Kocks rise and rivers roll between And thou, my Friend! whose gentle love All, all is dark and cheerless now! Can warm my veins with wonted glow, Not e'en the hope of future fame Or crown with fancied wreaths my head: Oh Fame! thou goddess of my heart; Where once my playful footsteps trod, By nightly skies, and storms alone; Forget this world, my restless sprite, Turn, turn thy thoughts to Heaven: To bigots and to sects unknown, To bear me from love and from beauty for Your frowns, lovely girl, are the Fates which alone Could bid me from fond admiration refrain; By these, every hope, every wish were o'er thrown, Till smiles should restore me to rapture again. As the ivy and oak, in the forest entwined, Then say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed Your lover should bid you a lasting adieu: Till Fate can ordain that his bosom shall bleed, His soul, his existence, are centred in you. TO A VAIN LADY. AH! heedless girl! why thus disclose Of those who spoke but to beguile. Nor fall the specious spoiler's prey. These tales in secret silence hush, Nor make thyself the public gaze: Her who relates each fond conceit- While vanity prevents concealing. THY verse is 'sad' enough, no doubt: And much, alas! I think he needs it; FAREWELL TO THE MUSE. THOU Power! who hast ruled me through in- This bosom, responsive to rapture no more, Yet even these themes are departed for ever; No more beam the eyes which my dream could inspire, My visions are flown, to return,-alas! never. When drain'd is the nectar which gladdens the bowl, How vain is the effort delight to prolong! When cold is the beauty which dwelt in my soul, What magic of Fancy can lengthen my song: Can the lips sing of Love in the desert alone, Of kisses and smiles which they now must resign? [flown? Or dwell with delight on the hours that are Ah, no! for those hours can no longer be mine. Can they speak of the friends that I lived but to love? Ah, surely affection ennobles the strain ! But how can my numbers in sympathy move, When I scarcely can hope to behold them again? Can I sing of the deeds which my Fathers have done, [Sires? And raise my loud harp to the fame of my For glories like theirs, oh, how faint is my tone! For Heroes' exploits how unequal my fires! Untouch'd, then, my Lyre shall reply to the [o'er ; blast 'Tis hush'd; and my feeble endeavours are And those who have heard it will pardon the past, When they know that its murmurs shall vibrate no more. And soon shall its wild erring notes be forgot, Since early affection and love are o'ercast : Oh! blest had my fate been, and happy my lot, Had the first strain of love been the dearest, the last. Farewell, my young Muse! since we now can ne'er meet; [are few; If our songs have been languid, they surely Let us hope that the present at least will be sweet The present-which seals our eternal Adieu. ON FINDING A FAN. IN one who felt as once he felt, This might, perhaps, have fann'd the flame; But now his heart no more will melt, Because that heart is not the same. As when the ebbing flames are low, The aid which once improved their light, And bade them burn with fiercer glow, Now quenches all their blaze in night. Thus has it been with passion's fires As many a boy and girl remembersWhile every hope of love expires, Extinguish'd with the dying embers. The first, though not a spark survive, Some careful hand may teach to burn; The last, alas! can ne'er survive; No touch can bid its warmth return. Or, if it chance to wake again, Not always doom'd its heat to smother, It sheds (so wayward fates ordain) Its former warmth around another. TO AN OAK AT NEWSTEAD. YOUNG Oak! when I planted thee deep in the ground, [mine; I hoped that thy days would be longer than That thy dark-waving branches would flourish around, And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine. Such, such was my hope, when in infancy's years, On the land of my fathers I rear'd thee with pride; [tears,They are past, and I water thy stem with my Thy decay not the weeds that surround thee can hide. I left thee, my Oak, and, since that fatal hour, A stranger has dwelt in the hall of my sire; Till manhood shall crown me, not mine is the power, But his, whose neglect may have bade thee expire. Oh! hardy thou wert-even now little care Might revive thy young head, and thy wounds gently heal: But thou wert not fated affection to share For who could suppose that a stranger would feel! Ah, droop not, my Oak! lift thy head for a while; Ere twice round yon Glory this planet shall run, The hand of thy Master will teach thee to smile, When Infancy's years of probation are done. Oh, live then, my Oak! tow'r aloft from the weeds, [decay, That clog thy young growth, and assist thy For still in thy bosom are life's early seeds, And still may thy branches their beauty display. Oh! yet, if maturity's years may be thine, Though I shall lie low in the cavern of death, On thy leaves yet the day-beam of ages may shine, [breath. Uninjured by time, or the rude winter's For centuries still may thy boughs lightly wave O'er the corse of thy lord in thy canopy laid; While the branches thus gratefully shelter his grave, [shade. The chief who survives may recline in thy And as he, with his boys, shall revisit this spot, He will tell them in whispers more softly to tread. Oh! surely, by these I shall ne'er be forgot; Remembrance still hallows the dust of the dead. THOSE flaxen locks, those eyes of blue, And touch thy father's heart, my Boy! Her lowly grave the turf has prest, And yields thee scarce a name on earth; Why, let the world unfeeling frown, Oh, 'twill be sweet in thee to trace, Although so young thy heedless sire, FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER. FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer But waft thy name beyond the sky. These lips are mute, these eyes are dry; The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. I only feel-Farewell!-Farewell! BRIGHT BE THE PLACE OF THY SOUL. May its verdure like emeralds be; WHEN WE TWO PARTED. In silence and tears, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, The dew of the morning Of what I feel now. They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well :Long, long shall I rue thee, Too deeply to tell. In secret we met- How should I greet thee?— TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. FEW years have pass'd since thou and I Were firmest friends, at least in name, And childhood's gay sincerity Preserved our feelings long the same. But now, like me, too well thou know'st What trifles oft the heart recall; And those who once have loved the most, Too soon forget they loved at all. And such the change the heart displays, So frail is early friendship's reign, A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's, Will view thy mind estranged again. If so, it never shall be mine To mourn the loss of such a heart; The fault was Nature's fault, not thine, Which made thee fickle as thou art. As rolls the ocean's changing tide, So human feelings ebb and flow; And who would in a breast confide Where stormy passions ever glow It boots not that, together bred, Our childish days were days of joy: My spring of life has quickly fled; Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy. And when we bid adieu to youth, Slaves to the specious world's control, We sigh a long farewell to truth; That world corrupts the noblest soul. Ah, joyous season! when the mind Dares all things boldly but to lie; When thought ere spoke is unconfined, And sparkles in the placid eye. Not so in Man's maturer years, When Man himself is but a tool; When interest sways our hopes and fears, And all must love and hate by Tule. With fools in kindred vice the same, We learn at length our faults to blend ; And those, and those alone, may claim The prostituted name of friend. Such is the common lot of man : Can we then 'scape from folly free? Can we reverse the general plan, Nor be what all in turn must be? No; for myself, so dark my fate I care not when I quit the scene. Wilt shine awhile and pass away; As glow-worms sparkle through the night, But dare not stand the test of day. Alas! whenever folly calls Where parasites and princes meet (For cherish'd first in royal halls, The welcome vices kindly greet), Ev'n now thou'rt nightly seen to add One insect to the fluttering crowd; And still thy trifling heart is glad To join the vain and court the proud. There dost thou glide from fair to fair, Still simpering on with eager haste, As flies along the gay parterre, That taint the flowers they scarcely taste. But say, what nymph will prize the flame Which seems, as marshy vapours move, To flit along from dame to dame, An ignis-fatuus gleam of love? In time forbear; amidst the throng Be something, anything, but- -mean. LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL. I lived, I loved, I quaff'd like thee: The worm hath fouler lips than thine. The drink of gods, than reptile's food. Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone, In aid of others' let me shine; And when, alas! our brains are gone, What nobler substitute than wine? Quaff while thou canst : another race, When thou and thine, like me, are sped, May rescue thee from earth's embrace, And rhyme and revel with the dead. Why not? since through life's little day Our heads such sad effects produce: Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay, This chance is theirs, to be of use. WELL! THOU ART HAPPY. I thought my jealous heart would break; I kiss'd it, and repress'd my sighs And they were all to love and me. While thou art blest I'll not repine; But near thee I can never stay; My heart would soon again be thine. I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride, Had quench'd at length my boyish flame; Nor knew till seated by thy side, My heart in all,-save hope, -the same. Yet was I calm: I knew the time My breast would thrill before thy look; But now to tremble were a crimeWe met, and not a nerve was shook. I saw thee gaze upon my face, Yet meet with no confusion there; One only feeling couldst thou trace, The sullen calmness of despair. Away! away! my early dream Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream? My foolish heart, be still, or break. INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT |