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Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd ;
Fallen is the oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low,
Content, as random Fancies might inspire,
My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles' for those soft
As late I lay in slumber's shadowy vale,
Blasting with wizard spell my laurell'd fame.
Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul Wilder'd with meteor fires. Ah spirit pure' That error's mist had left thy purged eye: So might I clasp thee with a mother's joy!
Though roused by that dark Vizir, Riot rude
When British Freedom for a happier land
It was some Spirit, Siirrid AN! that breathed
(As pauses the tired Cossack's barbarous yell
SWEET Mercy! how my very heart bas bled The dirge of murder'd Hope! while Freedom pale To see thee, poor Old Man and thy gray hairs Bends in such anguish o'er her destined bier, Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one cares As if frog eldest time sume Spirit meek
To clothe thy shriveli'd limbs and palsied head. Had gather'd in a mystic urn each tear
My Father! throw away this tatter'd vest That ever on a Patriot's furrow'd cheek
That mocks thy shivering! take my garment-use
My Sara too shall tend thee, like a Child:
He did not so, the Galilæan mild,
Who met the Lazars turn'd from rich men's doors,
And call'd them Friends, and heald their noisonio As when far off the warbled strains are heard
Thou bleedest, my poor Heart! and thy distress His Fellows' freedom soothes the Captive's cares :
Reasoning I ponder with a scornful smile, Thou, Fayette! who didst wake with startling voice Swoln be mine eye and dim with heaviness.
And probe thy sore wound sternly, though the while Life's better sun from that long wintry night, Thus in thy Country's triumphs shalt rejoice,
Why didst taou listen to Hope's whisper bland ? And mock with raptures high the dungeon's might: When Jealousy with feverish fancies pale
Or, listening, why forget the healing tale, For lo! the morning struggles into day,
Jarr'd thy fine fibres with a maniac's hand?
Faint was that Hope, and rayless!—Yet 't was fair
Even as a Mother her sweet infant heir
That wan and sickly droops upon her breast!
TO THE AUTHOR OF THE “ ROBBERS."
From the dark dungeon of the tower time-rent O pleasant days of Hope-for ever gone!
That fearful voice, a famish'd Father's eryCould I recall you But that thought is vain. Lest in some after moment aught more mean Availeth not Persuasion's sweetest tone
Might stamp me mortal! A triumphant shout To lure the fleet-wing'd travellers back again:
Black Horror scream'd, and all her goblin rout
Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood
Beneaih some vast old tempest-swinging wood!
Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood;
Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy!
COMPOSED WHILE CLIMBING THE LEFT ASCENT OF Mimic of Virtue, scowls on thy distress :
BROCKLEY COOMB, SOMERSETSHIRE, MAY, 1795 Thy loves and they, that envied thee, deride : With many a pause and oft-reverted eye And Vice alone will shelter wretchedness!
I climb the Coomb's ascent : sweet songsters near 0! I am sad to think, that there should be
Warble in shade their wild-wood melody:
Up scour the startling stragglers of the Flock
(Mid which the May-thom blends its blossoms white)
IMITATED FROM OSSIAN.
In Lumin's flowery vale:
Slow-waving to the gale.
Nor wake me with thy sighing! The honors of my vernal day
On rapid wing are flying.
Who late beheld me blooming :
The dreary vale of Lumin."
My wonted haunts along,
The Youth of simplest song.
The voice of feeble power;
In Slumber's nightly hour.
IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER.
O PEACE! that on a lilied bank dost love
Last night as I my weary head did pillow
THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHOMA How long will ye round me be swelling,
Oye blue-tumbling waves of the Sea ? Not always in Caves was my dwelling,
Nor beneath the cold blast of the Tree.
In the steps of my beauty I stray'd;
And they blessed the white-bosom'd Maid!
A Ghost! by my cavern it darted!
In moon-beams the Spirit was drestFor lovely appear the departed
When they visit the dreams of my rest! But, disturbid by the Tempest's commotion,
Fleet the shadowy forms of DelightAh cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean!
To howl through my Cavern by Night.
Sleep. softly-breathing God! his downy wing
IMITATED FROM THE WELSH With pathless wound it pierced him to the heart.
IF, while my passion I impart, Was there some magic in the Elfin's dart?
You deem my words untrue, Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance ?
O place your hand, upon my heart, For straight so fair a Form did upwards start
Feel how it throbs for you! (No fairer deck'd the Bowers of old Romance) That Sleep enamour'd grew, nor moved from his
Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim, sweet trance !
In pity to your lover!
That thrilling touch would aid the flame My Sara came, with gentlest look divine ;
It wishes to discover.
TO AN INFANT.
An cease thy tears and Sobs, my little Life! That I the living Image of my Dream
I did but snatch away the unclasp'd Knife : Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sighd Some safer Toy will soon arrest thine eye, *0! how shall I behold mv Lore at eventide !” And to quick Laughter change this peevish »
You roused each gentler sense As, sighing o'er the Blossom's bloom, Meek Evening wakes its soft perfume
With viewless influence.
And hark, my Love! The sea-breeze moans
In bold ambitious sweep,
With mimic thunders deep.
Dark reddening from the channell’d Isle* (Where stands one solitary pile
Unslated by the blast)
Rude cradled on the mast.
Even there-beneath that light-house tower
Ere Peace with Sara came,
And watch the storm-vex'd flame.
And there in black soul-jaundiced fit
And listen to the roar :
Plunged foaming on the shore.
Then by the Lightning's blaze to mark
Her vain distress-guns hear;
To see no Vessel there!
But Fancy now more gaily sings :
As sky-larks ’mid the corn,
Nods, till returning morn.
O mark those smiling tears, that swell
And with the sun-beam blend.
Fostering the heart, they bend !
When stormy Midnight howling round Beats on our roof with clattering sound,
To me your arms you 'll stretch : Great God ! you'll say— To us so kind, O shelter from this loud bleak wind
The houseless, friendless wretch!
Poor Stumbler on the rocky coast of Woe,
O thou that rearest with celestial aim
WRITTEN AT SIIURTON BARS, NEAR, BRIDGEWATER,
SEPTEMBER, 1795, IN ANSWER TO A LETTER
Good verse most good, and bad verse then seems better
Nor travels my meandering eye
Nor now with curious sight
An emerald of light.
O ever present to my view!
And soothes your boding fears:
Ah me! You are in tears !
Beloved Woman! did you fly
Or Mirth's untimelv din ?
When aches the void within.
But why with sable wand unbless'd
Dim-visaged shapes of Dread ?
And hovers round my head !
The tears that tremble down your cheek, Shall bathe my kisses chaste and meek
• The Holmes, in the Bristol Channe.
In Pity's dew divine ;
Despised Galilæan! For the Great
With a peculiar and surpassing light
Shines from the visage of the oppress'd good Man
When heedless of himself the scourged Saint How oft, my Love! with shapings sweet
Mourns for the Oppressor. Fair the vernal Mead, I paint the moment we shall meet!
Fair the high Grove, the Sea, the Sun, the Stars, With eager speed I dart
True impress each of their creating Sire! I seize you in the vacant air,
Yet nor high Grove, nor many-color'd Mead,
Nor the green Ocean with his thousand Isles,
Nor the starr'd Azure, nor the sovran Sun, *T is said, on Summer's evening hour
E’er with such majesty of portraiture
Imaged the supreme beauty uncreate,
As thou, meek Savior! at the fearful hour
When thy insulted Anguish wing'd the prayer When all the heart's big ecstasy
Harp'd by Archangels, when they sing of Mercy! Shoots rapid through the frame!
Which when the Almighty heard from forth his
Heaven's hymnings paused and Hell her yawning
Closed a brief moment.
Lovely was the death Away, those cloudy looks, that laboring sigh,
Of Him whose life was love! Holy with power The peevish offspring of a sickly hour!
He on the thought-benighted sceptic beam'd Nor meanly thus complain of Fortune's power,
Manifest Godhead, melting into day When the blind Gamester throws a luckless die.
What floating mists of dark Idolatry
Broke and misshaped the Omnipresent Sire: Yon setting Sun flashes a mournful gleam And first by Fear uncharm’d the drowsed Soul. Behind those broken clouds, his stormy train : Till of its nobler nature it 'gan feel To-morrow shall the many-color'd main
Dim recollections : and thence soar'd to Ilope, In brightness roll beneath his orient beam! Strong to believe whate'er of mystic good
The Eternal dooms for his immortal Sons.
All self-annihilated it shall make
And bless'd are they,
Who in this fleshly World, the elect of Heaven, Nor shall not Fortune with a vengeful smile
Their strong eye darting through the deeds of Men, Survey the sanguinary Despot's might,
Adore with stedfast unpresuming gaze And haply hurl the Pageant from his height,
Him Nature's Essence, Mind, and Energy! Cowept to wander in some savage isle.
And gazing, trembling, patiently ascend There, shiv’ring sad beneath the tempest's frown,
Treading beneath their feet all visible things Round his tir'd limbs to wrap the purple vest ;
As steps, that upward to their Father's Throne And mix'd with nails and beads, an equal jest !
Lead gradual-else nor glorified nor loved.
They nor Contempt embosom nor Revenge.
Alike from all educing perfect good.
Theirs too celestial courage, inly arm’d-
Dwarfing Earth's giant brood, what time they muse
On their great Father, great beyond compare! WRITTEN ON THE CHRISTMAS EVE OF 1794.
And marching onwards view high o'er their heads This is the time, when most divine to hear,
His waving Banners of Omnipotence.
Who the Creator love, created might
Dread not: within their tents no terrors walk. The vision of the heavenly multitude, Who hymn'd the song of Peace o'er Bethlehem's
* Το Νοητον διηρηκασιν εις πολλων fields !
θεων ιδιοτητας. Yet thou more bright than all the Angel blaze,
Damas. de Myst. Ægyid. That harbinger'd thy birth, Thou, Man of Woes !