Oft on yon crested cliff he stood,
When misty twilight stream'd around,
To mark the slowly-heaving flood,
And catch the deep wave's sullen sound.
Oft, when the rosy dawn was seen,
'Mid blue, to gild the blushing steep, He marked, o'er yonder margent green, The curling cloud of fragrance sweep.
Oft did he pause the lark to hear,
With speckled wing, the skies explore; Oft paus'd to see the slow flock near: But he shall see, or hear no more!
Then, stranger! be his foibles lost;
At such small foibles Virtue smil'd: Few was their number, large their cost, For he was Nature's orphan-child.
The graceful drop of Pity spare,
(To him the bright drop once belong'd); Well, well his doom deserves thy care,
Much, much he suffer'd, much was wrong'd.
When taught by life its pangs to know,
Ah! as thou roam'st the checquer'd gloom, Bid the sweet night-bird's numbers flow, And the last sun-beam light his tomb.
DELIVERED AT THE LIVERPOOL THEATRE,
When a Free Benefit was given to the Children of the late Mr. Palmer.
YE airy Sprites, who, oft as Fancy calls,
Sport midst the precincts of these haunted walls!
Light forms, that float in Mirth's tumultuous throng,
And frolic Dance, and Revelry, and Song,
Fold your gay wings, repress your wonted fire-
And from your fav'rite seats awhile retire!
And Thou, whose pow'rs sublimer thoughts impart,
Queen of the springs that move the human heart
With change alternate; at whose magic call
The swelling tides of Passion rise or fall—
Thou, too, withdraw; for, 'midst thy lov'd abode,
With step more stern a mightier pow'r has trod ;-
Here, on this spot, to ev'ry eye confest,
Enrob'd with terrors stood the Kingly Guest;
Here, on this spot, DEATH wav'd th' unerring dart,
And struck-his noblest prize—AN HONEST HEART!
What wond'rous links the human feelings bind!
How strong the secret sympathies of Mind!
As Fancy's pictur'd forms around us move,
We hope or fear, rejoice, detest, or love:
Nor heaves the sigh for SELFISH woes alone-
CONGENIAL Sorrows mingle with our own:
Hence, as the Poet's raptur'd eye-balls roll,
The fond delirium seizes all his soul;
And, whilst his pulse concordant measure keeps,
He smiles in transport, or in anguish weeps.
But, ah, lamented Shade, not thine to know
The anguish only of IMAGIN'D woe!-
Destin'd o'er Life's SUBSTANTIAL ills to mourn,
And fond parental ties untimely torn!
Then, whilst thy bosom, lab'ring with its grief,
From fabled sorrows sought a short relief,
The FANCIED woes, too true to Nature's tone,
Burst the slight barrier, and became thy own:-
In mingled tides the swelling passions ran,
Absorb'd the Actor, and o'erwhelm'd the Man!
Martyr of Sympathy more sadly true
Than ever FANCY feign'd, or POET drew!
Say why, by Heav'n's acknowledg'd hand imprest, Such keen sensations actuate all the breast?
Why throbs the heart for joys that long have fled
Why lingers HOPE around the silent dead?
Why spurns the Spirit it's encumb'ring clay,
And longs to soar to happier realms away?
Does Heav'n, unjust, the fond desire instill,
To add to mortal woes another ill?-
Is there thro' all the intellectual frame
No kindred mind that prompts the nightly dream;
Or, in lone musings of remembrance sweet,
Inspires the secret wish-once more to meet ?→
There is for, not by more determin❜d laws
The sympathetic steel the magnet draws,
Than the freed Spirit acts, with strong controul,
On its responsive sympathies of soul;
And tells, in characters of truth unfurl'd,
"There is another, and a BETTER World!"
Yet, whilst we sorrowing tread this earthly ball, For human woes a human tear will fall.
Blest be that tear; who gives it doubly blest,
That heals with balm the Orphan's wounded breast!
Not all that breathes in Morning's genial dew
Revives the parent plant where once it grew;
Yet may those dews with timely nurture aid
The infant flow'rets drooping in the shade;
Whilst long-experienc'd Worth and Manners mild-
A Father's merits-still protect his Child.
NYMPH! over thee, chaste, fair, and young,
Each bosom breathes a sigh;
Applauses flow from every tongue,
And tears from every eye.
Still lives, and ever shall, thy name,
Thy beauty only died:
Envy has nothing to proclaim,
Nor Flattery to hide.
To Robert Anderson, M. D. on an Excursion in the
Country.
HARK! from the hills a solemn moan
Breathes in the wind's expiring tone!
While sweeps the breeze on circling wings,
Forlorn and sad, some spirit sings!
Down yonder vale, abrupt and low;
Recedes the murmur dull and slow.
What omens, mighty Oak! can make
Thy knotted stubborn heart to quake?
No gale thy rustling foliage heaves;
Then why these fearful, shivering leaves?
The leaves were hush'd, the winds were calm
A Dryad rais'd her slender palm
With misletoe her locks were wreath'd,
And these prophetic accents breath'd:
"What can the Oak's firm strength avail,
When ev'n the radiant Sun grows pale?
In magic chains behold him bound,
Faint yellow circles wreathing round,-
The wan Moon, glimmering through her tears,
At midnight still confess'd her fears.
I feel mine iron nerves revolt
At the deep-rending thunderbolt,
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