This dreadful truth her mirror told, And, having cool'd her squeamish pride, Oh think, ye Fair, when youth is past TO AN ORANGE TREE. FROM THE FRENCH OF THE CHEVALIER DE PARNY. ORANGE tree! whose foliage dark Serv'd our transports to conceal; Let me on thy tender bark This grand truth, to them reveal, Who, in soft luxurious leisure, May beside thy stem be laid, G. STANZAS TO MARY. O MARY! whilst the beams of joy And think on thy deluding smiles. When Rapture to her hall invites, Or bids thee through her mazes fly, O Mary! when the bands of sleep With sweet compulsion seal thine eyes, Is just to steal awhile from woe, When to the voice of Pride I turn, Or 'midst the world's betraying wiles, P. M. JANUS. FREE TRANSLATION OF SOME LATIN LINES BY FORTIN. AH! wou'd the Fates, who tore thee from my arms, Grant my fond pray'r, beyond the verge of day VOL. IV. B. THE MANIAC. As I stray'd o'er a common on Cork's rugged border, While the dew-drops of morn the sweet primrose array'd, I saw a poor female, whose mental disorder Her quick-glancing eye and wild aspect betray'd; On the sward she reclin'd, by the green fern surrounded, At her side speckled daisies and crow-flowers abounded; To its inmost recess her poor heart had been wounded, Her sighs were unceasing, 'twas Mary le More. Her charms by the keen blasts of sorrow were faded; Yet the soft tinge of beauty still play'd on her cheek ; Her tresses a wreath of pale primroses braided, And strings of fresh daisies hung loose on her neck; While with pity I gaz'd, she exclaim'd "Oh! my mother! "See the blood on that lash, 'tis the blood of my brother; "They have torn his poor flesh, and they now strip another; "Tis Connor, the friend of poor Mary le More !" "Tho' his locks are as white as the foam of the ocean, "Those soldiers shall find that my father is brave; My father!" she cry'd with the wildest emotion, 66 Ah! no, my poor father now sleeps in the grave; "They have toll'd his death-bell, they've laid the turf o'er him; "His white locks were bloody, no aid can restore him; "He is gone! He is gone! and the Good will deplore him, "When the blue wave of Erin hides Mary le More." A lark, from the gold-blossom'd furze that grew near her, Now rose, and with energy caroll'd his lay; "Hush! hush!" she continued, "the trumpet sounds clearer; "The horsemen approach; Erin's daughters, away!" Ah! Britons, 'twas foul, while the cabin was burning, And o'er her pale father a wretch had been mourning! Go hide with the sea-mew, ye maids, and take warning, Those ruffians have ruin'd poor Mary le More. " Away! bring the ointment! Oh! God! see those gashes! 66 "Alas! my poor brother, come dry the big tear; "Anon we'll have vengeance for those dreadful lashes, Already the screech-owls and ravens appear; "By day the green grave, that lies under the willow, "With wild flowers I'll strew, and by night make my pillow, "Till the ooze and dark sea-weed, beneath the curl'd billow, "Shall furnish a death-bed for Mary le More." Thus rav'd the poor Maniac in tones more heartrending Than Sanity's voice ever pour'd on my ear, When, lo! on the waste, and their march to'ards her bending, A troop of fierce cavalry chanc'd to appear. |