ON THE VOTIVE IMAGE OF A LION.
In the dark winter's night, while all around
The furious hail-storm clatters on the ground,
While every field is deep in drifted snow,
And Boreas bids his bitterest tempests blow,
solitary lion, gaunt and grim,

Ravenous with cold, and numb'd in every limb,
Stalks to the goat-herd's miserable shed,
From the rude air to shield his storm-beat head.
The astonish'd natives of this lonely spot
With cries of stifled horror fill the cot;

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No more their numerous herds demand their care,
While for themselves they pour the broken prayer,
And call the Saviour Jove, as fix'd they stand,
Together press 'd, a trembling, shuddering band.
Meanwhile the lordly savage, safe and warm,
Stays through the pelting of the wintry storm,
Then calmly quits the whole affrighted horde,
And leaves their meal untouch'd upon the board.
In grateful memory of so rare a fate,
The swains to Jove this offering consecrate,
And still, suspended from the oak-tree show,
This faithful image of their generous foe.

ON THE DEFEAT OF XERXES AT
THERMOPYLE.

HIM, who reversed the laws great nature gave,
Sail'd o'er the continent, and walk'd the wave,

Three hundred spears from Sparta's iron plain, Have stopp'd-oh blush, ye mountains, and thou main.

ON A DAUGHTER DROWNED AT SEA. COLD on the wild wave floats thy virgin form, Drench'd are thine auburn tresses by the storm, Poor lost Eliza! in the raging sea, Gone was my every joy and hope with thee!

These sad recording stones thy fate deplore,
Thy bones are wafted to some distant shore;
What bitter sorrows did thy father prove,
Who brought thee, destined for a bridegroom's love!
Sorrowing he came-nor to the youth forlorn
Consign'd a maid to love, or corpse to mourn.

GREECE be the monument: around her throw The broken trophies of the Persian fleet; Inscribe the gods that led the insulting foe, And mighty Xerxes at the tablet's feet.

There lay Themistocles-to spread his fame
A lasting column Salamis shall be;
Raise not, weak man, to that immortal name
The little records of mortality.

TO HIS MISTRESS.

I WISH I could, like Zephyr, steal
To wanton o'er thy mazy vest;
And thou wouldst ope thy bosom-veil,
And take me panting to thy breast!

I wish I might a rose-bud grow,

And thou wouldst cull me from the bower,

To place me on that breast of snow,
Where I should bloom, a wintry-flower.

I wish I were the lily's leaf,

To fade upon that bosom warm; Content to wither, pale and brief,

The trophy of thy fairer form.

HYMN TO APOLLO.

KEEP silence now, with reverential awe,
Wide æther, and ye mountains, and ye meads,
With earth, and sea, and every breeze, and

sound,

And voice of tuneful bird-be silent all;
For Phœbus, with his beaming locks unshorn,
Descends among us-on a stream of song.

Sire of Aurora,-her whose eyelids fair
Are of the braided snow-her rosy car,
Along the boundless ridge of heaven's expanse,
Drawn by those winged steeds, thou urgest

on

Exulting in thy curls of flaming gold.

Thy coronal are rays of dazzling light Revolving much, and pouring on the earth, From their blest fountains, splendours ever bright:

While of thy rivers of immortal fire
DAY, the beloved, is born.

For thee, the choirs
Of tranquil stars perform their mystic round
O'er heaven's imperial pavement;-with thy
lyre,

Oh! Phœbus, warbling forth its ceaseless notesDelighted:

While the Moon serenely clear, Borne onward in her steer-drawn team of light, Heralds the changeful seasons-and her heart With pleasure glows-while clothing dædal earth With beauteous vestments of a various hue.

THE KISS.

THE kiss, that she left on my lip,
Like a dew-drop, shall lingering lie;
'Twas nectar she gave me to sip,
'Twas nectar I drank in her sigh.
From the moment she printed that kiss,
Nor reason nor rest has been mine,
My soul has been drunk with the bliss,
And feels a delirium divine.