TO THE

MARCHIONESS OF DOUGLAS AND CLYDESDALE.

O'ER Susan's brow (the fault was mine)
A frown one moment's empire held;
The smile, which rules by right divine,
The dark usurper soon expell'd.

That well he play'd the monarch's part,
E'en in that lawless reign, I own;

He justly pierc'd the rebel heart

Whose guilt had rais'd him to the throne!

Think not, by vain repentance driv'n,
Too late for mercy I appeal;

Each wound that alien frown has giv'n,
That native smile can more than heal!

Heav'n has so fix'd their mutual pow'rs,
That good o'er ill should ever thrive;
Night cannot fade so many flow'rs
As day returning can revive!

PROLOGUE

ΤΟ

"THE GRAVE:" A COMEDY.

In elder times, some lively sparks, 'tis said,
Have paid familiar visits to the dead;

By Pluto well receiv'd, politely all

Conjured him never to return their call;

Be he assur'd them, on some future day,
He would not, could not, fail to pass their way.
With various views they went: one* anxious heir
Went with strong hopes to find his father there;
One sought another's wife-this history shews;
One sought his own-that's poetry, God knows!
But, now this friendly intercourse is o'er,
None, uninvited, drive to Pluto's door;
Though soon or late his grimness visits all,
None will his kind civility forestall;

*Telemachus. + Hercules. + Orpheus.

For, e'en when bidden in the warmest way,
All, if they can, put off th' appointed day;
E'en some, self-ask'd, when near his gates, recede,
And recollected pre-engagements plead.

Judge, then, what wonder seized the spectre state
When, with a light hand tapping at the gate,
The comic muse, a least expected guest,

At the dark realms of death for entrance prest.
Smiling she prest—that smile had still prevail'd,
If hero's sword, and poet's lyre, had fail'd.
Hearts more than death, inexorably hard,

E'en misers' hearts, by worse than demons barr'd,
Won by that angel smile, could ne'er refuse
Entrance and welcome to the comic muse.
Why all unlicensed, thus th' intruder came,

To beat in cypress groves for sprightly game?
Why tripped her light sock o'er the church-way sod,

Long by her buskin'd sister only trod?

Now to the grisly king she fearless sped,

And bound her mask upon his goblin head;

Now all those darts which mark his tyrant rule,

She turn'd to shafts of harmless ridicule :
This, all as yet in mystic silence seal'd,
Within yon abbey's vault shall be reveal❜d.
Attend awhile, we need not patience crave,

Few are in haste to know the secrets of the Grave.

ΤΟ

A BUTTERFLY,

AT THE END OF WINTER.

FOLD your enamell'd wings again,
Oh yet prolong your wintry sleep!—
How many wake from ease to pain,
And only ope their eyes-to weep!

Ah no! undimm'd by tears, you see
Where nature lights your flow'ry way;
Poor human insect! low'r for me

Those clouds which sadden reason's day!

By reason's light, with joyless eyes,
On all creation's laws we look ;

What read we there? Pains, penalties,
And our death-sentence ends the book.

Whilst blithe you range from rose to rose,
We, sighing, muse how short their bloom!
To you life's twilight prospect shews
No mines of science-and no tomb!

But yet, though reason damp our mirth,
One matchless hope its aid has given ;
Your twilight only shews you Earth,

Our day, though clouded, shews us Heaven!