« 上一页继续 »
STANZAS ON WOMAN.
And finds too late that men betray,
What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom-is-to die.
• Love Esfond hans to
DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BED-CHAMBER.
Sa Que! W
Invites each passing stranger that can pay;
Intended to have been sung by Miss Hardcastle in
the Comedy of " She Stoops to Conquer."
Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me;
On the taking of Quebec.
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart,
And quells the raptures which from pleasure start.
Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear;
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.
And saw thee fall, with joy-pronouncing eyes : Yet they shall know thou conquerest, tho' dead :
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.
On Dr. Parnell.
HIS tomb inscrib'd to gentle Parnell's name,
May speak our gratitude, but not his fame.
Bet The bi
On Edward Purdon.*
Who long was a bookseller's hack;
I don't think he'll wish to come back.
Mrs. Mary Blaize.
Lament for Madam Blaize,
From those who spoke her praise. The needy seldom pass'd her door,
And always found her kind; She freely lent to all the poor,
Who left a pledge behind.
* This gentleman was educated at Trinity College, Dublin; but having wasted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot-sol-. dier. Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his discharge, and became a scribbler in the newspapers, He translated Voltaire's Henriade.
She strove the neighbourhood to please,
With manners wond'rous winning ;
Unless when she was sinning.
At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more ;
When she has walk'd before.
But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
Her last disorder mortal,
Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
For Kent-street well may say,
She had not dy'd to-day.
WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight,
Fears th' approaching bridal night.
Or dim thy beauty with a tear ?
She long had wanted cause of fear.
FROM THE ORATORIO OF THE CAPTIVITY.
THE wretch, condemn'd with life to part,
Still, still on hope relies;
Bids expectation rise.
Hope, like the glimm'ring taper's light,
Adorns and cheers the way;
Emits a brighter ray.
0 Memory! thou fond deceiver..
Still importunate and vain, To former joys, recurring ever,
And turning all the past to pain ;
Thou, like the world, the opprest oppressing,
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe! And he who wants each other blessing,
In thee must ever find a foe.