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Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glow'd ;
Her banners like a midnight meteor, flow'd ;
Amid the yelling of the storm-rent skies!
She came, and scatter'd battles from her eyes!
Then Exultation waked the patriot fire,
And swept with wilder hand the Alcaean lyre.
Red from the tyrant's wound I shook the lance,
And strode in joy the reeking plains of France!

Fallen is the oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low,
And my heart aches, though Mercy struck the blow.
With wearied thought once more I seek the shade,
Where peaceful Virtue weaves the myrtle braid.
And O! if eyes whose holy glances roll,
Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul;
If smiles more winning, and a gentler mien
Than the love-wilder'd Maniac's brain hath seen
Shaping celestial forms in vacant air,
If these demand the impassion'd poet's care—
If Mirth and soften’d Sense and Wit refined,
The blameless features of a lovely mind;
Then haply shall my trembling hand assign
No fading wreath to beauty's saintly shrine.
Nor, Sara! thou these early flowers refuse—
Ne'er lurk'd the snake beneath their simple hues;
No purple bloom the child of nature brings
From Flattery's night-shade; as he feels, he sings.

September, 1792.

soNNET.

Content, as random Fancies might inspire,
if his weak harp at times, or lonely lyre
He struck with desultory hand, and drew
Some soften’d tones to Nature not untrue.
Boucles.

My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles' for those soft
strauns,
Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring
Of wild-bees in the sunny showers of spring !
For hence not callous to the mourner's pains
Through youth's gay prime and thornless path I
went :
And when the mightier throes of man began,
And drove me forth, a thought-bewilder'd man!
Their mild and manliest melancholy lent
A mingled charm, such as the pang consign'd
To slumber, though the big tear it renew'd ;
Bidding a strange mysterious Pleasure brood
Over the wavy and tumultuous mind, -
As the great Spirit erst with plastic sweep
Moved on the darkness of the unform'd deep.

SONNET.

As late I lay in slumber's shadowy vale,
With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise,
I saw the sainted form of Freedom rise :
She spake' not sadder moans the autumnal gale —
* Great Son of Genius' sweet to me thy name,
Fre in an evil hour with alter'd voice
Thou badst Oppression's hireling crew rejoice,

Blasting with wizard spell my laurell'd fame.
Yet never, Burke: thon drank'st Corruption's bowl!
The stormy Pity and the cherish'd lure

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!

SONNET.

Though roused by that dark Vizir, Riot rude
Have driven our PRIEst over the ocean swell
Though Superstition and her wolfish brood
Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell;
Calm in his halls of brightness he shall dwell .
For lo! Religion at his strong behest
Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell,
And flings to earth her tinsel-glittering vest,
Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy;
And Justice wakes to bid the Oppressor wail,
Insulting aye the wrongs of patient Folly:
And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won,
Meek Nature slowly lists her matron veil
To smile with fondness on her gazing son!

SONNET.

When British Freedom for a happier land
Spread her broad wings, that flutter'd with affright,
ERskiNE! thy voice she heard, and paused her flight
Sublime of hope For dreadless thou didst stand
(Thy censer glowing with the hallow'd flame)
A hireless Priest before the insulted shrine,
And at her altar pour the stream divine
Of unmatch'd eloquence. Therefore thy name
Her sons shall venerate, and cheer thy breast
With blessings heavenward breathed. And when
the doom
Of Nature bids thee die, beyond the tomb
Thy light shall shine : as sunk, beneath the West,
Though the great Summer Sun eludes our gaze,
Still burns wide Heaven with his distended blaze.

SONNET.

It was some Spirit, Siirrid AN! that breathed
O'er thy young mind such wildly various power!
My soul hath mark'd thee in her shaping hour,
Thy temples with Hymettian slow'rets wreashed:
And sweet thy voice, as when o'er Laura's bior
Sad music trembled through Vauclusa’s glaio;
Sweet, as at dawn the lovelorn serenade
That wafts soft dreams to Siumber's listening our
Now patriot rage and indignation high
Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beam
dance
Mcaning of Scorn and Wit's quaint revelry!
Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance
The Apostate by the brainless rout adored,
As erst that elder siend beneath great Michael's sword

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(As pauses the tired Cossack's barbarous yell

SONNET.
Of tri imph) on the chill and midnight gale
Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell

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
Fit channel found; and she had drain'd the bowl A young man's arm! I'll melt these frozen dews
In the mere wilfulness, and sick despair of soul ! That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast

My Sara too shall tend thee, like a Child:
And thou shalt talk, in our fire-side's recess,
Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretchedness.

He did not so, the Galilæan mild,
SONNET.

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

Sores!
That soar on Morning's wing the vales among,
Within his cage the imprison'd matin bird
Swells the full chorus with a generous song:
He bathes no pinion in the dewy light,

SONNET.
No Father's joy, no Lover's bliss he shares,
Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight;

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?
And Slavery's spectres shriek and vanish from the
ray!

Faint was that Hope, and rayless!—Yet 't was fair
And soothed with many a dream the hour of rest :
Thou shouldst have loved it most, when most opprest
And nursed it with an agony of Care,

Even as a Mother her sweet infant heir
SONNET.

That wan and sickly droops upon her breast!
T'hou gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile,
Why hast thou left me? Still in some fond dream
Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile!

SONNET.
As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam:
What time, in sickly mood, at parting day

TO THE AUTHOR OF THE “ ROBBERS."
I lay me down and think of happier years ; SCHILLER! that hour I would have wished to die,
Of joys, that glimmer'd in Hope's twilight ray. If through the shuddering midnight I had sent
Then left me darkling in a vale of tears.

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
Yet fair, though faint, their images shall gleam Diminish'd shrunk from the more withering scene!
Like the bright rainbow on a willowy stream. Ah Bard tremendous in sublimity!

Could I behold thee in thy loftier mood
Wandering at eve with finely frenzied eye

Beneaih some vast old tempest-swinging wood!

Awhile with mute awe gazing I would brood;
SONNET

Then weep aloud in a wild ecstasy!
PALE Roamer through the Night; thou poor Forlorn!
Remorse that man on his death-bed possess,
Who in the credulous hour of tenderness

LINES
Betray'd, then cast thee forth to Want and Scorn!
The world is pitiless: the Chaste one's pride,

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:
Cold-hosom'd lewd ones, who endure to place Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear.
Foul viterings on the shrine of Misery,

Up scour the startling stragglers of the Flock
And force from Famine the caress of Love ; That on green plots o'er precipices browse :
May He shed healing on the sore disgrace, From the forced fissures of the naked rock
He, the great Comforter that relès above ! The Yew-tree bursts! Beneath its dark-green boughs

(Mid which the May-thom blends its blossoms white)
Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats,
I rest and now have gain'd the topmost site.
Ah! what a luxury of landscape meets
My gaze! Proud Towers, and Cots more dear to me,
Elm-shadow'd Fields, and prospect-bounding Sea !
Deep sighs my lonely heart I drop the tear :
Exchanting spot ! O were my Sara here !

LINES

IMITATED FROM OSSIAN.
The stream with languid murmur creeps,

In Lumin's flowery vale:
Beneath the dew the Lily weeps,

Slow-waving to the gale.
* Cease, restless gale!" it seems to say,

Nor wake me with thy sighing! The honors of my vernal day

On rapid wing are flying.
" Tomorrow shall the Traveller come

Who late beheld me blooming :
His searching eye shall vainly roam

The dreary vale of Lumin."
With eager gaze and wetted cheek

My wonted haunts along,
Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek

The Youth of simplest song.
But I along the breeze shall roll

The voice of feeble power;
And dwell, the moon-beam of thy soul,

In Slumber's nightly hour.

IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER.

O PEACE! that on a lilied bank dost love
To reet Line head beneath an Olive Tree,
I would, that from the pinions of thy Dove
One quill withouten pain ypluck'd might be !
For 0! I wish my Sara's frowns to flee,
And sain to her some soothing song would write,
lest she Lesent my rude discourtesy,
Who vow'd to meet her ere the morning light,
But broke my plighted word-ah! false and recreant

wight!

Last night as I my weary head did pillow
With thoughts of my dissever'd Fair engross'd,
Chill Fancy droop'd wreathing herself with willow,
As though my breast entomb'd a pining ghost.
. From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal

boast,
Rejected Slumber! hither wing thy way ;
But leave me with the matin hour, at most!
As night-closed Floweret to the orient ray,
My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey."
But Love, who heard the silence of my thought,
Contrived a too successful wile, I ween:
And whisper'd to himself, with malice fraught-
• Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen :
To-morrow shall he ken her alter'd mien!"
He spake, and ambush'd lay, till on my bed
The morning shot her dewy glances keen,
When as I 'gan to lift my drowsy head-
* Now, Baru! I'll work thee woe!” the laughing

Elfin said.

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.
Through the high-sounding halls of Cathlóma

In the steps of my beauty I stray'd;
The Warriors beheld Ninathoma,

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
Was fluttering now, as quickly to depart;
When twang'd an arrow from Love's mystic string,

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.
Bright shone her eye, yet tender was its beam :
I felt the pressure of her lip to mine!
Whispering we went, and Love was all our theme
Love pure and spotless, as at first, I deem,
He sprang from Heaven! Such joys with Sleep did

TO AN INFANT.
'bide,

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 »

1

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
Through yon rest house! O'er rolling stones

In bold ambitious sweep,
The onward-surging tides supply
The silence of the cloudless sky

With mimic thunders deep.

Dark reddening from the channell’d Isle* (Where stands one solitary pile

Unslated by the blast)
The Watch-fire, like a sullen star
Twinkles to many a dozing Tar

Rude cradled on the mast.

Even there-beneath that light-house tower
In the tumultuous evil hour

Ere Peace with Sara came,
Time was, I should have thought it sweet
To count the echoings of my feet,

And watch the storm-vex'd flame.

And there in black soul-jaundiced fit
A sad gloom-pamper'd Man to sit,

And listen to the roar :
When Mountain Surges bellowing deep
With an uncouth monster leap

Plunged foaming on the shore.

Then by the Lightning's blaze to mark
Some toiling tempest-shatter'd bark ;

Her vain distress-guns hear;
And when a second sheet of light
Flash'd o'er the blackress of the night

To see no Vessel there!

But Fancy now more gaily sings :
Or if awhile she droop her wings,

As sky-larks ’mid the corn,
On summer fields she grounds her breast :
The oblivious Poppy o'er her nest

Nods, till returning morn.

O mark those smiling tears, that swell
The open'd Rose! From heaven they fell,

And with the sun-beam blend.
Bless'd visitations from above,
Such are the tender woes of Love

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,
Tutor’d by Pain each source of Pain to know!
Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire
Awake thy eager grasp and young desire ;
Alike the Good, the II offend thy sight,
And rouse the stormy sense of shrill affright!
Untaught, yet wise! 'mid all thy brief alarms
Thou closely clingest to thy Mother's arms,
Nestling thy little face in that fond breast
Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest !
Man's breathing Miniature! thou makest me sigh-
A Babe art thou—and such a thing am I!
To anger rapid and as soon appeased,
For trifles mourning and by trisles pleased,
Break Friendship’s Mirror with a techy blow,
Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's altar

glow!

O thou that rearest with celestial aim
The future Seraph in my mortal frame,
Thrice-holy Faith! whatever thorns I meet
As on I totter with unpractised feet,
Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee,
Meek Nurse of Souls through their long Infancy!

LINES

WRITTEN AT SIIURTON BARS, NEAR, BRIDGEWATER,

SEPTEMBER, 1795, IN ANSWER TO A LETTER
FROM BRISTOL.

Good verse most good, and bad verse then seems better
Received from absent friend by way of Letter.
For what so sweet can labor'd lays impart
As one rude rhyme warm from a friendly heart?

Anon.

Nor travels my meandering eye
The starry wilderness on high ;

Nor now with curious sight
I mark the glow-worm, as I pass,
Move with "green radiance" through the grass,

An emerald of light.

O ever present to my view!
My wafted spirit is with you,

And soothes your boding fears:
I see you all oppress’d with gloom
Sit lonely in that cheerless room-

Ah me! You are in tears !

Beloved Woman! did you fly
Chilld Friendship's dark disliking eye,

Or Mirth's untimelv din ?
With cruel weight these trifles press
A temper sore with tenderness,

When aches the void within.

But why with sable wand unbless'd
Should Fancy rouse within my breast

Dim-visaged shapes of Dread ?
Untenanting its beauteous clay
My Sara's soul has wing'd its way,

And hovers round my head !
I felt it prompt the tender Dream,
When slowly sunk the day's last gleam;

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
And from your heart the sighs that steal Invisible (by symbols only seen)
Shall make your rising bosom feel

With a peculiar and surpassing light
The answering swell of mine!

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,
And fancy, with a Husband's care

Nor the green Ocean with his thousand Isles,
I press you to my heart !

Nor the starr'd Azure, nor the sovran Sun, *T is said, on Summer's evening hour

E’er with such majesty of portraiture
Flashes the golden-color'd flower

Imaged the supreme beauty uncreate,
A fair electric flame :

As thou, meek Savior! at the fearful hour
And so shall flash my love-charged eye

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

Throne,
Diviner light fillid Heaven with ecstasy!

Heaven's hymnings paused and Hell her yawning
LINES

mouth

Closed a brief moment.
TO A FRIEND IN ANSWER TO A MELANCHOLY
LETTER.

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.
Wild, as the autumnal gust, the hand of Time From Hope and firmer Faith to perfect Love
Flies o'er his mystic lyre: in shadowy dance Attracted and absorb'd: and centred there
The alternate groups of Joy and Grief advance, God only to behold, and know, and feel,
Responsive to his varying strains sublime ! Till by exclusive Consciousness of God

All self-annihilated it shall make
Bears on its wing each hour a load of Fate; God its Identity : God all in all!
The swain, who, lull'd by Seine's mild murmurs, led We and our Father one!
His weary oxen to their nightly shed,
Today may rule a tempest-troubled State.

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.
Barter, for food, the jewels of his crown.

They nor Contempt embosom nor Revenge.
For they dare know of what may seem deform
The Supreme Fair sole Operant: in whose sight
All things are pure, his strong controlling Love

Alike from all educing perfect good.
RELIGIOUS MUSINGS;

Theirs too celestial courage, inly arm’d-
A DESULTORY POEM,

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.
The voice of Adoration rouses me,
As with a Cherub's trump: and high upborne,

Who the Creator love, created might
Yea, mingling with the Choir, I seem to view

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 !

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