BY THE LATE WILLIAM GROVE, ESQ
Tis not that splendid in the rolls of Fame,
Thy Muse, O Seward, shines, my sober lays
To offer thee their tributary praise
Presume; if ought their feeble powers may claim
Of fond pretence higher to raise thy name;
But that thy cares prolong a Parent's days,
Shedding o'er Ages' wintry night the rays
Of filial love, to feed Life's glimmering flame.
Far as thy verse these humble strains of mine
Excels, so far the meed, which Heaven's command
Assigns thy worth, exceeds the brightest line
Of Glory's page.-Trac'd by a Seraph's hand,
Thy name, in characters of light, shall shine,
And in the BOOK OF LIFE recorded stand.
*The above Sonnet was written in July 1796, and appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine soon after.
CHILD of the Vernal Sun! with spangled wing
Thou sportest lightly on the scented gale:
Thee, no conflicting passions rude assail,
But wandering wild, in many an airy ring,
Around the blooming children of the Spring-
The blushing rose, or lily, purest pale,
That as mild Zephyr steals along the vale,
On his light plumes their blended fragrance fling-
Careless, unpain'd, of life thy little hour
Flits gaily! ah! that I like thee might know
Such sweet exemption from heart-rending woe;
Like thee, unhurt by Love's or Fortune's power,
In airy circles round each blossom fly,
Then, chill'd by Winter, unrepining die!
THOU, whose form, amid the deepest gloom,
That shrowds the fearful solitude of night,
Beams, in wan visions, on my pensive sight,
Awak'd from the cold slumbers of the tomb;
Fair Spirit, say, if, with their wonted power,
Thy pure affections glow beyond the grave,
Dost thou a melancholy joy receive,
When Memory gives to thee my lonely hour?
Dost thou look down, with pity, on thy Love,
My Guardian still, as when, my Partner dear,
Thy charming counsels sooth'd my willing ear,
And rais'd my soul the busy world above?
Ah no!-fast buried in eternal * sleep,
The Dead behold not when the Living weep.
*The word eternal is used here figuratively to express till the end of time, ONLY, as our best writers use it in "an eternal adieu."
FROM THE LATIN OF BELLAY.
THOU deem'st I love thee not! Cleanthe, spare
The thought unjust. Witness the passion'd soul,
That hangs on thee, the wild eye wont to roll,
Seeking thine image on the vacant air,
The wearying hour of absence, and the breast
That throbs to rapture. In the busy throng,
The irksome solitude of crowds among,
To thee my widow'd soul will turn for rest,
With thee in silence commune. Bear not thou
The doubt injurious, nor on thy mild brow
Let cold Suspicion dwell. I never knew
With Falsehood's studied phrase my suit to move;
I cannot feign the specious tale untrue,
Nor love to live, unless I live to love.
ALONE and pensive, near some desert shore,
Far from the haunts of man, I love to stray:
And, cautiously, my distant path explore,
Where never human footstep mark'd the way.—
Thus from the public gaze I strive to fly,
And to the winds alone my griefs impart;
While in my hollow cheek, and haggard eye,
Appears the fire that burns my inmost heart.
But, ah! in vain, to distant scenes I go;
No solitude my troubled thoughts allays:
Methinks e'en things inanimate must know
The flame that on my soul in secret preys;
While Love, unconquer'd, with resistless sway,
Stil hovers round my path, still meets me on my way!
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