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Whose daring revels shock the sight,
When vice and infamy combine, When drunkenness and dice invite,
As every sense is steep'd in wine. Not so the methodistic crew,
Who plans of reformation lay: In humble attitude they sue,
And for the sins of others pray: Forgetting that their pride of spirit,
Their exultation in their trial, Detracts most largely from the merit
Of all their boasted self-denial.
'Tis morn :- from these I turn my sight.
What scene is this which meets the eye? A numerous crowd, array'd in white,
Across the green in numbers fly. Loud rings in air the chapel bell:
'Tis hush'd-what sounds are these I hear? The organ's soft celestial swell
Rolls deeply on the list’ning ear. To this is join'd the sacred song,
The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain ;
Will never wish to hear again.
Even as a band of raw beginners ;
To such a set of croaking sinners. If David, when his toils were ended,
Had heard these blockheads sing before him, To us his psalms had ne'er descended,
In furious mood he would have tore 'em.
The luckless Israelites when taken
By some inhuman tyrant's order,
On Babylonian river's border.
Inspired by stratagem or fear,
The devil a soul had stay'd to hear.
The deuce a soul will stay to read ; My pen is blunt, my ink is low;
Tis almost time to stop, indeed.
Therefore, farewell, old Granta's spires :
No more, like Cleofas, I fly ;
The reader 's tired, and so am I.
ON A DISTANT VIEW OF THE VILLAGE AND SCHOOL
"O! mihi præteritos referat si Jupiter annos."-VIRGIL. YE scenes of my childhood, whose loved recollection
Embitters the present, compared with the past; Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection,
And friendships were form’d, too romantic to last; Where fancy yet joys to trace the resemblance
Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied ; How welcome to me your ne'er-fading remembrance,
Which rests in the bosom, though hope is denied ! Again I revisit the hills where we sported,
T'he streams where we swam, and the fields where we fought; The school, where, loud warn’d by the bell, we resorted,
To pore o'er the precepts by pedagogues taught.
As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay ;
To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray.
Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown;
I fancied that Mossop himself was outshone.*
By my daughters, of kingdom and reason deprived ;
I regarded myself as a Garrick revived.
Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast;
Your pleasures may still be in fancy possess’d. To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me,
While fate shall the shades of the future unroll !
More dear is the beam of the past to my soul.
Some new scene of pleasure should open to view,
“Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew ! ”
• A contemporary of Garrick, famous for his performance of Zanga.
Oh! did those eyes, instead of fire,
With bright but mild affection shine, Though they might kindle less desire,
Love more than mortal would be thine. For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
That fatal glance forbids esteem.
So much perfection in thee shone,
The skies might claim thee for their own; Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize, She bade a secret lightning lurk
Within those once celestial eyes. These might the boldest sylph appal,
When gleaming with meridian blaze; Thy beauty must enrapture all ;
But who can dare thine ardent gaze ? 'Tis said that Berenice's hair
In stars adorns the vault of heaven; But they would ne'er permit thee there,
Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven. For did those eyes as planets roll,
Thy sister-lights would scarce appear: E'en suns, which systems now control,
Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.*
WOMAN! experience might have told me,
• “ Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
TO M. S. G.
WHEN I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive;
Extend not your anger to sleep ;
I rise, and it leaves me to weep.
Shed o'er me your languor benign ;
What rapture celestial is mine!
Mortality's emblem is given :
If this be a foretaste of heaven!
Nor deem me too happy in this ;
Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss.
Oh! think not my penance deficient ! When dreams of your presence mý slumbers beguile,
To awake will be torture sufficient.
ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE.
This faint resemblance of thy charms,
Though strong as mortal art could give, My constant heart of fear disarms,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live.
* This line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb.
Here I can trace the locks of gold
Which round thy snowy forehead wave,
The lips which made me beauty's slave.
Whose azure floats in liquid fire, Must all the painter's art defy,
And bid him from the task retire. Here I behold its beauteous hue ;
But where's the beam so sweetly straying, Which gave a lustre to its blue,
Like Luna o'er the ocean playing ? Sweet copy ! far more dear to me,
Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art, Than all the living forms could be,
Save her who placed thee next my heart. She placed it, sad, with needless fear,
Lest time might shake my wavering soul, Unconscious that her image there
Held every sense in fast control. Through hours, through years, through time, 'twill cheer;
My hope, in gloomy moments raise; In life's last conflict 'twill appear,
And meet my fond expiring gaze.
Our souls with fond affection glow not ;
I'd tell you why,—but yet I know not.
And, Lesbia! we are not much older
Or told my love, with hope grown bolder.
Two years have lingering past away, love !
At least I feel disposed to stray, love!
I, that am guilty of love's treason ;
Caprice must be my only reason.
With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not;
One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.