bound him, From the field of his fame fresh and gory;
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, We carved not a line, we raised not a stene,
With his martial cloak around him. But we left him alone with his glory.

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TO THB RIGRT HONOURABLB

Of the mail-cover'd Barons, who, proudly, FREDERICK, EARL OF CARLISLE,

to battle KNIGHT OF THE GARTER, etc. etc.

Led their vassals from Europe to Palet THBSE POEMS ARE INSCRIBED BY HIS OBLIGED

tine's plain, WARD AND AFFECTIONATE KINSMAN,

The escutcheon and shield, which with THE AUTHOR.

every blast rattle, Are the only sad vestiges now that

remain. ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY.

|No more doth old Robert, with harp-string Why dont thou build the hall? Son of the winged days! Thou lookest from thy tower to-day; yet a

ing numbers, few years, and the blast of the desert comes; it howle! Raise a flame in the breast, for the in thy empty court.

laurell'd wreath;

088IAN. Near Askalon's towers John of Horistan THROUGH thy battlements, Newstead, the

slumbers, hollow winds whistle;

• Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel, by Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art gone

death. to decay; In thy once smiling garden the hemlock and Paul and Hubert too sleep, in the valley a thistle

Cressy; Have choked up the rose, which late For the safety of Edward and England bloom'd in the way.

they fell;

ly Fathers! the tearg of your country re-No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep, dress ye;

But living statues there are seen to weep; How you fought! how you died! still her Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy annals can tell.

tomb,

Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom. in Marston, with Rupert 'gainst traitors What though thy sire lament his failing line, contending,

A father's sorrows cannot equal mine! Four brothers enrich'd with their blood Though none, like thee, his dying hour will the bleak field;

P cheer, or the rights of a monarch, their country Yet other offspring soothe his anguish here: defending,

But, who with me shall hold thy former Till death their attachment to royalty

place ? seal'd.

Thine image, what new friendship can

efface? hades of heroes, farewell! your descendant, Ah, none! a father's tears will cease to flow, departing

Time will assuage an infant-brother's woe; From the seat of his ancestors, bids you To all, save one, is consolation known, adieu !

While solitary Friendship sighs alone. broad, or at home, your remembrance

1803. imparting New courage, he'll think upon glory and

A FRAGMENT. you.

WAEN, to their airy hall, my Fathers' voice hough a tear dim his eye at this sad Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice; separation,

When, poised upon the gale, my form shall 'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his

ride, regret;

Or, dark in mist, descend the mountains' ar distant he goes, with the same emulation,

side; The fame of his Fatherg he ne'er can forget. Oh! may my shade behold no sculptured

urns, 'hat fame, and that memory, still will he To mark the spot where earth to earth re

cherish, He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd renown;

stone; ike you will he live, or like you will he My epitaph shall be, my name alone : perish;

If that with honour fail to crown my clay, When decay'd, may he mingle his dust | Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay; with your own.

That, only that, shall single out the spot, 1803. By that remember'd, or with that forgot.

turns:

1803.

EPITAPH ON A FRIEND.

THE TEAR.
Ιστερ πριν μεν ελαμπες ενι ζωοισιν έωος.

O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
LAERTIOS. Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater

Felix! in imo qui scatentem
'n! Friend! for ever loved, for ever dear! Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit.

GLAY. That fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier!

When Friendship or Love Vhat sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath, Our sympathies move; Thile thou wast struggling in the pangs of When Truth, in a glance, should appear, death!

The lips may beguile, ould tears retard the tyrant in his course; With a dimple or smile, ould sighs 'avert his dart's relentless force; But the test of affection 's a Tear. ould youth and virtue claim a short delay, 'r beauty charm the spectre from his prey ; Too oft is a smile "hou still hadst lived, to bless my aching But the hypocrite's wile, sight,

To mask detestation, or fear; 'by comrade's honour, and thy friend's Give me the soft sigh, delight.

Whilst the soul-telling eye 1, yet, thy gentle spirit hover nigh Is dimm’d, for a time, with a Tear. The spot, where now thy mouldering ashes lie,

Mild Charity's glow, lere wilt thou read, recorded on my heart, To us mortals below, grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art. Shows the soul from barbarity clear;

Compassion will melt,

( Which the children of vanity rear; Where this virtue is felt,

No fiction of fame And its dew is diffused in a Tear.

Shall blazon my name,

| All I ask, all I wish, is a Tear.
The man, doom'd to sail
With the blast of the gale,
Through billows Atlantic to steer;
As he bends o'er the wave,

ON THE DEATH OF MR. FOX
Which may soon be his grave,
The green sparkles bright with a Tear.

The following illiberal Impromptu appeared

in a Morning-Paper, The soldier braves death,

“Our Nation's foes lament on Fox's death For a fanciful wreath,

But bless the hour when Pitt resign'd li In Glory's romantic career;

breath; . But he raises the foe,

These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth When in battle laid low,

unclue, And bathes every wound with a Tear. We give the palm where Justice pointo it

due." If, with high-bounding pride, He return to his bride,

To which the Author of these Pieces en Renouncing the gorc-crimson'd spear;

the following Reply. All his toils are repaid, When, embracing the maid,

OH! factious viper! whose en venom'd toch From her eyelid he kisses the Tear.

Would mangle still the dead, perverting

truth; Sweet scene of my youth,

What, though our “nation's foes" lament Seat of Friendship and Truth,

the fate, Where love chased each fast-fleeting year;

With generous feeling, of the good and Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd,

great; For a last look I turn'd,

Shall dastard tongues essay to blast ta

Dame But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear.

Of him, whose meed exists in endless fame!

When Pitt expired, in plenitude of povel Though my vows I can pour,

Though ill success obscured his dying beor To my Mary no more,

Pity her dewy wings before him spread.. My Mary, to Love once so dear;

For noble spirits "war not with the deal." In the shade of her bower,

His friends, in tears, a last sad requiem gave, I remember the hour,

As all his errors slumber'd in the grave; She rewarded those vows with a Tear.

He sunk, an Atlas, bending 'neath the weigh

Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting stale By another possest,

When, lo! a Hercules, in For, appear May she live ever blest,

Who, for a time, the ruin'd fabric rear di Her name still my heart must revere; He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplice With a sigh I resign,

With him, our fast reviving hopes have die What I once thought was mine,

Not one great people only raise his nr. And forgive her deceit with a Tear:

All Europe's far extended regions moum.

“These feelings wide, let Sense and Trum Ye friends of my heart,

unclue . Ere from you I depart,

To give the palm where Justice points i This hope to my breast is most near;

due;"
If again we shall meet,

Yet let not canker'd calumny assail,
In this rural retreat,

Or round our statesman wind her grou?

veil. May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.

Fox! o'er whose corse a mourning Wire

must weep, When my soul wings her flight,

Whose dear remains in honour'd made To the regions of night,

sleep, And my corse shall recline on its bier;

For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations
As ye pass by the tomb,

While friends and foes alike his talents
Where my ashes consume,

Fox shall, in Britain's future annals,
Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.

Nor e'en to Pitt the patriot's palm

Which Envy,wearing Candour's sacred
May no marble bestow

For Pırt, and Pitt alone, has dared
The splendour of woe,

AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE, Then read, dear Girl, with feeling read,

For thou wilt ne'er be one of those; livered previous to the performance of The To thee in vain I shall not plead, Wheel of Fortune," at a private theatre. In pity for the Poet's woes.

INCR the refinement of this polish'd age He was, in sooth, a genuine bard; as swept immoral raillery from the stage; His was no faint fictitious flame; ince taste has now expunged licentious wit, Like his, may love be thy reward, Thich stamp'd disgrace on all an author But not thy hapless fate the same.

writ; ince, now, to please with purer scenes we

seek, or dare to call the blush from Beauty's

TO M••• cheek; h! let the modest Muse some pity claim, On! did those eyes, instead of fire, nd meet indulgence though she find not With bright, but mild affection shine:

fame.

Though they might kindle less desire, till, not for her alone we wish respect, Love, more than mortal, would be thine. thers appear more conscious of defect; 'o-night, no Veteran Roscii you behold, For thou art form’d so heavenly fair, 1 all the arts of scenic action old;

Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam, lo COOKE, no KEMBLE, can salute you here, We must admire, but still despair: lo Srdons draw the sympathetic tear; That fatal glance forbids esteem. 'o-night, you throng to witness the debut, If embryo-Actors, to the drama new. When nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth, lere, then, our almost unfledged wings So much perfection in thee shone,

we try;

She fear'd, that, too divine for earth, lip not our pinions, ere the birds can fly;! The skies might claim thee for their own. failing in this our first attempt to soar, Trooping, alas! we fall to rise no more. Therefore, to guard her dearest work, lot one poor trembler, only, fear betrays, Lest angels might dispute the prize, Vho hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet She bade a secret lightning lurk

your praise, Within those once celestial eyes. But all our Dramatis Personæ wait, n fond suspense, this crisis of their fate. These might the boldest sylph appal, lo venal views our progress can retard, When gleaming with meridian blaze; four generous plaudits are our sole reward; Thy beauty must enrapture all, for these each Hero all his power displays, But who can dare thine ardent gaze ? Cach timid Heroine shrinks before your

gaze:

'Tis said, that Berenice's hair lurely, the last will some protection find, In stars adorns the vault of heaven; fone, to the softer sex, can prove unkind; But, they would ne'er permit thee there, Whilst Youth and Beauty form the female Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven.

shield, The sternest Censor to the fair must yield. For, did those eyes as planets roll, let should our feeble efforts nought avail, Thy sister-lights would scarce appear: hould, after all, our best endeavours fail; E'en suns, which systems now controul, till, let some mercy in your bosoms live, Would twinkle dimly through their Ind, if you can't applaud, at least forgive.

sphere.

STANZAS TO A LADY.

TO WOMAN.

With the Poems of Camoens. WOMAN! experience might have told me,

That all must love thee who behold thee; l'hig votive pledge of fond esteem, Surely, experience might have taught,

Perhaps, dear Girl! for me thou'lt prize; | Thy firmest promises are nought; t sings of Love's enchanting dream, But, placed in all thy charms before me, A there we never can despise.

All I forget, but to adore thee.

Oh! Memory! thou choicest blessing, Who blames it, but the envious fool, When join'd with hope,when still possessing; The old and disappointed maid ?

But how much cursed by every lover, Dr pupil of the prudish school,

When hope is fled, and passion's over. In single sorrow doom'd to fade.

Woman, ihat fair and fond deceiver,

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