Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

And if amidst these realms of woe,

True bliss to man he giy’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 intrudo,
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 toom 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.
Stockwell,
Dec. 31, 1800,

AN ELEGY

-

TO THE MEMORY OF

Mrs. ROBINSON.
THE sullen winds sigh mournful o'er the plain,

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 know
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 froni thcir door.
And it was thine, to-bid the check of youth

Glow with the lustre of affectiun's rays;
To icach, with anxious care, the charms of truth,

And hear protected childhood lisp thy praise.
Soft was thy yielding heart, nor form'd to hear

Those torturing ills, to adverse fate allied To groan with anguish, agonize with rear,

Or brave, with sensate heart, the sncer of pride Yet it was thine, sweet shade, one bliss to provc,

That only souls, like thine, can truly prize To see the iender tears of filial love,

Qbscure 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 religiou 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 thce view thy mother's doom; Ah! think, that beauty, grace, and wit must fade, ra And nought but virtue live beyoud the tomb!

ANNA.

LINES Written when my Infant was pronounced past Hopes of

Recovery. February 1801. A ND is there then no hope can nothing save A My 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-shrieks, 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 lise 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, Bwist has it past-scarce one revolving sun

Has run its course, since first, with hope and joy,
These trembling arms receiv'd my darling boy;
Fair was the promise-harmony and grace
Sat on his polish'd limbs, and deck'd his infant face,
Till pale disease, with withering aspect came,
Blighted my blossom-smote his tender frame;
With anxious care I watch'd each passing day,
Aud saw his early beauties slowly fade away;
When sleep was to his tender frame denied,
Aod theban drugs in part its place supplied;
How did my struggling heart-with sorrow sore,
Desire thy life-yet wish thy sufferings o'er;
I thought my eye could without sorrow see,
A change, that must give certain bliss to thee;
But now, I find that 'tis no easy part,
To banish sorrow from a mother's heart! ANNA:

FAVOURITE SONGS

IN THE
BLIND GIRL.

[For an account of which, see p. 399 of this Number.)

FREDERICK, BY MR. INCLEDON.
THE Brisish tar no peril knows,

But, fearless, braves the angry decp;
The ship's his cradle of repose,

And swectly rocks him to bis sleep.
He, tho' the raging surges swell,

In his hammock swings,

When the steersman sings
Steady she goes—all's well.
While to the main-top yard he springs,

An English vessel heaves in view;
He asks, but it no letter brings

From bouny Kate, he lov'd so true.
Then sighs he for his native dell,

Yet to hope he clings,

When the seaman sings
Steady she goes-all's well.

The storm is pass'd, the battle's o'er,

Nature and man repose in peace;
Then, homeward bound, on England's shore
He hopes for joys that ne'er will cease.

And his big heart sings

While the steersman sings
Steady she goes—all's well.

; SPLASH, BY MR. FAWCETT.
To tell where I've been,

Or what fair one's I've seen,
In places where I my abode took,

I'm sure it would fill

A Chancery bill,
Or as long be as Paterson's Road-book.

First at Acton and Ealing,
- Their faces I'm peeling,
At Ilchester and Dorchester, .
And Chichester and Portchester,
At Woolwich and Highgate, :
And Dulwich and Ryegate,
At Beckington and Oakingham,
At Buckingham and Rockingham,
At Brummagem
I rummage 'em,
At Deptford and Hampton,
At Bedford and Bampton,
At Harlow and Charmouth,
And Marlow and Yarmouth,
At Dartford and Darking,
And Harford and Barking.
At Wor'ster and Chester,
And Glo'ster and Leicester,
At Teddington and Amersham,
And Paddington and Feversham,
And Holyhead and Riverhead,

Maidenhead and Leatherhead.
In chaises and four, l've rattled off to Daventry,
And many is the timc that I've been sent to Coventry.

« ПредишнаНапред »