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Al! none !-a father's tears will cease to flow, Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting Time will assuage an infant brother's woe;
New courage, he'll think upon glory and you. To all, save one, is consolation known,
Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, While solitary friendship sighs alone.
'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret ;
The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget.
That fame and that memory still will he cherish; WHEN, to their airy hall, my fathers' voice
He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown: Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice :
Like you will he live, or like you will he perish: When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride, When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side;
WRITTEN IN LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND If that with honour fail to crown my clay,
AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN: BY J. J. ROUSSEAU : Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay !
FOUNDED ON FACTS.' That, only that, shall single out the spot;
Away, away, your flattering arts
May now betray some simpler hearts:
And they shall weep at your deceiving. ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY. ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING, ADDRESSED • Why dost thou build the hall, son of the winged
TO MISS days? Thou lookest from thy tower to-day ; yet a DEAR, simple girl, those flattering arts few years, and the blast of the desert comes, it
From which thou'dst guard srail female hearts. howls in thy empty court.'--OSSIAN.
Exist but in imaginationTHROUGH thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow
Mere phantoms of thine own creation : winds whistle ;
For he who views that witching grace, Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay :
That perfect form, that lovely face, In thy once siniling garden, the hemlock and thistle
With eyes admiring, oh! believe me, Have choked up the rose which late bloom'd in the
He never wishes to deceive thee : way.
Once in thy polish'd mirror glance,
Thou'lt there descry that elegance Of the mail-cover'd Barons, who proudly to battle
Which from our sex demands such praises, Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain,
But envy in the other raises : The escutcheon and shield, which with every blast
Then he who tells thee of thy beauty, rattle,
Believe me, only does his duty: Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.
Ah ! fly not from the candid youth; No more doth old Robert, with heart-stringing It is not flattery-'tis truth.
numbers, Raise a flame in the breast for the war-laurell'd wreath :
ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL WHEN Near Askalon's towers John of Horistan slumbers
- DYING.* Unnerv'd is the hand of his ininstrel by death.
AH! gentie, fleeting, wav'ring sprite,
Friend and associate of this clay!
To what unknown region borne,
Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight!
No more with wonted humour gay,
But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn,
TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. field; For the rights of a monarch their country defending,
AD LESBIAM. Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd.
EQUAL to Jove that youth must be
Greater than Jove he seems to meShades of heroes, farewell ! your descendant, depart
Who, free from Jealousy's alarms, ing
Securely views thy matchless charins. From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu!
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
From thee my Lesbia's eyes overflow, That mouth, from whence such music flows,
Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow To him alike are always known,
Thou art the cause of all her woe,
Receptacle of life's decay.
IMITATED FROM CATULLUS. I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die :
TO ELLEN Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
OH! might I kiss those eyes of fire, Parch'd to the throat my tongue adheres,
A million scarce would quench desire : My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
Still would I steep my lips in bliss, My limbs deny their slight support,
And dwell an age on every kiss : Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread,
Nor then my soul should sated be:
Still would I kiss and cling to thee:
Nought should my kiss from thine dissever;
Still would we kiss, and kiss for ever; My eyes refuse the cheering light,
E'en though the numbers did exceed Their orbs are veil'd in starless night:
The yellow harvest's countless seed. Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
To part would be a vain endeavour : And feels a temporary death,
Could I desist?-ah! never--never!
TRANSLATION OF THE EPITAPH ON
VIRGIL AND TIBULLUS.
BY DOMITIUS MARSUS. He who sublime in epic numbers rollid,
And he who struck the softer lyre of love, By Death's unequal hand alike controlla, Fit comrades in Elysian regions move!
IMITATION OF TIBULLUS,
Sulpicia ad Cerinthum.'-Lib. iv.
TRANSLATION FROM HORACE.
Can swerve him from his just intent:
By Auster on the billows spent,
Ay, and the red right arm of Jove,
He would unmoved, unawed behold
Again in crushing chaos rollid,
Might light his glorious funeral pile.
TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.
Whom dearer than her eyes she loved :
But lightly o'er her bosom mov'd :
Tuned to her ear his grateful strain.
Who sighs, alas! but sighs in vain.
For thou hast ta'en the bird away :
I WISH to tune my quivering lyre
To other deeds my soul is strung,
Ne'er may my soul thy power disown, And sweeter notes shall now be sung ;
Thy dread behests ne'er disobey. My harp shall all its powers reveal,
Oft shall the sacred victim fall To tell the tale my heart must feel :
In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall; Love, Love alone, my lyre shall claim,
My voice shall raise no impious strain, In songs of bliss and sighs of flame.
'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main.
How different now thy joyless fate,
Since first Hesione thy bride,
When placed aloft in godlike state,
The blushing beauty by thy side, 'TWAS now the hour when Night had driven
Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smiled, Her car half round yon sable heaven;
And mirthful strains the hours beguiled, Boötes, only, seem'd to roll
The Nymphs and Tritons danced around, His arctic charge around the pole :
Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless While mortals, lost in gentle sleep,
SINCE now the hour is come at last, And knocks with all his little force.
When you must quit your anxious lover My visions fled, aların'd I rose
Since now our dream of bliss is past, • What stranger breaks my blest repose ?
One pang, my girl, and all is over. · Alas l' replies the wily child, In faltering accents sweetly mild,
Alas I that pang will be severe, • A hapless infant here I roam,
Which bids us part to meet no more; Far from my dear maternal home.
Which tears me far from one so dear,
Departing for a distant shore.
Well! we have pass'd some happy hours,
And joy will mingle with our tears; I heard his seeming artiess tale,
When thinking on these ancient towers,
The shelter of our infant years;
Where from this Gothic casement's height,
We view'd the lake, the park, the dell; Young Love, the infant, met my sight;
And still, though tears obstruct our sight, His bow across his shoulders flung,
We lingering look a last farewell, And thence his fatal quiver hung
O'er fields through which we use I to run, (Ah ! little did I think the dart
And spend the hours in childish play; Would rankle soon within iny heart).
O'er shades where, when our race was done, With care I tend my weary guest,
Reposing on my breast you lay;
Whilst I, admiring, too remiss,
Forget to scare the hovering flies, His shivering limbs the embers warm;
Yet envied every fly the kiss
It dared to give your slumbering eyes:
See still the little painted bark, 'I fain would know, my gentle host,'
In which I row'd you o'er the lake; He cried, if this its strength has lost;
See there, high waving o'er the park,
The elm I clamber'd for your sake.
These times are past-our joys are gone,
You leave me, leave this happy vale; Deep in my tortured heart it lies;
These scenes I must retrace alone : Then loud the joyous urchin laugh'd :
Without thee, what will they avail ? . My bow can still impel the shaft: 'Tis firmly fix'd, thy sighs reveal it;
Who can conceive, who has not proved,
The anguish of a last embrace,
You bid a long adieu to peace?
This is the deepest of our woes,
For this these tears our cheeks bedew:
This is of love the final close, Both gods and mortals homage pay,
O God I the fondest, last adieu !
TO M. S. G.
Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek,
Thy gushing tears had quench'd its flame; WHENE'ER I view those lips of thine, Their hue invites my fervent kiss;
And as thy tongue essay'd to speak,
In sighs alone it breathed my name.
And yet, my girl, we weep in vain,
In vain our fate in sighs deplore; How could I dwell upon its snows!
Remembrance only can remainYet is the daring wish represt;
But that will make us weep the more. For that-would banish its repose.
Again, thou best beloved, adieu ! A glance from thy soul-searching eye
Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret ; Can raise with hope, depress with fear;
Nor let thy mind past joys reviewYet I conceal my love and why?
Our only hope is to forget! I would not force a painful tear,
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.
Suffused in tears, implore to stay,
But as death, my beloved, soon or late shall o'erta ke
us, And our breasts, which alive with such sympathy
glow, Will sleep in the grave till the blast shall awake us,
When calling the dead, in earth's bosom laid low,Joh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of
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.
But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd,
When thy sweet lips were join d to mine, The tears that from my eyelids Pow'd
Were lost in those which fell from thine.
But brings, with new torture, the curse of to-day.
From my eye flows no tear, from my lips flow no From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow, curses,
Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love! I blast not the fiends who have hurld me from bliss;
If Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse, For poor is the soul which bewailing rehearses
| Or the Nine be disposed from your service to rove, Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this.
Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the muse, Was my eye, 'stead of tears, with red fury flakes And try the effect of the first kiss of love!
bright ning, Would my lips breathc a flame which no stream could I hate you, ye cold compositions of art! assuage,
Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reOn our foes should my glance launch in vengeance its prove, lightning,
I court the effusions that spring from the heart, With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage.
Which throbs with delight to the first kiss of love. But now tears and curses, alike unavailing
Your shepherds, your socks, those fantastical themes, Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight: Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move: Could they view us our sad separation bewailing, Arcadia displays but a region of dreams :
Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight. What are visions like these to the first kiss of love? Yet still, though we bend with a seign'd resignation, Joh! cease to affirin that man, since his birth,
Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer, From Adam till now, has with wretchedness strove; Love and liope upon earth bring no more consola. Some portion of paradise still is on earth, tion;
And Eden revives in the first kiss of love. In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear.
When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are Oh! when, my adored, in the tomb will they place pastme,
For years fleet away with the wings of the doveSince, in life, love and friendship for ever are fled! The dearest remembrance will still be the last, If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee, Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.
Perhaps they will leave unmolested the dead.
ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS AT A GREAT
WHERE are those honours, Ida I once your own,
When Probus fill d your magisterial throne ?
As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace,
Hail'd a barbarian in her Cæsar's place,
So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate,
And seat Pomposus where your Probus sate.
Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul,
Pomposus holds you in his harsh control;
Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd,
With florid jargon, and with vain parade;
With noisy nonsense and new-fangled rules,
Such as were ne'er before enforced in schools.
Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws,
He governs, sanction d but by self-applause ;
With him the same dire fate attending Rome,
Ill-fated Ida ! soon must stamp your dooin:
Like her o'erthrown, for ever lost to fame,
No trace of science left you, but the name.
TO THE DUKE OF DORSET.
DORSET ! whose early steps with mine have stray'd,
Exploring every path of Ida's glade;
Whom still affection taught me to defend,
And made me less a tyrant than a friend,
Though the harsh custom of our youthful band AWAY with your fictions of Aimsy romance;
Bade thce obey, and gave me to command;
• At every public school, the junior boys are com
Ipletely subservient to the upper forms till they attain love.
a seat in the higher classes. From this state of pro.
bation, very properly, no rank is exempt; but after Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fantasy glow,
a certain period, they command in turn those who Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove; (succeed.