LIGHT-HEARTEDNESS IN RHYME. Thus long accustomed on the twy-fork'd hill,* To pluck both flower and floweret at my will; The garden's maze, like No-man's land, I tread, ** I expect no sense, worth listening to, from the man who Nor common law, nor statute in my head; never dares talk nonsense."— Anon. I. THE REPROOF AND REPLY: OR, THE FLOWER-THIEF'S APOLOGY, FOR A ROBBERY COMMITTED IN MR. AND MRS.'S GARDEN, ON SUNDAY MORNING, 25TH OF MAY, 1833, BETWEEN THE HOURS OF ELEVEN AND TWELVE. "FIE, Mr. Coleridge!- and can this be you? Break two commandments?—and in church-time too? Have you not heard, or have you heard in vain, The birth-and-parentage-recording strain?— Confessions shrill, that shrill cried mack'rel drownFresh from the drop-the youth not yet cut down Letter to sweet-heart-the last dying speech And did'nt all this begin in Sabbath-breach? You, that knew better! In broad open day Steal in, steal out, and steal our flowers away? What could possess you? Ah! sweet youth, I fear, The chap with horns and tail was at your ear!" Such sounds, of late, accusing fancy brought "Fair dame! a visionary wight, Thus all conspired-each power of eye and ear, And if I pluck'd each flower that sweetest blows' Who walks in sleep, needs follow must his nose. For my own proper smell, sight, fancy, feeling, II. IN ANSWER TO A FRIEND'S QUESTION. Her attachment may differ from yours in degree, Provided they are both of one kind; But friendship, how tender so ever it be, Love, that meets not with love, its true nature revealing, Grows ashamed of itself, and demurs: If you cannot lift hers up to your state of feeling, You must lower down your state to hers. III. LINES TO A COMIC AUTHOR, ON an abu- WHAT though the chilly wide-mouth'd quacking Men called him-maugre all his wit and worth, IV. AN EXPECTORATION, OR SPLENETIC EXTEMPORE, ON MY JOYFUL DEPARTURE FROM THE CITY OF COLOGNE. As I am Rhymer, And now at least a merry one, Mr. MUM's Rudesheimer t And the church of St. Geryon The English Parnassus is remarkable for its two summits of unequal height, the lower denominated Hampstead, the higher Highgate. †The apotheosis of Rhenish wine. JULIA was blest with beauty, wit, and grace: Small poets loved to sing her blooming face. Before her altars, lo! a numerous train Preferr'd their vows; yet all preferr'd in vain : Till charming Florio, born to conquer, came, And touch'd the fair one with an equal flame. EX IMPROVISA ON HEARING A SONG IN PRAISE OF A The flame she felt, and ill could she conceal LADY'S BEAUTY. "Tis not the lily brow I prize, Nor roseate cheeks, nor sunny eyes, THE POET'S ANSWER TO A LADY'S QUESTION RESPECTING THE ACCOMPLISHMENTS MOST DESIRABLE IN AN INSTRUCTRESS OF CHILDREN. O'ER wayward childhood would'st thou hold firm rule, LOVE too will sink and die. †The German name of Cologne. Of the cleven thousand virgin martyrs. As Necessity is the mother of Invention, and extremes beget each other, the fact above recorded may explain how this ancient town (which, alas! as sometimes happens with veni son, has been kept too long.) came to be the birth-place of the most fragrant of spirituous fluids, the Eau de Cologne. And the sweet coyness that endears consent. 1789. - I yet remain O God! how sweet it were to think, that all 1793. TO THE REV. W. I. HORT. HUSH! ye clamorous cares, be mute! Breathe that passion-warbled strain; O skill'd with magic spell to roll The thrilling tones that concentrate the soul! In freedom's undivided dell Where toil and health with mellow'd love shall dwell: Up the cliff, and through the glade, And ponder on the far away;— TO CHARLES LAMB. 1794. WITH AN UNFINISHED POEM. THUS far my scanty brain hath built the rhyme That e'en from friendship's eye will shrink ashamed. I've view'd-her soul affectionate yet wise, That my mute thoughts are sad before his throne,- 1794. TO THE NIGHTINGALE. SISTER of lovelorn poets, Philomel! How many bards in city garrets pent, While at their window they with downward eye Mark the faint lamp-beam on the kennell'd mud, And listen to the drowsy cry of the watchmen, (Those hoarse unfeather'd nightingales of time!) How many wretched bards address the name, And hers, the full-orb'd queen, that shines above. But I do hear thee, and the high bough mark, Within whose mild moon-mellow'd foliage hid, Thou warblest sad thy pity-pleading strains. Oh, I have listen'd, till my working soul, Waked by those strains to thousand phantasies, Absorb'd, hath ceased to listen! Therefore oft I hymn thy name; and with a proud delight Oft will I tell thee, minstrel of the moon Most musical, most melancholy bird! That all thy soft diversities of tone, Though sweeter far than the delicious airs That vibrate from a white-arm'd lady's harp, What time the languishment of lonely love Melts in her eye, and heaves her breast of snow Are not so sweet, as is the voice of her, My Sara- best beloved of human kind! When breathing the pure soul of tenderness, She thrills me with the husband's promised name! TO SARA. THE stream with languid murmur creeps Slow waving to the gale. "Cease, restless gale," it seems to say, "Nor wake me with thy sighing: "To-morrow shall the traveller come, The dreary vale of Sumin." With eager gaze and wetted cheek But I along the breeze will roll The voice of feeble power, And dwell, the moon-beam of thy soul, In slumber's nightly hour. 1794. 239 1794. CASIMIR. If we except Lucretius and Statius, I know no Latin poet, ancient or modern, who has equalled Casimir in boldness of conception, opulence of fancy, or beauty of versification. The odes of this illustrious Jesuit were translated into English about 150 years ago, by a G. Hils, I think. I never saw the translation. A few of the odes have been translated in a very animated manner by Watts. I have subjoined the third ode of the second Book, which, with the exception of the first line, is an effusion of exquisite elegance. In the imitation attempted I am sensible that I have destroyed the effect of suddenness, by translating into two stanzas what is one in the original. 1796. My gentle love! caressing and caress'd, 1796. In my calmer moments I have the firmest faith that all things work together for good. But, alas! it seems a long and a dark process:— The early year's fast-flying vapors stray Were it not better hope, a nobler doom, Proud to believe, that with more active powers We thro' one bright perpetual spring Shall hover round the fruits and flowers, Screen'd by those clouds, and cherish'd by those showers! COUNT RUMFORD'S ESSAYS. 1796. THESE, Virtue, are thy triumph, that adorn 1796. ON AN AMOROUS DOCTOR. FROM Rufa's eye sly Cupid shot his dart, And peaceful sleep has from his eyelids flown; In short unless she pities his afflictions, Despair will make him take his own prescriptions. 1796. TRANSLATION. DEPART in joy from this world's noise and strife TO A PRIMROSE, (THE FIRST SEEN IN THE SEASON.) nitens, et roboris expers Turget et insolida est: at spe delectat.-Ovid. THY smiles I note, sweet early flower, But tender blossom, why so pale? Such the wan lustre sickness wears, EPIGRAM. 1796. HOARSE Mævius reads his hobbling verse And finds them both divinely smooth, Yet folks say " Mævius is no ass:" 1797. INTRODUCTION TO THE TALE OF THE DARK LADIE. THE following poem is intended as the introduction to a somewhat longer one. The use of the old ballad word Ladie for Lady, is the only piece of obsoleteness in it; and as it is professedly a tale of ancient times, I trust that the affectionate lovers of venerable antiquity, as Camden says, will grant me their pardon, and perhaps may be induced to admit a force and propriety in it. A heavier objection may be adduced against the author, that in these times of fear and expectation, when novelties explode around us in all directions, he should presume to offer to the public a silly tale of old-fashioned love: and five years ago, I own I should have allowed and felt the force of this objection. But alas! explosion after explosion has succeeded so rapidly, that novelty itself ceases to appear new; and it is possible that now, even a simple story wholly uninspired with politics or personality, may find some attention amid the hubbub of revolutions, as to those who have remained a long time by the falls of Niagara, the lowest whispering becomes distinctly 1799. audible. O LEAVE the lily on its stem; O leave the rose upon the spray; O leave the elder bloom, fair maids! A cypress and a myrtle-bough This morn around my harp you twined, Because it fashion'd mournfully Its murmurs in the wind. And now a tale of love and woe, It sighs and trembles most for thee! INSCRIPTION BY THE REV. W. S. BOWLES. IN NETHER STOWEY CHURCH. LETUS abi; mundi strepitu curisque remotus, Ipsa Fides loquitur, lacrymanque incausat inamen, Heu! tantum liceat meritos hos soliere ritus EPILOGUE TO THE RASH CONJUROR. WE ask and urge-(here ends the story!) That this unhappy conjuror may, For then there's hope ; Long live the Pope! 241 1805. |