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IV.

Omne quod moestis habuit miserto
Corde largivit, lacrjrmam: recepit
Omne quod coelo voluit, fidelis
Pectus amid.

v.

Longius sed tu fuge curiosus
Coeteras laudes fuge suspicari;
Caeteras culpas fuge velle tractas
Sede tremenda.

VL

Spe tremescentes recubant in illst
Sede virtutes pariterque culpae,
In sui Patris gremio, tremenda
Sede Deique.

1808.

LATIN VERSES:

IN HOROLOGIUM.

Inter marmoreas Leonora pendula colles
Fortunata nimis machina dicit horas.

Quas manibus premit ilia duas insensa papillas
Cur mini sit digito tangere, amata, nefas?

1808.

VICTORIA.
1.

'Twas dead of the night when I sat in my dwelling;

One glimmering lamp was expiring and low; Around, the dark tide of the tempest was swelling; Along the wild mountains night-ravens were yelling—

They bodingly presaged destruction and woe.

II.

'Twas then that I started! The wild storm was howling; Nought was seen save the lightning that danced in the sky;

Above me the crash of the thunder was rolling;
And low chilling murmurs the blast wafted by.

III.
My heart sank within me ;—unheeded the war

Of the battling clouds on the mountain-tops broke;
Unheeded the thunder-peal crashed in mine ear.
This heart, hard as iron, is stranger to fear:

But conscience in low noiseless whispering spoke.

IV.

'Twas then that, her form on the whirlwind upholding,

The ghost of the murdered Victoria strode:
In her right hand a shadowy shroud she was holding:

She swiftly advanced to my lonesome abode.

v. I wildly then called on the tempest to hear me

1808.

SISTER ROSA.

1. The death-bell beats!—the mountain repeats

The echoing sound of the knell: And the dark Monk now wraps the cowl round his brow,

As he sits in his lonely cell.

11.

And the cold hand of Death chills his shuddering breath

As he lists to the fearful lay
Which the ghosts of the sky, as they sweep wildly by,

Sing to departed day;
And they sing of the hour when the ster n Fates had power

To resolve Rosa's form to its clay.

III.
But that hour is past: and that hour was the last

Of peace to the dark Monk's brain.
Bitter tears from his eyes gushed silent and fast,

And he strove to suppress them in vain.

IV.

Then his fair cross of gold he dashed on the floor
When the death-knell struck on his ear.

"Delight is in store for her evermore—
But, for me, is fate, horror, and fear!"

Then his eyes wildly rolled when the death-bell tolled,

And he raged in terrific woe, And he stamped on the ground; but, when ceased the sound,

Tears again began to flow.

VI.

And the ice of despair chilled the wild throb of care;

And he sate in mute agony still,
Till the night-stars shone through the cloudless air,

And the pale moonbeam slept on the hill.

VII.
Then he knelt in his cell, and the horrors of hell

Were delights, to his agonized pain;
And he prayed to God to dissolve the spell

Which else must for ever remain.

VIII.
And in fervent prayer he knelt on the ground,

Till the abbey-bell struck one.
His feverish blood ran chill at the sound;
And a voice—hollow, horrible—murmured around

"The term of thy penance is done!"

Grew dark the night—the moonbeam bright

Waxed faint on the mountain high;
And from the black hill went a voice cold and still:

"Monk, thou art free to die!"

Then he rose on his feet, and his heart loud did beat,
And his limbs they were palsied with dread;

Whilst the grave's clammy dew o'er his pale forehead grew,
And he shuddered to sleep with the dead.

XI.

And the wild midnight storm raved around his tall form,

As he sought the chapel's gloom; And the sunk grass did sigh to the wind bleak and high

As he searched for the new-made tomb.

XII.

And the forms dark and high seemed around him to fly,

And mingle their yells with the blast;
And on the dark wall half-seen shadows did fall

As enhorrored he onward passed.

XIII.

And the storm-fiends wild rave o'er the new-made grave,

And dread shadows linger around.
The Monk called on God his soul to save,

And in horror sank on the ground.

XIV.

Then despair nerved his arm to dispel the charm,

And he burst Rosa's coffin asunder;
And the fierce storm did swell more terrific and fell,

And louder pealed the thunder.

xv. And laughed in joy the fiendish throng,

Mixed with ghosts of the mouldering dead; And their grisly wings as they floated along

Whistled in murmurs dread.

XVI.

And her skeleton form the dead Nun reared,
Which dropped with the chill dew of hell;
In her half-eaten eyeballs two pale flames appeared,
And triumphant their gleam on the dark Monk glared
As he stood within the cell.

XVII.
And her lank hand lay on his shuddering brain,

But each power was nerved by fear.
"I never henceforth may breathe again:
Death now ends mine anguished pain:

The grave yawns—we meet there."

xvm.
And her skeleton lungs did ntter the sound.

So deadly, so lone, and so fell,
That in long vibrations shuddered the ground:
And, as the ster n notes floated around,

A deep groan was answered from Hell. 1808.

THE LAKE-STORM.

Ah! faint are her limbs, and her footstep is weary,
Yet far must the desolate wanderer roam:

Though the tempest is stern, and the mountain is dreary,
She must quit at deep midnight her pitiless home.

I see her swift foot dash the dew from the whortle,

As she rapidly hastes to the green grove of myrtle;

And I hear, as she wraps round her figure the kirtle: "Stay thy boat on the lake: dearest Henry, I come!"

High swelled in her bosom the throb of affection,

As lightly her form bounded over the lea,
And arose in her mind every dear recollection:—

"I come, dearest Henry, and wait but for thee!"
How sad, when dear hope every sorrow is soothing,
When sympathy's swell the soft bosom is moving,
And the mind the mild joys of affection is proving,

Is the ster n voice of Fate that bids happiness flee!

Oh! dark loured the clouds on that horrible eve,

And the moon dimly gleamed through the tempested air. Oh! how could false visions such softness deceive?

Oh! how could false hope rend a bosom so fair? Thy love's pallid corse the wild surges are laving; O'er his form the fierce swell of the tempest is raving. But fear not, parting spirit! Thy goodness is saving

In eternity's bowers a seat for thee there.

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