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To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul, Remorse, the poison'd arrow in his side,
And loud lewd Mirth, to angaish close allied :
Thine all that cheer the moment as it flies,
And in thy heart they witherd! Such chill dew LINES TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A
Wan indolence on each young blossom shed;
And Vanity her filmy net-work spread,
With eye that rollid around, in asking gaze, CNCE. more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wander. And tongue that traffick'd in the trade of praise. ing near,
Thy follies such! the hard world mark'd them well I hless 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 ihy zephyr-haunted brink I turn) As oft at twilight gloom thy grare I pass, My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy um. And sit me down upon its recent grass, For not through pathless grove with murmur rude With introverted eye I contemplate 'Thou gothost the sad wood-nymph, Solitude ; Similitude of soul, perhaps of Fate! "lor thine unseen in cavern depihi to well, To me hath Ileaven with bounteous hand assign'd 'The Hermit-fountain of some dripping cell! Energic Reason and a shaping mind, Pride of the Vale! thy 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 breaches 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 liuile hearts at rest,
sand. launch paper navies on thy waveless breast.
I weep, yet stoop not! the saint anguish flows, The rustic here at eve with pensive look
A dreamy pang in Morning's severish doze.
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 :he, vainly mindful of her daine'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! (inboastful Stream! thy fount with pebbled falls The faded form of past delight recalls, Whai tiine the inorning 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 Lite's current then ran sparkling to the noon,
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale,
Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing.
Aye as the star of evening flung its beam
In broken radiance on the wavy stream,
Mourn'd with the breeze, O Lee Boo!* o'er thy tomb
Where'er I wander'd Pity still was near, F.OMUND! thy grave with aching eye I scan, Breathed from the heart and glisten'd in the tear And inly groan for Ileaven's poor outcast-Man!
No knell that willd, but fill'd my anxious eye, Tie tempest all or gloom: in early youth,
And suflering Nature wept that one should die !t Il gifted with the lihuriel 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 disdain And on we go in heaviness and fear! But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower
With giant fury burst her triple chain ! 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 lolAnd mingled forms of Misery rise around:
ands, came over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the Heart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast,
small-pox, and is buried in Greenwich church-yard.--Sce Keate's
Account. Thar courts the future woe to hide the past;
1 Southey's Retrospect.
Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd ; Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul
That error's mist had left thy purged eye :
THOUGs roused by that dark Vizir, Riot rude And my heart aches, though Mercy siruck the blow. Have driven our Priest over the ocean swell. With wearied thought once more I seek the shade, Though Superstition and her woltish brood Where peaceíal Virtue weaves the myrtle bruid.
Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell ;
Calm in his halls of brightness he sball dwell' And 0! if eyes whose holy glances roll, Swift messengers, and cloquent of soul;
For lo! Religion at his strong behest If smiles moro winning, and a gentler mien
Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell, Than the love-wilder'd Maniac's brain haih 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 caro
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 lifis her matron veil
To smile with fondness on her gazing son!
WHEN British Freedom for a happior land
Sublime of hope! For dreadless thou didst stand
(Thy censer glowing with the hallow'd flame)
A hireless Priest before the insulted shrine,
And at her altar pour the stream divine
Of unmatch'd eloquence. Therefore thy naine He struck with desultory hand, and drow
Her sons shall venerate, and cheer thy breast Sono sofiend tones to Nature not untrue.
With blessings heavenward breathed. And when Bowles,
Of Nature bids thee die, beyond the tomb My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles! for those so Thy light shall shine : as sunk, beneath the West, strains,
Though the great Summer Sun eludes our gaze,
It was some Spirit, SHERIDAN! that breathed
O'er thy young mind such wildly various pover! A mingled charm, such as the pang consign'd
My soul hath mark'd thee in her shaping hour, To sluinber, though the big tear it renew'd;
Thy temples with Hymettian flow'reis wreathed: Bidding a strange mysterious Pleasure brooi And sweet thy voice, as when o’er Laura's bior Over the wavy and tumultuous mind,
Sad music trembled through Vauclusa's gla lo; As the great Spirit erst with plastic sweep
Sweet, as at dawn the lovelorn serenade
That wasts sont dreams to Slumber's listening G447
Meaning of Scorn and Wit's quaint revelry!
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! not sadder moans the autumnal gale** Great Son of Genius! sweet to me thy name,
SONNET Ere in an evil hour with alterd voice Thou badst Oppression's hireling crew rejoice, O what a loud and fearful shriek was there, Blasting with wizard spell my laurell’d 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 slorny Pity and the cherish'd lure
Fallon KOSCIOSKO! 'Through the burthead air
LAs pauses the tired Cossack's barbarous yell
SWEET Mercy! how my very heart has 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 froin eldest time some Spirit meek
To clothe thy shrivellid 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
My Sara too shall tend thee, like a Child:
He did not so, the Galilæan mild,
Who met the Lazars turn'd from rich men's doors,
And callid them Friends, and heal'd their noisome As when far off the warbled strains are heard
Thou bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress Ilis Fellows' freedom soothes the Captive's cares :
Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile, Thou, Fayette! who didst wake with startling voice And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while Life's better sun liom that long wintry nighi,
Swoln be ruine eye and din with heaviness. Thus in thy Country's triumphs shalt rejoice,
Why didst inou listen to Ilope's whisper bland? And mock with raptures high the dungeon's might : When Jealousy with feverish funcios pale
Or, listening, why forget the healing tale,
Faint was that lope, and rayless!-- Yet 'I was fair ray!
And soothed with many a dream the hour of rest :
Even as a Mother her sweet infant heir
That wan and sickly droops upon her breast!
TO THE AUTHOR OF THE “ ROBBERS."
From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent Opleasant days of Hope-for ever gone!
That fearful voice, a famish'd Father's cryCould I recall you But that thought is vain. Lest in some after moment aught more mean Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest lone
Might stamp me mortal! A triumphant shout To lure the feet-wing'd travellers back again:
Black Horror scream'd, and all her goblin rout
Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood
Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood:
Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy!
COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING TIIE LEFT ASCENT OF The world is pitiless: the Chaste one's pride, Mimic of Virtue, scowls on thy distress:
BROCKLEY COOMB, SOMERSETSIIRE, MAY, 1795 Thy loves and they, that envieil thee, deride: With many a pause and oft-reverted eye And Vice alone will shelter wreichedness!
I climb the Coomb's ascent : sweet songsters near 0! I am sad to think, that there shonld be
Warble in shade their wild-wood melody:
Up scour the stariliny strugglers of the Flock
THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHOMA
Last night as I my weary head did pillow
How long will ye round me be swelling,
Oye blue-tumbling waves of the Sea ? Not always in Caves was my dwelling,
Nor beneath the cold blast of the Tree. Through the high-sounding halls of Cathloma
In the steps of my beauty 1 stray'd ; The Warriors beheld Ninathòma,
And they blessed the white-bosom'd Maid! A Ghost! by my cavern it darted!
In moon-beams the Spirit was drest For lovely appear the departed
When they visit the dreams of my rest! But, disturb’d by the Tempest's commotion,
Fleet the shadowy forms of DelightAh cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean!
To howl through my Cavern by Night.
Sleep, softly-breathing God! his downy wing
IMITATED FROM THE WELSH With pathless wound it pierced him to the heart.
IF, while my passion I impart, Was there some magic in the Elfin's dart?
You deem my words untrue, Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance ?
O place your hand upon my heartFor straight so fair a Form did upwards start
Feel how it throbs for you! (No fairer deck'd tho Bowers of old Romance) Thai Sleep enamour'd grew, nor moved from his Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim, sweet trance !
In pity to your lover!
Thai thrilling touch would aid the flame My Sara came, with gentlest look divine ;
It wishes to discover.
TO AN INFANT.
An cease thy tears and Sobs, my little Life' That I the living Image of my Dream
I did but snatch away the unclesp'd Knife : Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sigh'd Somo safer Toy will soon arreni thine eye, O! how shall I behold my Lorc at erentide !" And to quick langh:er change this peevish
You roused each gentler sense As, sighing o'er the Blossom's bloom, Meck Evening wakes its soft perfume
With viewless influence.
Poor Stumbler on the rocky coast of Woe,
And hark, my Love! The sea-brceze moans
In bold ambitious sweep,
With mimic thunders deep.
Dark reddening from the channella Isle* (Where stands one solitary pile
Unslated by the blast)
Rude cradled on the mast.
O thou that rearest with celestial aim
Even there— beneath that light-house tower-
Ere Peace with Sara came,
And watch the storm-vex'd flame.
( felt it prompt the tender Dream, When slowly sunk the day's last gleam;
* The Jlolmes, in the Bristol Channe.