COMPLAINT.

How seldom, Friend! a good great man mherits
Honour or wealth, with all his worth and pains!
It sounds like stories from the land of spirits,
If any man obtain that which he merits,
Or any merit that which he obtains.

REPROOF.

FOR shame, dear Friend! renounce this canting strain!

What wouldst thou have a good great man obtain?
Place-titles-salary—a gilded chain—

Or throne of corses which his sword hath slain?—
Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends!
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,
The good great man?—three treasures, love and
light,

And calm thoughts, regular as infant's breath;— And three firm friends, more sure than day and night

Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.

1809.

PSYCHE.

THE butterfly the ancient Grecians made
The soul's fair emblem, and its only name-
But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade
Of mortal life!-For in this earthly frame
Our's is the reptile's lot, much toil, much blame,
Manifold motions making little speed,

And to deform and kill the things whereon we feed.

1808.

AN ODE TO THE RAIN.

COMPOSED BEFORE DAYLIGHT, ON THE MORNING APPOINTED FOR THE DEPARTURE OF A VERY WORTHY, BUT NOT VERY PLEASANT VISITOR, WHOM IT WAS FEARED

THE RAIN MIGHT DETAIN.

I KNOW it is dark; and though I have lain
Awake, as I guess, an hour or twain,

I have not once opened the lids of my eyes,
But I lie in the dark, as a blind man lies.
O Rain! that I lie listening to,

You're but a doleful sound at best:
I owe you little thanks, 'tis true,
For breaking thus my needful rest!
Yet if, as soon as it is light,

O Rain! you will but take your flight,
I'll neither rail, nor malice keep,
Though sick and sore for want of sleep

But only now, for this one day, Do go, dear Rain! do go away'

O Rain! with your dull two-fold sound,

The clash hard by, and the murmur all round!

You know, if you know aught, that we,

Both night and day, but ill agree:

For days and months, and almost years,
Have limped on through this vale of tears,
Since body of mine, and rainy weather,
Have lived on easy terms together.
Yet if, as soon as it is light,

O Rain! you will but take your flight,
Though you should come again to-morrow,
And bring with you both pain and sorrow;
Though stomach should sicken and knees should
swell-

I'll nothing speak of you but well.

But only now for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away !

Dear Rain! I ne'er refused to say You're a good creature in your way;

Nay, I could write a book myself,
Would fit a parson's lower shelf,
Showing how very good you are.—
What then? sometimes it must be fair!
And if sometimes, why not to-day?
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

Dear Rain! if I've been cold and shy,
Take no offence!. I'll tell you why.
A dear old Friend e'en now is here,
And with him came my sister dear;
After long absence now first met,

Long months by pain and grief beset—

With three dear friends! in truth, we groan

Impatiently to be alone.

We three, you mark! and not one more!

The strong wish makes my spirit sore.

We have so much to talk about,

So

many sad things to let out;
So many tears in our eye-corners,
Sitting like little Jacky Horners-
In short, as soon as it is day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away.

And this I'll swear to you, dear Rain !
Whenever you shall come again,

Be you as dull as e'er you could,
(And by the bye 'tis understood,
You're not so pleasant as you're good,)
Yet, knowing well your worth and place,

I'll welcome you with cheerful face;
And though you stayed a week or more,
Were ten times duller than before;

Yet with kind heart, and right good will,
I'll sit and listen to you still;

Nor should you go away, dear Rain!
Uninvited to remain.

But only now, for this one day,

Do

go, dear Rain do go away.

1809.

MY

A DAY-DREAM.

eyes make pictures, when they are shut:— I see a fountain, large and fair,

A willow and a ruined hut,

And thee, and me, and Mary there.

O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow! Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green willow!

A wild-rose roofs the ruined shed,
And that and summer well agree:
And lo! where Mary leans her head,

Two dear names carved upon the tree!

And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow. Our sister and our friend will both be here to

morrow.