Groaning he fell-the hostile lance,
His illfenc'd bosom cleaving,
The lifeblood's purer channel crush'd,
And now the damp air chilly rush'd
Upon his heart slow heaving.
Soon as his helmet was unbrac'd,
Ah, wild his eyeballs started!
The dew of death his face o'erspread-
"Forgive me, Henry!" faint he said,
And with a sigh departed!
Henry is now the castle's lord,
His name to all endearing,
Yet oft o'er Julia's grave he sighs,
And to the peasant's cottage hies,
Their aged bosoms cheering.
Thus, thou for wisest ends just Heav'n
Permit usurping power
To shed its meteor glare awhile,
Meek virtue through her tears shall smile,
And o'er her sufferings tower!
ARMONIC songster of the grove,
The cadence of thy notes I love;
And often list'ning to thy song,
Unheeded pass the hours along.
Thou bringest autumn's pleasing reign,
With plenty flowing in its train :
Rich waving grain adorns each field,
And yellow fruit the trees do yield.
When keenly blows the wintry blast,
And nature yields no soft repast;
To my warm cot then quickly fly,
And there I'll ev'ry want supply.
There, without danger may'st thou stray,
(And with thy songs the debt repay)
Till spring shall chace away the cold,
And bid the earth her charms unfold:
Then in the grove rejoin the feather'd train, And with them welcome spring's return again. Pontefract.
A MEMENTO OF FRATERNAL ESTEEM.
FT for thy sake, thou dearest name,
My numbers can rehearse,
Of how I wish'd a poet's flame,
To breathe my soul in verse.
Yet tho' at distance genius stands,
And mocks me with the view,
Accept a tribute love demands,
But dulness pays to you.
That so, when ev'ry future year
Shall close its transient flight,
Tho' oceans wide, or desarts drear,
Divide thee from my sight.
Or tho' this heart, which now is warm'd
With more than nature's blaze,
Into a clay-cold clod transform'd,
To native dust decays.
Still may these lines that bosom greet,
Where once a brother hung;
Still may the senseless ink repeat
What once a brother sung.
And O, if dogg'rel rude can move,
Where Phoebus' self would fail,
Or, if the warmest wish of love
Fraternal might prevail.
And if amidst these realms of woe,
True bliss to man be giv❜n,
Be your's the favour'd lot to know
That sublunary heav'n.
Be your's a large and boundless share,
And more than earth supplies,
Of peace serene, of joy sincere,
Of friends without disguise.
Be virtue your's, in rustic vest,
And hope for ever young,
And innocence, with tuneful breast,
In notes ætherial strung.
May science from her lonely cell
A frequent guest intrude,
For she can charm, without a spell,
The haunts of solitude.
But O, may pride's infernal form
Far from your breast retire;
For ever gnawing is its worm,
And quenchless is its fire.
And envy too-that hideous sprite,
On her own mis'ry bent;
With pale despair, corroding spite,
And meagre discontent.
Thus thro' each livid livelong day,
Till latest life's decline,
Shall joys unsullied mark your way,
And suns unclouded shine.
Then, if amidst such perfect bliss,
And in a mind so free,
One idly-wand'ring thought should rise,
Perhaps you'll think of me.
HE sullen winds sigh mournful o'er the plain,
TH From yonder steeple sounds the solemn knell,
That, loud and awful, never speaks in vain,
And what it now proclaims-the muse shall tell!
Thus says the village tale, LAURA IS DEAD!
Laura so fair, so tender, and so true;
From the base world her injur'd spirit's fled,
To seek that peace which here it never knew.
Ah! Laura! had I but thy tuneful lyre,
The matchless beauties of thy verse to sing;
That soaring, mounted with Promethean fire,
Or gave fresh beauties to the blushing spring.
Then would I censure the base world, so prone
To doubt thy heart, whose worth they could not know;
That often mourn'd for sorrows not its own,
And wept, in secret wept, for other's woe!
Ah, Laura! it was thine to bid distress
Fly from the humble dwellings of the poor,
To hear the lips of age thy bounty bless,
Which drove disease and famine from their door.
And it was thine, to-bid the check of youth
Glow with the lustre of affection's rays;
To teach, with anxious care, the charms of truth,
And hear protected childhood lisp thy praise.
Soft was thy yielding heart, nor form'd to bear.
Those torturing ills, to adverse fate allied?
To groan with anguish, agonize with fear,
Or brave, with sensate heart, the sneer of pride,
Yet it was thine, sweet shade, one bliss to prove,
That only souls, like thine, can truly prize
To see the tender tears of filial love,
Obscure the lustre of thy Mary's eyes.
To hear the smother'd sigh, when pain oppress'd Thy languid limbs, and warp'd the graceful form; To sooth with artless love thy tortur'd breast,
When faithless friendship rous'd the mental storm. And it was her's, with pure angelic powers,
When shuddering nature own'd no art could save, To bid religion sooth the waning hours,
And cheer with hope the terrors of the grave! For thee, sweet maid! through life's still varying day, May meek submission bid thy sorrows cease! O'er thy quick pulses may reflection's ray,
With mildest radiance pour the balm of peace! While MEDITATION, sober-minded maid,
Impressive, bids thee view thy mother's doom;
Ah! think, that beauty, grace, and wit must fade, And nought but virtue live beyond the tomb!
Written when my Infant was pronounced past Hopes of Recovery. February 1801.
ND is there then no hope? can nothing save
Amy suffering infant from an early grave?
Is there no lenient balm-no drug of virtues rare,
To give relief-and chace away despair?
Alas! it cannot be-what then is mine,
But meek submission to the hand divine!
He yet may live, delusive hope, away,
I can no more believe, nor thou betray;
E'en now convulsive pains obstruct his breath,
He shrieks in anguish-shricks, the note of death:
God of my life! Oh, hear a mother's prayer,
Struggling with anguish, and oppress'd with care!
Since hope is past, receive my suffering babe,
And take, in pity take, the life you gave;
And call his spirit to that happy shore,
Where pain shall cease, and death destroy no more!
CONCLUDED AFTER THE LAPSE OF A FEW DAYS.
TIS past, sweet babe! thy transient race is run, Bwift has it past-scarce one revolving sun
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