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And shouldst thou seek his end to know:

Still, had I loved thee less, my heart My heart forebodes, my fears foresee,

Had then less sacrificed to thine; He'll linger long in silent woe;

It felt not half so much to part But live-until I cease to be.

As if its guilt had inade thee mine.

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Oh ! let me feel that all I lost

But saved thee all that conscience fears; And blush for every pang it cost

To spare the vain remorse of years.

Yet think of this when many a tongue,

Whose busy accents whisper blaine, Would do the heart that loved thee wrong,

And brand a nearly blighted name.

THINE eyes blue tenderness, thy long fair hair,

And the wan lustre of thy features-caught

From contemplation--where serenely wrought, Seems Sorrow's softness charmed from its despairHave thrown such speaking sadness in thine air,

That-but I know thy blessed bosom fraught With mines of unalloy'd and stainless thoughtI should have deem'd thee doom'd to earthly care. With such an aspect, by his colours blent,

When from his beauty-breathing pencil born (Except that those hast nothing to repent),

The Magdalen of Guido saw the mornSuch seem'st thou-but how much more excellent !

With nought Remorse can claim-nor Virtue scorn.

Think that, whate'er to others, thou

Hast seen each selfish thought subdued : I bless thy purer soul even now,

Even now, in midnight solitude. Oh, God! that we had met in time,

Our hearts as fond, thy hand inore free, When thou hadst loved without a crime,

And I been less unworthy thee!

II.

THY cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe, And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could Nush

Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, My heart would wish away that ruder glow : And dazzle not thy deep blue eyes-but, oh! While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,

And into mine my mother's weakness rush,
Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow.
For, through thy long dark lashes low depending,

The soul of melancholy Gentleness
Gleams like a seraph froin the sky descending,

Above all pain, yet pitying all distress;
At once such majesty with sweetness blending,

I worship more, but cannot lore thee less.

Far may thy days, as heretofore,

From this our gaudy world be past ! And that too bitter moment o'er,

Oh! may such trial be thy last. This heart, alas! perverted long,

Itself destroy'd might thee destroy ; To meet thee in the glittering throng,

Would wake Presumption's hope of joy. Theu to the things whose bliss or wos,

Like mine, is wild and worthless all, That world resign-such scenes forego,

Where those who feel must surely fall. Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness,

Thy soul from long seclusion pure; From what even here hath pass'd, may guess

What there thy bosom must endure. Oh! pardon that imploring tear,

Since not by Virtue shed in vain, My frenzy drew from eyes so dear;

For me they shall not weep again. Though long and mournful must it be,

The thought that we no more inay mect; Yet I deserve the stern decree, And almost deem the sentence sweet.

FROM THE PORTUGUESE

TU MI CHAMAS.' In moments to delight devoted,

My life!' with tenderest tone, you cry; Dear words! on which my heart had doteci,

If youth could neither fade nor die.
To death even hours like these must roll,

Ah! then repeat those accents never;
Or change my life I' into my soul!'

Which, like my love, exists for ever.

ANOTHER VERSION.

Whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand YOU call me stiil your life. --Oh! change the word-No foe could tame-no tyrant could cominand! Life is as transient as the inconstant sigh:

That race is gone-but still their children breathe, Say rather I'm your soul; more just that name, And glory crowns then with redoubled wreath: For, like the soul, my love can never die.

O'er Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine,
And, England I add their stubborn strength to thine.

The blood which flow'd with Wallace flows as free,
WINDSOR POETICS.

But now 'tis only shed for fame and thee!

Oh! pass not by the northern veteran's claim, LINES COMPOSED ON THE OCCASION OF HIS

But give support-the world hath given him fame! ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE REGENT BEING SEEN STANDING BETWEEN THE COFFINS OF The humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled HENRY VIII. AND CHARES I., IN THE ROYAL While cheerly following where the mighty ledVAULT AT WINDSOR.

Who sleep beneath the undistinguish'd sod

Where happier comrades in their triumph trod, .FAMED for contemptuous breach of sacred ties,

To us bequeath-'tis all their fate allows By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies ;

The sireless offspring and the lonely spouse: Between them stands another sceptred thing

She on high Albyn's dusky hills may raise It inoves, it reigns-in all but naine, a king :

The tearful eye in melancholy gaze; Charles to his people, Henry to his wife,

Or view, while shadowy auguries disclose, -In him the double tyrant starts to life :

The Highland seer's anticipated woes, Justice and death have mix'd their dust in vain,

The bleeding phantom of each martial form,
Each royal vampire wakes to life again.

Dim in the cloud, or darkling in the storm;
Ah, what can tombs avail, since these disgorge While sad she chants the solitary song,
The blood and dust of both-to mould a George! The soft lament for him who tarries long-

For him, whose distant relics vainly crave

The cronach's wild requiem to the brave !
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

'Tis heaven-not man-must charm away thc woe, I SPEAK not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name; Which bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow, There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame: Yet tenderness and time may rob the tear But the tear which now burns on my cheek may Of half its bitterness, for one so dear; impart

A nation's gratitude perchance may spread The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart. A thornless pillow for the widow's head;

May lighten well her heart's maternal care, Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,

And wean from penury the soldier's heir. Were those hours--can their joy or their bitterness

cease? We repent, we abjure, we will break from our

CONDOLATORY ADDRESS chain, We will part, we will fly to-unite it again!

TO SARAH COUNTESS OF JERSEY, ON THE PRINCE

REGENT'S RETURNING HER PICTURE TO MRS. Oh I thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt !

MEE.
Forgive me, adored one !--forsake, if thou wilt ;
But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased,

WHEN the vain triumph of the imperial lord,
And man shall not break it--whatever thou may'st.

(Whom servile Rome obey'd, and yet abhorr'd,

Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust, And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee, That left a likeness of the brave or just; This soul in its bitterest blackness shall be ;

What most admired each scrutinizing eye And our days seem as swift, and our moments more of all that deck'd that passing pageantry? sweet,

What spread from face to face that wondering air ? With thee by my side, than with worlds at my feet.

The thought of Brutus-for his was not there! One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,

That absence proved his worth,--that absence fix'd Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove ;

His memory on the longing mind, unmix'd ; And the heartless may wonder at all I resign

And more decreed his glory to endure, Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but to mine.

Than all a gold Colossus could secure.

If thus, fair Jersey, our desiring gaze

Search for thy form, in vain and mute amaze,
ADDRESS

Amidst those pictured charms, whose loveliness,

Bright though they be, thine own had rer.der'd less : INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN AT THE

If he, that vain old man, whom truth admits
CALEDONIAN MEETING, 1814-

Heir of his father's crown, and of his wits,
WHO hath not glow'd above the page where fame If his corrupted eye, and wither'd heart,
Hath fix'd high Caledon's unconquer'd name; Could with thy gentle image bear depart ;
The mountain land which spurn'd the Roman chain, That tasteless shame be his, and ours the grief
And baffled back the fiery-crested Dane :

To gaze on Beauty's band without its chief :

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OCCASIONAL PIECES. Yet comfort still one selfish thought imparts,

And shuddering hear of victory,
We lose the portrait, but preserve our hearts.

Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.
What can his vaulted gallery now disclose ?
A garden with all flowers-except the rose ;-

Where shall they turn to mourn thee less? A fount that only wants its living stream;

When cease to hear thy cherish'd name? A night, with every star, save Dian's beam,

Time cannot teach forgetfulness,
Lost to our eyes the present forms shall be,

While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.
That turn from tracing them to dream of thee;
And more on that recall'd resemblance pause,

Alas! for them, though not for thee,
Than all he shall not force on our applause.

They cannot choose but weep the more ; Long may thy yet meridian lustre shine,

Deep for the dead the grief must be,
With all that Virtue asks of Homage thine:

Who ne'er gave cause to mnourn before.
The symmetry of youth, the grace of mien,
The eye that gladdens, and the brow serene;
The glossy darkness of that clustering hair,
Which shades, yet shows that forehead more than

TO BELSHAZZAR.
fair !

BELSHAZZAR! from the banquet turn, Each glance that wins us, and the life that throws

Nor in thy sensual fulness fall, A spell which will not let our looks repose,

Behold! while yet before thee burn But turn to gaze again, and find anew

The graven words, the glowing wall.
Some charm that well rewards another view.

Niany a despot men miscall
These are not lessen'd, these are still as bright,
Albeit too dazzling for a dotard's sight;

Crown'd and anointed from on high;
And those must wait till every charm is gone,

But thou, the weakest, worst of all-
To please the paltry heart that pleases none ;-

Is it not written, thou must die?
That dull cold sensualist, whose sickly eye
In envious dimness pass'd thy portrait by;

Gol dash the roses from thy brow-
Who rack'd his little spirit to combine

Grey hairs but poorly wreath with them: It's hate of Freedom's loveliness, and thine,

Youth's garlands misbecome thee now,

More than thy very diadem,
Where thou hast tarnish'd every gem :-

Then throw the worthless bauble by,
ELEGIAC STANZAS

Which, worn by thee, ev'n slaves contemn;
ON THE DEATH OF SIR PETER PARKER, BART.

And learn like better men to die !
THERE is a tear for all that die,

Oh! early in the balance weigh'd,
A mourner o'er the humblest grave;

And ever light of word and worth,
But nations swell the funeral cry,

Whose soul expired ere youth decay'd,
And triumph weeps above the brave.

And left thee but a mass of earth.

To see thee moves the scorner's mirth:
For them is Sorrow's purest sigh

But tears in Hope's averted eye
O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent:

Lament that ever thou hadst birth-
In vain their bones unburied lie,

Unfit to govern, live, or die.
All earth becomes their monument !

A tomb is theirs on every page,

An epitaph on every tongue: The present hours, the future age,

For them bewail, to them belong.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
THERE be none of Beauty's daughters

With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters

Is thy sweet voice to me :
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lulld winds seem dreaming :

For them the voice of festal mirth

Grows hush'd, their name the only sound,
While deep Remembrance pours to Worth

The goblet's tributary round.
A theme to crowds that knew them not,

Lamented by admiring foes,
Who would not share their glorious lot?

Who would not die the death they chose?
And, gallant Parker ! thus enshrined

Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be ;
And early valour, glowing find

A model in thy memory.
But there are breasts that bleed with thee

In woe, that glory cannot quell;

And the midnight moon is weaving

Her bright chain o'er the deep;
Whose breast is gently heaving,

As an infant's asleep:
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee:
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer's ocean

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

To look once more into each other's face;
O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros

Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater

Of the volcanoes, and their mountain-torch:
Felix ! in imo qui scatentem

A fearful hope was all the world contained;
Pectore te, pia Nyınpha, sensit.'

Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour
GRAY'S Poemata.

They fell and faded-and the crackling trunks THERE'S not a joy the world can give like that it Extinguish'd with a crash--and all was black, takes away,

The brows of men by the despairing light When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits duil decay;

The flashes fell upon them; soine lay down 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest which fades so fast,

Their chins upon their clenched hands, and siniled; But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth it. And others hurried to and fro, and fed self be past.

Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up

With mad disquietude on the dull sky, Then the few whose spirits float above the wäsck of

The pall of a past world; and then again happiness

With curses cast them down upon the dust, Are driveu o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess:

And gnash'd their teeth and howld: the wild birds The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in

shriek'd, vain

And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never

And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes stretch again.

Came tame and tremulous ; and vipers crawl'd Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself And twined themselves among the multitude, comes down;

Hissing, but stingless-they were slain for food : It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its And War, which for a moment was no more, own;

Did glut himself again :a meal was bought That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our With blood, and each sate sullenly apart tears,

Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the All earth was but one thought-and that was death ice appears.

Immediate and inglorious; and the pang

Of famine fed upon all entrails-men Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth dis

Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh; tract the breast,

The meagre by the meagre were devour'd, Through midnight hours that yield no more their for

Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one, mer lope of rest;

And he was faithful to a corse, and kept 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreath, oh

|The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey To

n and grey Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead beneath.

Lured their lank jaws; hiinself sought out no food, Oh! could I feel as I have felt--or be what I have But with a piteous and perpetual moan, been,

And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a Which answered not with a caress-he died. vanish'd scene;

The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish of an enormous city did survive, though they be,

And they were enemies: they met beside
So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would The dying embers of an altar-place,
flow to ine.

Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they raked up,

And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
DARKNESS.

The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath I HAD a dream, which was not all a dream,

Blew for a little life, and made a flame The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Which was a mockery; then they lifted up Did wander darkling in the eternal space,

Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld Rayless, and pathless; and the icy earth

Each other's aspects-saw, and shriek'd, and diedSwung blind and blackening in the moonless air; Even of their mutual hideousness they died, Morn came and went-and came, and brought no Unknowing who he was upon whose brow day,

Famine had written Fiend. The world was void, And men forgot their passions in the dread

The populous and the powerful was a lump, Of this their desolation; and all hearts

Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless, Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:

A lump of death-a chaos of hard clay. And they did live by watchfires-and the thrones, The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still, The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,

And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths; The habitations of all things which dwell,

Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, Were burnt for beacons ; cities were consumed, And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they droppid, And men were gathered round their blazing homes Thoy slept on the abyss without a surge

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The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, | The matchless dialogue, the deathless wit,
The Moon, their mistress, had expired before; Which knew not what it was to intermit;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,

The glowing portraits, fresh froin life, that bring And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need Home to our hearts the truth from which they Of aid from them-She was the Universe !

spring;
These wondrous beings of his fancy, wrought

To fulness by the fiat of his thought,
MONODY ON THE DEATH

Here in their first abode you still may meet,
OF THE RIGHT HON. R. B. SHERIDAN. Bright with the hues of his Promethean heat ;
SPOKEN AT DRURY-LANE THEATRE.

A halo of the light of other days,

Which still the splendour of its orb betrays.
WHEN the last sunshine of expiring day
In summer's twilight weeps itself away,

But should there be to whom the fatal blight Who hath not felt the softness of the hour

Of failing Wisdom yields a base delight, Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower ?

Men who exult when minds of heavenly tone With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes

Jar in the music which was born their own, While nature makes that melancholy pause,

Still let them pause-ah! little do they know Her breathing moment on the bridge where Time

That what to them seemed Vice might be but Woe. Of light and darkness forms an arch sublime,

Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze Who hath not shared that calın, so still and deep.

Is fix'd for ever to detract or praise ; The voiceless thought which would not speak but

Repose denies her requiem to his name, weep,

And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame. A holy concord, and a bright regret,

The secret enemy whose sleepless eye A glorious sympathy with suns that set?

Stands sentinel, accuser, judge, and spy; 'Tis not harsh sorrow, but a tenderer woe,

The foe, the fool, the jealous, and the vain, Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below,

The envious, who but breathe in others' painFelt without bitterness, but full and clear,

Behold the host ! delighting to deprave, A sweet dejection, a transparent tear,

Who track the steps of glory to the grave, Unmix'd with worldly grief or selfish stain,

Watch every fault that daring Genius owes Shed without shame, and secret without pain,

Half to the ardour which its birth bestows, Even as the tenderness that hour instils

Distort the truth, accumulate the lie, When summer's day declines along the hills,

And pile the pyramid of Calumny! So feels the fulness of our heart and eyes,

These are his portion--but if joined to these When all of Genius which can perish dies.

Gaunt Poverty should league with deep Disease; A mighty spirit is eclipsed-a power

If the high Spirit must forget to soar, Hath passed from day to darkness-to whose hour

And stoop to strive with Misery at the door, Of light no likeness is bequeath'd-no name,

To soothe Indignity-and face to face Focus at once of all the rays of Fame !

Meet sordid rage, and wrestle with Disgrace ; The flash of Wit, the bright Intelligence,

To find in Hope but the renew'd caress, The beam of Song, the blaze of Eloquence,

The serpent-fold of further Faithlessness :Set with their Sun, but still have left behind

If such may be the ills which men assail, The enduring produce of immortal Mind;

What marvel if at last the mightiest fail? Fruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon,

Breasts to whom all the strength of feeling's given A deathless part of him who died too soon.

Bear hearts electric-charged with fire from heaven, But small that portion of the wondrous whole,

Black with the rude collision, inly torn, These sparkling segments of that circling soul,

By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds borne, Which all embraced, and lightend over all,

Driven o'er the lowering atmosphere that nurst To cheer, to pierce, to please, or to appal.

Thoughts which have turn'd to thunder-scorch, and From the charm'd council to the festive board,

burst. Of human feelings the unbounded lord : In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied,

But far from us and from our mimic scene The praised, the proud, who made his praise their

Such things should be-if such have ever been; pride.

Ours be the gentler wish, the kinder task, When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan

To give the tribute Glory need not ask, Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man,

To mourn the vanish'd bean, and add our mite His was the thunder, his the avenging rod,

Of praise in payment of a long delight. The wrath-the delegated voice of God!

Ye Orators! whom yet our councils yield, Which shook the nations through his lips, and

Mourn for the veteran Hero of your field! blazed

The worthy rival of the wondrous Three, Till vanquish'd senates trembled as they praised.

Whose words were sparks of Immortality!

Ye Bards! to whom the Drama's Muse is dear, And here, oh! here, where yet all young and He was your master-emulate him here! warm,

Ye men of wit and social eloquence! The gay creations of his spirit charm,

He was your brother-bear his ashes hence !

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