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By another possest,
May she live ever blest! Her name still my heart must revere:
With a sigh I resign
What I once thought was mine, And forgive her deceit with a Tear.
Ye friends of my heart,
Ere from you I depart, This hope to my breast is most near :
If again we shall meet
In this rural retreat, May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.
Dear simple girl, those flattering arts,
When my soul wings her flight
To the regions of night, *And my corse shall recline on its bier,
As ye pass by the tomb
Where my ashes consume,
May no marble bestov
The splendor of wo
No fiction of fame
Shall blazon my name;
October 26, 1806.
No specious splendor of this stone
Endears it to my memory ever; With lustre only once it shone,
And blushes modest as the giver.
His religion to please neither party is made;
On husbands 'tis hard, to the wives most uncivil; Still I can't contradict, what so oft has been said, "Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the
'Tis not the plant uprear'd in sloth,
Which beauty shows and sheds perfume; The flowers which yield the most of both
In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom.
." And my body shall sleep ou its fácr."--Private volung, Found only in the private volume.
• Only printed in the private volume.
To young Eulilleston. This poem is only found in the private vobecame
Had Fortune aided Nature's care,
Well: we have pass'd some happy hours, For once forgetting to be blind,
And joy will mingle with our tears; His would have been an ample share,
When thinking on these ancient towers, If well-proportion'd to his mind.
The shelter of our infant years; But had the goddess clearly seen,
Where from the gothic casement's height, His form had fix'd her fickle breast;
We view'd the lake, the park, the dale, Her countless hoards would his have been,
And still, though tears obstruct our sight, And none remain’d to give the rest.
We lingering look a last farewell.
And spend the hours in childish play;
Reposing on my breast you lay;
Whilst I, admiring, too remiss,
Forgot to scare the hov'ring flies,
Yet envied every fly the kiss
It dared to give your slumbering eyes •
See still the little painted bark,
In which I row'd you o'er the lake,
See there, high waving o'er the park,
The elm I clamber'd for your sake.
These times are past-our joys are gone,
You leave me, leave this happy vale;
These scenes I must retrace alone;
Without thee what will they avail ?
Who can conceive, who has not proved,
The anguish of a last embrace ?
When, torn from all you fondly loved,
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,
Oh God, the fondest, last adieu !
I'll ne'er submission to my God refuse.
AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE.
Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear,
Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face; Still they call forth my warm affection's tear,
Still in my heart retain their wonted place.
DELIVERED PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORXANCE OF
"THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE" AT A PRIVATI THEATRE
SINCE the refinement of this polish'd age
Has swept immoral raillery from the stage;
Since taste has now expunged licentious wit,
Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ; SINCE now the hour is come at last,
Since now to please with purer scenes we seek, When you must quit your anxious lover ; Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek; Since now our dream of bliss is past,
Oh! let the modest Muse some pity claim, One pang, my girl, and all is over.
And meet indulgence, though she find not fame.
Still, not for her alone we wish respect, Alas! that pang will be severe,
Others appear more conscious of defect: Which bids us part to meet no more,
To-night no veteran Roscii you behold, Which tears me far from one so dear,
In all the arts of scenic action old; Departing for a distant shore.
No Cooke, no KEMBLE, can salute you here,
No SIDDONS draw the sympathetic tear ; • Miss Parker.
To-night you throng to witness the debut + To these stanzas
, which are from the private volume, the following note of embryo actors, to the Drama new: ww attached : "The author claims the indulgence of the reader more for this piece then, perhape, any other in the collection ; but ne it was written at Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try; an earlier period than the rest (being composed at the age of Surteen,) and Clip not our pinions ere the birds can ily: his first etany, he preferred subrnitting it to the indulgence of his friends in
Failing in this our first attempt to soar, to present state, to making elther addition or alteration." • This poem is inserted from the private volume.
Drooping, alas ! we fall to rise no more.
Not one poor trembler only fear betrays,
TO M. S. G.
WHENE'ER I view those lips of thine, In fond suspense this crisis of our* fate.
Their hue invites my fervent kiss; No venal views our progress can retard,
Yet I forego that bliss divine,
Alas! it were unhallowed bliss.
Whene'er I dream of that pure breast, Surely the last will some protection find;
How could I dwell upon its snows? None to the softer sex can prove unkind :
Yet is the daring wish represt, Whilst Youth and Beauty form the female shield, For that,-would banish its repose. The sternest Censort to the fair must yield. Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail,
A glance from thy soul-searching eye Should, after all, our best endeavors fail,
Can raise with hope, depress with fear ; Still let some mercy in your bosoms live,
Yet I conceal my love, and why?
I would not force a painful tear.
Hast seen my ardent flame too well ;
And shall I plead my passion now,
To make thy bosom's heaven a hell ?
United by the priest's decree;
By any ties but those divine, "OUR nation's foes lament on Fox's death,
Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shalt be. But bless the hour when Pirt resign'd his breath : These feelings wide, let sense and truth unclue, Then let the secret fire consume, We give the palm where Justice points its due.”
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, What though our “nation's foes" lament the fate,
Rather than such a sting impart, With generous feelings, of the good and great, Each thought presumptuous I resign. Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name Of him whose meed exists in endless fame?
Yes ! yield those lips, for which I'd bravo When Pitt expired in plenitude of power,
More than I here shall dare to tell ; Though ill success obscured his dying hour,
Thy innocence and mine to save,
I bid thee now a last farewell.
Yes, yield that breast to seek despair, As all his errors slumber'd in the grave;
And hope no more thy soft embrace, He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight
Which to obtain my soul would dare,
All, all reproach, but thy disgrace.
At least from guilt shalt thou be free, He, too, is fall’n who Britain's loss supplied,
No matron shall thy shame reprove, With him our fast-reviving hopes have died ;
Though cureless pangs may prey on me, Not one great people only raise his urn,
No martyr shalt thou be to love.
Suffused in tears implore to stay; While friends and foes alike his talents own;
And heard unmoved thy plenteous sighs, Fox shall in Britain's future annals shine,
Which said far more than words can say? Nor e'en to Port the patiot's palm resign; Which Envy wearing Candor's sacred mask,
Though keen the grief thy tears exprest, For Pitt, and Pitt alone, has dared to ask.
When love and hope lay both o'erthrown;
Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast . Our. In the private volume, their.
Throbb'd with deep sorrow as thine own. 1 Censor. In the private volume, critic. "In the Morning poet."-Prionte volume. "For insertion in the Morning Chronicle," was here added in the
• Only printed in the private volume. rake volunto.
† Printed only in the private volume.
But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, Let us pass round the cup of love's bliss in fub
measure, The tears that from my eyelids flow'd
And quaff the contents as our nectar below. Were lost in those which fell from thine.
Was my eye 'stead of tears, with red fury flakes TO CAROLINE.
Would my lips breathe a flame which no stream WHEN I hear you express an affection so warm,
could assuage, Ne'er think, my beloved, that I do not believe ; On our foes should my glance launch in vengeance For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm,
Bat now tears and curses, alike unavailing,
That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear, Could they view us our sad separation bewailing.
Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight ploring, Contemplates the scenes of her youth with a tear; Yet still, though we bend with a feign'd resigna
tion, That the time must arrive, when no longer retaining
Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer; Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the Love and hope upon earth bring no more consolabreeze,
tion, When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining,
In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear. Prove nature a prey to decay and disease. "Tis this, my beloved, which spreads gloom o'er my
Oh! when, my adored, in the tomb will they place
Since in life, love and friendship for ever are fled?
If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee,
Perhaps they will leave unmolested the dead.
1805. In the death which one day will deprive you of me.
Then read, dear girl ! with feeling read,
OH! did those eyes, instead of fire,
With bright but mild affection shine,
Though they might kindle less desire, He was in sooth a genuine bard;
Love, more than mortal, would be thine. He was no faint fictitious flame Like his, may love be thy reward,
For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
That fatal glance forbids esteem.
Your shepherds, your flocks, I those farftastical
Oh ! cease to affirm that man since his birth,
And Eden revives in the first kiss of love.
Woman! experience might have told me
When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are
pastFor years fleet away with the wings of the doveThe dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.
• Theme stanzu were printed in the private volume, and in the first edition
• " Moriah, the Goddess of Holly."
• The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanina provedben