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To twine a fragrant chaplet round thy His manhood blossomed ; till the faithbrow,
less pride Enchanting ministress of virtuous woe ! Of fair Matilda sank him to the tomb.
But soon did righteous Heaven her guilt TO MISS BRUNTON
Where'er with wildered step she wanWITH THE PRECEDING TRANSLATION
dered pale, That darling of the Tragic Muse,
Still Edmund's image rose to blast her
view, When Wrangham sung her praise,
Still Edmund's voice accused her in Thalia lost her rosy hues, And sicken'd at her lays:
each gale. But transient was th' unwonted sigh;
With keen regret, and conscious guilt's For soon the Goddess spied
alarms, A sister-form of mirthful eye
Amid the pomp of affluence she pined; And danced for joy and cried :
Nor all that lured her faith from
Edmund's arms · Meek Pity's sweetest child, proud Could lull the wakeful horror of her dame,
mind. The fates have given to you ! Still bid your Poet boast her name; Go, Traveller ! tell the tale with sorrow I have my Brunton too.'
fraught : Some tearful maid perchance, or bloom
ing youth, ELEGY
May hold it in remembrance; and be
taught IMITATED FROM ONE OF AKENSIDE'S
That Riches cannot pay for Love or BLANK-VERSE INSCRIPTIONS
? 1794. NEAR the lone pile with ivy overspread, Fast by the rivulet's sleep-persuading
THE FADED FLOWER sound, Where sleeps the moonlight' on yon
UNGRATEFUL he, who pluck'd thee from verdant bedO humbly press that consecrated
Poor faded flow'ret! on his careless ground !
way; For there does Edmund rest, the learned
Inhal'd awhile thy odours on his walk, swain !
Then onward pass'd and left thee to And there his spirit most delights to
decay. rove :
Ah! melancholy emblem ! had I seen Young Edmund ! famed for each har-Thy modest beauties dew'd with evenmonious strain,
ing's gem, And the sore wounds of ill-requited
I had not rudely cropp'd thy parent stem, love.
But left thee, blushing, ?mid the en
Like some tall tree that spreads its
branches wide, And loads the west-wind with its soft
And now I bend me o’er thy wither'd
bloom, And drop the tear -- as Fancy, at my
AN UNFORTUNATE-TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN
Deep-sighing, points the fair frail Abra's Soft the glances of the youth, tomb
Soft his speech, and soft his sigh ; · Like thine, sad flower, was that poor But no sound like simple truth, wanderer's pride!
But no true love in his eye. Oh ! lost to love and truth, whose selfish joy
Loathing thy polluted lot, Tasted her vernal sweets, but tasted to Hie thee, Maiden, hie thee hence! destroy!'
Seek thy weeping Mother's cot, New Monthly Magazine, August 1836.
With a wiser innocence.
Thou hast known deceit and folly,
Thou hast felt that vice is woe :
With a musing melancholy PALE Roamer through the night ! thou
Inly armed, go, Maiden! go. poor Forlorn! Remorse that man on his death-bed
Mother sage of Self-dominion, possess,
Firm thy steps, O Melancholy ! Who in the credulous hour of tenderness the strongest plume in wisdom's pinion Betrayed, then cast thee forth to want
Is the memory of past folly. and scorn ! The world is pitiless : the chaste one's Mute the sky-lark and forlorn, pride
While she moults the firstling plumes, Mimic of Virtue scowls on thy distress : That had skimmed the tender corn, Thy Loves and they that envied thee Or the beanfield's odorous blooms.
Shall she dare a loftier flight,
TO AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN May He shed healing on the sore disgrace,
WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD KNOWN IN He, the great Comforter that rules above! THE DAYS OF HER INNOCENCE
MYRTLE-LEAF that, ill besped,
Pinest in the gladsome ray,
Far from thy protecting spray!
When the partridge o'er the sheaf Sitt'st behind those virgins gay,
Whirred along the yellow vale, Like a scorched and mildewed bough,
Sad I saw thee, heedless leaf ! Leafless ’mid the blooms of May !
Love the dalliance of the gale. Him who lured thee and forsook,
Lightly didst thou, foolish thing! Oft I watched with angry gaze,
Heave and flutter to his sighs, Fearful saw his pleading look,
While the flatterer, on his wing, Anxious heard his fervid phrase.
Wooed and whispered thee to rise.
Gaily from thy mother-stalk
ON BALA HILL
With many a weary step at length I gain Flung to fade, to rot and die.
Thy summit, Bala! and the cool breeze
plays Cheerily round my brow—as hence the
Returns to dwell upon the journey'd WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS, ROSS,
plain. FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF THE 'MAN
'Twas a long way and tedious to the OF ROSS'
eye RICHER than Miser o'er his countless
Tho' fair th' extended Vale, and fair to
view hoards, Nobler than Kings, or king - polluted
The falling leaves of many a faded hue Lords,
That eddy in the wild gust moaning by! Here dwelt the MAN OF Ross ! O
Ev’n so it far'd with Life! in discontent Traveller, hear !
Restless thro’ Fortune's mingled scenes I Departed Merit claims a reverent tear.
went, Friend to the friendless, to the sick man
Yet wept to think they would return no health,
more! With generous joy he viewed his modest
O cease fond heart ! in such sad thoughts wealth ;
to roam, He hears the widow's heaven - breathed
For surely thou ere long shalt reach thy prayer of praise,
home, He mark'd the sheltered orphan's tear
And pleasant is the way that lies before.
1794. Or where the sorrow-shrivelled captive lay,
IMITATED FROM THE WELSH Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noon-tide ray.
IF while my passion I impart, Beneath this roof if thy cheered moments You deem my words untrue, pass,
O place your hand upon my heartFill to the good man's name one grateful Feel how it throbs for you!
glass : To higher zest shall Memory wake thy Ah no ! reject the thoughtless claim soul,
In pity to your Lover ! And Virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl. That thrilling touch would aid the flame But if, like me, through life's distressful It wishes to discover.
scene Lonely and sad thy pilgrimage hath
DOMESTIC PEACE been; And if thy breast with heart-sick anguish [FROM THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE, ACT 1.] fraught,
TELL me, on what holy ground Thou journeyest onward tempest-tossed May Domestic Peace be found ? in thought;
Halcyon daughter of the skies, Here cheat thy cares ! in generous visions Far on fearful wings she flies, melt,
From the pomp of Sceptered State, And dream of goodness, thou hast never From the Rebel's noisy hate. felt!
In a cottaged vale She dwells, с
ON A DISCOVERY MADE TOO LATE-MELANCHOLY
Listening to the Sabbath bells ! Lest in some after moment aught more
A triumphant Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
shout Sorrow smiling through her tears,
Black Horror screamed, and all her And conscious of the past employ
goblin rout Memory, bosom-spring of joy. 1794.
Diminished shrunk from the more wither
Ah ! Bard tremendous in sublimity! ON A DISCOVERY MADE TOO
Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood
Wandering at eve with finely - frenzied LATE
Beneath some vast old tempest-swinging Thou bleedest, my poor Heart ! and thy
wood ! distress
Awhile with mute awe gazing I would Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile
brood : And probe thy sore wound sternly, though Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy!
the while Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness.
MELANCHOLY Why didst thou listen to Hope's whisper bland ?
A FRAGMENT Or, listening, why forget the healing tale,
STRETCH'D on a mouldered Abbey's When Jealousy with feverish fancies pale
broadest wall, Jarred thy fine fibres with a maniac's Where ruining ivies propped the ruins hand ?
steep Faint was that Hope, and rayless ! - Her folded arms wrapping her tattered Yet 'twas fair
pall, And soothed with many a dream the Had Melancholy mused herself to sleep. hour of rest :
Thefern was press'd beneath her hair, Thou should'st have loved it most, when The dark green Adder's Tonguel most opprest,
was there; And nursed it with an agony of care, And still as past the flagging sea-gale Even as a mother her sweet infant heir
weak, That wan and sickly droops upon her The long lank leaf bowed fluttering o'er breast !
her cheek, 1794.
That pallid cheek was flushed : her eager
look TO THE
Beamed eloquent in slumber! Inly AUTHOR OF THE ROBBERS'
Imperfect sounds her moving lips SCHILLER ! that hour I would have
forsook, wished to die,
And her bent forehead work'd with If thro' the shuddering midnight I had
troubled thought. sent
Strange was the dreamFrom the dark dungeon of the tower
time-rent That fearful voice, a famished Father's
1 A botanical mistake. The plant which the
poet here describes is called the Hart's Tongue. cry
[S. T. C.]
And Vanity her filmy net-work spread, LINES ON A FRIEND
With eye that rollid around in asking WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER IN
gaze, DUCED BY CALUMNIOUS REPORTS
And tongue that trafficked in the trade of praise.
30 EDMUND ! thy grave with aching eye I Thy follies such ! the hard world marked scan,
them well ! And inly groan for Heaven's poor out
Were they more wise, the Proud who cast-Man !
never fell ? 'Tis tempest all or gloom : in early youth Rest, injured shade! the poor man's If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth grateful prayer We force to start amid her feigned caress On heaven - ward wing thy wounded Vice, siren-hag ! in native ugliness;
soul shall bear. A Brother's fate will haply rouse the tear, And on we go in heaviness and fear!
As oft at twilight gloom thy grave But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower
And sit me down upon its recent grass, Some pigmy Folly in a careless hour, 10
With introverted eye I contemplate The faithless guest shall stamp the en
Similitude of soul, perhaps of— Fate! chanted ground,
To me hath Heaven with bounteous And mingled forms of Misery rise hand assigned around :
Energic Reason and a shaping mind, 40 Heart - fretting Fear, with pallid look
The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's aghast,
part, That courts the future woe to hide the And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle past;
heartRemorse, the poison'd arrow in his side,
Sloth-jaundiced all ! and from my graspAnd loud lewd Mirth, to Anguish close
less hand allied :
Drop Friendship's precious pearls, like Till Frenzy, fierce-eyed child of moping
hour-glass sand. Pain,
I weep, yet stoop not ! the faint anguish Darts her hot lightning-flash athwart the
A dreamy pang in Morning's feverish
doze. Rest, injured shade! Shall Slander squatting near
Is this piled earth our Being's passless Spit her cold venom in a dead man's
Tell me, cold grave! is Death with 'Twas thine to feel the sympathetic glow
poppies crowned ? In Merit's joy, and Poverty's meek woe; Tired Centinel ! mid fitful starts I nod, Thine all, that cheer the moment as it And fain would sleep, though pillowed flies,
on a clod !
50 The zoneless Cares, and smiling Court
November 1794. esies. Nursed in thy heart the firmer Virtues
TO A YOUNG ASS grew, And in thy heart they wither'd! Such
ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT chill dew Wan Indolence on each young blossom Poor little foal of an oppressed race ! shed;
I love the languid patience of thy face: