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On IRAK's plains, on TYGRIS' tide,
Where jarring hordes o'er right preside;
Where all the ruder passions reign-
Not ineffectual, glides thy strain :
Calming, by thy melting plaint,
Bosoms, that ne'er knew restraint.
Less the power, poetic praise
Gives to divine CECILIA's lays;
Than elicits from the wires,
Which the PERSIAN'S touch inspires.
A kindred spirit own'd her art;
His, charms from Death, the uplifted dart!


SAY, if this heart should harbour love,
Would'st thou protect the blossom?
Would'st thou the tender plant improve,
And warm it in thy bosom?

Or, would'st thou bid it cease to bloom,
Even in its tender morning?
Thy cold disdain, its early tomb,
And Winter's blast, thy scorning.

O rather let me nurse it here,

Tho' cold and dead my bosom, And water it with sorrow's tear, A timid, unknown blossom.





Go to thy darling, false one! go!

And gaze enraptur'd on her charms, Sink on her breast of melting snow,

And court her fond luxuriant arms.

Murmur again the ardent vow,

That mingles hope with fond desire, Now paints the lover's wish-and now Beholds a woe-worn wife expire.

I weep not this! my day is o'er,

All I have done, and suffer'd, vain ; Nor pity can my soul implore,

From those who triumph in my pain. Yet know-whene'er thy wish is sped,

When thou canst claim thy bosom's bride, When she lies number'd with the dead,

Who mourn'd and blest thee till she died; When thou shalt revel light as air,

And laugh at care, and banish toil, For her thou lov'st the bliss will share, And pour a zest on fortune's smile;

Yet come it will, the fatal hour,

When clouds these brilliant scenes o'ercast, When cank'ring care asserts his pow'r,

Or fiercely blows misfortune's blast.

When keen vexation sours the mind,
Or wild caprice the temper bends,
Or hasty anger, wild and blind,
Where most it loves, there most offends;

Then wilt thou learn too late, how dear

That patient spirit wont to be, Whose love, submissive as sincere, Endur'd each angry taunt from thee.

Who, proud thy virtues to reveal,

Thy genius or thy wit to scan, And wise thy failings to conceal,

In the beloved shew'd the man.

Whose friendship active, constant, mild,
Found thee when wreck'd on sorrow's coast,
Stoop'd to thee humble as a child,

And yet upheld thee as an host.

Who, when her dearest hopes were flown,
And thou wert guilty passion's slave,
Mourn'd o'er thy errors as her own,

And sought to hide them in the grave.

Go to thy darling false one! go!

The storms of life around thee howl, And thou shalt find her heart is snow, And dark as Erebus her soul.

She who to confidence like mine,
Could coolly act so base a part,
Was never form'd to blend with thine,
A faulty, but a noble heart.


Oh! when I think on what thou art,
On what my soul to make thee strove,'
Fresh tears of agony will start,

And angry sorrow melt to love.

Go, false one! lov'd one! learn to know
The anguish thou hast bade me feel,
Learn disappointment's ruthless blow,

More poignant than the venom'd steel,
Learn jealous love's impetuous woes,

And blighted hope's corroding grief,
The pang ingratitude bestows,

And dark despair that spurns relief.
But by my griefs, an endless train,
Nay, by my very wrongs, I swear—
To see thee suffer is a pain,
I cannot !-No! I cannot bear.
NOV. 22, 1798.



τὸ ρόδον κ. τ. λ.


How fragrant blows
That lovely rose !

I'll gather it to-morrow:
I came; but to my sorrow
The leaves had fallen before I could return;
And where the rose had been, I found a thorn.





Ir was a spectacle of hallow'd joy,

Though tears it drew from fond parental eyes,
To see the fair resort of either sex
From hamlets round convening, and before
The temple porch of their celestial Lord
Assembled, greeting each with chasten'd mien ;
The youths all neatness, and the vestal train
In whitest garb of saintly innocence
Waiting the reverend prelate ;—eager all
To ratify their Christian covenant,
And in the sweet untainted spring of life,
(Most grateful to the God of holiness)
By early vow to dedicate themselves
Unto their Maker; and to seal that vow
In presence of their pastors and their friends.

A verger first appears with mitred mace;
The concourse cluster, and in sidelong rows
Border the pathway from the church-yard gate.
At that the Prelate enters, and he seems
As one commission'd from a heavenly sphere
To breathe salvation, and the earthly pure
In heart and mind to render purer still.
He passes through the portal, and his flock
Press close behind, as if his very robe

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