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-Tis she, 't is she herself! she waves her hand! Yet has she fled the life of bliss below,
Soon is the anchor cast, the canvas furl'd; That youthful Hope in bright perspective drew!
Soon through the whitening surge he springs to land, False were the tints ! false as the feverish glow
And clasps the maid he singled from the world. That o'er her burning cheek Distemper threw!

And now in joy she dwells, in glory moves !
TO AN OLD OAK.

(Glory and joy reserved for you to share.)

Far, far more blest in blessing those she loves

Than they, alas! unconscious of her care.
Immota manet; multosque nepotes,
Multa virûm volvens durando sæcula, vincit. Virg.
Round thee, alas, no shadows move!

ON A TEAR
From thee no sacred murmurs breathe!

Oh! that the Chemist's magic art
Yet within thee, thyself a grove,

Could crystallize this sacred treasure !
Once did the eagle scream above,

Long should it glitter near my heart,
And the wolf howl beneath.

A secret source of pensive pleasure.
There once the steel-clad knight reclined,

The little brilliant, ere it fell,
His sable plumage tempest-loss'd ;

Its lustre caught from Chloe's eye ;
And, as the death-bell smote the wind,

Then, trembling, left its coral cell-
From towers long fled by human kind,

The spring of Sensibility!
His brow the hero cross'd!

Sweet drop of pure and pearly light!
Then Culture came, and days serene ;

In thee the rays of Virtue shine ;
And village-sports, and garlands gay.

More calmly clear, more mildly bright, Full many a pathway cross'd the green;

Than any gem that gilds the mine.
And maids and shepherd-youths were seen
To celebrate the May.

Benign restorer of the soul !

Who ever fly'st to bring relief,
Father of many a forest deep,

When first we feel the rude control
Whence many a navy thunder-fraught!

Of Love or Pity, Joy or Grief.
Erst in thy acorn-cells asleep,
Soon destined o'er the world to sweep,

The sage's and the poet's theme,
Opening new spheres of thought!

In every clime, in every age;.

Thou charm'st in Fancy's idle dream,
Wont in the night of woods to dwell,

In Reason's philosophic page.
The holy Druid saw thee rise ;
And, planting there the guardian spell,

That very law' which moulds a tear,
Sung forth, the dreadful pomp to swell

And bids it trickle from its source,
Of human sacrifice!

That law preserves the earth a sphere,

And guides the planets in their course.
Thy singed top and branches bare
Now straggle in the evening-sky;
And the wan moon wheels round to glare
On the long corse that shivers there

TO A VOICE THAT HAD BEEN LOST.'
Of him who came to die !

Vane, quid affectas faciem mihi ponere, pictor ?
Aëris et linguæ sum filia;

Et, si vis similem pingere, pinge sonum. Ausonius.
TO TWO SISTERS.'
WELL may you sit within, and, fond of grief,

ONCE more, Enchantress of the soul, Look in each other's face, and melt in tears.

Once more we hail thy soft control. Well may you shun all counsel, all relief.

-Yet whither, whither didst thou fly? Oh she was great in mind, though young in years ! To what bright region of the sky ?

Say, in what distant star to dwell ? Changed is that lovely countenance, which shed (Of other worlds thou seem'st to tell) Light when she spoke, and kindled sweet surprise, Or trembling, fluttering here below, As o'er her frame each warm emotion spread,

Resolved and unresolved to go, Play'd round her lips, and sparkled in her eyes.

In secret didst thou still impart

Thy raptures to the pure in heart? Those lips so pure, that moved but to persuade

Perhaps 10 many a desert shore, Still to the last enliven'd and endear'd.

Thee, in his rage, the Tempest bore; Those eyes at once her secret soul convey'd,

Thy broken murmurs swept along, And ever beam'd delight when you appear’d.

'Mid Echoes yet untuned by song ;

1 On the death of a younger sister.

1 The law of gravitation.

2 In the winter of 1805

Arrested in the realms of Frost,

Yet round her couch indulgent Fancy drew Or in the wilds of Ether lost.

The kindred forms her closing eye required. Far happier thou! 'twas thine to soar There didst thou stand—there, with the smile she Careering on the winged wind.

knew, Thy triumphs who shall dare explore ? She moved her lips to bless thee, and expired. Suns and their systems left behind.

And now to thee she comes; still, still the same No tract of space, no distant star,

As in the hours gone unregarded by! No shock of elements at war,

To thee, how changed! comes as she ever came, Did thee detain. Thy wing of fire

Health on her cheek, and pleasure in her eye!
Bore thee amidst the Cherub-choir ;
And there awhile to thee 't was given Nor less, less oft, as on that day, appears,
Once more that Voice' beloved to join, When lingering, as prophetic of the truth,
Which taught thee first a flight divine, By the way-side she shed her parting tears-
And nursed thy infant years with many a strain For ever lovely in the light of Youth!

from Heaven!

FROM A GREEK EPIGRAM.
While on the cliff with calm delight she kneels,
And the blue vales a thousand joys recall,
See, to the last, last verge her infant steals!
O fly—yet stir not, speak not, lest it fall.
Far better taught, she lays her bosom bare,
And the fond boy springs back to nestle there.

WRITTEN IN A SICK CHAMBER.
THERE, in that bed so closely curtain'd round,
Worn to a shade, and wan with slow decay,
A father sleeps! Oh hush'd be every sound!
Soft may we breathe the midnight hours away!
He stirs—yet still he sleeps. May heavenly dreams
Long o'er his smooth and settled pillow rise;

Till through the shutter'd pane the morning streams,
And on the hearth the glimmering rush-light dies.

TO THE FRAGMENT OF A STATUE OF HERCULES,
COMMONLY CALLED THE TORSO.

THE BOY OF EGREMOND.'
AND dost thou still, thou mass of breathing stone,

“ SAY, what remains when Hope is filed ?" (Thy giant limbs to night and chaos hurl’d), Still sit as on the fragment of a world ;

She answer'd, “Endless weeping !"

For in the herdsman's eye she read
Surviving all, majestic and alone ?

Who in his shroud lay sleeping.
What though the Spirits of the North, that swept
Rome from the earth, when in her pomp she slept,

At Embsay rung the matin-bell,

The stag was roused on Barden-fell; Smote thee with fury, and thy headless trunk

The mingled sounds were swelling, dying, Deep in the dust ’mid tower and temple sunk;

And down the Wharfe a hern was flying ;
Soon to subdue mankind 'I was thine to rise,

When near the cabin in the wood,
Still, still unqueil'd thy glorious energies !
Aspiring minds, with thee conversing, caught?

In tartan clad and forest-green,

With hound in leash and hawk in hood,
Bright revelations of the Good they sought ;
By thee that long-lost spell' in secret given,

The Boy of Egremond was seen.

Blithe was his song, a song of yore;
To draw down Gods, and lift the soul 10 Heaven!

But where the rock is rent in two,
And the river rushes through,

His voice was heard no more!
TO

"T was but a step! the gulf he pass'd;

But that step-it was his last !
Ah! little thought she, when, with wild delight, As through the mist he wing'd his way
By many a torrent's shining track she flew,

(A cloud that hovers night and day), When mountain-glens and caverns full of night The hound hung back, and back he drew O'er her young mind divine enchantment threw, The Master and his merlin too.

That narrow place of noise and strife That in her veins a secret horror slept,

Received their little all of Life!
That her light footsteps should be heard no more,

There now the matin-bell is rung;
That she should die—nor watch'd, alas, nor wept The “Miserere!" duly sung;
By thee, unconscious of the pangs she bore.

1 In the twelfth century William Fitz-Duncan laid waste the 1 Mrs. Sheridan's.

valleys of Craven with fire and sword; and was afterwards 2 In the gardens of the Vatican, where it was placed by Ju- established there by his uncle, David, King of Scotland.

He was the last of the race: his son, commonly called the Boy lius II. it was long the favorite study of those great men to of Egremond, dying before him in the manner here related; whom we owe the revival of the arts, Michael Angelo, Raphael, when a Priory was removed from Embsay to Bolton, that it and the Carracci.

might be as near as possible to the place where the accident 3 Once in the possession of Praxiteles, if we may believe an happened. That place is still known by the name of the Strid; ancient epigram on the Guidian Venus.-Analecta Vet. Poeta- and the mother's angwer, as given in the first stanza, is to this rum, LII. 200.

day often repeated in Wharfedale.See Whitaker's Hist. of 4 On the death of her sister.

Craven.

TO THE

And holy men in cowl and hood

And while the torrent thunders loud, Are wandering up and down the wood.

And as the echoing cliffs reply, But what avail they? Ruthless Lord,

The huts peep o'er the morning-cloud,
Thou didst not shudder when the sword

Perch'd, like an eagle's nest, on high.
Here on the young its fury spent,
The helpless and the innocent.
Sit now and answer groan for groan,

IMITATION OF AN ITALIAN SONNET. The child before thee is thy own.

Love, under Friendship's vesture white, And she who wildly wanders there,

Laughs, his little limbs concealing ; The mother in her long despair,

And oft in sport, and oft in spite, Shall oft remind thee, waking, sleeping,

Like Pity meets the dazzled sight, Of those who by the Wharfe were weeping; Smiles through his tears revealing. Of those who would not be consoled

But now as Rage the God appears !
When red with blood the river rollid.

He frowns, and tempests shake his frame !
Frowning, or smiling, or in tears,

"T is Love; and Love is still the same.
TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE.
On thee, blest youth, a father's hand confers
The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes knew.

A CHARACTER.
Each soft enchantment of the soul is hers; As through the hedge-row shade the violet steals,
Thine be the joys to firm attachment due.

And the sweet air its modest leaf reveals ;

Her softer charms, but by their influence known, As on she moves with hesitating grace,

Surprise all hearts, and mould them to her own She wins assurance from his soothing voice; And, with a look the pencil could not trace, Smiles through her blushes, and confirms the choice.

YOUNGEST DAUGHTER OF LADY **** Spare the fine tremors of her feeling frame ! To thee she turns—forgive a virgin's fears !

Ah! why with tell-tale tongue reveal To thee she turns with surest, tenderest claim :

What most her blushes would conceal ? Weakness that charms, reluctance that endears!

Why list that modest veil to trace

The seraph-sweetness of her face? At each response the sacred rite requires,

Some fairer, better sport prefer; From her full bosom bursts the unbidden sigh.

And feel for us, if not for her. A strange mysterious awe the scene inspires ;

For this presumption, soon or late, And on her lips the trembling accents die.

Know thine shall be a kindred fate.

Another shall in vengeance riseO'er her fair face what wild emotions play!

Sing Harriet's cheeks, and Harriet's eyes ; What lights and shades in sweet confusion blend! And, echoing back her wood-notes wild, Soon shall they fly, glad harbingers of day,

- Trace all the mother in the child ! And settled sunshine on her soul descend ! Ah soon, thine own confest, ecstatic thought!

AN EPITAPH 2 ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST
Taat hand shall strew thy summer-path with flowers; Tread lightly here ; for here, 't is said,
And those blue eyes, with mildest lustre fraught, When piping winds are hush'd around,
Gild the calm current of domestic hours !

A small note wakes from under-ground,
Where now his tiny bones are laid.

No more in lone and leafless groves,
THE ALPS AT DAY-BREAK.

With ruffled wing and faded breast,

His friendless, homeless spirit roves ; THE sun-beams streak the azure skies,

-Gone to the world where birds are blest! And line with light the mountain's brow:

Where never cat glides o'er the green,
With hounds and horns the hunters rise,

Or school-boy's giant form is seen ;
And chase the roe-buck through the snow. But Love, and Joy, and smiling Spring

Inspire their little souls to sing !
From rock to rock, with giant-bound,
High on their iron poles they pass ;
Mute, lest the air, convulsed by sound,

TO THE GNAT.
Rend from above a frozen mass.'

WHEN by the greenwood side, at summer eve, The goats wind slow their wonted way

Poetic visions charm my closing eye; Up craggy steeps and ridges rude;

And fairy scenes, that Fancy loves to weave, Mark'd by the wild wolf for his prey,

Shift to wild notes of sweetest minstrelsy; From desert cave or hanging wood. 1 There are passes in the Alps, where the guides tell you to

1 Alluding to some verses which she had written on an elder

sister. move on with speed, and say nothing, lest the agitation of the air should loosen the snows above.

2 Inscribed on an urn in the flower-garden at Hafod.

Tis thine to range in busy quest of prey,

AN INSCRIPTION.
Thy feathery antlers quivering with delight,
Brush from my lids the hues of heaven away,

SHEPHERD, or Huntsman, or worn Mariner,
And all is Solitude, and all is Night!

Whate'er thou art, who wouldst allay thy thirst, -Ah now thy barbed shaft, relentless fly,

Drink and be glad. This cistern of white stone, Unsheathes its terrors in the sultry air !

Arch’d, and o'erwrought with many a sacred verse No guardian sylph, in golden panoply,

This iron cup chain'd for the general use, Lifts the broad shield, and points the glittering spear. Were given by Fatima. Borne hence a bride,

And these rude ses of earth within the grove, Now near and nearer rush thy whirring wings, Thy dragon-scales still wet with human gore.

'T was here she turn'd from her beloved sire, Hark, thy shrill horn its fearful larum flings !

To see his face no more.' Oh, if thou canst, - I wake in horror, and dare sleep no more!

(T is not far oft) visit his tomb with flowers;
And with a drop of this sweet water fill
The two small cells scoop'd in the marble there,

That birds may come and drink upon his grave,
A WISH.

Making it holy!
MINE be a cot beside the hill,
A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall, shall linger near.

WRITTEN IN THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND,

SEPTEMBER 2, 1812. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch

Blue was the loch, the clouds were gone Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;

Ben Lomond in his glory shone, Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,

When, Luss, I left thee; when the breeze, And share my meal, a welcome guest.

Bore me from thy silver sands,

Thy kirk-yard wall among the trees, Around my ivied porch shall spring

Where, grey with age, the dial stands; Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;

That dial so well known to me! And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing

-Though many a shadow it had shed, In russet gown and apron blue.

Beloved Sister, since with thee

The legend on the stone was read. The village-church, among the trees,

The fairy-isles fled far away; Where first our marriage-vows were given, That with its woods and uplands green, With merry peals shall swell the breeze,

Where shepherd-huts are dimly seen,
And point with taper spire to heaven.

And songs are heard at close of day;
That, too, the deer's wild covert, fled,

And that, the asylum of the dead:
WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. 1786.

While, as the boat went merrily,
WHILE through the broken pone the tempest sighs, Much of Rob Roy' the boatman told,
And my step falters on the faithless floor,

His arm, that fell below his knee, Shades of departed joys around me rise,

His cattle-ford and mountain-hold.
With many a face that smiles on me no more;

Tarbat, 4 thy shore I climb'd at last,
With many a voice that thrills of transport gave, And, thy shady region pass'd,
Now silent as the grass that tufts their grave!

Upon another shore I stood,
And look'd upon another flood ;s

Great Ocean's self! ('T is He who fills
AN ITALIAN SONG.

That vast and awful depth of hills);

Where many an elf was playing round Dear is my little native vale,

Who treads urshod his classic ground; The ring-dove builds and murmurs there;

And speaks, his native rocks among, Close by my cot she tells her tale

As Fingal spoke, and Ossian sung. To every passing villager.

Night fell; and dark and darker grev The squirrel leaps from tree to tree,

That narrow sea, that narrow sky, And shells his nuts at liberty.

As o'er the glimmering waves we flew;

The sea-bird rustling, wailing by.
In orange-groves and myrtle-bowers,
That breathe a gale of fragrance round,

And now the grampus, half-descried,

Black and huge above the tide ; I charm the fairy-footed hours

The cliffs and promontories there, With my loved lute's romantic sound;

Front to front, and broad and bare ; Or crowns of living laurel weave,

Each beyond each, with giant-feet
For those that win the race at eve.

Advancing as in haste to meet;
The shepherd's horn at break of day,
The ballet danced in twilight glade,

1 See an anecdote related by Pausanias, iii, 20. The canzonet and roundelay

2 A Turkish superstition. Sung in the silent greenwood shade,

3 A famous outlaw, These simple joys, that never fail,

4 Signifying, in the Erse language, an Isthmus. Shall bind me to my native vale.

5 Loch-Long

The shatter'd fortress, whence the Dane

TO THE BUTTERFLY.
Blew his shrill blast, nor rush'd in vain,
Tyrant of the drear domain :

Child of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight, All into midnight-shadow sweep,

Mingling with her thou lovest in fields of light; When day springs upward from the deep!' And, where the flowers of Paradise unfold, Kindling the waters in its fight,

Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold. The prow wakes splendor; and the oar, There shall thy wings, rich as an evening-sky, That rose and fell unseen before,

Expand and shut with silent ecstacy! Flashes in a sea of light!

-Yet wert thou once a worm, a thing that crept Glad sign, and sure! for now we hail On the bare earth, then wrought a lomb and slept Thy flowers, Glenfinnart, in the gale;

And such is man; soon from his cell of clay
And bright indeed the path should be To burst a seraph in the blaze of day!
That leads to Friendship and to thee!

Oh blest retreat, and sacred too!
Sacred as when the bell of prayer
Tolld duly on the desert air,

WRITTEN IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. And crosses deck'd thy summits blue. Oft, like some loved romantic tale,

OCTOBER 10, 1806.' Oft shall my weary mind recall,

WHOE'ER thou art, approach, and, with a sigh, Amid the hum and stir of men,

Mark where the small remains of greatness lie.? Thy beechen grove and waterfall,

There sleeps the dust of Fox, for ever gone : Thy ferry with its gliding sail,

How near the Place where late his glory shone! And her—the Lady of the Glen!

And, though no more ascends the voice of Prayer,
Though the last footsteps cease to linger there,

Still, like an awful dream that comes again,
A FAREWELL

Alas! at best as transient and as vain,
ONCE more, enchanting maid adieu !

Still do I see (while through the vaults of night I must be gone while yet I may;

The funeral-song once more proclaims the rite) Oft shall I weep to think of you,

The moving Pomp along the shadowy aisle, But here I will not, cannot stay.

That, like a Darkness, fill'd the solemn Pile;

The illustrious line, that in long order led, The sweet expression of that face,

Of those that loved Him living, mourn'd Him dead; For ever changing, yet the same,

Of those the Few, that for their Country stood

Round Him who dared be singularly good : Ah no, I dare not turn to trace

All, of all ranks, that claim'd Him for their own; It melts my soul, it fires my frame!

And nothing wanting-but himself alone ! 3 Yet give me, give me, ere I go,

Oh say, of Him now rests there but a name; One little lock of those so blest,

Wont, as He was, to breathe ethereal flame? That lend your cheek a warmer glow,

Friend of the Absent, Guardian of the Dead ! 4

Who but would here their sacred sorrow's shed ? And on your white neck love to rest.

(Such as He shed on Nelson's closing grave; Say, when to kindle soft delight,

How soon to claim the sympathy He gave!)

In Him, resentful of another's wrong, That hand has chanced with mine to meet,

The dumb were eloquent, the feeble strong. How could its thrilling touch excite

Truth from his lips a charm celestial drewA sigh so short, and yet so sweet?

Ah, who so mighty and so gentle too ?" O say—but no, it must not be.

What though with War the madding nations rung,

“ Peace," when He spoke, was ever on his tongue ! Adieu! a long, a long adieu ! -Yet still, methinks, you frown on me,

Amidst the frowns of Power, the tricks of State, Or never could I fly from you.

Fearless, resolved, and negligently great!
In vain malignant vapors gather'd round;
He walk'd, erect, on consecrated ground.

The clouds, that rise to quench the Orb of day,
INSCRIPTION FOR A TEMPLE

Reflect its splendor, and dissolve away!
DEDICATED TO THE GRACES.2
APPROACH with reverence. There are those within

1 After the funeral of the Right Hon. Charles James Fox. Whose dwelling place is Heaven. Daughters of Jove,

2 Venez voir le pru qui nous reste de tant de grandeur, etc From them flow all the decencies of life;

-Bossuet. Oraison funébre de Louis de Bourbon. Without them nothing pleases, Virtue's self

3 Et rien enfin ne manque dans tous ces honneurs, que celui Admired, not loved ; and those on whom they smile, à qui on les rend.-Ibid. Great thongh they be, and wise, and beautiful,

4 Alluding particularly to his speech on moving a new writ Shine forth with double lustre.

for the borough of Tavistock, March 16, 1802.

5 Spe that admirable delineation of his character by Sir James 1 A phenomenon described by many navigators.

Mackintosh, which first appeared in the Bombay Courier Jan. 2 At Woburn-Abbey.

uary 17, 1807.

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