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Ah! none !-a father's tears will cease to flow, | Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting Time will assuage an infant brother's woe;
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 hali, 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;
TTE 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.
ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING, ADDRESSED
TO MISS Why dost thou build the hall, son of the winged 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 howls in thy empty court.'-OSSIAN.
From which thou'dst guard srail female hearts.
Exist but in imaginationTHROUGH thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow
Mere phantoins 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, Of the mail-cover'd Barons, wlio proudly to battle
Thou'lt there descry that elegance Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain,
Which from our sex demands such praises,
But envy in the other raises : The escutcheon and shield, which with every blast
Then he who tells thee of thy beauty, rattle, Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.
Believe me, only does his duty:
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 land of his minstrel by death.
AH! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite,
Friend and associate of this clay!
To what unknown region borne,
Wilt thou now wing thy distant fight?
No more with wonted humour gay,
But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn.
TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.
For the rights of a monarch their country defending,
Till death their attachinent to royalty seal'd.
Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant, depart
ing From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu !
EQUAL to Jove that youth must be
* Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles I. were defeated.-Prince Rupert, son of the Elector Palatine, and nephew to Charles I. He afterwards commanded the feet in the reign of Charles II.
* • Animula I vagula, blandula,
Hospes comesque corporis,
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 ; With deadly languor droops my head,
Still would I kiss and cling to thee: My ears with tingling echoes ring,
Nought should my kiss from thine dissever; And life itself is on the wing;
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.
And he who struck the softer lyre of love,
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 roll'd,
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! 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 artless 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 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, I fear, relax'd with midnight dews,
The elm I clamber'd for your sake. The strings their former aid refuse.'
These times are past-our joys are gone, With poison tipt, his arrow flies,
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: •My bow can still impel the shaft:
Without thee, what will they avail ? '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,
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,
I ne'er have told my love, yet thou
Hast seen my ardent flame too well;
Ne'er think, my beloved, that I do not believe;
your eye beams a ray which can never deceive.
No! for thou never canst be mine,
United by the priest's decree: By any ties but those divine,
Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shalt be.
Then let the secret fire consume,
Let it consume, thou shalt not know: With joy I court a certain doom,
Rather than spread its guilty glow.
I will not ease my tortured heart,
By driving dove-eyed peace from thine; Rather than such a sting impart,
Each thought presumptuous I resign. Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave
More than I here shall dare to tell;
I bid thee now a last farewell.
And hope no more thy soft embrace;
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.
Yet still this fond bosom regrets, while adoring,
That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sere: That age will come on, when remembrance, deploring,
Contemplates the scenes of her youth with a tear; That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the
breeze, When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining,
Prove nature a prey to decay and disease. 'Tis this, my beloved, which spreads gloom o'er my
features, Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree, Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of His crea.
No doubt can the mind of your lover invade;
A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade.
Suftused in tears, implore to stay,
Which said far more than words can say ?
But as death, my beloved, soon or late shall o'erta ke
us, And our breasts, which alive with such sympat hy
glow, Will sleep in the grave till the blast shall awake us,
When calling the dead, in earth's bosom laid low,Oh! 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 2ow'd
Were lost in those which fell from thine.
OH! when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow?
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 hurid me from bliss; If Apollo should e'er his assistance re’use, For poor is the soul which bewailing rehearses
Or the Nine be disposed froin 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 Aakes And try the effect of the first kiss of love!
bright ning, Would my lips breathe 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 inerciless hearts would rejoice at the sight. What are visions like these to the first kiss of love? Yet still, though we bend with a feign d resignation, Oh! cease to affirm 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 hope upon earth bring no more consola. Spine portion of paradise still is on earth,
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 ! 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, Who blames it but the envious fool,
Pomposus holds you in his harsh control;
Pomposus, by no social virtuc 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 Romic,
Ill-fated Ida ! soon must stamp your doom:
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 comOr the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of
pletely subservient to the upper forins 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.