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TO THE DUKE OF DORSET. *
DORSET! whose early steps with mine have strav'de
Exploring every path of Ida's glade ;
Whom still affection taught me to defend,
And made me less a tyrant than a friend,
Though the harsh custom of our youthful band
Bade thee obey, and gave me to command ;+
Thee, on whose head a few short years will shower
The gift of riches and the pride of power;
E'en now a name illustrious is thine own,
Renown'd in rank, not far beneath the throne.
Yet, Dorset, let not this seduce thy soul
To shun fair science, or evade control,
Though passive tutors, fearful to dispraise I
The titled child, whose future breath may raise
View ducal errors with indulgent eyes,
And wink at faults they tremble to chastise.
When youthful parasites, who bend the knee
To wealth, their golden idol, not to thee,
And even in simple boyhood's opening dawn
Some slaves are found to flatter and to fawn,-
When these declare, “ that pomp alone should wait
On one by birth predestined to be great ;
That books were only meant for drudging fools,
That gallant spirits scorn the common rules
Believe them not;—they point the path to shame,
And seek to blast the honours of thy name.
Turn to the few in Ida's early throng,
Whose souls disdain not to condemn the wrong ;
Or if, amidst the comrades of thy youth,
Nono dare to raise the sterner voice of truth,
Ask thine own heart; 'twill bid thee, boy, forbear;
For well I know that virtue lingers there.
Yes! I have mark'd thee many a passing day,
But now new scenes invite me far away ;
Yes! I have mark'd within that generous mind
A soul, if well matured, to bless mankind.
Ah! though myself, by nature haughty, wild,
Whom Indiscretion hail'd her favourite child;
Though every error stamps me for her own,
And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone;
Though my proud heart no precept now can time,
I love the virtues which I cannot claim.
• In looking over my papers to select a few additional poems for this second edition, 1 rouud the above lines, which I had totally forgotten, composed in the summer of 1805, a eoort time previous to my departure from Harrow. They were addressed to a young schoolfellow of high rank, who had been my frequent companion in some rambles through the neighbouring country: however, he never saw the lines, and most probably never will. As, on a reperusa), I found them not worse than some other pieces in the collec. tion, I have now published them, for the first time, after a slight revision.
t At every public school the junior boys are completely subservient to the upper forma till they attain a seat in the higher classes. From this state of probation, very properly, ao rank. exempt ; but after a certain period, thev coininand in turn those who succeech
1 Allow me to disclaim any personal allusious, even the most distant : 1 merely inun. tioa gebers'y what is toc often the weakness of preceptors.
'Tis not enough, with other sons of power,
To gleam the lambent meteor of an hour ;
To swell some peerage page in feeble pride,
With long-drawn namas that grace no page besida;
Then share with titled crowds the common lot-
In life just gazed at, in the grave forgot ;
While nought divides thee from the vulgar dead,
Except the dull cold stone that bides thy head,
The mouldering 'scutcheon, or the herald's roll,
That well-emblazon'd but neglected scroll,
Where lords, unhonour'd, in the tomub may find
One spot, to leave a worthless name behind.
There sleep, unnoticed as the gloomy vaults
That veil their dust, their follies, and their tauics,
A race, with old armorial lists o'erspread,
In records destined never to be read.
Fain would I view thee, with prophetic eyes,
Exalted more among the good and wise,
A glorious and a long career pursue,
As first in rank, the first in talent too:
Spurn every vice, each little meanness shun;
Not Fortune's minion, but her noblest son.
Turn to the ansals of a former day ;
Bright are the deeds thina earlier sires display.
One, though a courtier, lived a man of worth,
And callid, -proud boast ! the British drama forta.
Another view, not less renown'd for wit;
Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit;
Bold in the field, and favour'd by the Nine;
In every splendid part ordain’d to shine ;
Far, far distinguish'd from the glittering throng,
The pride of princes, and the boast of song.
Such were thy fathers; thus preserve their name;
Not heir to titles only, but to fame.
The hour draws nigh, a few brief days will close
To me, this little scene of joys and woes
Each knell of Time now warns me to resign
Skades where Hope, Peace, and Friendship, all were mine!
Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue,
And gild their pinions as the moments flew;
Peace, that reflection never frown'd away,
By dreams of ill to cloud some future day;
Friendship, whose truth let childhood only tell ;
Alas! they love not long, who love so well.
To these adieu ! nor let me linger o'er
Scenes hail'd, as exiles hail their native shore,
Receding slowly through the dark-blue deep,
Beheld by eyes that mourn, yet cannot weep.
Dorset, farewell ! I will not ask one part
Of sad remembrance in so young a heart ;
The coming morrow from thy youthful mina
Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace behind.
And yet, perhaps, in some maturer year,
Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphere,
Since the same senate, nay, the same debate,
May one day claim our suffrage for the state,
We hence nay meet, and pass each other by,
With faint regard, or cold and distant eye.
For me, in future, neither triend nor foe,
A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe,
With thee no more again I nope to trace
T'he recollection of our early race;
No more, as once, in social hours rejoice,
Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known voice :
Still, if the wishes of a heart untanght
To veil those feelings which perchance it ought
If theso—but let nie cease the lengthen'd strain-
Oh! if these wishes are not breathed in vain,
The guardian seraph who directs thy tate
Will leave thee glorious, as he found thee great.
WRITTEN SORTLY AFTER THE MARRIAGE OF MISS CHAWOBTH.
Hills of Annesley! bleak and barren,
Where my thoughtless childhood stray'd,
How the northern tempests, warring,
Howl above thy tufted sbade !
Now no more, the hours beguiling,
Former favourite haunts I see;
Now no more my Mary smiling
Makes ye seem a heaven to me.
GRANTA. A MEDLEY.
'Αργυρέαις λόγχαισι μάχου, και πάντα κρατήσεις.
OH ! could Le Sage's demon's gift*
Be realized at my desire,
This night my trembling form he'd lift
To place it on St. Mary's spire.
Then would, unroof'd, old Granta's halls
Pedantic inmates full display ;
Fellows who dream on lawn or stalls,
The price of venal votes to pay.
Then would I view each rival wigbt,
Petty and Palmerston survey;
Who canvass there with all their might,
Against the next elective day.
• The “ Diahle Boiteux" of Le Sage, where Asmodeus, the demon placer DoD & Rootu ja on slovated situation, and unroofs the houses for inspection.
Lo! candidates and voters lie
All lull'd in sleep, a goodly number: A race renown'd for piety,
Whose conscience won't disturb their klumba.
Lord —, indeed, may not demur;
Fellows are sage reflecting men : They know preferment can occur
But very seldom, now and then. They know the Chancellor has got
Some pretty livings in disposal : Each hopes that one may be his lot,
And therefore smiles on bis proposal.
Now from the soporific scene
I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later, To view, unheeded and unseen,
The studious sons of Alma Mater.
There, in apartments small and damp,
The candidate for college prizes Sits poring by the midnight lamp;
Goes late to bed, yet early rises.
He surely well deserves to gain them,
With all the honours of his college, Who, striving hardly to obtain them,
Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge : Who sacrifices hours of rest
To scan precisely metres Attic; Or agitates his anxious breast
In solving problems mathematio. Who reads false quantities in Seale, *
Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle; Deprived of many a wholesome meal ;
In barbarous Latin doom'd to wrangle:t Ronouncing every pleasing page
From authors of historic use; Preferring to the letter'd sage,
The square of the hypothenuse. I Still, harmless are these occupations,
That hurt none but the hapless student, Compared with other recreations,
Which bring together the imprudent ;
Whose daring revels shock the sight,
When vice and infamy combine,
When drunkenness and dice invite,
As every sense is steep'd in wine.
Not so the methodistic crew,
Whu plans of reformation lay:
In humble attitude they sue,
And for the sins of others pray:
Forgetting that their pride of spirit,
Their exultation in their trial,
Detracts most largely from the merit
Of all their boasted self-denial.
'Tis morn :--from these I turn my sight.
What scene is this which meets the eye ?
A numerous crowd, array'd in white,
Across the green in numbers fly.
Loud rings in air the chapel bell :
"Tis bush'd-what sounds are these I hear! The organ's soft celestial swell
Rolls deeply on the list’ning ear.
To this is join'd the sacred song,
The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain ;
Though he who hears the music long
Will never wish to hear again.
Our choir would scarcely be excused,
Even as a band of raw beginners ;
All mercy now must be refused
To such a set of croaking sinners.
If David, when his toils were ended,
Had heard these blockheads sing before hima,
To us his psalms had ne'er descended,-
In furious mood he would have tore 'em.
The luckless Israelites when taken
By some inhuman tyrant's order,
Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken,
On Babylonian river's border.
Oh ! had they sung in notes like these,
Inspired by stratagem or fear,
They might have set their hearts at ease,
The devil a soul had stay'd to hear.
But if I scribble longer now,
The deuce a soul will stay to read ;
My pen is blunt, my ink is low;
Tis almost time to stop, indeed.