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* Where Tweed imbibes the classic rills,
And folded to his glowing breast
Thee, Genius of a thousand hills!
After ages of defiance,

Rage and ruin, none but he
Worthy is of thine alliance,
Whose embrace is Liberty!

LONDON, 1807.

P. C.

IMPROMPTU,

To a Lady singing and playing on the Harp.

WHAT though the Thracian Minstrel's lyre,
His frenzied eye, and ardent fire,

Could charm the marble rock to roam;

Una, thy strains of magic art

Can more of extacy impart,

Can melt with potent spell the frozen heart,

And lure it from its home.

The Yed, Yarrow, &c. are here denominated," classic rills."

ANACREONTIC.

COME, fill the bowl, let mirth and glee
Our cares and sorrows drown;
Let blithesome mirth and revelry
The jovial evening crown.

Prepare the garland for my head;
Let freshest flowers unite.

No pangs of woe, no cares I dread,
When Bacchus crowns the night.

Come, Cupid, come; our pleasure share
And flutter round the bowl;

And, while your pinions fan the air,
With love inspire my soul.

Bring myrtle wreaths, and ivy bring,
To bind my temples round;
And as of love and wine I sing,
With roses strew the ground.

Thus free from care my life shall pass !
For sorrow, woe, and pain

I feel not when I fill my glass,
And love inspires my brain.

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ELEGY,

TO THE MEMORY OF LADY EDEN,

This most amiable and unfortunate victim to maternal solicitude, was carried off in the second week of her confinement by the malignant and fatal influence of the scarlet fever, which her eldest son caught at school, and thus communicated to his Family.

BY MRS. COCKLE.

In holy hope 'mid sorrows chasten'd gloom,
If the rais'd eye be lifted from the tomb,
With awful trust in Him who died to save,
And conquering burst the bondage of the grave,
Yet ere the trembling glance reposes there,
And hails the Angel in her native sphere;
To earth the tributary tears descend,
For her, the wife, the mother, and the friend;
For her endear'd by every sacred claim,
Beauty's fair form, and virtue's fairer frame :-

-

Ask not her charms 'mid fashions giddy train,
Ask not her worth, 'mid folly's fleeting reign,
Or where the great, or where the proud repose,
With all that monumental fame bestows;
No, seek it there in misery's lonely cell,
Where pining want, or infant sorrows dwell,

Where wasting sickness heaves the secret sigh,
Fires the quick pulse, and dims the languid eye;
While the weak accent, tremulous with grief,
In undistinguish'd woe implores relief;
Or there were meagre poverty in vain
Entreats one opiate in her hour of pain,
And finds her doubting eye first meet the form
Of sympathy, amidst life's closing storm.
Nor there alone, where Want with asking eye,
Moves the parch'd lip, and only begs to die,
Or there where sickness with its numerous train,
Feels every sad variety of pain,

Did she with sweet endearment's softest sound
Court the confided pang, and heal the wound:
Her's too were sorrow's tenderest sympathies,
And all her aiding, graceful, charities,
For Hope's lost joys, for brighter hours gone by,
The sudden gloom that clouds her summer sky,
When her fair sunshine, once serenely bright,
Sinks in the darkness of a dreadful night;
O'er these, with sympathy's unchanging beam,
She bade sweet pity shed her radiant gleam,
And all her cheering brightness mildly play,
O'er the sad moments of each wintry day.

Ah! ever prompt with eager step to go,
At the soft call of duty, or of woe,
I saw her hasten to the fatal bed,
There by maternal feeling, ardent led,
Saw her regardless of disease's pow'r

With looks of love, beguile his dangerous hour,
With doubting smiles which hope and fear exprest,
Still clasp her treasure trembling to her breast,
Still for herself forget disease's reign

Whilst all the mother throb'd in ev'ry vein.

Ah! why when thus around that dangerous bed Maternal love her holy influence shed,

Why, why, conceal'd beneath her brightest wreath
Did Fate relentless wing his dart of death,
And see her droop amidst its blossoms gay
A fairer flower, a lovelier far than they?
Yes it was hurl'd and in that fatal hour,
When nature strove with more than nature's pow'r ;
Th' unequal conflict of a mother's throes
With all a mother's agonizing woes ;

When drooping first she felt the cruel strife,
Felt the strong charm that call'd her back to life;
To her parch'd lips her new-born hope she prest
Then trembling gave it from her burning breast,
Whilst scarcely conscious of this added tye,
Its welcome mingled with a parting sigh.

From that pure sphere, where purest spirits prove
The pleading mercy of redeeming love,
Still bend a mortal's with an angel's eye,
(If aught can mingle of mortality),

If earthly thoughts with heavenly bliss can blend,
Let thy pure spirit still to earth descend;
Oh! turn to those who drooping yet remain,
Dear infant wanderers in a world of pain,
Prompt every wish, and guileless act which here
To thee shall guide them through this world of care;
With guardian eye each better thought direct
With guardian hand their erring steps protect,
And lead them gently through life's thorny road,
To meet thee in the bosom of their God.

1809,

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