網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版

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 angaish close allied :
Batif, 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 flash athwart the brain.
And if thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught, Rest, injured shade! Shall Slander squatting near
Thou journeyest onward tempest-toss'd in thought; Spit her cold venom in a dead Man's ear?
Here cheat thy cares! in generous visions meli, "Twas thine to feel the sympathetic glow
Aod dream of goodness, thou hast never felt ! In Merit's joy, and Poverty's mcek 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 witherd! 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 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.
Whistling lorn ditties lenns upon his crook,
Or, starting, pauses with hope-ningled 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 :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.
Or silvery stole beneath the pensive Moon:
Ah! now it works rude brukes and thorns among, Much on my early youth I love to dwell,
CT 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 flung its beam

In broken radiance on the wavy stream,
W!!O DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER INDUCED BY CALUM. My soul amid the pensive twilight gloom

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.

NIOUS REPORTS.

Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd ; Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul
Her banners 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 ihe Alcaan 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, !

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
No fading wreath to beauty's saintly shrine.

To smile with fondness on her gazing son!
Nor, Sara! thou these early fiowers refuse-
Ne'er lurk'd the snake beneath their simple hues ;
No purple blooin the child of nature brings
From Flattery's night-shade; as he feels, he sings.

SONNET.
Seplomber, 1792.

WHEN British Freedom for a happior land
Spread her broad wings, that Hutter'd with affrigii
ERSKINE! thy voice she heard, and paused her flignt

Sublime of hope! For dreadless 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 Fancics might inspire.
If his weak harp at times, or lonely lyre

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,

the doom

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

SONNET.
And when the mightier throcs of man hogan,
And drove me forth, a thonght-bewilder'd man!

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

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
Moved on the darkness of the unform'd deep.

That wasts sont dreams to Slumber's listening G447
Now patriot rage and indignation high
Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beams

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! 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

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

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
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 dospair 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 callid them Friends, and heal'd their noisome 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.
Vo 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 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,
For lo! the morning struggles into day,
And Slavery's specires slariek and vanish from the Jarr'd thy fine fibres with a maniac's hand?

Faint was that lope, and rayless!-- Yet 'I was fair ray!

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!
Thou 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 rale of tears.

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
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 sublimiiy!

Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood
Wandering at eve with finely frenzied eye
Beneath soine 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 Nig!ıt; thou poor Forlorn!
Remorse that man on his death-bed possesk,
Who in the credulous hour of tenderness

LINES
Betray'd, then casi thee forth to Want and Scorn!

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:
Cold-bosom'd lewd ones, who endure to place Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear.
Foul ofierings on the shrine of Misery,

Up scour the stariliny strugglers of the Flock
And force from Famine the caress of Love ; "That on green plots o'er precipicez browse :
May He shed healing on the sore disgrace, From the forced fissures of the naked rock
He, the great Comforter that rules above ! The Yew.iree bursis! Beneath its dark-greer

[blocks in formation]

THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHOMA

.

Last night as I my weary head did pillow
With thoughts of my dissever'd Fair engrossid,
Chill Fancy droop'd wreathing herself with willow,
As though my breast entomb'd a pining ghost.
• From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal

boast,
Rejected Slumber! hither wing thy way;
But leave me with the matin hour, at most!
As night-closed Floweret to the orient ray,
My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey."
But Love, who heard the silence of my thought,
Contrived a too successful wile, I ween:
And whisper'd to himself, with malice fraught-
- Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen :
To-morrow shall he ken her alter'd mien!"
He spake, and ambush'd lay, till on my bed
The morning shot her dewy glances keen,
When as I'gan to lift my drowsy head-
* Now, Bard! I'll work thee woe!” the laughing

Elfin said.

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
Was fluttering now, as quickly to depart;
When twang'd an arrow froin Love's mystic string,

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.
Bright shone her eye, yet tender was its beam:
I felt the pressure of her lip to mine!
Whispering we went, and Love was all our theme
Love pure and spotless, as at first, I deem,
lle sprang from İleaven! Such joys with Sleep did

TO AN INFANT.
'bide,

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,
Tutor'd by Pain each source of Pain to know!
Alike the foodfil fruit and scorching fire
Awake thy eager grasp and young desire ;
Alike the Good, the Ill offend thy sight,
And rouse the stormy sense of shrill affright!
Unlaughi, yet wise! ʼmid all thy brief alarms
Thou closely clingest to thy Mother's arms,
Nestling thy little face in that fond breast
Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest!
Man's breathing Miniature! thou makest ine sigh-
A Babe art shou--and such a thing am I!
To anger rapid and as soon appeased,
For trilles inourning and by trilles pleased,
Break Friendship’s Mirror with a techy blow,
Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's altar

glow!

And hark, my Love! The sea-brceze moans
Through yon rest house! O'er rolling stones

In bold ambitious sweep,
The onward-surging tides supply
The silence of the cloudless sky

With mimic thunders deep.

Dark reddening from the channella Isle* (Where stands one solitary pile

Unslated by the blast)
The Watch-fire, like a sullen star
Twinkles to many a dozing Tar

Rude cradled on the mast.

O thou that rearest with celestial aim
The future Seraph in my morial frame,
Thrice-holy Faith! whatever thorns I meet
As on I toiter with unpractised feet,
Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee,
Meek Nurse of Souls through their long Infancy!

Even there— beneath that light-house tower-
In the tumultuous evil hour

Ere Peace with Sara came,
Time was, I should have thought it sweet
To count the echoings of my feet,

And watch the storm-vex'd flame.

[blocks in formation]

( felt it prompt the tender Dream, When slowly sunk the day's last gleam;

* The Jlolmes, in the Bristol Channe.

« 上一頁繼續 »