And He the glitter of the Dew
Scatters on the Rose's hue.
Bashful, lo! she bends her head,
And darts a blush of deeper red!

From the pomp of sceptred state,
From the rebel's noisy hate.
In a cottaged vale She dwells
Listening to the Sabbath bells!
Still around her steps are seen
Spotless Honor's meeker mien,
Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
Sorrow smiling through her tears,
And, conscious of the past employ,'
Memory, bosom-spring of joy

Too well those lovely lips disclose
The triumphs of the opening Rose ;
O fair! O graceful! bid them prove
As passive to the breath of Love.
In tender accents, faint and low,
Well-pleased I hear the whisper'd “ No!"
The whisper'd “ No"-how little meant !
Sweet falsehood that endears consent!
For on those lovely lips the while
Dawns the soft-relenting smile,
And tempts with feign'd dissuasion coy
The gentle violence of Joy.

THE SIGH.

TO A YOUNG ASS.

ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT.

Poor little foal of an oppressed race!
I love the languid patience of thy face :
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy mugged coat, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled spirits hath dismay’d,
That never thou dost sport along the glade ?
And (most unlike the nature of things young)
That earthward still thy moveless head is hung ?
Do thy prophetic fears anticipate,
Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate?
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches
• Which patient merit of the unworthy takes ?”
Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain
To see thy wretched mother's shorten'd chain ?
And truly, very piteous is her lot-
Chain'd to a log within a narrow spot
Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting green!

Whex Youth his faery reign began
Ere sorrow had proclaim'd me man;
While Peace the present hour beguiled,
And all the lovely prospect smiled;
Then, Mary! 'mid my lightsome glee
I heaved the painless Sigh for thee.
And when, along the waves of woe,
My harass'd heart was doom'd to know
The frantic burst of outrage keen,
And the slow pang that gnaws unseen;
Then shipwreck'd on life's stormy sea,
I heaved an anguish'd Sigh for thee!
But soon reflection's power impress’d
A stiller sadness on my breast;
And sickly hope with waning eye
Was well content to droop. and die :
I yielded to the stern decree,
Yet heaved a languid Sigh for thee!
And though in distant climes to roam,
A wanderer from my native home,
I fain would soothe the sense of Care
And lull to sleep the Joys that were !
Thy Image may not banish'd be

Still, Mary! still I sigh for thee.
June, 1794.

Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
Pits-best taught by fellowship of woe!

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.
For much I fear me that he lives like thee,
Half famish'd in a land of luxury!

ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
How askingly its footsteps hither bend ?

Death came with friendly care ;
It seems to say, “ And have I then one friend ?" The opening bud to Heaven convey'd,
Innocent Foal! thou poor despised forlorn!

And bado it blossom there.
I hail thee brother-spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the dell
of peace and mild equality to dwell,
Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his Bride, LINES WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS
And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!

ROSS. How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,

FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF THE “ MAN OF ROSS." And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay! Yea! and more musically sweet te me

Richer than miser o'er his countless hoards, Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,

Nobler than kings, or king-polluted lords, Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest

Here dwelt the man of Ross! O Traveller, hear! The aching of pale fashion's vacant breast! Departed merit claims a reverent tear.

Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health,
With generous joy he view'd his modest wealth;

He hears the widow's heaven-breath'd prayer of
DOMESTIC PEACE.

praise,

He mark'd the shelter'd orphan's tearful gaze, Tell me, on what holy ground

Or where the sorrow-shrivell d captive lay, May Domestic Peace be found ?

Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noontide ray. Halcyon Daughter of the skies,

Beneath this roof if thy cheer'd moments pass, Far on fearful wings she flies,

! Fill to the good man s name one gratelul glass

To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul, Remorse, the poison'd arrow in his side,
And Virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl.

And loud lewd Mirth, to anguish close allied :
But if, like me, through life's distressful scene, Till Frenzy, fierce-eyed child of moping pain,
Lonely and sad, thy pilgrimage hath been;

Darts her hot lightning hash athwart the brain.
And if thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught, Rest, injured shade! Shall Slander squatting near
Thou journeyest onward tempest-boss'd in thought; Spit her cold venom in a dead Man's ear?
Here cheat thy cares! in generous visions mell, "Twas thine to feel the sympathetic glow
And dream of goodness, thou hast never felt! In Merit's joy, and Poverty's meek woe;

Thine all that cheer the moment as it flies,
The zoneless Cares, and smiling Courtesies.
Nursed in thy heart the firmer Virtues grew,

And in thy heart they wither'd! Such chill dew LINES TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A

Wan indolence on each young blossom shed;
VILLAGE.

And Vanity her filmy net-work spread,

With eye that roll’d around, in asking gaze, Once more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wander- And tongue that traffick'd in the trade of praise. ing near,

Thy follies such! the hard worid mark'd them well I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.

Were they more wise, the proud who never fell ? Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours

Rest, injur'd shade! the poor man's grateful prayer With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers

On heavenward wing thy wounded soul shall bear (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn)

As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass, My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn. And sit me down upon its recent grass, For not through pathless grove with murmur rude With introverted eye I contemplate Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude ; Similitude of soul, perhaps of Fate! Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well, To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assign'd The Hernit-fountain of some dripping cell! Energic Reason and a shaping mind, Pride of the Vale! tny useful streams supply The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part, The scatter'd cots and peaceful hamlet nigh. And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart. The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks

Sloth-jaundic d all! and from my graspless hand With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks, Drop Friendshi-'s precious pearls, like hour-glass Released from school, their little hearts at rest,

sand. Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast.

I weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows,
The rustic here at eve with pensive look

A dreamy pang in Morning's feverish doze.
Whistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook,
Or, starting, pauses with hope-mingled dread

Is this piled earth our being's passless mound:
To list the much-loved maid's accustom'd tread :

Tell me, cold grave! is Death with poppies crown'd She, vainly mindful of her dame's command, Tired sentinel! 'mid fitful starts I nod, Loiters, the long-fill'd pitcher in her hand.

And fain would sleep, though pillow'd on a clod!
Unboastful Stream! thy fount with pebbled falls
The faded form of past delight recalls,
What time the morning sun of Hope arose,
And all was joy ; -save when another's woes
A transient gloom upon my soul imprest,
Like passing clouds impictured on thy breast. TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A POEM ON
Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon,

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
Or silvery stole beneath the pensive Moon :
Ah! now it works rude brakes and thorns among, Much on my early youth I love to dwell,
Or o'er the rough rock bursts and foams along ! Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell,

Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale,
I heard of guilt and wonder'd at the tale!
Yet though the hours flew by on careless wing,

Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing.
LINES ON A FRIEND,

Aye as the star of evening fung its beam

In broken radiance on the wavy stream, WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER INDUCED BY CALUM. My soul amid the pensive twilight gloom NIOUS REPORTS.

Mourn'd with the breeze, O Lee Boo!* o'er thy tomb

Where'er I wander'd Pity stiil was near, EDMUND! thy grave with aching eye 1 scan, Breathed from the heart and glisten'd in the tear. And inly groan for Heaven's poor outcast-Man!

No knell that wolld, but fill'd my anxious eye, 'Tis tempest all or gloom: in early youth,

And suffering Nature wept that one should die !t If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth, We force to start amid her feign'd caress

Thus to sad sympathies I soothed my breast, Vice, siren-hag! in native ugliness ;

Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West : A brother's fate will haply rouse the tear,

When slumbering Freedom roused with high disdair And on we go in heaviness and sear!

With giant fury burst her triple chain !
But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower
Some pigmy Foily in a careless hour,
The faithless guest shall stamp the enchanted ground

• Lee Boo, the son of Abba Thule, Prince of the Pelew IslAnd mingled forms of Misery rise around :

ande, came over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the

small-pox, and is buried in Greenwich church-yard.-Seo Keate's Ileart-freuting Fear, with pallid look aghast,

Account. That courts the future woe to hide the past;

1 Southey's Retrospect.

Pierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd; Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul
Her banner, like a midnight meteor, flow'd; Wilder'd with meteor fires. Ah spirit pure'
Amid the yelling of the storm-rent skies!

That error's mist had left thy purged eye:
She came, and scatter'd battles from her eyes! So might I clasp thee with a mother's joy!
Then Exultation waked the patriot fire,
And swept with wilder hand the Alcæan lyre.
Red from the tyrant's wound I shook the lance,
And strode in joy the reeking plains of France !

SONNET.
Fallen is the oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low,

THOUGH roused by that dark Vizir, Riot rude And my heart aches, though Mercy struck the blow. Have driven our Priest over the ocean swell With wearied thought once more I seek the shade, Though Superstition and her wolfish brood Where peaceful Virtue weaves the myrtle braid.

Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell; And 0! if eyes whose holy glances roll

,

Calm in his halls of brightness he sball dwell . Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul;

For lo ! Religion at his strong behest If smiles more winning, and a gentler mien

Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell, Than the love-wilder's Maniac's brain hath seen

And flings to earth her tinsel-glittering vest, Shaping celestial forms in vacant air,

Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy ; If these demand the impassion'd poet's care

And Justice wakes to bid the Oppressor wail. If Mirth and soften'd Sense and Wit refined,

Insulting aye the wrongs of patient Folly: The blameless features of a lovely mind;

And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won, Then haply shall my trembling hand assign

Meek Nature slowly lifts her matron veil
No fading wreath to beauty's saintly shrine.

To smile with fondness on her gazing son!
Nor, Sara! thou these early flowers refuse-
Ne'er lurk'd the snake beneath their simple hues;
No purple bloom the child of nature brings

SONNET.
From Flattery's night-shade; as he feels, he sings.
September, 1792.

When British Freedom for a happier land
Spread her broad wings, that sutter'd with affright,

ERSKINE! thy voice she heard, and paused her flighi

Sublime of hope! For drcadless thou didst stand SONNET.

(Thy censer glowing with the hallow'd flame)
A hireless Priest before the insulted shrine,

And at her altar pour the stream divine
Content, as random Fancies might inspire,
If his weak harp at times, or lonely lyre

or unmatch'd eloquence. Therefore thy name He struck with desultory hand, and drew

Her sons shall venerate, and cheer thy breast Some soften'd tones to Nature not untrue.

With blessings heavenward breathed. And when Boroles.

the doom

Of Nature bids thee die, beyond the tomb My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles ! for those soft Thy light shall shine : as sunk, beneath the West, strains,

Though the great Summer Sun eludes our gaze,
Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring Still burns wide Heaven with his distended blaze.
Of wild-becs in the sunny showers of spring!
For hence not callous to the mourner's pains
Through youth's gay prime and thornless path I
went :

SONNET.
And when the mightier throes of man began,
And drove me forth, a thought-bewilder'd man!

It was some Spirit, SHERIDAN! that breathed 'lheir mild and manliest melancholy lent

O'er thy young mind such wildly various povier! A mingled charm, such as the pang consign'd

My soul hath mark'd thee in her shaping hour, To slumber, though the big tear it renew'd;

Thy temples with Hymettian Now'reis wreathed: Bidding a strange mysterious Pleasure brood And sweet thy voice, as when o'er Laura's bior Over the wavy and iumultuous mind,

Sad music trembled through Vauclusa's gla lo; As the great Spirit erst with plastic sweep

Sweet, as at dawn the lovelorn serenade
Moved on the darkness of the unformd deep.

That wafts soft dreams to Siumber's listening our
Now patriot rage and indignation high
Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beam

dance

Meaning of Scorn and Wit's quaint revelry!
SONNET.

Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance

The Apostate by the brainless rout adored, As late I lay in slumber's shadowy vale,

As erst that elder fiend beneath great Michael's sword With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise, I saw the sainted form of Freedom rise : She spake! pot sadder moans the autumnal gale * Great Son of Genius! sweet to me thy name,

SONNET. Ere in an evil hour with alterd voice Thou bradst Oppressjon's hireling crew rejoice, O wulat a loud and fearful shriek was there, Blasting with wizard spell my laurelld fame. As though a thousand souls one death-groan pour'd Yei never, Burke! thou drank'st Corruption's bowl! Ah me! they view'd beneath a hireling's sword The stormy Pity and the cherish'd lure

Fallen Kosciusko! Through the burihen'd air

7

(As pauses the tired Cossack's barbarous yell

SONNET.
Of tri imph) on the chill and midnight gale
Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell

SWEET Mercy! how my very heart bas bled The dirge of murder'd Hope! while Freedom pale To see thee, poor Old Man and thy gray hairs Bends in such anguish o'er her destined bier, Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one cares As if frog eldest time sume Spirit meek

To clothe thy shriveli'd limbs and palsied head. Had gather'd in a mystic urn each tear

My Father! throw away this tatter'd vest That ever on a Patriot's furrow'd cheek

That mocks thy shivering! take my garment-use
Fit channel found; and she had drain'd the bowl A young man's arm! I'll melt these frozen dews
In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul ! That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast

My Sara too shall tend thee, like a Child:
And thou shalt talk, in our fire-side's recess,
Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretchedness.

He did not so, the Galilæan mild,
SONNET.

Who met the Lazars turn'd from rich men's doors,

And call'd them Friends, and heald their noisonio As when far off the warbled strains are heard

Sores!
That soar on Morning's wing the vales among,
Within his cage the imprison'd matin bird
Swells the full chorus with a generous song:
He bathes no pinion in the dewy light,

SONNET.
No Father's joy, no Lover's bliss he shares,
Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight;

Thou bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress His Fellows' freedom soothes the Captive's cares :

Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile, Thou, Fayette! who didst wake with startling voice Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness.

And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while Life's better sun from that long wintry night, Thus in thy Country's triumphs shalt rejoice,

Why didst taou listen to Hope's whisper bland ? And mock with raptures high the dungeon's might: When Jealousy with feverish fancies pale

Or, listening, why forget the healing tale, For lo! the morning struggles into day,

Jarr'd thy fine fibres with a maniac's hand?
And Slavery's spectres shriek and vanish from the
ray!

Faint was that Hope, and rayless!—Yet 't was fair
And soothed with many a dream the hour of rest :
Thou shouldst have loved it most, when most opprest
And nursed it with an agony of Care,

Even as a Mother her sweet infant heir
SONNET.

That wan and sickly droops upon her breast!
T'hou gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile,
Why hast thou left me? Still in some fond dream
Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile!

SONNET.
As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam:
What time, in sickly mood, at parting day

TO THE AUTHOR OF THE “ ROBBERS."
I lay me down and think of happier years ; SCHILLER! that hour I would have wished to die,
Of joys, that glimmer'd in Hope's twilight ray. If through the shuddering midnight I had sent
Then left me darkling in a vale of tears.

From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent O pleasant days of Hope-for ever gone!

That fearful voice, a famish'd Father's eryCould I recall you But that thought is vain. Lest in some after moment aught more mean Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone

Might stamp me mortal! A triumphant shout To lure the fleet-wing'd travellers back again:

Black Horror scream'd, and all her goblin rout
Yet fair, though faint, their images shall gleam Diminish'd shrunk from the more withering scene!
Like the bright rainbow on a willowy stream. Ah Bard tremendous in sublimity!

Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood
Wandering at eve with finely frenzied eye

Beneaih some vast old tempest-swinging wood!

Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood;
SONNET

Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy!
PALE Roamer through the Night; thou poor Forlorn!
Remorse that man on his death-bed possess,
Who in the credulous hour of tenderness

LINES
Betray'd, then cast thee forth to Want and Scorn!
The world is pitiless: the Chaste one's pride,

COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT ASCENT OF Mimic of Virtue, scowls on thy distress :

BROCKLEY COOMB, SOMERSETSHIRE, MAY, 1795 Thy loves and they, that envied thee, deride : With many a pause and oft-reverted eye And Vice alone will shelter wretchedness!

I climb the Coomb's ascent : sweet songsters near 0! I am sad to think, that there should be

Warble in shade their wild-wood melody:
Cold-hosom'd lewd ones, who endure to place Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear.
Foul viterings on the shrine of Misery,

Up scour the startling stragglers of the Flock
And force from Famine the caress of Love ; That on green plots o'er precipices browse :
May He shed healing on the sore disgrace, From the forced fissures of the naked rock
He, the great Comforter that relès above ! The Yew-tree bursts! Beneath its dark-green boughs