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Still may thy spirit dwell on mine,

And teach it what to brave or brookThere's more in one soft word of thine, Than in the world's defied rebuke.

Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree,
That still unbroke, though gently bent,
Still waves with fond fidelity

Its boughs above a monument.

The winds might rend-the skies might pour, But there thou wert-and still would'st be Devoted in the stormiest hour

To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me.

But thou and thine shall know no blight,
Whatever fate on me may fall;

For heaven in sunshine will requite
The kind—and thee the most of all.

Then let the ties of baffled love

Be broken-thine will never break; Thy heart can feel-but will not move; Thy soul, though soft, will never shake.

And these, when all was lost beside,
Were found and still are fixed in thee-
And bearing still a breast so tried,

Earth is no desart-cv'n to me.

TO TIME.

TIME! on whose arbitrary wing
The varying hours must flag or fly,
Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,
But drag or drive us on to die-
Hail thou! who on my birth bestowed
Those boons to all that know thee known;
Yet better I sustain thy load,

For now I bear the weight alone,

I would not one fond heart should share
The bitter moments thou hast given;
And pardon thee, since thou could'st spare
All that I loved, to peace or heaven.
To them by joy or rest, on me
Thy future ills shall press in vain;
I nothing owe but years to thee,
A debt already paid in pain.
Yet even that pain was some relief ;
It felt, but still forgot thy power:
The active agony of grief

Retards, but never counts the hour.
In joy I've sigh'd to think thy flight
Would soon subside from swift to slow;
Thy cloud could overcast the light,
But could not add a night to woe;
For then, however drear and dark,
My soul was suited to thy sky;
One star alone shot forth a spark

To prove thee-not Eternity.

That beam hath sunk, and now thou art

A blank; a thing to count and curse

Through each dull tedious trifling part,
Which all regret, yet all rehearse.
One scene even thou canst not deform;
The limit of thy sloth or speed,
When future wanderers bear the storm

Which we shall sleep too sound to heed:
And I can smile to think how weak
Thine efforts shortly shall be shown,
When all the vengeance thou canst wreak
Must fall upon-a nameless stone!

WINDSOR POETICS.

Lines composed on the occasion of H. R. H. the Prince Regent being seen standing betwixt the coffins of Henri VIII and Charles I, in the royal vault at Windsor.

FAMED for contemptuous breach of sacred ties,
By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies;
Between them stands another sceptered thing,
It moves, it reigns, in all but name-a king:
Charles to his people, Henry to his wife,
-In him the double tyrant starts to life;
Justice and Death have mix'd their dust in vain,
Each royal vampyre wakes to life again.
Ah! what can tombs avail-since these disgorge
The blood and dust of both-to mould a George.

1813.

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WEEP, daughter of a royal line,
A sire's disgrace, a realm's decay;
Ah, happy! if each tear of thine
Could wash a father's fault away!
Weep for thy tears are Virtue's tears-
Auspicious to these suffering isles;
And be each drop in future years
Repaid thee by the people's smiles!
March, 1812.

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