Will charm my heart while anxious care
And trembling fear inhabit there;—
No joy to me can spring display

While Love and Henry are away.

III.

FROM the wild raging ocean, the barbarous coast,
The sun's piercing beam, and the region of frost,
Again, fair Britannia! I visit thy shore,

And behold the dear scenes of my country once more.

The blast of the storm, and the swell of the wave,
A moment of terror to me never gave,

Compar'd with the torment my bosom must prove,
Should inconstancy alter the maid that I love.

O'er the shoal and the rock often flows the smooth tide,
And the strong rolling billow the quicksand may hide;
But her eyes still the truth of her bosom declare,
Nor can falsehood inhabit a mansion so fair.

IV.

DEAR idol of my panting heart!

My lovely charmet, see,
Thy faithful Henry is return'd,
Return'd to love and thee.

O let me clasp thee to my breast,
Now all my cares are o'er;

If

If Heaven will grant my fond request,

To let us part no more.

V.

To thy fields, happy Britain, adieu!

And adieu to the scenes they disclose,

And adieu to the maiden whose numberless charms
Are more sweet and more lovely than those.

To Ocean's stern bosom I fly,

To the tumult of waves and of wind; Their tumult I brave, and their thunder defy, But I sigh for my love left behind.

VI.

WHILE on thee my soul's best treasure,
With impatient eye I gaze,

I can taste no other pleasure,-
Peace and love employ my days.
In the soothing charm of beauty,
Every other care is drown'd;
Honour, virtue, fame, and duty,
Here united are ye found.

But should storms of war returning
Threat again Britannia's shore;
Still with martial ardour burning,
Will I tempt the main once more.

Never

4

Never shall this arm inglorious

Rest at home in slothful ease,
While great George's fleet victorious
Sails in triumph o'er the seas.

Yet if fame and wealth combining,
Should their choicest gifts bestow;
Conquest bright, her wreath entwining,
Crown with laurel-leaves my brow;
I should prize the gifts of glory,
As they to your eyes appear,
Proud to lay her spoils before ye,—
All my joys are centred here.

TO A LADY,

ON HER BIRTH-DAY, JANUARY 10, 1796,

To crown fair Ella's Natal Hour

The Muses sought for many a flower,
But fruitless was their toil ;
Shrinking from January's cold,
Not e'en a Snow-drop's leaves unfold,
Or Crocus decks the soil.

Apollo laugh'd to see their care,
And cried to Venus," We will spare

VOL. III.

R

"The

"The labours of the Nine;

"Let on her breast your myrtle blow,
"While I round lovely Ella's brow
"My greenest laurel twine."

Thus both their choicest gifts confer:
But Gods and Goddesses may err;
For both their gifts misplac'd :-
The myrtle, for her breast design'd,
Around fair Ella's head they bind,
Her breast the laurel grac❜d.

Then fly her Syren voice, ye swains!
You'd swear, to hear her heavenly strains,
That breast was Cupid's throne;
But though her wit and beauty dart
Love's lightning through each other heart,
The laurel guards her own.

HEAR

STANZAS.

ye yon bell, its sullen sound that flings In solemn cadence o'er the echoing vale?Το every ear a gloomy thought it brings, Mirth laughs no more, even Valour's spirits fail.

But hark! the knell is drown'd-tempestuous floats On the swoll'n breeze the tumult of the war; Shrill sound the cheering trumpet's martial notes, And loud the battery thunders from afar :

With kindling flame reviving Valour hears,

Strong beats his breast; while e'en the coward slave, Stung by the rousing peel, forgets his fears, Pants for the field, and fancies he is brave."

O say, why this, ye wise!-The death-bell shows
What Fate has done; not urges Fate's decrees-
Marks but one victim snatch'd from human woes,
Bent by chill age, perhaps, or pale disease.

But shouting squadrons at the trumpet's breath
O'er mangled thousands urge their furious way;
The thundering battery sweeps to instant death

Its slaughter'd myriads from the light of day.

Not worn with pain, not struck by palsied age,
The ripen'd harvest of the greedy tomb;
Timeless they fall in manhood's glowing prime,
Health's vigorous hour, or youth's ingenuous bloom.

Grave Wisdom pauses-stares with both her eyes,
Considers both the trumpet and the bell :-

Sagacious, to the question then replies,

"The thing is so-but why-I cannot tell."