Imágenes de páginas

Cease, if you prize your beauty's reign!

No jealousy bids me reprove:
One, who is thus from nature vain,
I pity, but I cannot love.

January 18, 1807.
(First published, 1832.


By nightly skies, and storms alone;
No mortal eye will deign to steep
With tears the dark sepulchral deep

Which hides a name unknown.
Forget this world, my restless sprite,

Turn, turn thy thoughts to Heaven:
There must thou soon direct thy flight,

If errors are forgiven.
To bigots and to sects unknown,
Bow down beneath the Almighty's Throne;

Το im address thy trembling prayer:
He, who is merciful and just,
Will not reject a child of dust,

Although his meanest care.
Father of Light! to Thee I call;

My soul is dark within:
Thou who canst mark the sparrow's fall,

Avert the death of sin.
Thou, who canst guide the wandering star,
Who calm'st the elemental war,

Whose mantle is yon boundless sky,
My thoughts, my words, my crimes forgive:
And, since I soon must cease to live,
Instruct me how to die.

1807. (First published, 1832.)

Oh, Anne, your offences to me have been grievous: I thought from my wrath no atonement could

save you: But woman is made to command and deceive us

I look'd in your face, and I almost forgave you. I vow'd I could ne'er for a moment respect you,

Yet thought that a day's separation was long; When we met, I determined again to suspect you

Your smile soon convinced me suspicion was I swore, in a transport of young indignation, (wrong.

With fervent contempt evermore to disdain you: I saw you-my anger became admiration;

And now, all my wish, all my hope's to regain you. With beauty like yours, ob, how vain the conten

tion ! Thus lowly I sue for forgiveness before you; At once to conclude such a fruitless dissension, Be false, my sweet Anne, when I cease to adore you!

January 16, 1807. (First published, 1832.)


AH! heedless girl! why thus disclose

What ne'er was meant for other ears; Why thus destroy thine own repose

And dig the source of future tears? Oh, thou wilt weep, imprudent maid,

While lurking envious foes will smile, For all the follies thou hast said

of those who spoke but to beguile. Vain girl! thy ling'ring woes are nigh,

If thou believ'st what striplings say: Oh, from the deep temptation fly,

Nor fall the specious spoiler's prey. Dost thou repeat, in childish boast,

The words man utters to deceive? Thy peace, thy hope, thy all is lost,

If thou canst venture to believe. While now amongst thy female peers

Thou tell'st again the soothing tale, Canst thou not mark the rising sneers

Duplicity in vain would veil? These tales in secret silence hush,

Nor make thyself the public gaze: What modest maid without a blush

Recounts a flattering coxcomb's praise? Will not the laughing boy despise

Her who relates each fond conceitWho, thinking Heaven is in her eyes,

Yet cannot see the slight deceit? For she who takes a soft delight

These amorous nothings in revealing, Must credit all we say or write,

While vanity prevents concealing.

TO THE SAME. Ou, say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decrecd The heart which adores you should wish to dis

sever; Such Fates were to me most unkind ones indeed,

To bear me from love and from beauty for ever. Your frowns, lovely girl, are the Fates which alone

Could bid me from fond admiration refrain; By these, every hope, every wish were o'erthrown,

Till smiles should restore me to rapture again. As the ivy and oak, in the forest entwined,

The rage of the tempest united must weather ; My love and my life were by nature design'd

To flourish alike, or to perish together. Then say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have de

Your lover should bid you a lasting adieu; (creed Till Fate can ordain that his bosom shall bleed, His soul, his existence, are centred in you.

1807. (First published, 1832.)


THT verse is “sad” enough, no doubt:

A devilish deal more sad than witty!
Why we should weep I can't find out,

Unless for thee we weep in pity.

Yet there is one I pity more;

Can the lips sing of Love in the desert alone, And much, alas! I think he needs it ;

Of kisses and smiles which they now must resign? For he, I'm sure, will suffer sore,

Or dwell with delight on the bours that are flown? Who, to his own misfortune, reads it.

Ah, no! for those hours can no longer be mine. Thy rhymes, without the aid of magic,

Can they speak of the friends that I lived but to love? May once be read-but never after:

Ah, surely affection ennobles the strain ! Yet their effect 's by no means tragic,

But how can my numbers in sympathy move, Although by far too dull for laughter.

When I scarcely can hope to behold them again? But would you make our bosoms bleed,

Can I sing of the deeds which my Fathers have done, And of no common pang complain

And raise my loud harp to the fame of my Sires ? If you would make us weep indeed,

For glories like theirs, oh, how faint is my tone! Tell us, you 'll read them o'er again.

For Herves' exploits how unequal my fires ! March 8, 1807. (First published, 1832.)

Untouch'd, then, my Lyre shall reply to the blast

'Tis hush'd; and my feeble endeavours are o'er;

And those who have heard it will pardon the past, ON FINDING A FAN.

When they know that its murmurs shall vibrate

no more. In one who felt as once he felt,

And soon shall its wild erring notes be forgot, This might, perhaps, have fann'd the flame;

Since early affection and love are o'ercast: But now his heart no more will melt,

Oh! blest had my fate been, and happy my lot, Because that heart is not the same.

Had the first strain of love been the dearest, the As when the ebbing flames are low,

last. The aid which once improved their light, And bade them burn with fiercer glow,

Farewell, my young Muse! since we now can ne'er Now quenches all their blaze in night.



If our songs have been languid, they surely are Thus has it been with passion's fires

Let us hope that the present at least will be sweetAs many a boy and girl remembers

The present-which seals our eternal Adicu. While every hope of love expires,

1807. [First published, 1832.)
Extinguish'd with the dying embers.
The first, though not a spark survive,
Some careful hand may teach to burn;

The last, alas! can ne'er survive;
No touch can bid its warmth return.

YOUNG Oak! when I planted thee deep in the

ground, Or, if it chance to wake again,

I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine; Not always doom'd its heat to smother,

That thy dark-waving branches would tlourish It sheds (so wayward fates ordain)

around, Its former warmth around another. 1807.

And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine. (First published, 1832.]

Such, such was my hope, when in infancy's years,

On the land of my fathers I rear'd thee with pride;

They are past, and I water thy stem with my tears, FAREWELL TO THE MUSE.

Thy decay not the weeds that surround thee can

hide. THOU Power! who hast ruled me through infancy's days,

I left thee, my Oak, and, since that fatal hour, Young offspring of fancy,'t is time we should part; til manhood shall crown me, not mine is the power,

A stranger has dwelt in the hall of my sire; Then rise on the gale this the last of my lays, The coldest effusion which springs from my heart.

But his, whose neglect may have bade thee expire. This bosom, responsive to rapture no more,

Oh! hardy thou wert-even now little care Shall hush thy wild notes,nor implore thee to sing;

Might revive thy young head, and thy wounds The feelings of childhood, which taught thee to soar,

gently heal: Are wafted far distant on Apathy's wing.

But thou wert not fated affection to share

For who could suppose that a stranger would feel! Though simple the themes of my rude flowing Lyre,

Yet even these themes are departed for ever; Ah, droop not, my Oak! lift thy head for a while; No more beam the eyes which my dream could in- Ere twice round yon Glory this planet shall run, spire,

The hand of thy Master will teach thee to smile, My visions are flown, to return,-alas! never. When Infancy's years of probation are done. When drain'd is the nectar which gladdens the bowl, Oh, live then,my Oak! tow'r aloft from the weeds, How vain is the effort delight to prolong!

That clog thy young growth, and assist thy decay, When cold is the beauty which dwelt in my soul, For still in thy bosom are life's early seeds,

What magic of Fancy can lengthen my song? And still may thy branches their beauty display.

And thou canst lisp a father's name
Ah, William, were thine own the same,--
No self-reproach-but, let me cease-
My care for thee shall purchase peace;
Thy mother's shade shall smile in joy,
And pardon all the past, my Boy!

Oh! yet, if maturity's years may be thine,

Though I shall lie low in the cavern of death, On thy leaves yet the day-beam of ages may shine,

Uninjured by time, or the rude winter's breath. For centuries still may thy boughs lightly wave

O'er the corse of thy lord in thy canopy laid; While the branches thus gratefully shelter his

grave, The chief who survives may recline in thy shade. And as he, with his boys, shall revisit this spot,

He will tell them in whispers more softly to Oh! surely, by these I shall ne'er be forgot; (tread.

Remembrance still hallows the dust of the dead. And here, will they say, when in life's glowing

prime, Perhaps he has pour'd forth his young simple lay, And here must he sleep, till the moments of time Are lost in the hours of Eternity's day.

1807. (First published, 1832.]

Her lowly grave the turf has prest,
And thou hast known a stranger's breast;
Derision sneers upon thy birth,
And yields thee scarce a name on earth;
Yet shall not these one hope destroy,-
A Father's heart is thine, my Boy!


Why, let the world unfeeling frown,
Must I fond Nature's claim disown?
Ah, no-though moralists reprove,
I hail thee, dearest child of love,
Fair cherub, pledge of youth and joy-
A Father guards thy birth, my Boy!
Oh, 't will be sweet in thee to trace,
Ere age has wrinkled o'er my face,
Ere half my glass of life is run,
At once a brother and a son;
And all my wane of years employ
In justice done to thee, my Boy!
Although so young thy heedless sire,
Youth will not damp parental fire;
And, wert thou still less dear to me,
While Helen's form revives in thee,
The breast, which beat to former joy,
Will ne'er desert its pledge, my Boy!

1807. (First published, 1830.)

HERE once engaged the stranger's view

Young Friendship's record simply traced; Few were her words,-but yet, though few,

Resentment's hand the line defaced.
Deeply she cut-but not erased,

The characters were still so plain,
That Friendship once return'd, and gazed, -

Till Memory hail'd the words again.
Repentance placed them as before;

Forgiveness join'd her gentle name;
So fair the inscription seem'd once more,

That Friendship thought it still the same.
Thus might the Record now have been;

But, ah, in spite of Hope's endeavour,
Or Friendship's tears, Pride rush'd between,
And blotted out the line for ever.

September, 1807.



FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer

For other's weal availid on high, Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky. 'T were vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:

Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,

Are in that word-Farewell !-Farewell!


SOUTHWELL, A CARRIER, WHO DIED OF DRUNKENNESS. JOHN ADAMS lies here, of the parish of Southwell, A Carrier who carried his can to his mouth well: He carried so much, and he carried so fast, He could carry no more-s0 was carried at last; For, the liquor he drank, being too much for one, He could not carry off,-s0 he's now carri-on.

September, 1807.

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;

But in my breast and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns not dares complain,

Though grief and passion there rebel;
I only know we loved in vain-
I only feel-Farewell !--Farewell!




THOSE flaxen locks, those eyes of blue,
bright as thy mother's in their hue;
Those rosy lips, whose dimples play
And smile to steal the heart away,
Recall a scene of former joy,
And touch thy father's heart, my Roy!

BRIGHT be the place of thy soul !

No lovelier spirit than thine E'er burst from its mortal control

In the orbs of the blessed to shine.

On earth thon wert all bnt divine,

As thy soul shall immortally be; And our sorrow may cease to repine,

When we know that thy God is with thee. Light be the turf of thy tomb!

May its verdure like emeralds be. There should not be the shadow of gloom

In aught that reminds us of thee.
Young flowers and an evergreen tree

May spring from the spot of thy rest:
But nor cypress nor yew let us sec;
For why should we mourn for the blest!



WIEN We two parted

In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,
Pale grow thy cheek and cold

Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now. Thy vows arc all broken,

And light is thy fame: I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me

Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew theo,

Who knew thee too well: Long, long shall I rue thee,

Too deeply to tell. In secret we met

In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet theo

After long years,
How should I greet thee?

With silence and tears.

And such the change the heart displays,

so frail is early friendship's reign, A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's,

Will view thy inind estranged again. If so, it never shall be mine

To mourn the loss of such a heart; The fault was Nature's fault, not thine,

Which made thee fickle as thou art. As rolls the ocean's changing tide,

So human feelings ebb and flow; And who would in a breast confide

Where stormy passions ever glow? It boots not that, together bred,

Our childish days were days of joy: My spring of life has quickly fled ;

Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy. And when we bid adieu to youth,

Slaves to the specious world's control, We sigh a long farewell to truth;

That world corrupts the noblest soul. Ah, joyous season! when the mind

Dares all things boldly but to lie; When thought ere spoke is unconfined,

And sparkles in the placid eye.
Not so in Man's maturer years,

When Man himself is but a tool;
When interest sways our hopes and fears,

And all must love and hate by rule.
With fools in kindred vice the same,

We learn at length our faults to blend; And those, and those alone, may claim

The prostituted namo of friend. Such is the common lot of man:

Can we then 'scape from folly free? Can we reverse the general plan,

Nor be what all in turn must be? No; for myself, so dark my fate

Through every turn of life hath been; Man and the world so much I hate,

I care not when I quit the scene. But thou, with spirit frail and light,

Wilt shine awhile, and pass away ; As glow-worms sparkle through the night,

But dare not stand the test of day. Alas! whenever folly calls

Where parasites and princes meet (For cherish'd first in royal halls,

The welcome vices kindly greet), Ev'n now thou'rt nightly seen to add

One insect to the fluttering crowd; And still thy trifling heart is glad

To join the vain and court the proud. There dost thou glide from fair to fair,

Still simpering on with eager haste, As flies along the gay parterre,

That taint the flowers they scarcely taste. But say, what nymph will prize the flame

Which seemns, as marshy vapours move, To flit along from dame to dame,

An ignis-fatuus gleam of love?



FEW years have pass'd since thou and I

Were firmest friends, at least in name, And childhood's gay sincerity

Preserved our feelings long the same. But now, like me, too well thou know'st

What trifles oft the heart recall; And those who once have loved the most

Too soon forget they loved at all.

[blocks in formation]

1 deemid that time, I deem'd that pride,

Had quench'd at length my boyish flame; Nor knew, till scated by thy side,

My heart in ali,--save hope,-the same. Yet was I calm: I knew the time

My breast would thrill before thy look; But now to treinble were a crime

We met, and not a nerve was shook. I saw thee gnze upon my face,

Yet meet with no confusion there: One only feeling could'st thou trace ;

The sullen calmness of despair. Away! away! my early dream

Remenivrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream? My foolish heart, be still, or break.

November 2, 1908.


FORMED FROM A SKULL. START not-nor deem my spirit fled;

In me behold the only skull,
From which, unlike a living head,

Whatever flows is never dull.
I lived, I loved, I quafra, like thee:

I died: let earth my bones resign;
Fill up-thou canst not injure me;

The worm hath fouler lips than thine. Better to hold the sparkling grape,

Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood; And circle in the goblet's shape

The drink of gods, than reptile's food. Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,

In aid of others' let me shine;
And when, alas ! our brains are gone,

What nobler substitute than wine?
Quaff while thou canst: another race,

When thou and thine, like me, are sped, May rescue thee from earth's einbrace,

And rhyme and revel with the dead. Why not? since through life's little day

Our heads such sad effects produce; Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay, This chance is theirs, to be of use.

Newstead Abbey, 1808.


OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG. WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, The sculptor's art exhausts the poinp of woe, And storied urns record who rest below: When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, Not what he was, but what he should have been: But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth : While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power, Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust! Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit! By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thec blush for shame. Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn: To mark a friend's remains these stones arise; I never knew but one,-and here be lies.

Newstead Abbey, November 30, 1808.


WELL! THOU ART HAPPY. WELL! thou art happy, and I feel

That I should thus be happy too;
For still my heart regards thy Weal

Warmly, as it was wont to do.
Thy husband's blest-and 't will impart

Some pangs to view his happier lot:
But let them pass-Oh! how my heart

Would hate him if he loved thee not! When late I saw thy favourite child,

I thought my jealous heart would break; But when the unconscious infant smiled,

I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.
I kiss'd it,-and repress'd my sighs

Its father in its face to see:
But then it had its mother's eyes,

And they were all to love and me.
Mary, adieu ! I must away:

While thou art blest I'll not repine; But near thee I can never stay;

My heart would soon again be thine.



WHEN Man, expell'd from Eden's bowers,

A moment linger'd near the gate, Each scene recall'd the vanish'd hours,

And bade him curse his future fate. But, wandering on through distant climes,

He learnt to bear his load of grief; Just gave a sigh to other times,

And found in busier scenes reliel.

« AnteriorContinuar »