It suits me well to mingle now With things that never pleased before: Though every joy is fled below, What future grief can touch me more? Then bring me wine, the banquet bring; That smiles with all, and weeps with none. It was not thus in days more dear, It never would have been, but thou The smile that sorrow fain would wear Though pleasure fires the maddening soul, On many a lone and lovely night It sooth'd to gaze upon the sky; For then I deem'd the heavenly light Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye: And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon, When sailing o'er the Egean wave, "Now Thyrza gazes on that moon"Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave! When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed, And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, ""Tis comfort still," I faintly said, "That Thyrza cannot know my pains:" Like freedom to the time-worn slave, A boon 't is idle then to give, Relenting Nature vainly gave My life, when Thyrza ceased to live! My Thyrza's pledge in better days, When love and life alike were new! Or break the heart to which thou 'rt press'd. EUTHANASIA. WHEN Time, or soon or late, shall bring No band of friends or heirs be there, To weep, or wish, the coming blow: No maiden, with dishevelled hair, To feel, or feign, decorous woe. But silent let me sink to earth, With no officious mourners near: I would not mar one hour of mirth, Nor startle friendship with a tear. Yet Love, if Love in such an hour Could nobly check its useless sighs, Might then exert its latest power In her who lives, and him who dies. 'T were sweet, my Psyche! to the last Thy features still serene to see: Forgetful of its struggles past, E'en Pain itself should smile on thee. But vain the wish-for Beauty still Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath; And women's tears, produced at will, Deceive in life, unman in death. Then lonely be my latest hour, Without regret, without a groan? For thousands Death hath ceas'd to lower, And pain been transient or unknown. "Ay, but to die, and go," alas! Where all have gone, and all must go! To be the nothing that I was Ere born to life and living woe! Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen, AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AND FAIR. "Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse !" AND thou art dead, as young and fair I will not ask where thou liest low, There flowers or weeds at will may grow, It is enough for me to prove That what I loved, and long must love, To me there needs no stone to tell, "Tis Nothing that I loved so well. Yet did I love thee to the last As fervently as thou, Who didst not change through all the past, The love where Death has set his seal, Nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, Shall never more be thine. The silence of that dreamless sleep Nor need I to repine, That all those charms have pass'd away; The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, I know not if I could have borne The night that follow'd such a morn Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd, As stars that shoot along the sky As once I wept, if I could weep, To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, Yet how much less it were to gain, And more thy buried love endears February, 1812. IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF IP sometimes in the haunts of men The semblance of thy gentle shade: And now that sad and silent hour The plaint she dare not speak before. Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile I waste one thought I owe to thee, Nor deem that memory less dear, I would not fools should overhear From all her troubled visions free, That drown'd a single thought of thee. For wert thou vanish'd from my mind, Where could my vacant bosom turn? And who would then remain behind To honour thine abandon'd Urn? No, no-it is my sorrow's pride That last dear duty to fulfil : Though all the world forget beside, "Tis meet that I remember still. For well I know, that such had been Thy gentle care for him, who now Unmourn'd shall quit this mortal scene, Where none regarded him, but thou: And, oh! I feel in that was given A blessing never meant for me; Thou wert too like a dream of Heaven For earthly Love to merit thee. March 14, 1812. FROM THE FRENCH. ÆGLE, beauty and poet, has two little crimes; She makes her own face, and does not make her rhymes. ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN. ILL-FATED Heart! and can it be, That thou should'st thus be rent in twain ? Have years of care for thine and thee Alike been all employ'd in vain ? Yet precious seems each shatter'd part, And every fragment dearer grown, Since he who wears thee feels thou art A fitter emblem of his own. March 16, 1812. LINES TO A LADY WEEPING. WEEP, daughter of a royal line, A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay; Ah! happy if each tear of thine Could wash a father's fault away! Weep-for thy tears are Virtue's tears- March, 1812. THE CHAIN I GAVE. FROM THE TURKISH. THE chain I gave was fair to view, But not to bear a stranger's touch; Restring the chords, renew the clasp. When thou wert changed, they alter'd too; The chain is broke, the music mute. "Tis past-to them and thee adieu— False heart, frail chain, and silent lute. LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF "THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY." ABSENT or present, still to thee, My friend, what magic spells belong! As all can tell, who share, like me, In turn thy converse and thy song. But when the dreaded hour shall come By Friendship ever deem'd too nigh, And "MEMORY" o'er her Druid's tomb Shall weep that aught of thee can die, How fondly will she then repay Thy homage offer'd at her shrine, And blend, while ages roll away, Her name immortally with thine! April 19, 1812. ADDRESS, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF DRURY-LANE THEATRE, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812. IN one dread night our city saw, and sigh'd, Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourn'd, Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd!) Through clouds of fire the massy fragments riven, Like Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven; Saw the long column of revolving flames Shrank back appall'd, and trembled for their home, As soars this fane to emulate the last, [Plays Friends of the stage! to whom both Players and And made us blush that you forbore to blame; This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd, The curtain rises-may our stage unfold PARENTHETICAL ADDRESS. BY DR. PLAGIARY. Half stolen, with acknowledgments, to be spoken in an inarticulate voice by Master P. at the opening of the next new theatre. Stolen parts marked with the inverted commas of quotation-thus "", "WHEN energising objects men pursue," Then Lord knows what is writ by Lord knows who. "A modest monologue you here survey,' Hiss'd from the theatre the "other day," As if Sir Fretful wrote "the slumberous" verse, And gave his son "the rubbish" to rehearse. "Yet at the thing you 'd never be amazed," Knew you the rumpus which the author raised, "Nor even here your smiles would be represt," Knew you these lines-the badness of the best, "Flame! fire! and flame!" (words borrowed from Lucretius,) [issues! "Dread metaphors which open wounds" like "And sleeping pangs awake-and-but away" (Confound me if I know what next to say). "Lo Hope reviving re-expands her wings," And Master G-recites what Dr. Busby sings!"If mighty things with small we may compare," (Translated from the grammar for the fair!). Dramatic "spirit drives a conquering car," And burn'd poor Moscow like a tub of "tar." "This spirit Wellington has shown in Spain," To furnish melodrames for Drury Lane.. "Another Marlborough points to Blenheim's And George and I will dramatise it for ye. [story," "In arts and sciences our isle hath shone" (This deep discovery is mine alone). "Oh British poesy, whose powers inspire" My verse or I'm a fool-and Fame 's a liar, "Thee we invoke, your sister arts implore" With "smiles," and "lyres," and "pencils," and much more. These, if we win the Graces, too, we gain Disgraces, too! "inseparable train!" [Cupid" "Three who have stolen their witching airs from (You all know what I mean, unless you 're stupid): "Harmonious throng" that I have kept in petto Now to produce in a "divine sestetto"!! "While Poesy," with these delightful doxies, 'Sustains her part" in all the " upper" boxes! "Thus lifted gloriously, you'll soar along," Borne in the vast balloon of Busby's song; Shine in your farce, masque, scenery, and play" (For this last line George had a holiday). " 'Old Drury never, never soar'd so high," So says the manager, and so say I. "But hold, you say, this self-complacent boast;" Is this the poem which the public lost? [pride;" "True-true-that lowers at once our mounting But lo:-the papers print what you deride. " WHEN Dryden's fool," unknowing what he sought," When vice and folly mark them as they pass. REMEMBER THEE! REMEMBER THEE! REMEMBER thee! remember thec! Till Lethe quench life's burning stream Remorse and shame shall cling to thee, And haunt thee like a feverish dream! Remember thee! Ay, doubt it not. Thy husband too shall think of thee! By neither shalt thou be forgot, Thou false to him, thou fiend to me! TO TIME. TIME! on whose arbitrary wing The varying hours must flag or fly, Hail thou! who on my birth bestow'd For now I bear the weight alone. I would not one fond heart should share Thy future ills shall press in vain; Yet even that pain was some relief, Retards, but never counts the hour. In joy I've sigh'd to think thy flight To prove thee-not Eternity. That beam hath sunk, and now thou art Thine efforts shortly shall be shown, When all the vengeance thou canst wreak Must fall upon-a nameless stone. TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE AH! Love was never yet without Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net Your hearts shall burn, your hopes expire. A bird of free and careless wing Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain, In flattering dreams I deem'd thee mine; My light of life! ah, tell me why And art thou changed, and canst thou hate? My curdling blood, my madd'ning brain, Pour me the poison; fear not thou! My wounded soul, my bleeding breast, THOU ART NOT FALSE, BUT THOU ART THOU art not false, but thou art fickle, The tears that thou hast forced to trickle As if a dream alone had charm'd? ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE "ORIGIN OF LOVE." THE "Origin of Love!"-Ah, why He starts to life on seeing thee? And should'st thou seek his end to know: But live-until I cease to be. REMEMBER HIM WHOM PASSION'S REMEMBER him whom passion's power The wilder wish reproved, repress'd. |