IV.

TO SENSIBILITY.

Though for thy sake I am crost,
Though my best hopes I have lost,
And I knew thou 'dst make my trouble
Ten times more than ten times double,
I should love and keep thee too,

Spite of all the world could do.

WITHER.

I ALWAYS loved thee, Sensibility!

And though thou hast but served to work me woe, Do love thee still!-Nurtured beneath thine eye,

For me the meanest, simplest flowers that blow' Can raise up thoughts that lie too deep for tears. Not all the joys the multitude can know, Should e'er seduce my bosom to forego

Thy sacred feelings!-Yet from earliest years,

C

Like that frail plant whose shrinking leaves betray
The careless pressure of an idle hand,

My heart, unschooled in guile, could ne'er command

Its hectics of the moment :-let thy ray,

Then, thou sweet source of sorrow and delight,

Beam on thy votary's soul with more attempered light!

V.

FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF CAMOENS.

VAIN was the frown of pride to disunite
The hearts that love and sentiment had joined;
Vainly it urged its stern, unyielding right

To break the spell-wrought fetters of the mind :-
They would not be undone, for thy soft soul
Scorned to be subject to such base controul.
Oh! hadst thou been a dowerless village maid,
And rich in nought beside thy native charms,
I might have dared to woo thee to my arms,
Thou not unwilling;-in some peaceful shade
We might have lived in blissful solitude,

Scorning if scorned by Fortune :-Fate's decree
Hath fixed it otherwise; dark cares intrude;
But what are all my woes to that of losing thee!

VI.

WRITTEN IN THE CHURCH-YARD OF RUN CORN, IN CHESHIRE.

THIS is a spot to musing Grief how dear!
Where, unobserved, she may pour forth her plaint,
Ponder on pleasures past without restraint—

And breathe the sigh-' fools should not overhear.'
Much do I love, alone, to linger here,

What time the glow of summer's evening beam
Brightens the landscape round, and Mersey's stream
Sleeps in the mellow light.-Sometimes a tear
Of wild regret will steal into mine eye,
As, musing 'mid these mansions of the dead,

The sweet remembrances of years gone by—
Of joys departed hopes for ever fled-

Come crowding on my mind; nor would I stem,

For all the wealth of worlds, that woe's luxuriant gem!

VII.

WRITTEN AT SEA.

YES, Desolation, on her viewless wing,
Even now, perhaps, is speeding with the blast
In deathful haste;-with angry visiting,
The surges sweep around us, and the mast,
Bereft of sail, bends like a fragile reed
Submissive to the storm :-but for yon light*
I had begun to deem this dreary night,

For us, would have no morn. In greatest need,
When through life's sea man's erring bark is driven,
Thus doth the Beacon Hope with friendly gleam

Speak peace unto his soul; and though its beam
Bring not immediate aid, it can create

Courage, to bear the buffetings of Fate,

With patience, till he reach the wished-for port of Heaven!

* Dungeness Light-house.