Frogmore Lodge, Windsor, c.1812

p.i ]



Printed by E. Harding,

Frogmore Lodge, Windsor.


p.iii ]


The Tear in imitation of Anacreon. 1
The Rose and Willows 2
Love out of Place 3
The flight of Time 5
Epitaph on the year 1806 7
The two Pugs a true Story 8
Cantata from the German, 10
The Visionary 14
Directions to the Porter 15
Ode to a Fountain 17
The Mansion of Rest 21
Cupid 24

p.iv /

The Redbreast 25
Good Bye and How d'ye do 28
The Mother's Alarm, imitated from the Greek 31
The Tear 33
The Emigrants Grave 36
Ode to Hope in imitation of the Twenty Sixth
      Sonnet in the Collection called the Scelta
      from Carlo Maggi

The Sparrow 41
On a Young and beautiful poor Girl found dead,
      to all appearance starved by Hunger and Cold.

A Wish. 47
Sonnet to a group of Violets. 48
A Fable 49
Verses on the spring called "Jenny Lacey" at New-


p.v /

Ode to the memory of William Cowper Esq'r. 54
Sonnet addressed to Britannia translated from
      the Italion of Marotti

Creation and Redemption 58
Hymn to be sung to Pleyels German Hymn. 60
To May. 62
A Prospect of the Fens: taken from Tolethorpe. 65
The death of th [lit.] Brave. 68
The harp of Sorrow 70
Winter. 74
Ode on Summer. 77
Epitaph written by a Clergyman for himself. 81
To a Primrose 82
Pour Dire Adieu. 84
The Winters day. 87
Fragments of a College exercise. 89

p.1 ]



In Imitation of A

ON beds of snow the moon beam slept,
   And chilly was the midnight gloom,
When by the damp grave Ellen wept,
   Sweet maid ! it was her Linder's tomb!

A warm tear gush'd; the wintry air
   Congeal'd it as it flow'd away;
All night it lay an ice drop there;
   At morn it glitter'd in the ray.

An angel, wand'ring from her sphere,
   Who saw this bright, this frozen gem,
To dew eye'd pity brought the tear,
   And hung it on her diadem.

p.2 /


YON lonely rose that climbs the caves,
   How bright its dew drop'd tint appears,
As if Aurora on its leaves,
   Had left her blushes with her tears.

And see two dropping willows nigh,
   What heat their sickly foliage blanches,
As if some lover's burning sigh,
   Were all the gale that fann'd their branches.

Ah ! wish ye not, pale plants of woe,
   Yon Rose's blooming state your own ?
Methinks I hear them murmur "No,
   "You rose is blooming but alone.

Know'st thou two hearts by love subdued?
   "Ask them which fate they covet, whether
"Health, joy, and life in solitude;
   "Or sickness, grief, and death together.

p.3 /


I'M a boy of all work, a complete little servant,
   But now out of place like a tramper I rove,
Though in waiting so handy, in duty so fervent,
   The heart, could you think it? has turn'd away love.

He pretends to require, growing older and older,
   A nurse more expert his chill fits to remove;
But sure ev'ry heart must grow colder and colder,
   Whose fires are not lighted and fuell'd by love.

He fancies that friendship my puritan brother,
   In journies and visits more useful will prove;
But the heart will soon find when it calls on another,
   That no heart is at home to a heart without love.

He thinks his new porter, stern featur'd suspicion,
   Will falsehood and pain from his threshold reprove,
But pleasure and truth will ne'er ask for admission,
   If the doors of the heart be not open'd by love.

p.4 /
Too late he will own when with famine tormented,
That my skill at a feast was all praises above;
For the heart though with sweets in profusion pre-
Will starve at a banquet unseason'd by love.

p.5 /


TOO late I staid, forgive the crime;
   Unheeded flew the hours,
How noiseless falls the foot of time
   That only treads on flowers!

What eye with clear account remarks
   The ebbing of his glass,
When all its sands are diamond sparks
   That dazzle as they pass ?

Oh ! who to sober measurement,
   Time's happy swiftness brings,
When birds of Paradise have lent
   Their plumage for his wings ?

p.7 /
[The page is so numbered, Ed.]


'TIS gone with its thorns and its roses,
   With the dust of dead ages to mix,
Time's charnel for ever incloses
   The year Eighteen hundred and six.

Though many may question thy merit,
   I dule thy dirge will perform,
Content if thy heir but inherit
   Thy portion of sunshine and storm !

My blame and my blessing thou sharest,
   For black were thy moments in part;
But oh ! thy fair days were the fairest,
   That ever have shone on my heart !

If thine was a gloom the compleatest,
   That death's darkest cypress could throw;
Thine too was a garland the sweetest,
   That life in full blossom could show !

p.6 /
[The page is so numbered, Ed.]
One hand gave the balmy corrector
   Of ills which the other had brew'd;
One draught from thy chalice of nectar
   All taste of thy bitters subdued.

Then go, and take with thee thy praises,
   That year all my homage shall fix,
Whose worth from my mem'ry erases
   The year Eighteen hundred and six.

p.8 /



TWO pugs within the same hotel,
In different lodgings chanc'd to dwell
One serv'd a Briton, one a Gaul,
And to each other thus they call;
"Pray Madam," said the Gallick Pug,
"Say why so cheerful and so snug:
"You seem unconsious of your woe,
"Condemn'd to lick a tyrant's toe,
"Immur'd to serve for sordid gain,
"And doom'd to wear a despot's chain !
"Chain !" cried the British Pug, "my dear,
"You're strangely blind: no chain I fear;
"Free as the winds I sport and play,
"'Tis love alone commands my stay;
"Behold my neck ; how smooth, how sleek !
"Forgive me if the truth I speak,
p.9 /
"Those tinkling bells, those ribbands fair,
"Proclaim 'tis you the collar wear."

  From Dover who to Calais goes,
   The moral of this fable knows.


p.10 /



The new born insect, sporting in the sun,
   Is the true semblance of my infant state;
When ev'ry prize for which life's race is run
   Was hidden from me by malignant fate.

Instant destruction quench'd each visual ray;
   No mother's tears, no objects were reveal'd;
Extinguish'd was the glorious lamp of day.
   And ev'ry work of God at once conceal'd.

Where am I plung'd, with trembling voice I cried,
   Ah ! why this premature, this sudden night,
What from my view a parent's looks can hide,
   Those looks more chearing than celestial light?

Vain are affliction's sobs, or piercing cries,
   The fatal mischief baffles all relief !
The healing art no succour can devise,
   Nor balm extract from briny tears and grief !

p.11 /
How should I wander through the bloomy maze,
   Or bear the black monotony of woe,
Did not maternal kindness gild my days,
   And guide my devious footsteps to and fro !

Upon a festival, design'd
To praise the father of mankind,
When, joining in the lofty theme,
I tried to hymn the great supreme,

A rustling sound of wings I hear !
Follow'd by accents sweet and clear,
Such as from inspiration flow;
When Haydn's fire and fancy glow.

"I am the genious of that gentle art
   "Which soothes the sorrows of mankind;
"And to my faithful votaries impart
   "Extatic joys the most refin'd.
p.12 /
"On earth, each bard sublime my pow'r displays;
   "Divine Cecilia was my own;
"In Heav'n, each saint and seraph breathes my lays
   "In praises round th' eternal Throne.

"To thee, afflicted maid!
"I come with friendly aid,
"To put despair to flight
"And chear thy endless night."

Then, gently leading to the new-made lyre,
   He placed my fingers on the speaking keys :
With these," he cries "thou listning crowds shalt fire
   And rapture teach on ev'ry heart to seize."

Elastic force my nerves new braced,
   And from my voice new accents flow;
My soul new pleasures learn'd to taste,
   And sound's sweet pow'r alleviates woe.

p.13 /
Theresa ! great in goodness as in pow'r !
   Whose fav'rite use of boundless sway
Was benefits on all to show'r,
   And wipe the tear of wretchedness away !

When first my hand and voice essay'd
   Sweet Pergolesi's pious strains,
Her pitying goodness she display'd
   To cherish and reward my pains.

But now, alas ! this friend of woe,
   This benefactress is no more,
And though my eyes no light bestow
   They'll long with tears her loss deplore.

    Yet still, where'er my foot-steps bend
   My helpless state has found a friend.

How sweet the pity of the good,
   How grateful is their praise,
How ev'ry sorrow is subdued
   When they applaud my lays !

p.14 /


When midnight o'er the moonless skies
   Her pall of transient death has spread;
When mortals sleep, when spectres rise,
   And nought is wakeful but the dead:

No shivering ghost my way pursues,
   No bloodless shape my couch annoys;
Visions more sad my fancy views,
   Visions of long departed joys.

The shade of youthful hope is there,
   That linger'd long, and latest died;
Ambition all dissolved to air,
   With phantom honors at her side.

What empty shadows glimmer nigh ?
   They once were friendship, truth, and love;
Oh ! die to thought, to mem'ry die,
   Since lifeless to my heart ye prove !

p.15 /


Thou faithful guardian of these peaceful walls,
   Whose zealous care protects thy master's gate,
If any stranger at this mansion calls,
   I'll tell thee who shall enter, who shall wait.

If fortune, blindfold goddess, chance to knock,
   Or proud ambition lure me to her arms,
Shut, shut the door, good John, quick turn the lock,
   And shield thy master from their syren charms,

If sober wisdom hither deigns to roam,
   Nor let her in, nor send her quite away:
Tell her, at present I am not at home,
   But hope she'll call again another day.

If at my door a beauteous boy be seen;
   His little feet have oft my threshold trod;
You know the offspring of the Cyprian queen;
   His air, without his bow, bespeaks the god.

p.16 /
His gentle smiles admittance ever win,
   Though oft deceiv'd, I prize the fond deluder !
Morn, noon, and night, be sure you let him in,
   For love, dear love, is never an intruder.

p.17 /


Sequester'd Fountain ! ever pure,
   Whose smooth, meand'ring rill,
In gentle murmurs glides obscure,
   Beneath thy parent hill;
Tired with ambition's fruitless strife,
I quit the stormy scenes of life,
   To shape my course by thine,
And pleased, from serious trifles turn,
While thus around thy little urn,
   A votive wreath I twine.

Fair fountain ! on thy margin green,
   May spring her flowers display,
And pendant shades thy bosom screen,
   From noon's obtruding ray.
Oh ! may the morn's ambrosial sky,
With pearly dew thy stores supply,
   May health infuse her balm;

p.18 /
And some soft virtue in thee flow,
To mitigate the pangs of woe,
   And bid the heart be calm.

Fair Fountain ! to thy gelid streams,
   May Lethe's clouded spring,
Emerging from the land of dreams,
   Some balm oblivious bring:
With that blest opiate in my bowl,
Far shall I from my wounded soul
   The thorns of spleen remove;
Forget how there at first they grew,
And once again with man renew
   The ties of cordial love.

For what availas the wretch to bear
   Imprinted on his mind,
The lessons of distrust and fear,
   Injurious to mankind ?
Hopeless, in his disast'rous hour,
He sees the gathering tempest low'r,
   The bursting cloud impend,

p.19 /
Tow'rds the wild waste he casts his eye,
Nor can that happy port descry,
   The bosom of a friend.

How chang'd since that propitious time,
   When woo'd by fortune's gale,
Fearless in youth's advent'rous prime,
   He crowded every sail:
The swelling tide, the sportive breeze,
Lightly along the halcyon seas
   His bounding pinnace bore;
In search of happiness the while
He steer'd by every fragrant isle,
   And touch'd at every shore.

Ah me ! to youth's ingenuous eye,
   What charms the prospect wears;
Bright as the protals of the sky
   The opening world appears;
There every object stands confest,
In all the sweet advantage drest,
   Of candour's radiant robe,

p.20 /
There no mean cares admission find,
Love is the business of mankind,
   And honor rules the globe.

But if those lights fallacious prove,
   That paint the world so fair,
If there be found for generous love,
   No soft asylum there,
If men fair faith, fair fame deride,
Bent on the crooked paths that guide
   To int'rest's sordid shrine,
Be yours, ye gloomy sons of woe,
The melancholy truth to know,
   The dream of bliss be mine.

p.21 /


I talk'd to my flattering heart,
   And I chid its wild wandering ways;
I charg'd it from folly to part,
   And to husband the best of its days;
I bade it no longer admire
   The meteors that fancy had drest;
I whisper'd, twas time to retire,
   And seek for a mansion of rest.

A charmer was list'ning the while,
   Who caught up the tone of my lay;
"O come, then," she cried, with a smile
   "And I'll shew you the place and the way:"
I follow'd the witch to her home,
   And vow'd to be always her guest;
"Never more," I exclaim'd, "will I roam
   In search of the mansion of rest."

p.22 /
But the sweetest of moments will fly;
   Not long was my fancy beguil'd;
For too soon I confess'd, with a sigh,
   That the syren deceiv'd while she smil'd;
Deep, deep, did she stab the repose
   Of my trusting and innocent breast,
And the door of each avenue close
   That led to the mansion of rest.

Then friendship entic'd me to stray
   Thr'o the long magic wiles of romance;
But I found that he meant to betray,
   And shrunk from teh sorcerers glance;
For experience has taught me to know,
   That the soul which reclin'd on his breast,
Might toss on the billows of woe,
   And ne'er find the mansion of rest.

Pleasure's path I determin'd to try,
   But prudence I met in the way,
Conviction flash'd light from her eye,
   And appear'd to illumine my day:

p.23 /
She cry'd as she shew'd me a grave,
   With nettles and wild flowers drest,
O'er which the dark cypress did wave,
   "Behold there the mansion of rest,"

She spoke, and half vanish'd in air,
   For she saw mild religion appear
With a smile that would banish despair,
   And dry up the penitent tear:
Doubts and fears from my bosom were driven,
   As, pressing the Cross to her breast,
And pointing serenely to Heaven,
   She shew'd the true mansion of rest.

p.24 /


Play not with young Cupid, ladies
   As with other childish boys,
Subtle, cruel, Cupid made is,
   Dangerous, fatal are his toys.

Play not with them tho' they charm ye,
   Shun, oh ! shun his fatal darts,
Soon or late they'll surely harm ye
   And bring sorrow to your hearts.

Heedless virgins then be wary
   How you trifle with the boy,
He his plan will never vary,
   Charms at first but to destroy.

First he with his feather tickles,
   Slily then the point he turns,
Strikes, and from the wound there trickles
   Poison that like fire burns.

p.25 /


Warbling redbreast ! have I found thee
   In thine ivy tree ?
Let the echoing rocks around thee
   Send thy notes to me.
Once, I own, with spring delighted,
Whilst her flowers and songs invited,
Once, I own, sweet bird ! I slighted
   Thy green bush and thee.

When with wreaths of roses blooming
   Every bower was hung,
To thine ivy unassuming
   Not a glance was flung.
When the thrush with accents trilling
Every raptured sense was filling,
Then we bent with ears unwilling,
   To thine humble song.

p.26 /
Now, by wint'ry blasts invaded,
   Rural joys forgot,
Every nectared flower is faded,
   Mute each tuneful throat,
But though cold, and wet, and weary,
As ye tread these vallies dreary,
Still the ivy's leaf shall cheer ye,
   Still the redbreast's note.

Julia ! to yon sweet musician,
   Some few moments lend,
'Tis for thee a warning mission,
   To the strain attend.
Fair one ! ere life's spring be over,
Whilst admirers round you hover,
Learn to know the flattering lover,
   From the faithful friend.

Age's winter soon advances,
   Blights the fair and young;
Where are then the ardent glances,
   Where th' impassioned tongue?

p.27 /
Seek some breast sincere ! fair maiden;
There affection blooms unfading,
There you'll find the ivy shading,
   There the Redbreast's song.

p.28 /


One day good bye met how d'ye do,
   Too close to shun saluting
But soon the rival sisters flew
   From kissing to disputing.

Away" says how d'ye do," your mien
   Appals my chearful nature,
No name so sad as yours is seen
   For sorrows nomenclature.

Whene'er I give one sunshine hour
   Your cloud comes o'er to shade it,
Whene'er I plant one bosom flower
   Your mildew drops to fade it.

Ere how d'ye do has tun'd each tongue
   To" hope's delighted measure,"
Good bye, in friendship's ear has rung
   The knell of parting pleasure.

p.29 /
From sorrow past, my chymic skill
   Draws smiles of consolation,
Whilst you from present joys distil
   The tears of separation."

Good bye replied" your statement's true
   And well your cause you've pleaded,
But pray who'd think of how d'ye do
   Unless good bye preceded ?

Without my prior influence
   Could yours have ever flourish'd,
And can your hand one flower dispense
   But those my tears have nourish'd.

How oft, if at the court of love,
   Concealment be the fashion,
When how d'ye do has fail'd to move,
   Good bye reveals the passion.

p.30 /
How oft, when Cupid's fires decline,
   As every heart remembers,
One sigh of mine, and only mine
   Revives the dying embers.

Go, bid the timid lover choose,
   And I'll resign my charter,
If he, for ten kind how d'ye do's,
   One kind good bye would barter.

From love and friendship's kindred source
   We both derive existence,
And they would both lose half their force
   Without our joint assistance.

'Tis well the world our merit knows,
   Since time, there's no denying,
One half in how d'ye doing goes
   And t' other in good byeing !"

p.31 /



With gaudy flowers the cliff was gay,
A child had thither crept in play,
   And o'er the brink was bending:
The mother came ! she saw her boy,
Her love, her pride, her hope, her joy,
   One crag his fate suspending.

He stretch'd to reach the flowers below,
Ah ! should she now to seize him go,
   Some start or frightened action,
Might hurl him headlong to the flood !
That thought with horror froze her blood !
   Her mind was all distraction !

As none but mother's feel, she felt !
In trembling silence down she knelt,
   And prayed to God for pity !

p.32 /
Then from her breast the gauze removed,
And softly sang the tune he loved,
   Some lullabying ditty.

He knew the song, which oft to rest
Had charmed his eyes; he knew the breast
   Which milk so oft had brought him.
And still she sang, and still she wept,
And near, and nearer, crept, and crept,
   Till to her heart she caught him.

p.33 /


The tear I shed must ever fall,
   I mourn not for an absent swain,
For thought may past delight recall,
   And parted lovers meet again.
I weep not for the silent dead,
   Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er;
And those they lov'd their steps shall tread,
   And death shall join to part no more.

Tho' boundless oceans roll'd between,
   If certain that his heart is near,
A conscious transport glads each scene,
   Soft is the sigh, and sweet the tear.
E'en when by death's cold hand remov'd,
   We mourn the tenant of the tomb,
To think that e'en in death he lov'd,
   Can gild the horrors of the gloom.

p.34 /
But bitter, bitter are the tears
   Of her who slighted love bewails,
No hope her dreary prospect chears,
   No pleasing melancholy hails :
Her's are the pangs of wounded pride,
   Of blasted hope, of wither'd joy,
The flattering veil is rent aside,
   The flame of love burns to destroy.

In vain does memory renew
   The hours once ting'd in transport's dye !
The sad reverse soon starts to view,
   And turns the past to agony.
E'en time itself despairs to cure
   Those pangs to evey feeling due;
Ungenerous youth ! thy boast how poor,
   To win a heart, and break it too !

No cold approach, no alter'd mien,
   Just what would make suspision [lit.] start,
No pause the dire extremes between,
   He made me blest, and broke my heart.

p.35 /
From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn
   Neglected, and neglecting all,
Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn,
   The tears I shed must ever fall.

p.36 /


Why mourn ye, why strew ye those flow'rets around,
   To yon new sodded grave, as your slow steps advance?
In yon new sodded grave, (ever dear be the ground!)
   Lies the stranger we lov'd, the poor exile of France.

And is the poor exile at rest from his woe,
   No longer the sport of misfortune and chance?
Mourn on village mourners, my tears too shall flow,
   For the stranger ye lov'd, the poor exile of France.

Oh ! kind was his nature, tho' bitter his fate,
   And gay was his converse, tho' broken his heart;
No comfort, no hope, his own breast could elate,
   Tho' comfort and hope he to all could impart.

Ever joyless himself, in the joys of the plain
   Still foremost was he, mirth and pleasure to raise,
How sad was his soul, yet how blith was his strain,
   When he sung the glad song of more fortunate days.

p.37 /
One pleasure he knew, in his straw cover'd shed,
   For the snow beaten beggar his faggot to trim,
One tear of delight he could drop on the bread
   Which he shar'd with the poor, the still poorer than

And when round his death bed profusely we cast,
   Ev'ry gift, ev'ry solace, our hamlet could bring;
He blest us with signs, which we thought were his last,
   But he still had a prayer, for his country, and King.

Poor exile adieu ! undisturb'd be thy sleep !
   From the feast, from the wake, from the village
      green dance,
How oft shall we wander, at moonlight to weep,
   O'er the stranger we lov'd, the poor exile of France.

To the church going bride shall thy mem'ry impart,
   One pang, as her eyes on thy cold relicks glance,
One flower from her garland, one tear from her heart,
   Shall drop on the grave of the exile of France.

p.38 /
Soon the tear shall be dry, soon the flow'r shall be sere,
   Which mourners on earth, to these ashes have given,
But Heav'n from thy lips the sad story will hear,
   For music like thine, is the language of Heav'n.

Oh ! then shall his turf bed with flow'rs ever crown'd,
   And with tears ever dew'd, time's inclemency brave;
For hands more than mortal shall garden the ground,
   And Angels shall weep, o'er the emigrants grave.

p.39 /





Bright hope ! anticipated flower,
Whose sweetness marks descriptions power,
   Faith's darling progeny,
Parent of comfort, nurse of love,
Benignant present from above
   To weak mortality;

By thee impell'd, by thee endued
With more than human fortitude,
   Each conflict I'll despise,
And spite of this seducing world
And all the shafts 'gainst virtue hurl'd
   Soar onward to the skies !

p.40 /
Already by thy aid benign,
Methinks I taste those joys divine,
   Which, thro' a Saviour's grace,
Tho' passion oft our feet betray
In errors dang'rous paths to stray
   Still wait the human race :

Whate'er my faults, whate'er my grief
'Tis thine to minister relief,
   For in thy cheering lore,
Such marks of heavenly love appear
As quickly teach us not to fear,
   Or fearing, to adore;

Protect me still celestial power,
Nor quit me in that trying hour
   When death appals my sight,
But guide me to the realms of day,
Where thy fair form shall flit away,
   Mid certainty's clear light.

p.41 /


Why should men poor sparrows shoot?
"Why ! they rob us of our fruit:
"All our cherry trees infest,
"Eat the ripest and the best;
"Who can e'er a table deck
"With the fruit these rascals peck?
Thus the question you decide,
Thus your gun is justified;
One among the pilfering race
Yonder listens to your case,
Cocks aside his cunning eyes,
Chirps, and doubtless thus replies.
"This for doctrine then you give
"Man alone was made to live,
"The rain of Heav'n, the genial ray,
("If sparrow things so fine may say)
"That made your trees and cherries grow,
"God could ne'er for birds bestow.
p.42 /
"Prove me these by right your own
"Special gifts, to Man alone,
"Then I'll own the race that fly,
"Merely live to starve and die,
"But 'till then excuse my plan
"Still to feast where'er I can.
Reasons sound as these appear,
Strange it is you should not hear.
T'other day your lib'ral hand,
Prompt at charity's command,
One who your assistance crav'd,
From a prison's mis'ry sav'd
With such a deed how great the strife,
To rob these merry rogues of life,
To stop their ever gay vagaries,
For what ? to save a pound of Cherries.
Few the days that life affords,
Very few the life of Birds,
Short and free of grief or care,
Light as is their native air,

p.43 /
Take not then such lives away,
Let them live while they may.
Sparrows ! were a garden mine,
Thick with Cherry tree or vine,
Freely might you revel there
Seed or berry freely share.
I can see no reason why
Man should bound our charity,
Why like niggards we should spare it,
When so cheaply you may share it.

p.44 /





Ill fated daughter of distress and woe,
   Whate'er thy sorrows or whoe'er thou art,
For thee the tear of charity shall flow,
   Warm from the purest fountain of the heart.

Perhaps tho' now neglected and unknown,
   A parent once survey'd thee with delight,
The darling of a father's heart alone,
   Or the lov'd idol of a mother's sight.

For thee perhaps they toil'd and watch'd and pray'd,
   O'er thy sweet innocence with rapture hung,
And well they thought their tenderness repay'd
   To hear the artless music of thy tongue.

p.45 /
When dawning reason shed her ray benign,
   And all thy excellence became reveal'd,
How did they see thy op'ning virtues shine,
   And hear thy praife with transport ill conceal'd.

For who alas can know thy secret worth,
   What soft angelic virtues might appear;
That bosom laid defenceless on the earth
   Might once be grateful, gen'rous and sincere.

The lips that knew no friend to bid farewell,
   Might once the noblest sentiments express;
The wretched head that unsupported fell
   Might once be turn'd to stories of distress.

Some base deceiver practis'd to betray,
   Might win thy easy faith, destroy thy frame,
Then cast thee like a loathsome weed away,
   The sport of fortune and the child of shame.

Poor wanderer, perhaps thou coulds't no find
   One lib'ral hand the slender gift to spare,

p.46 /
Insatiate avarice the soul confin'd
   Or timid prudence disbeliev'd thy pray'r.

Then from the world despairing and forlorn,
   Careless of life and hopeless of relief,
Thy agonizing heart retir'd to mourn
   And breathe its last in unmolested grief.

p.47 /


Mine be a Cot beside the hill,
   A bee hive's hum shall sooth my ear,
A willowy brook that turns a mill,
   With many a fall shall linger near.

The swallow oft beneath my thatch
   Shall twitter from her clay built nest,
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch
   And share my meal, a welcome guest.

Around my ivy'd porch shall spring
   Each fragrant flower that sips the dew,
And Lucy at her wheel shall sing,
   In russet gown, and apron blue.

The village Church among the trees,
   Where first our marriage vows were giv'n,
With merry peals shall swell the breeze,
   And point with taper spire to Heav'n.

p.48 /


What tho' I've brought you from your native glade
   Where midst the wildlings of the wood ye grew,
Where 'neath the friendly covert of their shade,
   Your azure cups were fill'd with morn's sweet dew;
Droop not, meek flow'rs! 'tis not the school boy's hand
   That tears ye, wanton, from your lovely bed;
Nor the rude clown, who weaves you in a band
   Of uncouth form, to bind around his head:
No, 'tis a lover bears you to his home,
   A fond memorial of his Rosa's charms,
Ye bring to mind th' empurpled veins that roam
   O'er the dear surface of her snow-white arms:
And Heav'ns bright beam, that your lov'd tint supplies,
   Pourtrays the lustre of her laughing eyes !

p.49 /


One day a fair and blooming Maid,
In all celestial charms array'd,
With perfect form enchanting smile,
Call'd at a poor man's door awhile.
The house that hour to his surprize,
Became a palace in his eyes.
He woo'd her much to be his own:
She smil'd, but was not to be won;
"For I have many friends to view
"Each day, she said, as well as you"
Yet so indulgent was her care,
She seem'd to be for ever there.
She call'd at morn, she call'd at night,
And all immediately went right;
No fear, no sorrow durst invade
The house where she her visit paid;
'Twas rapture all, the rising sun
Smil'd on the scenes of bliss begun;
p.50 /
The conscious moon, with light serene,
Beheld the same continued scene.
   Some months of this sweet dream had pass'd:
The poor man saw his friend at last,
With wings he never spied before,
Approach but enter not his door.
She spread her wings prepar'd to fly,
"My friend" she said, and seem'd to sigh,
"Adieu, I grieve to check your mirth
"But we must meet no more on earth."
Bent to the Heav'nly vision low,
In vain he wept and told his woe;
"One," she reply'd, "I must obey
"Commands my flight, forbids my stay.
"But lest with unavailing pain,
"You seek to find me out again,
"What yet you have not known I'll tell
"Both who I am and where I dwell."
"Ah, ! cry'd the swain, too well I guess
"Your name bright maid is happiness."
p.51 /
She mil'd assent: "then know my plan
"I make no fix'd abode with man;
"Invited and ador'd by all
"On some like you I deign to call;
"But if you would not have me roam,
"Tis' you must seek my native home;
"To mortals lent, but never given,
"I visit here, my home is Heaven.

p.52 /




Who e'er thou art by chance or fancy led
These wild, romantic, scenes and woods to tread,
Stop; and survey the stream that decks the glade,
A fountain now, but once a beauteous maid.
The silver spring that meets and courts thy view,
Its source from Hildebert de Lacey drew,
His youngest daughter; and sure Father ne'er
Possess'd a child so duteous and so fair;
But by that Father doom'd to yield her charms,
A legal harlot to detested arms,
Hither she fled; alas ! too soon to know
The sad variety of human woe.
Here her De Newbro's form she first survey'd
Here the young Beadsman first address'd the maid,
Here first they sigh'd with nature's soft desires,
Here own'd their loves, and mourn'd their hapless fires.
p.53 /
Blest could sweet marriage rites have join'd their hands,
But holy Church forbids, and God withstands;
Then tir'd of life, and hopeless of relief,
She Heav'n in mercy pray'd to end her grief,
Heav'n heard, and story tells as here she lay,
Sudden in tears the nymph dissolv'd away.
And still the faithful stream records her pains,
Still Jane de Lacey's well known name retains.
   Churchman or soldier, bold, or gentle maid,
Spare one poor sigh, one tear to sooth her shade;
Cold chastity shall smooth her brow severe,
Soft pity bless, and Heav'n forgive the tear.
Description of Newburgh.
Magnificent without ostentation;
Solemn without dulness;
Contemplative without melancholy;
Romantic without affectation;
And chearful without noise.

p.54 /




I.      1.

"Seraph !" from Heaven's eternal throne
Slow the solemn accents roll,
"Thou, by whose hand on David's favor'd soul
"Through clouds of grief my mercy shone:
"To him, whom now 'tis thine to guard,
"A blessing in affliction's form convey.
"Go, gently on the christian bard
"The wand of sorrow lay."

I.      2.

The obedient spirit flies.
Aid to salvation's heirs ordain'd to lend,
Ministrant hosts his flight attend.
Hark to the song that rends the skies !

p.55 /
"From the flame's refining power
"More pure the gold of Ophir flows:
"From affliction's fiery hour
"More bright the christian's virtue glows.
"Bard, lov'd of Heaven ! thy saviour's face
"Though clouds and darkness hide;
"'Tis but a moment, canst thou doubt his grace?
"For thee the saviour died."

I.      3.

Around the unconcious bard with pitying gaze
The heavenly squadrons stand.
With pealing swell and solemn pause
He sings the Great Redeemer's praise.
Nigh the raptur'd seraph draws:
With smiles of love he waves his hand;
And cries, "'tis mercy," while he lays
On Cowper's brow the wand.
With nerves unstrung, and aspect pale
The son of sorrow lies:
p.56 /
And sad and wildering visions sail
Before his vacant eyes.

II.      I.

"Seraph !" from God's eternal throne,
Hark, the dread behest again!
"The gold is tried: bid cease my servant's pain:
"Go, make the Heaven he sang his own."
"Secure thy truth, untired thy love,
"Parent of good !" angelic hymns reply,
"To saints that live in bliss above,
"To saints, below that die,"

II.      2.

On sorrow's couch reclined
Behold the bard ! mark ye the beamless glance,
Wide wandering slow in dizzy trance,
The sign that speaks the wounded mind ?
Weak his hand ! yet still it strays,
Sweet lyre, athwart thy hallow'd frame:

p.57 /



Thy claim with justice every land allows,
Immortal Isle ! Of Ocean Queen confest!
See to thy warrior Thames the haughty West
Submissive bends, subdued Aurora bows !

'Tis thine the drooping virtues now to raise,
The virtues known in Latian times of old;
For empire, arts, and arms to shine enrolled,
To emulate, to rival Pallas' praise !

But, Oh ! what glories to thy brows impart
Increasing splendour ! while thy fostering hands
Hold the sad alien sufferers to thy heart.

Unequal to the theme the poet stands
In wonder rapt, nor Phoebus' heavenly art
Can pay such tribute as thy fame demands.

p.58 /


Lord ! when we Creation scan,
What thy power has done for man,
Lord ! our conscious hearts agree
How much man must owe to Thee.


Every note that cheers the vale,
Every sweet that scents the gale,
Every blooming flower we see
Tells that Joy we owe to Thee.


Every breath that heaves the breast,
Every sound by voice exprest,
Every thought the mind sets free,
Tells that Life we owe to Thee.
p.59 /
But when we Redemption view,
Gaze on all thy love could do;
Lord ! Our grateful hearts agree
How much more we owe to thee


When we think what we had been,
Sunk in sorrow, lost in sin;
Sure, from sin and sorrow free,
More than Joy we owe to Thee.


When we hear our Master say
"Death is vanquish'd—Come away
"Heav'n is yonrs" [lit.] —we all must see
More than life we owe to thee

p.60 /



Oh my God, thy servant hear,
To my prayer incline thine ear;
When ruddy Morning streaks the skies,
To thee I lift mine opening eyes:

When the Sun conceals his head,
Beneath the western Ocean's bed;
Of thee, my God, I ask repose
To calm with sleep my pains and woes.

When I press the bed of death,
Take, Oh take, my parting breath,
Save me by thy gracious power,
From all the horrors of that hour.

p.61 /
When the righteous Judge thy Son,
Shall sit upon his Glory's Throne;
And all th' Angelick host shall see,
The dead arise from earth and Sea.

Oh then may I, and mine rejoice
To hear the Trumpet's awful voice,
And cloth'd in white-robes ever sing,
Hosannas to our heavenly King.

p.62 /


Hail, lovely morn ! the drooping Spring
Revives to greet the youthful May,
And all his treasur'd charms will bring
To doubly bless this hallow'd day.

The Sun dispels sad April's gloom,
And darts again his cheering ray.
And wakes all Nature from her tomb,
To hail with him the lovely May !

O doubly welcome art thou, May,
For sad were gloomy April's tears;
No "blossoms cloth the hawthorn spray,"
And scarce a budding leaf appears!

And scatter'd by the driving hail—
       [?handwritten dash]
Where erst fair violets bloom'd around,
And spread their perfume on the gale
The mangled primrose strews the ground.

p.63 /
With tottering steps the new-fall'n lamb
       [?handwritten hyphen]
Seeks shelter from th' inclement sky,
And meekly couches by its dam,
And faintly breathes its plaintive cry,

From yonder bush the blast so rude
The blackbird's clay-built nest has torn,
The grove where late his bride he woo'd
Now echoes to his notes forlorn.

All Nature felt the general chill,
The lightest heart a gloom confest,
It deaden'd Fancy's magic thrill,
Imagination's fire represt,

But at thy mild approach, fair May ;
      [reversed 'i' used as a semi-colon?]
Shall Spring his fainting charms renew;
The Sun's enliv'ning beams shall play
On meadows bright with morning dew

p.64 /
There on the primrose bank so fair
Shall fresher, brighter flow'rets bloom,
And cowslips through the ambient air
Shall shed around their soft perfume.

The meek-eyed lamb on verdant plain
With frolic mien shall skip and play;
The black-bird build his nest again,
And gaily chaunt his amorous lay.

Again the glowing ray inspires,
And nature all around is gay;
And cold the heart, and dull its fires,
That feels not thy enchantment, May.

p.65 /



   From wide extended Lawns, from op'ning Glades,
From sunny summits, and imbow'ring shades,
From Fields for ever Fann'd by fragrant gales,
From silvr'y currents, and from flow'ry vales;
Turn'd from fair scenes, why hang my aching eyes
On scowling acres, and ungracious skies?
Where joyless seasons undistinguish'd sleep;
The floods all mourn, and all the valleys weep.
Where painted Ceres swells no golden grain;
Where Flora's absence saddens every plain.
With shiv'ring oziers where the Poplar pale
Pants by their side and sighs in every gale.
p.66 /
Where from burnt Turf black clouds incessant rise:
On loaded wings whence daggled Zephyr flies.
And wafts the poison to remotest skies.

      Ungentle sollitudes ! un-bless'd retreats !
What inharmonious, un-poetick seats
There no sooth'd Bard, inspir'd by nature, wooes
In sweet retirement the inclining muse.
Haunt of the feather'd choirs, there no kind grove
Incites to music, or persuades to love.
There Philomela charms no chosen spray;
No sprightly Linnet once vouchsafes a lay:
Nor there the Lark, nor there the Thrueh [lit.] are heard;
Mute is the voice of ev'ry tuneful bird:
While clam'ring Toads, whose dirge no numbers rule,
Croak their dull discords to the slumb'ring pool.

      Confus'dly mingling with the farthest skies,
How the long Fen mourns ever in my eyes !

p.67 /
O er all the land, through all the equal day,
Dim twilight holds an uncontested sway.
In mud drench'd vales; which know no purer streams,
Through sullen skies, averse to mildest beams;
O'er one afflicted length of languid plains,
Dark over all transcendent dullness reigns.

p.68 /


How glorious the death for our country to die,
   When vanquish'd, when fallen her foes !
On vict'ry's soft bosom the Hero shall lie,
   And sink in her arms to repose.

Tho' low in the dust his proud spirit expires,
   The dust by his bleeding form press'd:
'Tis Glory his soul's last emotion that fires,
   And heaves the last throb of his breast.

Immortal shall bloom each bright wreath of his fame;
   'Tis valour's illustrious meed:
Lisping infants shall sigh as they murmur his name.
   And learn for their country to bleed:

p.69 /
With tears shall fond beauty his ashes bedew,
   And breath a soft sigh o'er his breast;
Shall seek the first roses his grave to bestrew,
   And guard the lone spot of his rest.

Hence Cowards ! who wake not to freedom's loud call,
   Hence ! seek an inglorious grave!
Those only, who dare for their country to fall,
   Those only shall sleep with the brave!

p.70 /


I give my Harp to Sorrow's hand,
   And she has ruled the cords so long,
They will not speak at my command,
   They warble only to her song.

Of dear departed hours,
   Too fondly loved to last,
—The dew,the breath, the bloom of flowers,
   That died untimely in the blast:

Of long, long years of future care
   Till lingering Nature yields her breath;
And endless ages of despair
   Beyond the judgment day of death—

p.71 /
The weeping Minstrel sings;
   And while her numbers flow,
My Spirit trembles thro' the strings,
   And every note is full of woe.

Would gladness move a sprightlier strain,
   And wake this wild Harp's clearest tones;
The strings, impatient to complain,
   Are dumb, or only utter moans.

And yet to soothe the mind
   With luxury of grief,
The Soul, to suffering all resign'd,
   In sorrow's music feels relief.

Thus o'er the light Æolian lyre,
   The winds of dark November stray,
Touch the quick nerve of every wire
   And on its magic pulses play.

p.72 /
Till all the air around,
   Mysterious murmurs fill,
—A strange bewildering dream of sound,
   Most heavenly sweet,—yet mournful still.

O snatch the harp from Sorrow's hand,
   Hope! who hast been a stranger long:—
O strike it with sublime command,
   And be the Poet's life my song!

Of vanish'd troubles sing,
   Of tears for ever fled,
—Of flowers, that hear the voice of Spring,
   And burst and blossom from the dead!

Of home, contentment, health, repose,
   Serene delights, while years increase;
And weary life's triumphant close
   In some calm sunset hour of peace;—

p.73 /
Of bliss that reigns above,
   Celestial May of Youth,
Unchanging as J
EHOVAH'S love,
   And everlasting as his truth;—

Sing heavenly Hope—and dart thine hand
O'er my frail harp, untuned so long;
That harp shall breath at thy command,
   Immortal sweetness thro' thy song.

Ah ! then this gloom controul,
   And at thy voice shall start
A new creation in my soul,
And a new Eden in my heart!

p74 /


Bleak blows the wind—fast falls the snow,
   Sol's genial rays are fled;
The flood (frost's fiend forbids to flow,)
   Sleeps on its pebbly bed.

Aquarius stern ! of rigid birth,
   His urn relentless pours;
Th' impetuous stream descends to earth,
   Dropping in frigid show'rs.

Domestic birds with ruby'd breast,
   Their scatter'd food to scan;
Braving that hand which robs their nest,
   Approach the haunts of man.

p.75 /
Shadeless, the forest monarch rears
   A lofty leafless head;
Whose naked spoils the rustic bears
   To cheer his humble shed.

To yonder shiv'ring child of woe,
   Haste, and relief impart;
The sadden'd soul, sweet solace show,
   Heal sorrows' bleeding heart.

When seated at the banquet gay,
   Where plenty lavish smiles;
Think on the wretch, whose gloomy day
   No halcyon hope beguiles.

The favoured few, by Fortune blest,
   With all profusive store;
Heed not those cares which only rest,
   At want's unguarded door

p76 /
Offspring of Pity ! at thy shrine,
   O ! let me suppliant bow,
Sweet Charity, bid Winter shine,
   In Summer's brightest glow.

Deign, lovely Nymph, my pray'r to hear,
   Thy bounteous blessings bring
With smile divine: then seasons drear,
   Will change to blooming spring.

p77 /


JOY to thee, bright har'd Summer! much I love
To gaze upon thy full blown beauty's pride,
            As thro' Val D'Arno's gloom
            I take my lonely way.

What time dun vested Night her deep repose
Reluctant leaves chas'd by the jocund dawn,
            And incoherent song
            Of wild Pan's restless reed.

Now the fierce Sun uprears his flaming shield,
And mounts in martial pomp his Eastern Car !
            Forests and tow'ring hills,
            Start from the golden blaze !

p.78 /
While streams of yore renown'd with clear blue wave,
Reflect his orient locks, and far away
            Fair, but inconstant Spring,
            Gathers her sweets and flies !

I see thee triumph o'er th' inactive plain,
When ruddy Noon obeys the sultry pow'r,
            And stretch'd in thoughtless ease
            The toil-worn peasant lies.

'Tis then I seek the thick-wall'd Cloister's shade,
And from some nook observe the languid flocks?
            Or by the gray fly stung,
            The bounding heifer's rage.

Or hear the light Cicala's ceaseless din.
That vibrates shrill; or the near weeping brook
            That feebly winds along,
            And mournes her channel shrunk.

p.79 /
As the proud day retires, the western hills
Adorn their varied ridge with shadowy forms;
            While fresh'ning Zephyr comes
            To fan the cheek of Eve;

And to the wand'ring virgin of the sky,
As thro' the azure vault supreme she sails,
            Scatters her silv'ry beam,
            And points the Horizon's bound.

While warbled measures fill the panting gale,
The Luciola, beside each dark'ning grove,
            His momentary lamp
            Alternate shows and hides;

Or leads the lovers to some secret bow'r,
And flits around, and darts his mimic ray
            Upon the maiden's breast,
            And lights th' adorning eye.

p.80 /
O, vagrant Insect ! Type of our short life,
'Tis thus we shine and vanish from the view;
            For the cold season comes,
            And all our lustre's o'er !

Yet stay awhile, Sweet Summer ! nor too soon
Avert thy blushing face, but cheer the kind
            With gifts, that Plenty pours
            From her redundant Horn !

p.81 /



Here rests one at length who before never rested
Who laugh'd at all follies but those he detested,
Too rude and unpolish'd a Courtier to make
Too plain for a Beau, and too poor for a Rake.
Thus unfit for the world the ridiculous elf
Attempted amusement to find in himself.
So he fiddled and drew, and he wrote and he read,
Till a thousand odd fancies had half turn'd his head.
   For those yet around him affections he had,
   Would laugh with the merry and cry with the sad,
   By the wise of the world still a fool he was thought,
   For he spoke what he felt, and believed what he

p.82 /


Sweet, modest flow'ret, that, beneath the thorn,
   Unfold'st thy beauties in the lonely dell,
I meet thy fragrance in the breeze of morn,
   In wilds where solitude and silence dwell.
Tho' garden flowers a richer tint display,
   They oft demand the painter's nicest care;
While thou appear'st beneath some shelt'ring spray,
   'Mid April's lingering frosts and piercing air.
How like the rustic poet's lot is thine !
   Whom Nature taught the simple song to raise,
p.83 /
Doom'd in oblivion's darkest shades to pine,
   He chaunts—but seldom gains the meed of praise.
So, in some pathless desert thou art thrown,
   To shed thy sweet perfume, and fade unknown.

p.84 /


   When Delia calls pour dire adieu,
What eye but drops the tear of sorrow !
   What heart that half her merits knew,
But heaves a sigh, and dreads to morrow.

   To-morrow ! sure no darker day
Can frown upon the front of time;
   To-morrow wafts each joy away
With Delia to a distant clime.

   O Delia ! 'tis a pain to part
Or bid a common friend adieu;
   But what a pang must rend the heart
That takes a long farewell of you !

p.85 /
   Of you adorn'd with ev'ry grace,
To whom each gentle virtue's given,
   Whose temper far trancends [lit.] a face
That symbols all we hope of heaven !

   Whose beauty baffles all defence,
Whose merit can the mind controul,
   Who strike your victim thro' the sense,
And chain him by the conquer'd soul.

   Be hush'd, ye winds ! ye seas subside !
Let no rude blast nor billow roar:
   Her course, good angels, hov'ring guide,
And guard her to the destin'd shore.

   My freindship fondly greet her there;
Love, peace, and joy, compose her train.
   May health still bless the blooming fair,
And time restore her soon again.

p.86 /
   May he to whom her heart is giv'n,
Still prize the treasure more than life;
   Still bow in gratitude to heav'n,
And own the angel in the wife.

   Yet think, lov'd Delia, while you stray
Where brighter suns gild Nature's dome,
   'Tis sunless here while you're away,
'Tis night in all our hearts at home.

   And should conjecture e'er suggest
One thought of him who thinks of you,
   Believe his heart is here express'd,
And take these lines, pour dire adieu !

p.87 /


Behold, alas ! Where'er we rove,
   What dreary prospects round us rise.
The naked hill, the leafless grove.
   The hoary ground, the frozen skies;

Nor only through the wasted plain,
   Stern W
INTER, is thy force confess'd;
Still wider spreads thy horrid reign,
   I feel thy power usurp my breast.

Enliv'ning hope, and fond desire,
   Resign the heart to spleen, and care,
Scarce frighted Love maintains his fire,
   And rapture saddens to despair.

p.88 /
In groundless hope, and causeless fear,
   Unhappy man behold thy doom,
Still changing with the changing year,
   The slave of sunshine, and of gloom !

p.89 /


Health, who fan'st with breezy wing
The genial bosom of the earth,
Who summon'st forth the green-robed spring,
And givest the silken flowr'et birth;
With laughing eye and rosy hue,
And hairs that shed nectareous dew,
Thy flowing garments unconfined.
With bounding step and frolick measures
Thou lead'st the buxom loves and pleasures,
Flinging sorrow to the wind—
With active pace before thee hies
The village swain, rude exercise;
p.90 /
Whose cheek contemns the sunny ray,
Who early greets approaching day;
While from his waist depends the horn,
The horn,with whose enlivening sound,
He rouses gay the deep mouth'd hound
And cheerly welcomes in the morn.
  Chaste temprance adorns thy train,
That loves to diet with the poor,
And cheerfulness with brow serene
That opes the shepherd's lowly door.
To Heav'ns own favourites only sent
With dove-like air comes meek content:
Before her fly disease and strife;
Around unnumber'd blessings spring;
Serene she waves her halcyon wing,
And calms the troubled sea of life.