As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom, Happy the youth in Euclid's axioms tried, What, though he knows not how his fathers bled, vance, Or Henry trampled on the crest of France, Yet well he recollects the laws of Sparta ; * A proper mixture of the squeak and groan : The man who hopes t' obtain the promised cup Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up; The sons of science these, who, thus repaid, Vain as their honours, heavy as their ale, But should a storm o'erwhelm him with disgrace, This much, at least, we may presume to say- TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER. Since this was written, Lord Henry Petty [now Marquis of Lansdowne] has lost his place, and subsequently (I had almost said consequently) the honour of representing the University. A fact so glaring requires no comment. Alas! again no more we meet, May Heaven so guard my lovely quaker, For her each hour new joys discover, THE CORNELIAN. No specious splendour of this stone And blushes modest as the giver. For I am sure the giver loved me. My only fear should be to lose it. And sparkling as I held it near, Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield; For once forgetting to be blind, His would have been an ample share, If well proportion'd to his mind. But had the goddess clearly seen, His form had fix'd her fickle breast ; Her countless hoards would his have been, And none remain'd to give the rest. AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE, DELIVERED PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OF THE 'WHEEL OF FORTUNE' AT A PRI VATE THEATRE. SINCE the refinement of this polish'd age Since now to please with purer scenes we seek, [praise; No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here, No Siddons draw the sympathetic tear; To-night you throng to witness the début Of embryo actors, to the Drama new : Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try; Clip not our pinions ere the birds can fly : Failing in this our first attempt to soar, Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more. Not one poor trembler only fear betrays, Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your But all our dramatis persona wait In fond suspense this crisis of their fate. No venal views our progress can retard, Your generous plaudits are our sole reward. For these, each Hero all his power displays, Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze. Surely the last will some protection find; None to the softer sex can prove unkind: While Youth and Beauty form the female shield, The sternest censor to the fair must yield. Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail, Should, after all, our best endeavours fail, Still let some mercy in your bosoms live, | And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive. ON THE DEATH OF MR FOX, THE FOLLOWING ILLIBERAL IMPROMPTU APPEARED IN A MORNING PAPER. 'OUR nation's foes lament on Fox's death, But bless the hour when Pitt resign'd his breath: These feelings wide, let sense and truth unclue, We give the palm where Justice points its due." TO WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THESE PIECES O FACTIOUS viper! whose envenom'd tooth 24 Not one great people only raise his urn, Or round our statesman wind her gloomy veil. weep, Whose dear remains in honour'd marble sleep; THE TEAR. "Olachrymarum fons, tenero sacros Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit.'-GRAY. WHEN Friendship or Love our sympathies move, When Truth in a glance should appear, Too oft is a smile but the hypocrite's wile REPLY TO SOME VERSES OF J. M. B. PIGOT, ESQ., ON THE CRUELTY WHY, Pigot, complain of this damsel's disdain, For months you may try, yet, believe me, a sigh Would you teach her to love? For a time seem Give me the soft sigh, whilst the soul-telling eye But leave her awhile, she shortly will smile, Mild Charity's glow, to us mortals below, The man doom'd to sail with the blast of the The green sparkles bright with a Tear. The soldier braves death for a fanciful wreath But he raises the foe when in battle laid low, If with high-bounding pride he return to his Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear, Where love chased each fast-fleeting year, Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd, for a last look I turn'd, But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear. In the shade of her bower I remember the hour • Harrow And then you may kiss your coquette. If again you shall sigh, she no more will deny If still, from false pride, your pangs she deride, Some other admire, who will melt with your fire, [all, For me, I adore some twenty or more, And break through her slight-woven net; To fly from the captious coquette. Should lead you to curse the coquette. TO THE SIGHING STREPHON. YOUR pardon, my friend, if my rhymes did Your pardon, a thousand times o'er. [offend, From friendship I strove your pangs to remove, Still I can't contradict, what so oft has been said But I swear I will do so no more. Since your beautiful maid your flame has repaid, No more I your folly regret; She's now most divine, and I bow at the shrine Of this quickly reformed coquette. Yet still, I must own, I should never have known From your verses what else she deserved; Your pain seem'd so great, I pitied your fate, As your fair was so devilish reserved. Since the balm-breathing kiss of this magical miss Can such wonderful transports produce; Since the world you forget, when your lips once My counsel will get but abuse. [have met,' You say, when I rove, I know nothing of love ;' "Tis true, I am given to range: If I rightly remember, I've loved a good number, I will not advance, by the rules of romance, Though a smile may delight, yet a frown won't Of this I am sure, was my passion so pure, And if I should shun every woman for one, TO ELIZA. ELIZA, what fools are the Mussulman sect, Who to women deny the soul's future existence ! [defect, Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own their And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance. Had their prophet possess'd half an sense, Though women are angels vet wedlock's the devil.' LACHIN Y GAIR.* AWAY, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses! In you let the minions of luxury rove; Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes, [love: Though still they are sacred to freedom and Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains, Round their white summits though elements war; [fountains, Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr. Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd ; My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid + On chieftains long perish'd my memory ponder'd, As daily I strode through the pine-cover'd glade; I sought not my home till the day's dying glory Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star; For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story, Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr. 'Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?' Surely the soul of the hero rejoices, [vale. And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland Round Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers, Winter presides in his cold icy car: Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers; They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr. 'Ill-starr'd, though brave, did no visions foreboding + Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause?' Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden, § Victory crown'd not your fall with applause : Lachin y Gair, or, as it is pronounced in the Erse, Loch atom of na Garr, towers proudly pre-eminent in the Northern Highlands, near Invercauld. One of our modern tourists mentions [driven; it as the highest mountain, perhaps, in Great Britain. Be this He ne'er would have women from paradise as it may, it is certainly one of the most sublime and picturInstead of his houris, a flimsy pretence, esque amongst our 'Caledonian Alps.' Its appearance is of a dusky hue, but the summit is the seat of eternal snows. Near With women alone he had peopled his heaven. Lachin y Gair I spent some of the early part of my life, the recollection of which has given birth to these stanzas. Yet still, to increase your calamities more, This word is erroneously pronounced plad: the proper pronunciation (according to the Scotch) is shown by the orthoNot content with depriving your bodies of graphy. spirit, [four!He allots one poor husband to share amongst With souls you'd dispense; but this last who could bear it? His religion to please neither party is made, On husband's 'tis hard, to the wives most uncivil: I allude here to my maternal ancestors, 'the Gordons, many of whom fought for the unfortunate Prince Charles, better known by the name of the Pretender. This branch was nearly allied by blood, as well as attachment, to the Stuarts. George, the second Earl of Huntly, married the Princess Annabella Stuart, daughter of James the First of Scotland. By her he left four sons: the third, Sir William Gordon, I have the honour to claim as one of my progenitors. § Whether any perished in the battle of Culloden, I am not certain; but as many fell in the insurrection, I have used the name of the principal action, 'pars pro toto." Still were you happy in death's earthly slumber, You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar; * The pibroch resounds to the piper's loud number, Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr. Years have roll'd on, Loch na Garr, since I left you, Years must elapse ere I tread you again: Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain. England thy beauties are tame and domestic To one who has roved o'er the mountains afar: Oh for the crags that are wild and majestic ! The steep frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr ! TO ROMANCE. PARENT of golden dreams, Romance! Thy votive train of girls and boys; But leave thy realms for those of Truth. Which haunt the unsuspicious soul, And even woman's smiles are true. To mingling bands of fairy elves; And friends have feeling for-themselves! With shame I own I've felt thy sway; Repentant, now thy reign is o'er, No more on fancied pinions soar. And melt beneath a wanton's tear! A tract of the Highlands so called. There is also a Castle of Braemar. Whose silly tears can never flow To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine. With cypress crown'd, array'd in weeds, Who heaves with thee her simple sigh, Whose breast for every bosom bleeds; And call thy sylvan female choir, To mourn a swain for ever gone, But bends not now before thy throne. The hour of fate is hovering nigh; ANSWER TO SOME ELEGANT VERSES, But if any old lady, knight, priest, or physician, CANDOUR compels me, Becher ! to commend The verse which blends the censor with the friend. Your strong yet just reproof extorts applause love; Let those they ne'er confined my lay reprove : Let those whose souls contemn the pleasing power +It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the companion of Orestes, and a partner in one of those friendships which, with those of Achilles and Patroclus, Nisus and Eurya. lus, Damon and Pythias, have been handed down to posterity Their censures on the hapless victim shower, as remarkable instances of attachments, which in all probability Oh! how I hate the nerveless, frigid song, never existed beyond the imagination of the poet, or the page The ceaseless echo of the rhyming throng, of an historian, or modern novelist. |