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TO THE MUSE.
THOUGH no bold flights to thee belong ;
And though thy lays, with conscious fear,
Shrink from Judgment's eye severe,
Yet much I thank thee, Spirit of my song'
For, lovely Muse! thy sweet employ
Exalts my soul, refines my breast,
Gives each pure pleasure keener zest,
And softens Sorrow into pensive Joy.
From thee I learned the wish to bless,
From thee to commune with my
From thee, dear Muse! the gayer part,
To laugh with Pity at the crowds, that press
Where Fashion flaunts her robes by Folly spun,
Whose hues gay varying wanton in the sun.
WITH FIELDING'S AMELIA. VIRTUES and Woes alike too great for man
In the soft tale oft claim the useless sigh ;
For vain the attempt to realize the plan,
On folly's wings must imitation fly.
With other aim has Fielding here displayed
Each social duty, and each social care ;
With just yet vivid coloring portrayed
wife should be, what many are.
And sure the Parent of a race so sweet
With double-pleasure on the page shall dwell,
Each scene with sympathizing breast shall meet,
While Reason still with smiles delights to tell
Maternal hope, that her loved Progeny
In all but Sorrows shall Amelias be!
ON RECEIVING AN ACCOUNT THAT HIS ONLY SISTER'S DEATH WAS INEVITABLE.
HE tear which mourned a brother's fate scarce
Pain after pain, and woe succeeding woe-
Is my heart destined for another blow?
O my sweet sister! and must thou too die?
Ah! how has Disappointment poured the tear
O'er infant Hope destroyed by early frost !
How are ye gone, whom most my soul held dear!
Scarce had I loved you, ere I mourned you lost ;
Say, is this hollow eye—this artless pain
Fated to rove through Life's wide cheerless plain-
Nor father, brother, sister meets its ken-
My woes, my joys unshared! Ah! long ere then
On me, thy icy dart, stern Death, be proved ;-
Better to die, than live and not be loved !
AFFECTIONATELY WELCOMED BY A SISTER.
I TOO a sister had! too cruel death!
How sad remembrance bids my bosom heave! Tranquil her soul, as sleeping Infant's breath; Meek were her manners as a vernal Eve. Knowledge, that frequent lifts the bloated mind, Gave her the treasure of a lowly breast, And Wit to venom’d Malice oft assigned, Dwelt in her bosom in a Turtle's nest. Cease, busy Memory ! cease to urge the dart ; Nor on my soul her love to me impress!
For oh I mourn in anguish—and my
heart Feels the keen pang, th’ unutterable distress. Yet wherefore grieve I that her sorrows cease, For Life was misery, and the Grave is Peace!
ONCE could the Morn's first beams, the healthful
breeze, All nature charm, and gay was every hour :But ah! not Music's self, nor fragrant bower Can glad the trembling sense of wan disease. Now that the frequent pangs my frame assail, Now that my sleepless eyes are sunk and dim, And seas of pain seem waving through each limbAh, what can all Life's gilded scenes avail ? I view the crowd, whom youth and health inspire, Hear the loud laugh, and catch the sportive lay, Then sigh and think-I too could laugh and play And gaily sport it on the Muse's lyre, Ere Tyrant Pain had chased away delight, Ere the wild pulse throbbed anguish through the
LINES ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING.
O THOU wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more
Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds
Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flight
Bathed in rich amber-glowing floods of light;
Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day,
With western peasants hail the morning ray !
Ah! rather bid the perished pleasures move,
A shadowy train, across the soul of Love !
O'er Disappointment's wintry desert fling
Each flower that wreathed the dewy locks of Spring,
When blushing, like a bride, from Hope's trim bower
She leapt, awakened by the pattering shower.
Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam,
Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy Poet's dream !
With faery wand O bid the Maid arise,
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes !
As erst when from the Muses' calm abode
I came, with Learning's meed not unbestowed ;
When as she twined a laurel round my brow,
And met my kiss, and half returned my vow,
O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrilled heart,
And every nerve confessed the electric dart.
O dear Deceit! I see the Maiden rise,
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes!
When first the lark high soaring swells his throat,
Mocks the tired eye, and scatters the loud note,
I trace her footsteps on the accustomed lawn,
I mark her glancing mid the gleam of dawn.
When the bent flower beneath the night dew weeps
And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps,
Amid the paly radiance soft and sad,
She meets my lonely path in moon-beams clad.
With her along the streamlet's brink I rove;
With her I list the warblings of the grove;
And seems in each low wind her voice to float,
Lone whispering Pity in each soothing note!
Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! Obey
The powerful spell, and to my haunt repair.
Whether on clustering pinions ye are there,
Where rich snows blossom on the Myrtle trees,
Or with fond languishment around my fair
Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her hair;
O heed the spell, and hither wing your way,
Like far-off music, voyaging the breeze !
Spirits! to you the infant Maid was given
Formed by the wondrous Alchemy of Heaven!
No fairer Maid does Love's wide empire know,
No fairer Maid e'er heaved the bosom's snow.
A thousand Loves around her forehead fly;
A thousand Loves sit melting in her eye;
Love lights her smile—in Joy's red nectar dips
His myrtle flower, and plants it on her lips.
She speaks! and hark that passion-warbled song-
Still, Fancy! still that voice, those notes prolong,
As sweet as when that voice with rapturous falls
Shall wake the softened echoes of Heaven's Halls !
O (have I sigh’d) were mine the wizard's rod,
Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful God!
A flower-entangled Arbor I would seem
To shield my Love from Noontide's sultry beam :
Or bloom a Myrtle, from whose odorous boughs
My Love might weave gay garlands for her brows.
When Twilight stole across the fading vale,
To fan my Love I'd be the Evening Gale;
Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest,
And flutter my faint pinions on her breast !
On Seraph wing I'd float a Dream by night,
To soothe my Love with shadows of delight:-
Or soar aloft to be the Spangled Skies,
gaze upon her with a thousand eyes !