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And I have known the slanderer's tongue

My fame with vile dishonour taint, Yet on my lips no curses hung,

Tho' mournful, mild was my complaint. And I was forced by cruel power

To leave the scenes I held most dear : O! 'twas indeed a trying hour!

Yet all my language was--A TEAR.

And I have known the youth I lov'd

Retract the vows he swore to me, Behold my pallid cheek unmoved,

And smiling boast that he was free! Yet I was calm-and (hour of dread !)

I saw him woo a maid more dearBut I was mute, I only shed

No-no!--I could not shed A TEAR!

Ah ! full was then my cup of grief

Friends, fortune, lover, fame, all lost
A beggar now I ask relief,
A small, a trifling boon at most.

you chide me from
Ah, no!--your looks compassion wear-
So large a gift!--Oh! words were poor-
I thank, I bless you in-A TEAR.


Still can

your door?




O spare me-spare me, Phoebus ! if indeed
Thou hast not let another Phaeton
Drive earthward thy fierce steeds and fiery car ;
Mercy! I melt! I melt! no tree--no bush
No shelter! not a breath of stirring air
East, West, or North, or South ! dear God of day,
Put on thy night-cap !--crop thy locks of light,
And be in the fashion ! turn thy back upon us,
And let thy beams flow upward ! make it night
Instead of noon! one little miracle,
In pity, gentle Phoebus !

What a joy,
Oh what a joy to be a Seal and flounder
On an ice-island! or to have a den
With the white bear, cavern'd in polar snow!
It were a comfort to shake hands with Death.
He has a rare cold hand! to wrap one's self

In the gift shirt Deianeira sent,
Dipt in the blood of Nessus, just to keep
The sun off,—or toast cheese for Beelzebub,
That were a cool employment to this journey
Along a road whose white intensity
Would now make platina uncongelable
Like quicksilver.

Were it midnight, I should walk
Self-lanthorn'd, saturate with sun-beams. Jove!
O gentle Jove! have mercy, and once more
Kick that obdurate Phæbus out of heaven.
Give Boreas the wind-cholic, till he roars
For cardimum, and drinks down peppermint,
Making what's left as precious as Tokay,
Send Mercury to salivate the sky
Till it dissolves in rain. O gentle Jove!
But some such little kindness to a wretch
Who feels his marrow spoiling his best coat-
Who swells with calorique as if a Prester
Had leavened every limb with poison-yeast-
Lend me thine eagle just to flap his wings,
And fan me, and I will build temples to thee,
And turn true Pagan.

Not a cloud nor breeze O you most heathen Deities ! if ever My bones reach home (for, for the flesh upon them That hath resolved itself into a dew), I shall have learnt owl-wisdom. Most vile Phæbus, Set me a Persian sun-idolater Upon this turnpike road, and I'll convert him With no inquisitorial argument But thy own fires. Now woe be to me wretch, That I was in a heretic country born! Else might some mass for the poor

souls that bleach, And burn away the calx of their offences In that great Purgatory crucible, Help me. O Jupiter! my poor complexion ! I am made a copper-Indian of already, And if no kindly cloud will parasol me, My very cellular membrane will be changed I shall be negrofied.

A brook! a brook! Oh what a sweet cool sound!

nectar! It runs like life thro' every strengthen'd limbNymph of the stream, now take a grateful prayer.

'Tis very



On her first Appearance

Written in the Spring, 1799.


Why need I say, Ophelia dear!
How glad I am to see you here,

A lovely convalescent :-
Risen from the bed of pain and fear,

And fev'rish heat incessant!


The breezy air, the sun, the sky,
The little birds that sing on high,

Their vernal loves commencing,
Will better welcome you than I,

With their sweet influencing.

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