Here comes up the blotted leaf,
Blister'd o'er by many a tear!
Hence! thou waking shade of grief!
Go, for ever, disappear!
This was penn'd while purest joy
Warm'd the breast and lit the eye:
Fate that peace did soon destroy;
And its transcript so must I!
This must go! for, on the seal,
When I saw the solemn yew,
Keener was the pang than steel-
"T was a heart-string snapt in two!
This 't is his who seem'd to be
High as heaven and true as light;
But the visor rose; and he-
Spare, O, mercy! spare the sight
Of the face that frown'd beneath-
While I take it, hand and name,
And entwine it with a wreath
Of the purifying flame!
These-the hand is in the grave,
And the soul is in the skies,
Whence they came!-'t is pain to save
Cold remains of sunder'd ties!
Go together, all, and burn,
Once the treasures of my heart!
my breast shall be an urn
To preserve your better part!
ODE ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY,
THE peace of Heaven attend thy shade,
My early friend, my favourite maid!
When life was new, companions gay,
We hail'd the morning of our day.
Ah, with what joy did I behold
The flower of beauty fair unfold!
And fear'd no storm to blast thy bloom,
Or bring thee to an early tomb!
Untimely gone! for ever fled
The roses of the cheek so red,
Th' affection warm, the temper mild,
The sweetness that in sorrow smiled.
Alas! the cheek where beauty glow'd,
The heart whose goodness overflow'd,
A clod amid the valley lies,
And dust to dust' the mourner cries.
O from thy kindred early torn,
And to thy grave untimely borne!
Vanish'd for ever from my view,
Thou sister of my soul, adieu!
Fair with my first ideas twined,
Thine image oft will meet my mind;
And, while remembrance brings thee near,
Affection sad will drop a tear.
How oft does sorrow bend the head
Before we dwell among the dead!
Scarce in the years of manly prime,
I've often wept the wrecks of time.
What tragic tears bedew the eye!
What deaths we suffer ere we die!
Our broken friendships we deplore,
And loves of youth that are no more.
No after friendship e'er can raise
Th' endearments of our early days;
And near the heart such fondness prove,
As when it first began to love.
Affection dies a vernal flower;
And love the blossom of an hour;
The spring of fancy cares control,
And mar the beauty of the soul.
Versed in the commerce of deceit,
How soon the heart begins to beat!
The blood runs cold at interest's call:-
The look with equal eyes on all.
Then lovely nature is expell'd,
And friendship is romantic held;
Then prudence comes with hundred eyes:The veil is rent: the vision flies.
The dear illusions will not last;
The era of enchantment's past;
The wild romance of life is done:
The real history is begun.
The sallies of the soul are o'er,
The feast of fancy is no more;
And ill the banquet is supplied
By form, by gravity, by pride.
Ye gods! whatever ye withhold,
Let my affections ne'er grow old;
Ne'er may the human glow depart,
Nor nature yield to frigid art!
Still may the generous bosom burn,
Though doom'd to bleed o'er beauty's urn;
And still the friendly face appear,
Though moisten'd with a tender tear.
WHAT SHALL I BRING THEE, MOTHER?
"I require nothing of thee," said a mother to her innocent son, when bidding him farewell, "but that you will bring me back your present countenance."— Lavater.
"WHAT shall I bring to thee, mother mine?
What shall I bring to thee?
Shall I bring thee jewels, that burn and shine
In the depths of the shadowy sea?
Shall I bring the garland a hero wears,
By the wondering world entwined,
Whose leaves can cover a thousand cares,
And smile o'er a clouded mind?
Shall I bring the deep and sacred stores
Of knowledge, the high and free,
That thrills the heart on the hallow'd shores
Of classic Italy?"
"What are jewels, my boy, to me?
Thou art the gem I prize!
And the richest spot in that fearful sea,
Will be where thy vessel flies!
The wreath, the hero loves, is won,
By the life-blood of the brave,
And his brow must lose, ere it wear the crown,
The smile that mercy gave!
Dearly earn'd is the volume's wealth,
That opes to the lamp at night,
While the fairer ray of hope and health
Goes out by the sickly light.
Bring me that innocent brow, my boy!
Bring me that shadowless eye!
Bring me the tone of tender joy,
That breathes in thy last 'good bye!"'
ADVICE TO A LADY.
THE Counsels of a friend, Belinda, hear,
Too roughly kind to please a lady's ear,
Unlike the flatteries of a lover's pen,
Such truths as women seldom learn from men.
Nor think I praise you ill, when thus I show
What female vanity might fear to know.
Some merit's mine, to dare to be sincere;
But greater yours, sincerity to bear.
Hard is the fortune that your sex attends;
Women, like princes, find few real friends:
All who approach them their own ends pursue ;
Lovers and ministers are seldom true.
Hence oft from reason heedless beauty strays,
And the most trusted guide the most betrays:
Hence, by fond dreams of fancied power amused,
When most ye tyrannize, you're most abused
What is your sex's earliest, latest care,
Your heart's supreme ambition?-To be fair.
For this the toilet every thought employs,
Hence all the toils of dress, and all the joys:
For this hands, lips, and eyes, are put to school,
And each instructed feature has its rule:
And yet how few have learnt when this is given,
Not to disgrace the partial boon of heaven!
How few with all their pride of form can move!
How few are lovely, that are made for love!
Do you, my fair, endeavour to possess
An elegance of mind as well as dress;
Be that your ornament, and know to please
By graceful nature's unaffected ease.
Nor make to dangerous wit a vain pretence,
But wisely rest content with modest sense;
For wit, like wine, intoxicates the brain,
Too strong for feeble woman to sustain:
Of those who claim it, more than half have none;
And half of those who have it are undone.
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