In the Style of Mr. Crowe's Song, "Seaton Cliffs."
FROM thy waves, stormy Lannow, I fly,
From the rocks that are lash'd by their tide;
From the maid, whose cold bosom relentless as they,
Has wreck'd my warm hopes by her pride!
Yet lonely and rude as the scene,
Her smile to that scene could impart
A charm that might rival the bloom of the vale ;→ But away thou fond dream of my heart!
To thy rocks, stormy Lannow, adieu
Now the blasts of the Winter come on,
And the waters grow dark as they rise;
But 'tis well!-they resemble the sullen disdain
That has lour'd in those insolent eyes.
Sincere were the sighs it repress'd,
But they rose in the days that are flown!
Ah, Nymph! unrelenting and cold as thou art,
My spirit is proud as thy own.
To thy rocks, stormy Lannow, adieu!
Lo! the wings of the sea fowl are spread,
To escape the rough storm by their flight!
And these caves will afford them a gloomy retreat
From the winds and the billows of night!
Like them, to the home of my youth,
Like them, to its shades I retire ;
Receive me, and shield my vex'd spirit, ye groves,
From the storms of insulted desire!
From thy waves, rocky Lannow, I fly !
On Eliza Jones, Wife of the Rev. John Jones.
O! PURE of spirit, that hast soar'd away
To thy congenial realms of cloudless day,
Eliza, Angel! thou wilt hover near,
And teach his soul thy wounding loss to bear,
Who sorrowing saw thy cypress garland wove
Ere Time had dimm'd one hue of life or love.
Then o'er the darkness gather'd round his head
Thy care the light of pious hope will shed;
That shews the harbour bright Religion forms
For the heart wreck'd by Griefs' o'erwhelming storms.
So shall that heart, from hopeless anguish free,
Teach thy lov'd children to resemble thee;
And when, in future years, they pious turn
The moisten'd eye of duty on this urn,
Here shall its consecrated tablet prove
Their Mother's virtue, and their Father's love.
On the sudden Death of Mr. Norris, Batchelor of Music, who died September 3, 1790, at Himley, the Seat of Lord Dudley, the Week after he had conducted the Musical Festival at Birmingham.
Inscribed to Lord DUDLEY by the Author, who unites with the Public in revering his Lordship for the generous Patronage, Protection, and humane Assistance, which he extended to the Subject of the ensuing Lines.
SUDDEN the mortal stroke the warbler smote,
Eternal silence seals the tuneful throat:
Ah! Norris, thine! whom Albion heard so long
Pour in impressive tones the sacred song,
With all thy Handel's glorious page inspires,
Pathos that melts, and energy that fires.
High o'er the numerous band we saw him late,
Saw choirs combin'd his graceful mandate wait;
And heard the too *, too applicable lay,
His drooping spirit's mild complaint convey
*Mr. Norris sung in the New Church, Birmingham, "Thy Rebuke hath broken his Heart," from the Messiah. with great feeling, after he had been treated with cruel disrespect the preceding evening by a part of the audience, on a mistaken supposition arising from his being so much affected in singing a mournful song from Jephtha, that he was unable to finish it.
Of that injurious, that ungrateful sound,
Which the shock'd ear with ruthless force could
For that his trembling nerves, oppress'd with pain,
Whelm'd in resistless tears one tender strain.
O! when that powerful voice, in peals of praise,
Led the loud chorus thro' the harmonic maze;
Breath'd the pathetic song, that on the breast
Religious awe and contrite grief imprest;
How little we divin'd, who heard ere-while
His full notes echo through the vaulted aisle,
That DEATH's dark clouds around the minstrel hung,
That the sweet swan his own sad Requiem sung.
AN OLD CAT'S DYING SOLILOQUY *.
YEARS saw me still Acasto's mansion grace,
The gentlest, fondest of the tabby race;
Before him frisking thro' the garden glade,
Or at his feet, in quiet slumber laid;
Prais'd for my glossy back, of zebra streak,
And wreaths of jet encircling round my neck;
Soft paws, that ne'er extend the clawing nail,
The snowy whisker, and the sinuous tail;
Now feeble age each glazing eye-ball dims,
And pain has stiffen'd these once supple limbs ;
Fate of eight lives the forfeit gasp obtains,
And e'en the ninth creeps languid thro' my veins.
*The idea suggested by disliking the use of the Heathen Mythology in Dr. Jortin's Grimalkin Epitaph.
Much sure of good the future has in store,
When on my master's hearth I bask no more,
In those blest climes, where fishes oft forsake
The winding river, and the glossy lake,
There, as our silent-footed race behold
The crimson spots, and fins of lucid gold,
Venturing without the shielding waves to play,
They gasp on shelving banks, our easy prey:
While birds unwing'd hop careless o'er the ground,
And the plump mouse incessant trots around,
Near wells of cream, that mortals never skim,
Warm marum creeping round their shallow brim;
Where green valerian tufts, luxuriant spread,
Cleanse the sleek hide, and form the fragrant bed*.
Yet, stern dispenser of the final blow,
Before thou lay'st an aged grimalkin low,
Bend to her last request a gracious ear,
Some days, some few short days to linger here;
So to the guardian of his tabby's weal
Shall softest purrs these tender truths reveal:
Ne'er shall thy now expiring puss forget
"To thy kind care her long-enduring debt,
"Nor shall the joys that painless realms decree
"Efface the comforts once bestow'd by thee;
"To countless mice thy chicken-bones preferred,
"Thy toast to golden fish, and wingless bird;
"O'er marum borders, and valerian bed,
"Thy Selima shall bend her moping head,
Sigh that no more she climbs, with grateful glee, "Thy downy sofa, and thy cradling knee,
"Nay e'en at founts of cream shall sullen swear, "Since thou her more lov'd Master, art not there."
*The affection of cats for marum and valerian is well known; they will beat the stems down, mat them with their feet, and then roll upon them.
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