Whose daring revels shock the sight, Not so the methodistic crew, Forgetting that their pride of spirit, 'Tis morn :-from these I turn my sight. 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, Our choir would scarcely be excused, 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,- The luckless Israelites when taken Oh! had they sung in notes like these, They might have set their hearts at ease, But if I scribble longer now, 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 thy theme my muse inspires : 1806. ON A DISTANT VIEW OF THE VILLAGE AND SCHOOL OF HARROW-ON-THE-HILL. "O! mihi præteritos referat si Jupiter annos."—VIRGIL. YE scenes of my childhood, whose loved recollection Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied; Again I revisit the hills where we sported, The 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. Again I behold where for hours I have ponder'd, I once more view the room, with spectators surrounded, Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep imprecation, Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you! To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me, But if, through the course of the years which await me, I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me A contemporary of Garrick, famous for his performance of Zanga. 1806. TO M OH! did those eyes, instead of fire, For thou art form'd so heavenly fair, When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth, Therefore, to guard her dearest work, These might the boldest sylph appal, 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.* 1806 TO WOMAN. WOMAN! experience might have told me, But, placed in all thy charms before me, O memory! thou choicest blessing, When join'd with hope, when still possessing; When hope is fled, and passion 's over. "Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return."-SEAKSPEARE Woman, that fair and fond deceiver, This record will for ever stand, "Woman! thy vows are traced in sand."* TO M. S. G. WHEN I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive; For in visions alone your affection can live,- Then, Morpheus! envelop my faculties fast, Shed o'er me your languor benign; Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last, What rapture celestial is mine! They tell us that slumber, the sister of death, To fate how I long to resign my frail breath, Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft brow, If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now, Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may smile, When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile, To awake will be torture sufficient. TO MARY, ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE. THIS faint resemblance of thy charms, 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, Here I can trace-ah, no! that eye, 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, Save her who placed thee next my heart. She placed it, sad, with needless fear, Held every sense in fast control. Through hours, through years, through time, 'twill cheer; In life's last conflict 'twill appear, TO LESBIA. LESBIA! since far from you I've ranged, Or told my love, with hope grown bolder. Two years have lingering past away, love! 'Tis I that am alone to blame, I, that am guilty of love's treason; I do not, love! suspect your truth, -Warm was the passion of my youth, One trace of dark deceit it leaves not. |