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Due to reasonable creatures, Liken'st us to fell chimeras, Monsters that, who see us, fear us; Worse than Cerberus or Geryon, Or, who first lov'd a cloud, Ixion.

Ha: Vez Her Арс Sig

Tha

Bacchus we know, and we allow His tipsy rites. But what art thou, That but by reflex can'st shew What his deity can do, As the false Egyptian spell Aped the true Hebrew miracle? Some few vapours thou may'st raise, The weak brain may serve to amaze, But to the reins and nobler heart Can'st nor life nor heat impart.

Call her Cockatrice and Siren,
Basilisk, and all that's evil,
Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, Devil,
Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamoor,
Monkey, Ape, and twenty more ;
Friendly Trait’ress, loving Foe,
Not that she is truly so,
But no other way they know
A contentment to express,
Borders so upon excess,
That they do not rightly wot
Whether it be pain or not.

Or, as men, constrain'd to part
With what's nearest to their heart,
While their sorrow's at the height,
Lose discrimination quite,
And their hasty wrath let fall,
To appease their frantic gall,
On the darling thing whatever,
Whence they feel it death to sever,
Though it be, as they, perforce,
Guiltless of the sad divorce.

E Th Sco The Na

Sh
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Brother of Bacchus, later born, The old world was sure forlorn, Wanting thee, that aidest more The god's victories than before All his panthers, and the brawls Of his piping Bacchanals. These, as stale, we disallow, Or judge of thee meant: only thou His true Indian conquest art; And, for ivy round his dart, The reformed god now weaves A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.

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For I must (nor let it grieve thee,
Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave thee.
For thy sake, Tobacco, I
Would do any thing but die,
Aud but seek to extend my days
Long enough to sing thy praise.
But, as she, who once hath been
A king's consort, a queen
Ever after, nor will bate
Any tittle of her state,
Though a widow, or divorced,
So I, from thy converse forced,
The old name and style retain,
A right Katherine of Spain ;
And a seat, too, 'mongst the joys
of the blest Tobacco Boys;
Where though I, by sour physician,
Am debarr'd the full fruition
Of thy favours, I may catch
Some collateral sweets, and snatch
Sidelong odours, that give

life
Like glances from a neighbour's wife;
And still live in the by-places
And the suburbs of thy graces;
And in thy borders take delight,
An unconquer'd Canaanite.

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Scent to match thy rich perfume
Chemic art did ne'er presume
Through her quaint alembic strain,
None so sov'reign to the brain.
Nature, that did in thee excel,
Fram'd again no second smell.
Roses, violets, but toys
For the smaller sort of boys,
Or for greener damsels meant;
Thou art the only manly scent.

Stinking'st of the stinking kind,
Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind,
Africa, that brags her foyson,
Breeds no such prodigious poison,
Henbane, nightshade, both together,
Hemlock, aconite-

Nay, rather, Plant divine, of rarest virtue; Blisters on the tongue would hurt you. 'Twas but in a sort I blam'd thee; None e'er prosper'd who defam'd thee; Irony all, and feign'd abuse, Such as perplext lovers use, At a need, when, in despair To paint forth their fairest fair, Or in part but to express That exceeding comeliness Which their fancies doth so strike, They borrow language of dislike; And, instead of Dearest Miss, Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss, And those forms of old admiring,

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TO T. L. H. Model of thy parent dear, Serious infant worth a fear: In thy unfaultering visage well Picturing forth the son of Tell, When on his forehead, firm and good, Motionless mark, the apple stood; Guileless traitor, rebel mild, Convict unconscious, culprit-child! Gates that close with iron roar Have been to thee thy nursery door;

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Chains that chink in cheerless cells

This saintly lady Abbess hath made me justly fear, Have been thy rattles and thy bells;

It nothing will avail me that I were worshipp'd Walls contrived for giant sin

here." Have hemmed thy faultless weakness in; Near thy sinless bed black guilt

LINES Her discordant house hath built,

ON THE SAME PICTURE BEING REMOVED TO MAKE And filled it with her monstrous brood

PLACE FOR A PORTRAIT OF A LADY BY TITIAN, Sights, by thee not understood

Who art thou, fair one, who usurp'st the place Sights of fear, and of distress,

Of Blanch, the lady of the matchless grace?
That pass a harmless infant's guess!

Come fair and pretty, tell to me,
But the clouds, that overcast

Who, in thy life-time, thou might'st be.

Thou pretty art and fair,
Thy young morning, may not last.
Soon shall arrive the rescuing hour,

But with the lady Blanch thou never must compare.

No need for Blanch her history to tell; That yields thee up to Nature's power.

Whoever saw her face, they there did read it well. Nature, that so late doth greet thee,

But when I look on thee, I only know
Shall in o'er-flowing measure meet thee.

There lived a pretty maid some hundred years ago.
She shall recompense with cost
For every lesson thou hast lost.
Then wandering up thy sire's lov'd hill,

LINES
Thou shalt take thy airy fill

ON THE CELEBRATED PICTURE BY LIONARDO DA Of health and pastime. Birds shall sing

VINCI, CALLED THE VIRGIN OF TAE ROCKS. For thy delight each May morning. 'Mid new-yean'd lambkins thou shalt play,

While young John runs to greet Hardly less a lamb than they.

The greater infant's feet, Then thy prison's lengthened bound

The mother standing by, with trembling passion

Of devout admiration, Shall be the horizon skirting round.

[ration; And, while thou fillest thy lap with flowers,

Beholds the engaging mystic play, and pretty adoTo make amends for wintery hours,

Nor knows as yet the full event The breeze, the sunshine, and the place,

Of those so low beginnings, Shall from thy tender brow efface

From whence we date our winnings, Each vestige of untimely care,

But wonders at the intent (worship meant. That sour restraint had graven there;

Of those new rites, and what that strange childAnd on thy every look impress

But at her side A more excelling childishness.

An angel doth abide,

With such a perfect joy
So shall be thy days beguil'd,

As no dim doubts alloy,
Thornton Hunt, my favourite child.

An intuition,
A glory, an amenity,
Passing the dark condition

Of blind humanity,
LINES

As if he surely knew
All the blest wonders should ensue,

Or he had lately left the upper sphere, [dles there.
The lady Blanch, regardless of all her lovers' fears,

And had read all the sovran schemes and divine ridTo the Urs’line convent hastens, and long the abbess hears.

[ye lead.”

SONNETS. “O Blanch, my child, repent ye of the courtly life Blanch looked on a rose-bud and little seem'd to

TO MISS KELLY. heed.

[thought She looked on the rose-bud, she looked round, and You are not, Kelly, of the common strain, On all her heart had whisper'd, and all the Nun That stoop their pride and female honor down had taught.

[my fame, To please that many-headed beast the town, “ I am worshipped by lovers, and brightly shines And vend their lavish smiles and tricks for gain; All Christendom resoundeth the noble Blanch's By fortune thrown amid the actors' train,

(the tree, You keep your native dignity of thought; Nor shall I quickly wither like the rose-bud from The plaudits that attend you come unsought, My queen-like graces shining when my beauty's As tributes due unto your natural vein. gone from me.

[head, Your tears have passion in them, and a grace But when the sculptur'd marble is raised o’er my Of genuine freshness, which our hearts avow; And the matchless Blanch lies lifeless among the Your smiles are winds whose ways we cannot trace,

That yanish and return we know not how

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BUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF TWO FEMALES BY

LIONARDO DA VINCI.

name.

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noble dead,

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And please the better from a pensive face,

A timid grace sits trembling in her eye,
A thoughtful eye, and a reflecting brow.

As loth to meet the rudeness of men's sight,

That, Yet shedding a delicious lunar light,

Scatter ON THE SIGHT OF SWANS IN KENSINGTON GARDEN. That steeps in kind oblivious ecstasy

Like tc Queen-bird that sittest on thy shining nest,

The care-crazed mind, like some still melody:

On mic And thy young cygnets without sorrow hatchest, Speaking most plain the thoughts which do posses

And be And thou, thou other royal bird, that watchest Her gentle sprite: peace, and meek quietnes, Lest the white mother wandering feet molest:

And innocent loves, and maiden purity: Shrined are your offspring in a chrystal cradle,

A look whereof might heal the cruel smart

Light! Brighter than Helen's ere she yet had burst

Of changed friends, or fortune's wrongs unkind;

Urbon Her shelly prison. They shall be born at first Might to sweet deeds of mercy move the heart

Erent Strong, active, graceful, perfect, swan-like, able

Of him who hates his brethren of mankind.

To be To tread the land or waters with security.

Turned are those lights from me, who fondly yet Unlike poor human births, conceived in sin,

Past joys, vain loves, and buried hopes regret. In grief brought forth, both outwardly and in

Wewe Confessing weakness, error, and impurity.

If from my lips some angry accents fell, Did heavenly creatures own succession's line,

Peevish complaint, or harsh reproof unkind,

And i The births of heaven like to your's would shine

'Twas but the error of a sickly mind

We to

And troubled thoughts, clouding the purer well, Was it some sweet device of faery

Time

And waters clear, of reason; and for me That mocked my steps with many a lonely glade, Let this my verse the poor atonement be

Tleft And fancied wanderings with a fair-hair'd maid? My verse, which thou to praise wert ever inclined Have these things been? or what rare witchery,

And I

Too highly, and with a partial eye to see Impregning with delights the charmed air,

No blemish. Thou to me didst ever shew Enlighted up the semblance of a smile

My lo

Kindest affection; and would oft-times lend In those fine eyes? methought they spake the while

And I An ear to the desponding love-sick lay,

Belos Soft soothing things, which might enforce despair

Weeping my sorrows with me, who repay

law! To drop the murdering knife, and let go by But ill the mighty debt of love I owe,

That His foul resolve. And does the lonely glade

Mary, to thee, my sister and my friend.
Still court the footsteps of the fair-hair'd maid?
Still in her locks the gales of summer sigh?
While I forlorn do wander reckless where,
And mid my wanderings meet no Anna there.

What reason first imposed thee, gentle name,

Name that my father bore, and his sire's sire, Methinks how dainty sweet it were, reclin'd

Without reproach? we trace our stream no higher;

And Beneath the vast out-stretching branches high And I, a childless man, may end the same.

Save Of some old wood, in careless sort to lie,

Perchance some shepherd on Lincolnian plains,

The Nor of the busier scenes we left behind

In manners guileless as his own sweet flocks,

The Aught envying. And, O Anna! mild-eyed maid! Received thee first amid the merry mocks

For Beloved! I were well content to play

And arch allusions of his fellow swains.

Well With thy free tresses all a summer's day,

Perchance from Salem's holier fields returned, Losing the time beneath the greenwood shade.

With glory gotten on the heads abhorr'd

Scor Or we might sit and tell some tender tale Of faithful vows repaid by cruel scorn,

Of faithless Saracens, some martial lord A tale of true love, or of friend forgot ;

Took his meek title, in whose zeal he burnd.

Her And I would teach thee, lady, how to rail

Whate'er the fount whence thy beginnings came, In gentle sort, on those who practise not

No deed of mine shall shame thee, gentle name. And

Del Or love or pity, though of woman born.

Or

TO JOHN LAMB, ESQ. OF THE SOUTH-SEA-HOUS). When last I roved these winding wood-walksgreen,

An Green winding walks, and shady pathways sweet,

John, you were figuring in the gay career

An Oft times would Anna seek the silent scene,

Of blooming manhood with a young man’s joy,

Or Shrouding her beauties in the lone retreat.

When I was yet a little peevish boy-,

Of No more I hear her footsteps in the shade:

Though time has made the difference disappear

Re Her image only in these pleasant ways

Betwixt our ages, which then seemed so greit

Of Meets me self-wandering, where in happier days

And still by rightful custom you retain

Much of the old authoritative strain, I held free converse with the fair-hair'd maid.

Р. I passed the little cottage which she loved,

And keep the elder brother up in state.

08 The cottage which did once my all contain;

0! you do well in this. 'Tis man's worst deed

St It spake of days which ne'er must come again,

To let the "things that have been" run to waste,

BE Spake to my heart, and much my heart was moved. And in the unmeaning present sink the past:

T “Now fair befall thee, gentle maid !" said I,

In whose dim glass even now I faintly read
And from the cottage turned me with a sigh.

Old buried forms, and faces long ago,
Which you, and I, and one more, only know.

THE FAMILY NAME.

Hard

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mambo hayo 0! I could laugh to hear the midnight wind, She served her heavenly master. I have seen donne ig: That, rushing on its way with careless sweep, That reverend form bent down with age and pain, care Scatters the ocean waves. And I could weep And rankling malady. Yet not for this L. Like to a child. For now to my raised mind Ceased she to praise her Maker, or withdrew c. die mens. On wings of winds comes wild-eyed Phantasy, Her trust in him, her faith, and humble hope And her rude visions give severe delight.

So meekly had she learn’d to bear her cross-
O winged bark! how swift along the night

For she had studied patience in the school
Pass'd thy proud keel! nor shall I let go by

Of Christ, much comfort she had thence derived, tie de mes Lightly of that drear hour the memory,

And was a follower of the Nazarene.
When wet and chilly on thy deck I stood,
Unbonnetted, and gazed upon the flood,
Even till it seemed a pleasant thing to die,–

COMPOSED AT MIDNIGHT.
To be resolv'd into th' elemental wave,

From broken visions of perturbed rest
Or take my portion with the winds that rave. I wake, and start, and fear to sleep again.

How total a privation of all sounds,
We were two pretty babes, the youngest she, Sights, and familiar objects, man, bird, beast,
The youngest, and the loveliest far, I ween, Herb, tree, or flower, and prodigal light of heaven.
And innocence her name. The time has been, 'Twere some relief to catch the drowsy cry
We two did love each other's company;

Of the mechanic watchman, or the noise
Time was, we two had wept to have been apart. Of revel reeling home from midnight cups.
But when by show of seeming good beguild, Those are the moanings of the dying man,
I left the garb and manners of a child,

Who lies in the upper chamber; restless moans,
And my first love for man's society,

And interrupted only by a cough
Defiling with the world my virgin heart-

Consumptive, torturing the wasted lungs.
My loved companion dropped a tear, and fled, So in the bitterness of death he lies,
= ce,

And hid in deepest shades her awful head. And waits in anguish for the morning's light.

Beloved, who shall tell me where thou artCh me:

What can that do for him, or what restore?
In what delicious Eden to be found
foreis

Short taste, faint sense, affecting notices,
That I may seek thee the wide world around? And little images of pleasures past,

Of health, and active life-health not yet slain,

Nor the other grace of life, a good name, sold
THE GRANDAME.

For sin's black wages. On his tedious bed
On the
green

hill
top,

He writhes, and turns him from the accusing light,
Hard by the house of prayer, a modest roof,

And finds no comfort in the sun, but says
And not distinguish'd from its neighbour-barn,

“ When night comes I shall get a little rest." (end. Save by a slender-tapering length of spire,

Some few groans more, death comes, and there an The Grandame sleeps. A plain stone barely tells

'Tis darkness and conjecture all beyond; The name and date to the chance passenger.

Weak nature fears, though charity must hope, For lowly born was she, and long had eat

And fancy, most licentious on such themes Well-earned the bread of service :-her's was else Where decent reverence well had kept her mute, Erborister A mounting spirit, one that entertained

Hath o'er-stock'd hell with devils, and brought Scorn of base action, deed dishonorable,

By her enormous fablings and mad lies,

(down, Or aught unseemly. I remember well

Discredit on the gospel's serious truths
Her reverend image: I remember, too,

And salutary fears. The man of parts,
With what a zeal she served her master's house; Poet, or prose declaimer, on his couch
And how the prattling tongue of garrulous age Lolling, like one indifferent, fabricates
Delighted to recount the oft-told tale

A heaven of gold, where he, and such as he,
Or anecdote domestic. Wise she was,

Their heads encompassed with crowns, their heels And wondrous skilled in genealogies,

With fine wings garlanded, shall tread the stars And could in apt and voluble terms discourse

Beneath their feet, heaven's pavement, far removed Of births, of titles, and alliances;

From damned spirits, and the torturing cries Of marriages, and intermarriages;

Of men, his breth'ren, fashioned of the earth, Relationship remote, or near of kin;

As he was, nourish'd with the self-same bread,
Of friends offended, family disgraced

Belike bis kindred or companions once-
Maiden high-born, but wayward, disobeying Through everlasting ages now divorced,
Parental strict injunction, and regardless

In chains and savage torments to repent
Of unmixed blood, and ancestry remote,

Short years of folly on earth. Their groans unheard
Stooping to wed with one of low degree.

In heav'n, the saint nor pity feels, nor care,
But these are not thy praises; and I wrong

For those thus sentenced-pity might disturb
Thy honor'd memory, recording chiefly

The delicate sense and most divine repose
Things light or trivial. Better 'twere to tell,

Of spirits angelical. Blessed be God,
How with a nobler zeal, and warmer love,

The measure of his judgments is not fixed

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FOREST SPORTS.

By man's erroneous standard. He discerns Sure grief hath set his sacred impress here,
No such inordinate difference and vast

To claim the world's respect! they note so feelingly
Betwixt the sinner and the saint, to doom

By outward types the serious man within.-
Such disproportion'd fates. Compared with him, Alas! what part or portion can I claim
No man on earth is holy called! they best

In all the decencies of virtuous sorrow,
Stand in his sight approved, who at his feet Which other mourners use ? as namely,
Their little crowns of virtue cast, and yield

This black attire, abstraction from society,
To him of his own works the praise, his due. Good thoughts, and frequent sighs, and seldom

smiles,

A cleaying sadness native to the brow,
FROM THE TRAGEDY OF JOHN All sweet condolements of like-grieved friends,
WOODVIL.

(That steal away the sense of loss almost)
Men's pity, and good offices

Which enemies themselves do for us then,
Margaret. In the name of the boy God, who plays Putting their hostile disposition off,
at hood-man-blind with the Muses, and cares not As we put off our high thoughts and proud looks.
whom he catches: what is it you love?

(Pauses, and observes the pictures.) Simon. Simply, all things that live,

These pictures must be taken down:
From the crook'd worm to man's imperial form, The portraitures of our most antient family
And God-resembling likeness. The poor tiy, For nigh three hundred years! how have I listen'd,
That makes short holyday in the sunbeam,

To hear Sir Walter, with an old man's pride,
And dies by some child's hand. The feeble bird Holding me in bis arms, a prating boy,
With little wings, yet greatly venturous

And pointing to the pictures where they hung,
In the upper sky. The fish in th' other element, Repeat by course their worthy histories,
That knows no touch of eloquence. What else? (As Hugh de Widville, Walter, first of the name,
Yon tall and elegant stag,

And Anne the handsome, Stephen, and famous
Who paints a dancing shadow of his horns

John: In the water, where he drinks.

Telling me, I must be his famous John.) Margaret. I myself love all these things, yet so But that was in old times. as with a difference:--for example, some animals Now, no more better than others, some men rather than other men; Must I grow proud upon our house's pride. the nightingale before the cuckoo, the swift and I rather, I, by most unheard of crimes, graceful palfrey before the slow and asinine mule. Have backward tainted all their noble blood, Your humour goes to confound all qualities. Rased out the memory of an ancient family, What sports do you use in the forest :

And quite revers’d the honors of our house. Simon. Not many; some few, as thus:

Who now shall sit and tell us anecdotes? To see the sun to bed, and to arise,

The secret history of his own times,
Like some hot amourist with glowing eyes,

And fashions of the world when he was young:
Bursting the lazy bands of sleep that bound him, How England slept out three and twenty years,
With all his fires and travelling glories round him. While Carr and Villiers rul'd the baby king:
Sometimes the moon on soft night clouds to rest, The costly fancies of the pedant's reign,
Like beauty nestling in a young man's breast, Balls, feastings, huntings, shows in allegory,
And all the winking stars, her handmaids, keep

And beauties of the court of James the First.
Admiring silence, while those lovers sleep.

Margaret enters. Sometimes outstretcht, in very idleness,

John. Comes Margaret here to witness my disNought doing, saying little, thinking less,

grace? To view the leaves, thin dancers upon air,

O, lady, I have suffer'd loss,
Go eddying round; and small birds, how they fare, And diminution of my honor's brightness.
When mother Autumn fills their beaks with corn,
Filch'd from the careless Amalthea's horn;

You bring some images of old times, Margaret,

That should be now forgotten. And how the woods berries, and worms provide

Margaret. Old times should never be forgotten,
Without their pains, when earth has nought beside

John.
To answer their small wants.
To view the graceful deer come tripping by,

I came to talk about them with my friend.
Then stop, and gaze, then turn, they know not why,

John. I did refuse you, Margaret, in my pride. Like bashful younkers in society.

Margaret. If John rejected Margaret in his pride, To mark the structure of a plant or tree,

(As who does not, being splenetic, refuse And all fair things of earth, how fair they be.

Sometimes old play-fellows,) the spleen being gole,
The offence no longer lives.

O Woodvil, those were happy days,
John. How beautiful, (handling his mourning.)

When we two first began to love. When first,
And comely do these mourning garments shew!

Under pretence of visiting my father,
(Being then a stripling nigh upon my age)

THE MOURNER VISITED.

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