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MIS C E L L A N E OU S P O EM S.
AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
Ah, still as soon the young Aurora plays,
Though moons and flambeaux trail their Villula, et pauper agelle,
broadest blaze; Me tibi, et hos una mecum, et quos semper amavi Commendo.
As soon the sky-lark pours his matin-song,
Though evening lingers at the mask so long. WHEN, with a REAUMUR's skill, thy curious There let her strike with momentary ray,
As tapers shine their little lives away; Has classed the insect-tribes of human-kind, There let her practise from herself to steal, Each with its busy hum, or gilded wing, And look the happiness she does not feel; Its subtle web-work, or its venomed sting; The ready smile and bidden blush employ Let me, to claim a few unvalued hours, At Faro-routs that dazzle to destroy ; Point out the green lane rough with fern Fan with affected ease the essenced air,
and flowers; And lisp of fashions with unmeaning stare. The sheltered gate that opens to my field, Be thine to meditate an humbler flight, And the white front thro' mingling elms When morning fills the fields with rosy light;
Be thine to blend, nor thine a vulgar aim, In vain, alas ! a village-friend invites Repose with dignity, with quiet fame. To simple comforts, and domestic rites, Here no state - chambers in long line When the gay months of Carnival resume
unfold, Their annual round of glitter and perfume; Bright with broad mirrors, rough with fretWhen London hails thee to its splendid mart,
ted gold; Its hives of sweets, and cabinets of art; Yet modest ornament, with use combined, And, lo, majestic, as thy manly song, Attracts the eye to exercise the mind. Flows the full tide of human life along. Small change of scene, small space his home Still must iny partial pencil love to dwell
requires, On the home-prospects of my hermit-cell; Who leads a life of satisfied desires. The mossy pales that skirt the orchard- What tho' no marble breathes, no canvas green,
glows, Here bid by shrub-wood, there by glimpses From every point a ray of genius flows!
Be mine to bless the more mechanic skill, And the brown path-way, that, with care- That stamps, renews, and multiplies at will;
And cheaply circulates, thro' distant climes, Sinks, and is lost among the trees below. The fairest relics of the purest times. Still must it trace (the flattering tints forgive) Here from the mould to conscious being start Each fleeting charm that bids the landscape Those finer forms, the miracles of art;
Here chosen gems, imprest on sulphur, shine, Oft o'er the mead, at pleasing distance, pass That slept for ages in a second mine; Browsing the hedge by fits the panniered ass; And here the faithful graver dares to trace The idling shepherd-boy, with rude delight, A Michael's grandeur, and a RAPHAEL'S Whistling his dog to mark the pebble's
Thy gallery, Florence.gilds my humble wails, And in her kerchief blue the cottage-maid, And my low roof the Vatican recalls! With brimming pitcher from the shadowy Soon as the morning - dream my pillow glade.
flies, Far to the south a mountain-vale retires, To waking sense what brighter visions rise! Rich in its groves, and glens, and village- O mark! again the coursers of the Sun,
At Guido's call, their round of glory run! Its upland lawns, and cliffs with foliage hung, Again the rosy Hours resume their flight, Its wizard-stream, nor nameless nor unsung: Obscured and lost in floods of golden light! And thro’the various year, the various day, But could thine erring friend so long forget What scenes of glory burst, and melt away! (Sweet source of pensive joy and fond regret) When April-verdure springs in Grosvenor- That here its warmest hues the pencil flings,
Lo! here the lost restores, the absent brings; And the furred Beauty comes to winter there, And still the Few best loved and most revered Slic bids old Nature mar the plan no more; Risc round the board their social smile Yet still the seasons circle as before.
Selected shelves shall claim thy studious 0 come, and, rich in intellectual wealth,
Blend thought with exercise, with knowledge There shall thy ranging mind be fed on
Long, in this sheltered scene of lettered talk, There, while the shaded lamp's mild lustre With sober step repeat the pensive walk;
Norscorn, when graver triflings fail to please, Read ancient books, or dream inspiring The cheap amusements of a mind at ease;
Here every care in sweet oblivion cast, And, when a sage's bust arrests thee there, And many an idle hour--not idly passed. Pause, and his features with his thoughts Not tuneful echoes, ambushed at my gate,
Catch the blest accents of the wise and Ah, most that Art my grateful rapture calls,
great. Which breathes a soul into the silent walls ; Vain of its various page, no Album breathes Which gathers round the Wisc of every The sigh that Friendship or the Muse betongue,
queaths. All on whose words departed nations hung ; Yet some good Genii o'er my hearth preside, Still prompt to charm with many a converse Oft the far friend, with secret spell, to guide;
And there I trace, when the gray evening Guides in the world, companions in retreat!
lours, Tho' my thatched bath no rich Mosaic A silent chronicle of happier hours ! knows,
When Christmas revels in a world of snow, A limpid spring with unfelt current flows; And bids her berries blush, her carols flow; Emblem of Life! which, still as we survey, His spangling shower when Frost the wizard Seems motionless, yet ever glides away!
flings; The shadowy walls record, with Attic art, Or, borne in ether blue, on viewless wings, The strength and beauty that its waves O'er the white pane his silvery foliage weaves,
And gems with icicles the sheltering eaves ; Here Thetis, bending with a mother's fears — Thy muffled friend his nectarine - wall Dips her dear boy, whose pride restrains
pursues, his tears.
What time the sun the yellow crocus wooes, There, VENUS, rising, shrinks with sweet Screened from the arrowy North; and duly surprise,
hies As her fair self reflected seems to rise ! To meet the morning-rumour as it flies; Far from the joyless glare, the maddening To range the murmuring market-place, and strife,
view And all the dull impertinence of life, The motley groups that faithful TENIERS These eyelids open to the rising ray,
drew. And close, when Nature bide, at close of day. When Spring bursts forth in blossoms thro? Here, at the dawn, the kindling landscape
the vale, glows;
And her wild music triumphs on the gale, There noon-day levees call from faint repose. Oft with my book I muse from stile to stile; Here the flushed wave flings back the parting Oft in my porch the listless noon beguile,
Framing loose numbers, till declining day There glimmering lamps anticipate the night. Thro' the green trellis shoots a crimson ray; When from his classic dreanis the student Till the West-wind leads on the twilightsteals,
hours, Amid the buzz of crowds, the wbirl of wheels, And shakes the fragrant bells of closing To muse unnoticed-. while around him press
flowers. The meteor-forms of equipage and dress; Nor boast, O Choisy! seat of soft delight, Alone, in wonder lost, he seems to stand The secret charm of thy voluptuous night. A very stranger in his native land!
Vain is the blaze of wealth, the pomp of And (tho' perchance of current coin possest
power! And modern phrase by living lips exprest) Lo, here, attendant on the shadowy hour, Like those blest Youths, forgive the fabling Thy closet-supper, served by hands unseen,
Sheds, like an evening-star, its ray serene, Whose blameless lives deceived a twilight - To hail our coming. Not a step profane
Dares, with rude sound, the cheerful rite Spent in sweet slumbers; till the miner's
And, while the frugal banquet glows revealed, Unclosed the cavern, and the morning played. Pure and unbought,--the natives of my field; Ah, what their strange surprise, their wild while blushing fruits thro' scattered leaves delight!
invite, New arts of life, new manners meet their Still clad in bloom, and veiled in azure light!
With wine, as rich in years as HORACE In a new world they wake, as from the dead;
sings, Yet doubt the trance dissolved, the vision fled! With water, clear as his own fountain flings,
The shifting side-board plays its slumbler | To drop all metaphor, that little bell
Called back reality, and broke the spell. Beyond the triumphs of a Loriot's art. No heroine claims your tears with tragic tone;
Î'hus, in this calm recess, so richly fraught A very woman-scarce restrains her own! With mental light, and luxury of thought, Can she, with fiction, charm the cheated mind, My life steals on; (0 could it blend with When to be grateful is the part assigned ?
Ah, no! she scorns the trappings of her Art; Careless my course, yet not without design. No theme but truth, no prompter but the So thro’ the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide,
heart! The light raft dropping with the silent tide; But, Ladies, say, must I alone unmask ? So, till the laughing scenes are lost in night, Is here no other actress ? let me ask. The busy people wing their various flight, Believe me, those, who best the heart dissect, Culling unnumbered sweets from nameless Know every Woman studies stage-effect.
She moulds her manners to the part she fills, 'That scent the vineyard in its purple hours. As Instinct teaches, or as Humour wills;
Rise, ere the watch-relieving clarions play, And, as the grave or gay her talent calls, Caught thro' St. James's groves at blush Acts in the drama, till the curtain falls.
First, how her little breast with triumph Ere its full voice the choral anthem flings
swells, Thro'trophied tombs of heroes and of kings. When the red coral rings its golden bells ! Haste to the tranquil shade of learned ease, To play in pantomime is then the rage, Tho' skilled alike to dazzle and to please ; Along the carpet's many-coloured stage; Tho’each gay scene be searched with anxious Or lisp her merry thoughts with loud eneye,
deavour, Nor thy shut door be passed without a sigh. Now here, now there-in noise and mischief If, when this roof shall know thy friend
A school-girl next, she curls her hair in Some, formed like thee, should once, like
papers, thee, explore; And mimics father's gout, and mother's Invoke the Lares of his loved retreat,
vapours; And his lone walks imprint with pilgrim-feet; Discards her doll, bribes Betty for romances; Then be it said, (as, vain of better days, Playful at church, and serious when she Some gray domestic prompts the partial
dances; praise ;)
Tramples alike on customs and on toes, “Unknown he lived, nnenvied, not unblest; And whispers all she hears to all she knows; Reason his guide, and Happiness his guest. Terror of caps, and wigs, and sober notions ! In the clear mirror of his moral page, A romp! that longest of perpetual motions! We trace the manners of a purer age.
-Tilltamed and tortured into foreign graces, His soul, with thirst of genuine glory fraught, She sports her lovely face at public places; Scorned the false lustre of licentious thought. And with blue, laughing eyes, behind her fan, - One fair asylum from the world he knew, First acts her part with that great actor, MAN. One chosen seat, that charms with various Too soon a flirt, approach her and she flies !
Frowns when pursued, and, when entreated, Who boasts of more (believe the serious
Plays with unhappy men as cats with mice; Sighs for a home, and sighs, alas! in vain. Till fading beauty hints the late advice. Thro' each he roves, the tenant of a day, Her prudence dictates what her pride disAnd, with the swallow,wings the year away!"
dained, And now she sues to slaves herself had
With all the dear, distracting cares of life;
A thousand cards a day at doors to leave, WRITTEN TO BE SPOKEN BY MRs. Supons. And, in return, a thousand cards receive;
Rouge high, play deep, to lead the ton aspire, Yes, 'tis the pulse of life! my fears were With nightly blaze set PortLAND-Place on vain;
fire; I wake, I breathe, and am myself again. Snatch half a glimpse at Concert, Opera, Still in this nether world ; no seraph yet!
Ball, Nor walks my spirit, when the sun is set, A Meteor, traced hy none, tho' seen by all; With troubled step to haunt the fatal board, And, when her shattered nerves forbid to Where I died last-by poison or the sword;
roam, Blanching each honest cheek with deeds of In very spleen-rehearse the girls at home.
Last the gray Dowager, in ancient flounces, Done here so oft by dim and doubtful light. With snuff and spectacles the age denounces;
Boasts how the Sires of this degenerate Isle | Wont in the night of woods to dwell,
Of human sacrifice !
Now straggle in the evening-sky;
ON A TEA R.
coward Art, Could crystallize this sacred treasure ! And to full day the latent passions start! Long should it glitter near my heart, -And she, whose first, best wish is your A secret source of pensive pleasure.
Sweet drop of pure and pearly light! Thus from her mind all artifice she flings, In thee the rays of Virtue shine; All skill, all practice, now unmeaning things! More calmly clear, more mildly bright, To you, unchecked, each genuine feeling Than any gem that gilds the mine.
Who ever fliest to bring relief,
TO AN OLD OAK.
Immota manet; multosque nepotes,
The sage's and the poet's theme,
ROUND thee, alas, no shadows move!
And the wolf howl beneath.
There once the steel-clad knight reclined,
TO THE GNAT.
Poetic visions charm my closing eye, Then Culture came, and daye serene;
And fairy-scenes, that Fancy loves to weave, And village-sports, and garlands gay. Shift to wild notes of sweetest minstrelsy; Full many a pathway crossed the green;
'Tis thine to range in busy quest of prey, And maids and shepherd-youths were seen Thy feathery antlers quivering with delight, To celebrate the May.
Brush from my lids the hues of heaven away,
And all is Solitude, and all is Night! Father of many a forest deep,
-Ah now thy barbed shaft, relentless fly, Whence many a navy thunder-fraught! Unsheaths its terrors in the sultry air! Erst in thy acorn-cells asleep,
No guardian sylph, in golden panoply, Soon destined o'er the world to sweep, Lifts the broad shield, and points the glit Opening new spheres of thought!
SAMUEL ROGERS MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
Now near and nearer rush thy whirring The moving pomp along the shadowy isle.
That, like a darkness, filled the solemn pile; Thy dragon-scales still wet with human gore. The illustrious line, that in long order led, Hark, thy shrill horn its fearful larum flings! Of those, that loved him living, mourned -I wake in horror, and dare sleep no more!
him dead; Of those, the few, that for their coantry
stood Round him who dared be singularly good; All, of all ranks, that claimed him for their
own; A WISH.
And nothing wanting- but himself alone!
Oh say, of him now rests there but a name; MINE be a cot beside the hill,
Wont, as he was, to breathe ethereal flame? A bee-hive's hum shall sooth my ear; Friend of the absent, guardian of the dead! A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
Who but would here their sacred sorrow, With many a fall shall linger near.
(Such as he shed on Nelson's closing grave; The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, How soon to claim the sympathy he gave!) Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; In him, resentful of another's wrong, Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
'The dumb were eloquent, the feeble strong, And share my meal, a welcome guest. Truth from his lips a charm celestial drew,
Ah, who so mighty and so gentle too? Around my ivied porch shall spring
What tho' with war the madding nations Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;
rung, And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing
Peace, when he spoke, was ever on his In russet gown and apron blue.
tongue! Amidst the frowns of power, the tricks of
state, The village-church, among the trees, Fearless, resolved, and negligently great! Where first our marriage-vows were given, In vain malignant vapours gathered round; With merry peals shall swell the breeze,
He walked, erect, on consecrated ground. And point with taper spire to heaven.
The clouds, that rise to quench the orb of
day, Reflect its splendour, and dissolve away!
When in retreat he laid his thunder hy,
For lettered ease and calm philosophy, WRITTEN IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY. Blest were his hours within the silent grove,
Where still his godlike spirit deigns to rove; OCTOBER 10, 1806.
Blest by the orphan's smile, the widow's
prayer, After the Funeral of the Right Hon. CHARLES For many a deed, long done in secret there. JAMES Fox.
There shone his lamp on Homer's hallowed
page, WHOE'ER thou art, approach, and, with a There, listening, sate the hero and the sage;
And they, by virtue and by blood allied, Mark where the small remains of greatness Whom most he loved, and in whose arms lie.
he died. There sleeps the dust of him for ever gone; Friend of all humankind ! not here alone How near the scene where late his glory (The voice, that speaks, was not to thee shone!
unknown) And, tho'no more ascends the voice of prayer, Wilt thou be missed.-O’er every land and Tho' the last footsteps cease to linger there, Still, like an awful dream that comes again, Long, long shall England be revered in thee! Alas! at best, as transient and as vain, And, when the storm is hushed-in distant Still do I see (while thro' the vaults of night
years-The funeral-song once more proclaims the Foes on thy grave shall meet, and mingle rite)