Where love chased each fast-fleeting year, Loth to leave thee, I mourned, For a last look I turn'd, But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear. Though my vows I can pour To my Mary no more, My Mary to Love once so dear, She rewarded those vows with a Tear. By another possest, May she live ever blest! Her name still my heart must revere: With a sigh I resign What I once thought was mine, And forgive her deceit with a Tear. Ye friends of my heart, This hope to my breast is most near: May we meet, as we part, with a Tear. When my soul wings her flight *And my corse shall recline on its bier, Where my ashes consume, Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear. May no marble bestow The splendor of wo Which the children of vanity rear: No fiction of fame Shall blazon my name; All I ask-all I wish-is a Tear. DEAR simple girl, those flattering arts, Mere phantoms of thine own creation; Then he who tells thee of thy beauty, July, 1804, THE CORNELIAN.† No specious splendor of this stone Endears it to my memory ever; With lustre only once it shone, And blushes modest as the giver. Some, who can sneer at friendship's ties, He offer'd it with downcast look, This pledge attentively I view'd, And sparkling as I held it near, Methought one drop the stone bedew'd, And ever since I've loved a tear. Still, to adorn his humble youth, Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield; But he who seeks the flowers of truth, Must quit the garden for the field. 'Tis not the plant uprear'd in sloth, Which beauty shows and sheds perfume; The flowers which yield the most of both In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom. • Only printed in the private volume. ↑ To young Eddleston. This poem is only found in the private volume Had Fortune aided Nature's care, But had the goddess clearly seen, His form had fix'd her fickle breast; ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY,* HUSH'D are the winds, and still the evening gloom, Within this narrow cell reclines her clay, That clay where once such animation beam'd; Oh! could that King of Terrors pity feel, Or Heaven reverse the dread decrees of fate! Not here the mourner would his grief reveal, Not here the muse her virtues would relate. But wherefore weep? her matchless spirit soars Where.endless pleasures virtue's deeds repay. And shall presumptuous mortals heaven arraign, Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear, Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face; Still they call forth my warm affection's tear, Still in my heart retain their wonted place. TO EMMA.‡ SINCE now the hour is come at last, One pang, my girl, and all is over. Alas! that pang will be severe, Which bids us part to meet no more, Which tears me far from one so dear, Departing for a distant shore. • Miss Parker. † To these stanzas, which are from the private volume, the following note was attached: "The author claims the indulgence of the reader more for Well: we have pass'd some happy hours, Where from the gothic casement's height, O'er fields through which we used to run, Whilst I, admiring, too remiss, It dared to give your slumbering eyes. See still the little painted bark, In which I row'd you o'er the lake, These times are past-our joys are gone, Who can conceive, who has not proved, This is the deepest of our woes, For this these tears our cheeks bedew; Oh God, the fondest, last adieu ! AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE. DELIVERED PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OF "THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE AT A PRIVATE THEATRE, SINCE the refinement of this polish'd age No Cooke, no KEMBLE, can salute you here, this piece than, perhaps, any other in the collection; but as it was written at Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try; an earlier period than the rest (being composed at the age of fourteen,) and Clip not our pinions ere the birds can fly : his first essay, he preferred submitting it to the indulgence of his friends in Failing in this our first attempt to soar, its present state, to making either addition or alteration." * This poem is inserted from the private volume. Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more. Not one poor trembler only fear betrays, Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise ; TO WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THESE PIECES SENT THE FOLLOWING REPLY. § Он, factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth Or round our statesman wind her gloomy veil. TO M. S. G.* WHENE'ER I view those lips of thine, Whene'er I dream of that pure breast, How could I dwell upon its snows? Yet is the daring wish represt, For that, would banish its repose. A glance from thy soul-searching eye Can raise with hope, depress with fear Yet I conceal my love, and why? I would not force a painful tear. I ne'er have told my love, yet thou Hast seen my ardent flame too well; And shall I plead my passion now, To make thy bosom's heaven a hell? No! for thou never canst be mine, Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shalt be. Then let the secret fire consume, I will not ease my tortured heart, Each thought presumptuous I resign. Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave Yes, yield that breast to seek despair, And hope no more thy soft embrace, Which to obtain my soul would dare, All, all reproach, but thy disgrace. At least from guilt shalt thou be free, No matron shall thy shame reprove, Though cureless pangs may prey on me, No martyr shalt thou be to love. TO CAROLINE.† THINK'ST thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, Though keen the grief thy tears exprest, When love and hope lay both o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast Throbb'd with deep sorrow as thine own. * Only printed in the private volume. † Printed only in the private volume. But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, Were lost in those which fell from thine. Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek, In sighs alone it breathed my name. And yet, my girl, we weep in vain, In vain our fate in sighs deplore; Remembrance only can remain,— But that will make us weep the more. Again, thou best beloved, adieu ! Ah! if thou canst o'ercome regret, Nor let thy mind past joys review,— Our only hope is to forget! TO CAROLINE.* WHEN I hear you express an affection so warm, Yet still, this fond bosom regrets while adoring, Contemplates the scenes of her youth with a tear; Yet still, though we bend with a feign'd resigna That the time must arrive, when no longer retaining breeze, When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining, 'Tis this, my beloved, which spreads gloom o'er my features, Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree Which God has proclaimed as the fate of his crea tures, In the death which one day will deprive you of me. Mistake not, sweet skeptic, the cause of emotion, But as death, my beloved, soon or late shall o'er take us, And our breasts which alive with such sympathy glow, Will sleep in the grave till the blast shall awake us, Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure, Which from passion like ours may unceasingly flow; • Inserted from the private volume. TO MARY. OH! did those eyes, instead of fire, For thou art form'd so heavenly fair, Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam, We must admire, but still despair; That fatal glance forbids esteem. When nature stamped thy beauteous birth, So much perfection in thee shone, She fear'd that too divine for earth, The skies might claim thee for their own. Therefore, to guard her dearest work, Lest angels might dispute the prize She bade a secret lightning lurk Within those once celestial eyes. These might the boldest sylph appal, When gleaming with meridian blaze, Thy beauty must enrapture all, But who can dare thine ardent gaze? 'Tis said that Berenice's hair In stars adorns the vault of heaven: But they would ne'er permit thee there, Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven. For did those eyes as planets roll, Thy sister-lights would scarce appear: E'en suns, which systems now control, Would twinkle dimly through their sphere. 1806. TO WOMAN. WOMAN! experience might have told me But placed in all thy charms before me, All I forget but to adore thee. Oh, Memory thou choicest blessing When join'd with hope, when still possessing, "Woman, thy vows are traced in sand." * • The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb. |