ANTISTROPHE.

O fell Despair! should e'er my soul
Dejected feel thy dark controul,

May then, as I eccentric stray,
In lonely grief retir'd to mourn,

No yawning chasm cross my way,
No rapid torrent's winding bourn,

No cliff, that o'er the raging main
Projecting lours, and turns the brain
That, forward bent, with venturous gaze,
The foaming surge beneath surveys.

EPODE.

There are who, yielding to affliction's smart,
Cherish each sullen fiend of Fancy's train;
To every scene the darkest hues impart,
And conjure phantoms in the working brain;—
Who, all alive in every throbbing vein

To wild Imagination's lawless power,

The gloomy perturbation scarce restrain,

When lonely Silence rules the darkling hour. Ah! ne'er may such, while throbs the wildering brain, With devious step, this tottering brink attain!

ÓDE X.

TO FULVIA.

Inscribed upon a Fan that had been long in the Author's possession. (Sept. 1803.)

STROPHE.

FULVIA-what Time, on troubled pinion sailing,-
Has flitted by,-

Since first this toy (in Fortune's fitful season)
To me consign'd, its asking folds expanded,
And, from the wayward Muse, if so inspiring,
Challeng'd some kind memorial:

Memorial of those feelings, how awaken'd!
And foster'd how!

By many a boon, to Friendship's heart how cordial!
From thee and thine imparted.

ANTISTROPHE.

Fulvia!-what change, by Time's rude flight affected, Has mark'd my lot,

My wayward lot (by Destinies capricious,

Wove of strange threads) since that precarious season, When, with the popular storm in vain contending, With winds and billows hostile!

I, sometimes, from the fruitless toil withdrew me,—
To hail (how sweet!)

The social converse of the group fraternal,
That blest thy father's mansion.

EPODE.

Yet, what tho fitful Fortune, ever changing!--
Time's rapid flight,

And tangling web of Destinies capricious,
Tissu'd with woes,

The cordial strain averted?—

Think not that memory fails thy name to hallow;
Or that the woe-worn Muse, unmindful
Of the calm joys of Friendship's treasur'd season,
Her theme foregoes.

No:-to the

group,

in social love combining,

Connubial and fraternal,

Round thy hearth, matron rever'd!
(Where little lares, sporting,

Enhance the bliss) she tunes a virgin lyre,-
As yet unconscious to the notes, unhallow'd,
Of lighter themes,—and hails the names, commutual,
That blend in holy friendship's kindred bond.

ODE XI.

To DR. PALEY, OF HALIFAX.

(Sept. 1803.)

STROPHE.

PALEY!-while bigots, with infatuate fury,
Science proscribe,—

While fever'd Ignorance, the cup of knowledge,
With senseless howl and hydrophobial frenzy,
Spurns from her trembling lips;

Shall not the Muse, with cordial rapture hailing
The liberal few,--

Their names inscribe on adamantine tablet?
And give to fame-to distant fame,—
The independent worth of those, unshrinking,
Who brave the clamorous storm,—and, all untainted
With party prejudice, or party fears,

Sanction the arts they love?

The arts that gave

To Greece, her glory; and to Rome, her power.