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I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride,
Had quench'd at length my boyish flame;
Nor knew, till seated by thy side,

My heart in all,-save hope,—the same.

Yet was I calm: I knew the time
My breast would thrill before thy look;
But now to tremble were a crime

We met,

and not a nerve was shook.

I saw thee gaze upon my face,

Yet meet with no confusion there:
One only feeling could'st thou trace ;
The sullen calmness of despair.

Away! away! my early dream

Remembrance never must awake:
Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream?
My foolish heart, be still, or break.

November 2, 1808.




FILL the goblet again! for I never before

Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core ; Let us drink!--who would not ?-since, through life's varied round,

In the goblet alone no deception is found.

I have tried in its turn all that life can supply;

I have bask'd in the beam of a dark rolling eye;

I have loved!-who has not ?-but what heart can declare

That pleasure existed while passion was there?

In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring,
And dreams that affection can never take wing,
I had friends!-who has not ?-but what tongue will



That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou?

The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange, Friendship shifts with the sunbeam-thou never canst


Thou grow'st old-who does not ?-but on earth what appears,

Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years?

Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow,
Should a rival bow down to our idol below,
We are jealous!-who's not ?-thou hast no such alloy;
For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy. 20


Then the season of youth and its vanities past,
For refuge we fly to the goblet at last;

There we find-do we not ?-in the flow of the soul,
That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl.

When the box of Pandora was opened on earth,
And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth,
Hope was left,- —was she not ?—but the goblet we kiss,
And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss.

Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown,
The age of our nectar shall gladden our own :
We must die—who shall not ?—May our sins be for-



And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven.



HUZZA! Hodgson, we are going,

Our embargo 's off at last;
Favourable breezes blowing

Bend the canvas o'er the mast.
From aloft the signal's streaming,

Hark! the farewell gun is fired;
Women screeching, tars blaspheming,
Tell us that our time 's expired.

Here's a rascal
Come to task all,
Prying from the custom-house;
Trunks unpacking,
Cases cracking,

Not a corner for a mouse
'Scapes unsearch'd amid the racket,
Ere we sail on board the Packet.

Now our boatmen quit their mooring,
And all hands must ply the oar;
Baggage from the quay is lowering,

We're impatient, push from shore.
Have a care! that case holds liquor-
Stop the boat-I'm sick-oh Lord!
Sick, ma'am, damme, you'll be sicker
Ere you've been an hour on board."
Thus are screaming
Men and women,
Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks;
Here entangling,
All are wrangling,

Stuck together close as wax.—
Such the general noise and racket,
Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet.

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Now we've reach'd her, lo! the captain,
Gallant Kidd, commands the crew;
Passengers their berths are clapt in,

Some to grumble, some to spew. 'Heyday! call you that a cabin ?

Why 'tis hardly three feet square :
Not enough to stow Queen Mab in-
Who the deuce can harbour there?
Who, sir? plenty—
Nobles twenty


Did at once my vessel fill."



Did they? Jesus,
How you squeeze us!
Would to God they did so still :

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Then I'd scape the heat and racket
Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet."

Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you?
Stretch'd along the deck like logs-
Bear a hand, you jolly tar, you!

Here's a rope's end for the dogs.
Hobhouse muttering fearful curses,

As the hatchway down he rolls,
Now his breakfast, now his verses,
Vomits forth-and damns our souls.
"Here's a stanza
On Braganza-
Help!""A couplet ? "—" No, a cup


Of warm water-'

66 What's the matter? "" "Zounds! my liver's coming up; I shall not survive the racket Of this brutal Lisbon Packet."

Now at length we're off for Turkey,
Lord knows when we shall come back!
Breezes foul and tempests murky
May unship us in a crack.
But, since life at most a jest is,
As philosophers allow,
Still to laugh by far the best is,
Then laugh on—as I do now.
Laugh at all things,
Great and small things,
Sick or well, at sea or shore;
While we're quaffing,

Let's have laughing

Who the devil cares for more ?—
Some good wine! and who would lack it,
Ev'n on board the Lisbon Packet?

Falmouth Roads, June 30, 1809.






THROUGH cloudless skies, in silvery sheen,
Full beams the moon on Actium's coast:
And on these waves, for Egypt's queen,
The ancient world was won and lost.

And now upon the scene I look,

The azure grave of many a Roman ; Where stern Ambition once forsook

His wavering crown to follow woman.
Florence! whom I will love as well
As ever yet was said or sung
(Since Orpheus sang his spouse from hell),
Whilst thou art fair and I am young;

Sweet Florence! those were pleasant times,
When worlds were staked for ladies' eyes:
Had bards as many realms as rhymes,

Thy charms might raise new Antonies.
Though Fate forbids such things to be,

Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets curl'd! I cannot lose a world for thee,

But would not lose thee for a world.

November 14, 1809.


IF, in the month of dark December,
Leander, who was nightly wont
(What maid will not the tale remember ?)
To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont !

If, when the wintry tempest roar'd,
He sped to Hero, nothing loth,
And thus of old thy current pour'd,
Fair Venus! how I pity both!



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