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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,
From which thou'dst guard frail female hearts,
Exist but in imagination-
Mere phantoms of thine own creation;
For he who views that witching grace,
That perfect form, that lovely face,
With eyes admiring, oh! beliere me,
He never wishes to deceive thee:
Once in thy polished mirror glance,
Thou'lt there descry that elegance
Which from our sex demands such praises,
But envy in the other raises :
Then he who tells thee of thy beauty,
Believe me, only does his duty:
Ah! fly not from the candid youth;
It is not flattery,-'tis truth.

July, 1804.

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,
Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.

May no marble bestov

The splendor of wo
Which the children of vanity rear :

No fiction of fame

Shall blazon my name;
All I ask-all I wish-is a Tear.

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.

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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.
O'er fields through which we used to run,

And spend the hours in childish play;
O'er shades where when our race was done,

Reposing on my breast you lay;

Whilst I, admiring, too remiss,

Forgot to scare the hov'ring flies,

Yet envied every fly the kiss
Hush'd are the winds, and still the evening gloom,

It dared to give your slumbering eyes •
Not e'en a zephyr, wanders through the grove,
Whilst I return to view my Margaret's tomb,

See still the little painted bark,
And scatter flowers on the dust I love.

In which I row'd you o'er the lake,

See there, high waving o'er the park,
Within this narrow cell reclines her clay,

The elm I clamber'd for your sake.
That clay where once such animation beam'd;
The King of Terrors seized her as his prey,

These times are past-our joys are gone,
Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd.

You leave me, leave this happy vale;

These scenes I must retrace alone;
Oh! could that King of Terrors pity feel,

Without thee what will they avail ?
Or Heaven reverse the dread decrees of fate!
Not here the mourner would his grief reveal,

Who can conceive, who has not proved,
Not here the muse her virtues would relate.

The anguish of a last embrace ?

When, torn from all you fondly loved,
But wherefore weep? her matchless spirit soars

You bid a long adieu to peace.
Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day;
And weeping angels lead her to those bowers

This is the deepest of our woes,
Where endless pleasures virtue's deeds repay.

For this these tears our cheeks bedew;

This is of love the final close,
And shall presumptuous mortals heaven arraign,

Oh God, the fondest, last adieu !
And, madly, godlike providence accuse ?
Ah! no, far fly from me attempts so vain,

I'll ne'er submission to my God refuse.


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.



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.
Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise ;
But all our dramatis personæ wait

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,
Your generous plaudits are our sole reward;

Alas! it were unhallowed bliss.
For these, each Hero all his power displays,
Bach timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze.

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?
And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive.

I would not force a painful tear.
I ne'er have told my love, yet thou

Hast seen my ardent flame too well ;

And shall I plead my passion now,

To make thy bosom's heaven a hell ?
FOLLOWING ILLIBERAL IMPROMPTU AP No! for thou never canst be mine,

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.
Oh, factious viper ! whose envenom'd tooth

I will not ease my tortured heart,
Would mangle still the dead, perverting truth,

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,
Pity her dewy wings before him spread,

I bid thee now a last farewell.
For noble spirits “ war not with the dead:"
His friends, in tears, a last sad requiem gave,

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,
Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state:

All, all reproach, but thy disgrace.
When lo! a Hercules in Fox appear'd,
Who for a time the ruin'd fabric rear'd :

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.
All Europe's far extended regions mourn.
"These feelings wide, let sense and truth unclue,
To give the palm where Justice points its due;"
Yet let not canker'd Calumny assail,
Or round our statesman wind her gloomy veil.

Fox! o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep,
Whose dear remains in honor'd marble sleep: THINK'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes,
For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan,

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
When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine,

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.


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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,

its lightning,
And your eye beams a ray which can never de- With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage.

Bat now tears and curses, alike unavailing,
Yet still, this fond bosom regrets while adoring, Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight,

That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear, Could they view us our sad separation bewailing.
That age will come on, when remembranco, de-

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?
Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree
Which God has proclaimed as the fate of his crea-

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.

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Then read, dear girl ! with feeling read,

For thou wilt ne'er be one of those;
To thee in vain I shall not plead

OH! did those eyes, instead of fire,
In pity for the poet's woes.

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,
But not thy hapless fate the same.

Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
We must admire, but still despair ;

That fatal glance forbids esteem.

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Your shepherds, your flocks, I those farftastical

Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move :
Arcadia displays but a region of dreams ;
What are visions like these to the first kiss or


Oh ! cease to affirm that man since his birth,
From Adam till now, has with wretchedness

Some portion of paradise still is on earth,

And Eden revives in the first kiss of love.

Woman! experience might have told me
That all must love thee who behold thee;
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought;
But placed in all thy charms before me,
All I forget but to adore thee.
Oh, Memory thou choicest blessing
When join'd with hope, when still possessing,
But how much cursed by every lover
When hope is fled and passion's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing trotn
Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye
When, lo ! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,
“Woman, thy vows are traced in sand." *

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
Hours of lenen, but omitted in the second.
" Thome tissues of fancy Moriah' has wove." - Private volume.
"Your shepherdla, your pipes, &er-Private volume.
"Oh! cease to affirm that man, from his birth, * &c.-Private volum.

• " Moriah, the Goddess of Holly."

• The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanina provedben

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