III.

THOUGH roused by that dark Vizir RIOT rude
Have driven our PRIESTLY o'er the ocean swell ;
Though SUPERSTITION and her wolfish brood
Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell;
Calm in his halls of Brightness he shall dwell!
For lo! RELIGION at his strong behest
Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell,
And flings to Earth her tinsel-glittering vest,
Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy;
And JUSTICE wakes to bid the Oppressor wail
Insulting aye the wrongs of patient Folly;
And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won
Meek NATURE slowly lifts her matron veil
To smile with fondness on her gazing son!

IV.

WHEN British Freedom for an happier land
Spread her broad wings, that fluttered with affright,
ERSKINE! thy voice she heard, and paused her flight
Sublime of hope! For dreadless thou didst stand
(Thy censer glowing with the hallowed flame)
An hireless Priest before the insulted shrine,

And at her altar pour the stream divine

Of unmatched eloquence. Therefore thy name

Her sons shall venerate, and cheer thy breast

With blessings heaven-ward breathed. And when the doom
Of Nature bids thee die, beyond the tomb

Thy light shall shine: as sunk beneath the West
Though the great Summer Sun eludes our gaze,
Still burns wide Heaven with his distended blaze.

V.

IT was some Spirit, SHERIDAN ! that breathed
O'er thy young mind such wildly various power!
My soul hath marked thee in her shaping hour,
Thy temples with Hymmettian flow'rets wreathed:
And sweet thy voice, as when o'er Laura's bier
Sad music trembled through Vauclusa's glade;
Sweet, as at dawn the love-lorn Serenade
That wafts soft dreams to Slumber's listening ear.

Now patriot Rage and Indignation high

Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beams dance
Meanings of Scorn and Wit's quaint revelry!
Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance
The Apostate by the brainless rout adored,

As erst that elder Fiend beneath great Michael's sword.

VI.

O WHAT a loud and fearful shriek was there,

As though a thousand souls one death-groan poured!
Ah me! they viewed beneath an hireling's sword
Fallen KOSKIUSKO! Through the burthened air
(As pauses the tired Cossac's barbarous yell
Of Triumph) on the chill and midnight gale
Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell

The dirge of murdered Hope! while Freedom pale
Bends in such anguish o'er her destined bier,
As if from eldest time some Spirit meek
Had gathered in a mystic urn each tear
That ever on a Patriot's furrowed cheek

Fit channel found; and she had drained the bowl
In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul !

VII.

As when far off the warbled strains are heard
That soar on Morning's wing the vales among,
Within his cage the imprisoned matin bird
Swells the full chorus with a generous song:
He bathes no pinion in the dewy light,
No Father's joy, no Lover's bliss he shares,
Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight;

His Fellows' freedom soothes the Captive's cares!

Thou, FAYETTE! who didst wake with startling voice Life's better sun from that long wintry night,

Thus in thy Country's triumphs shalt rejoice

And mock with raptures high the dungeon's might:

For lo! the morning struggles into day,

And Slavery's spectres shriek and vanish from the ray!

VIII.

THOU gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile,

Why hast thou left me? Still in some fond dream
Revisit my sad heart, auspicious SMILE!
As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam :
What time, in sickly mood, at parting day
I lay me down and think of happier years;
Of Joys, that glimmered in Hope's twilight ray,
Then left me darkling in a vale of tears.
O pleasant days of Hope-for ever gone!
Could I recall you !-But that thought is vain.
Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone
To lure the fleet-winged Travellers back again :
Yet fair, though faint, their images shall gleam
Like the bright Rainbow on a willowy stream.

IX.

PALE Roamer through the Night! thou poor Forlorn!
Remorse that man on his death-bed possess,

Who in the credulous hour of tenderness

Betrayed, then cast thee forth to Want and Scorn!
The world is pitiless: the Chaste one's pride
Mimic of Virtue scowls on thy distress:
Thy Loves and they, that envied thee, deride :
And Vice alone will shelter Wretchedness!
Oh! I am sad to think, that there should be
Cold-bosomed Lewd ones, who endure to place
Foul offerings on the shrine of Misery,
And force from FAMINE the caress of Love;
May He shed healing on thy sore disgrace,
He, the great COMFORTER that rules above!

X.

SWEET Mercy! how my very heart has bled
To see thee, poor OLD MAN! and thy gray hairs
Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one cares
To clothe thy shrivelled limbs and palsied head.
My Father! throw away this tattered vest

That mocks thy shivering! take my garment-use
A young man's arms! I'll melt these frozen dews
That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast.
My SARA too shall tend thee, like a Child :

And thou shalt talk, in our fire side's recess,

Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretchedness.

He did not so, the GALILEAN mild,

Who met the Lazars turned from rich man's doors,

And called them Friends, and healed their noisome Sores!

XI.

THOU bleedest, my poor HEART! and thy distress
Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile

And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while
Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness.
Why didst thou listen to IIope's whisper bland?
Or, listening, why forget the healing tale,
When Jealousy with feverish fancies pale

Jarred thy fine fibres with a maniac's hand?

Faint was that HOPE, and rayless !-Yet 'twas fair

And soothed with many a dream the hour of rest:

Thou should'st have loved it most, when most opprest,

And nursed it with an agony of Care,

Even as a Mother her sweet infant heir

That wan and sickly droops upon her breast!

SCHILLER! that hour I would have wished to die,
If through the shuddering midnight I had sent
From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent
That Fearful voice, a famished Father's cry-
Lest in some after moment aught more mean
Might stamp me mortal! A triumphant shout
Black HORROR Screamed, and all her goblin rout
Diminished shrunk from the more withering scene!
Ah Bard tremendous in sublimity!

Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood
Wandering at eve with finely frenzied eye
Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging wood!
Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood:
Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy!

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.

ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to Heaven conveyed
And bade it blossom there.

LINES

IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER.

O PEACE, that on a lilied bank dost love
To rest thine head beneath an Olive Tree,
I would, that from the pinions of thy Dove
One quill withouten pain yplucked might be !
For O! I wish my SARA'S frowns to flee,
And fain to her some soothing song would write,
Lest she resent my rude discourtesy,

Who vowed to meet her ere the morning light,

But broke my plighted word-ah! false and recreant wight!

Last night as I my weary head did pillow

With thoughts of my dissevered Fair engrossed,

Chill Fancy drooped wreathing herself with willow,

As though my breast entombed a pining ghost.

"From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal boast,

66

Rejected SLUMBER ! hither wing thy way;
"But leave me with the matin hour, at most!
"As night-closed Floweret to the orient ray,
"My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey.”

But LOVE, who heard the silence of my thought,
Contrived a too successful wile, I ween:

And whispered to himself, with malice fraught-
"Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen :
"To-morrow shall he ken her altered mien !

He spake, and ambushed lay, till on my bed
The morning shot her dewy glances keen,

When as I 'gan to lift my drowsy head—

"Now, Bard! I'll work thee woe!" the laughing Elfin said.

SLEEP, softly-breathing God! his downy wing

Was fluttering now, as quickly to depart ;

When twanged an arrow from LOVE's mystic string,

With pathless wound it pierced him to the heart.
Was there some Magic in the Elfin's dart?

Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance?
For straight so fair a Form did upwards start

(No fairer decked the Bowers of old Romance)

That SLEEP enamoured grew, nor moved from his sweet Trance!

My SARA came, with gentlest Look divine;

Bright shone her Eye, yet tender was its beam :

I felt the pressure of her lip to mine!

Whispering we went, and Love was all our theme-

Love pure and spotless, as at first, I deem,

He sprang from Heaven! Such joys with Sleep did ’bide,

That I the living Image of my Dream

Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sigh'd

"O! how shall I behold my Love at even-tide!"

IMITATED FROM OSSIAN.

THE stream with languid murmur creeps,
In LUMIN'S flowery vale:

Beneath the dew the Lily weeps

Slow-waving to the gale.

"Cease, restless gale! it seems to say,

"Nor wake me with thy sighing!

"The honours of my vernal day

"On rapid wing are flying.

"To-morrow shall the Traveller come

"Who late beheld me blooming :

"His searching eye shall vainly roam

"The dreary vale of LUMIN."