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Then would I view each rival wight,

Petty and Palmerston survey ; Who canvass there with all their might,

Against the next elective day.

Lo! candidates and voters lie

All lull'd in sleep, a goodly number; A race renowned for piety,

Whose conscience won't disturb their slun her.

Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue, And gild their pinions as the moments flew; Peace, that reflection never frown'd away, By dreams of ill to cloud some future day; Friendship, whose truth let childhood only tell; Alas! they love not long, who love so well. To these adieu ! nor let me linger o'er Scenes hail'd, as exiles hail their native shore, Receding slowly through the dark-blue deep, Beheld by eyes that mourn, yet cannot weep. Dorset, farewell! I will not ask one part Of sad remembrance in so young a heart; The coming morrow from thy youthful mind Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace behind. And yet, perhaps, in some maturer year, Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphere, Since the same senate, nay, the same debate, May one day claim our suffrage for the state, We hence may meet, and pass each other by, With faint regard, or cold and distant eye.

For me, in future, neither friend nor fue, A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe, With thee no more again I hope to trace The recollection of our early race: No more, as once, in social hours rejoice, Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known voice : Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught To reil those feelings which perchance it ought, If these,

-but let me cease the lengthen'd strain,Oh! if these wishes are not breathed in vain, The guardian seraph who directs thy fate will leave thee glorious, as he found thee great.


Lord H-, indeed, may not demur ;

Fellows are sage, reflecting men: They know preferment can occur

But very seldom,-now and then. They know the Chancellor has got

Some pretty livings in disposal : Each hopes that one may be his lot,

And therefore smiles on his proposal. Now from the soporific scene

I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later, To view, unheeded and unseen,

The studious sons of Alma Mater. There, in apartments small and damp,

The candidate for college prizes Sits poring by the midnight lamp;

Goes late to bed, yet early rises.

He surely well deserves to gain them,

With all the honours of his college, Who, striving hardly to obtain them,

Thus seeks un profitable knowledge :

Who sacrifices hours of rest

To scan precisely metres Attic; Or agitates his anxious breast

In solving problems mathematic :




Hills of Annesley, bleak and barren,

Where my thoughtless childhood stray'd, How the northern tempests, warring,

Howl above thy tufted shade! Now no more, the hours beguiling,

Former favourite haunts I see; Now no more my Mary smiling Makes ye seem a heaven to me.


Who reads false quantities in Seale,

Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle; Deprived of many a wholesome meal ;

In barbarous Latin doom'd to wrangle: Renouncing every pleasing page

From authors of historic use; Preferring to the letter'd sage

The square of the hypothen use. Still, harmless are these occupations,

That hurt none but the hapless student, Compared with other recreations,

Which bring together the imprudent;


'Αργυρέαις λόγχαισι μάχου και πάντα

OH! could Le Sage's demon's gift

Re realized at my desire,
This night my trembling form he'd lift

To place it on St. Mary's spire.
Then would, unroofd, old Granta's halls

Pedantic inmates full display ;
Fellows who dream on lawn or stalls,
The price of venal votes to pay.

Whose daring revels shock the sight,

When vice and infamy combine, When drunkenness and dice invite,

As every sense is steep'd in wine. Not so the methodistic crew,

Who plans of reformation lay: In humble attitude they sue,

And for the sins of others pray:

Forgetting that their pride of spirit,

Their exultation in their trial, Detracts most largely from the merit

Of all their boasted self-denial.

'Tis morn from these I turn my sight.

What scene is this which meets the eye? A numerous crowd, array'd in white,

Across the green in numbers fly. Loud rings in air the chapel bell ;

"Tis hush'd what sounds are these I hear? The organ's soft celestial swell

Rolls deeply on the list'ning ear. To this is join'd the sacred song,

The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain;
Though he who hears the music long

Will never wish to hear again.
Our choir would scarcely be excused,

Even as a band of raw beginners ;
All mercy now must be refused

To such a set of croaking sinners. If David, when his toils were ended,

Had heard these blockheads sing before him, To us his psalms had ne'er descended,

In furious mood he would have tore 'em. The luckless Israelites, when taken

By some inhuman tyrant's order,
Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken,

On Babylonian river's border.
Oh! had they sung in notes like these,

Inspired by stratagem or fear,
They might have set their hearts at ease,

The devil a soul had stay'd to hear.
But if I scribble longer now,

The deuce a soul will stay to read; My pen is blunt, my ink is low;

'Tis almost time to stop, indeed. Therefore, farewell, old Granta's spires !

No more, like Cleofas, I fly;
No more thy theme my muse inspires ;
The reader's tired, and so am I.


Again I behold where for hours I have ponderid,

As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay ; Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wan.

der'd, To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray. I once more view the room, with spectators sur

rounded, Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown; While, to swell my young pride, such applauses re

sounded, I fancied that Mossop himself was outshone : Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep imprecation, By my daughters of kingdom and reason de

prived; Till, fired by loud plaudits and self-adulation,

I regarded myself as a Garrick revived. Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you!

Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast; Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you:

Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest.


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For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,

Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam, We must admire, but still despair;

That fatal glance forbids esteem.

Oh I mihi præteritos referat si Jupiter annos.-VIRG.

YE scenes of my childhood, whose loved recollec

tion Embitters the present, compared with the past; Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection,

(last ; And friendships were form'd, too romantic to Where fancy yet joys to trace the resemblance

Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied ; How welcome to me your ne'er fading remem

brance, Which rests in the bosom, though hope is denied ! Again I revisit the hills where we sported, The streams where we swam, and the fields where we fought;

(sorted, The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we re

To pore o'er the precepts by pedagogues taught.

When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,

So much perfection in thee shone, She fear'd that, too divine for earth,

The skies might claim thee for their own: Therefore, to guard her dearest work,

Lest angels might dispute the prize, She bade a secret lightning lurk

Within those once celestial eyes. These might the boldest sylph appal,

When gleaming with meridian blaze; Thy beauty must enrapture all;

But who can dare thine ardent gaze?

Tis said that Berenice's hair

In stars adorns the vault of heaven; But they would ne'er permit thee there,

Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven.

For did those eyes as planets roll,

Here I can trace the locks of gold Thy sister-lights would scarce appear:

Which round thy snowy forehead wave, E'en suns, which systems now control,

The cheeks which sprung from beauty's mould, Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.

The lips which made me beauty's slave. 1806.

Here I can trace-ah, no! that eye,

Whose azure floats in liquid fire,

Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid him from the task retire.
WOMAN! experience might have told me
That all must love thee who behold thee:

Here I behold its beauteous hue;
Surely experience might have taught

But where's the beam so sweetly straying, Thy firmest promises are nought;

Which gave a lustre to its blue, But, placed in all thy charms before me,

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing? All I forget, but to adore thee.

Sweet copy! far more dear to me, Oh memory! thou choicest blessing

Lifeless, unfeeling as thon art,
When join'd with hope, when still possessing;

Than all the living forms could be,
But how much cursed by every lover
When hope is filed and passion's over.

Save her who placed thee next my heart.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,

She placed it, sad, with needless fear, How prompt are striplings to believe her!

Lest time might shake my wavering soul, How throbs the pulse when first we view

Unconscious that her image there The eye that rolls in glossy blue,

Held every sense in fast control. Or sparkles black, or mildly throws

Through hours, through years, through time, 't will A beam from under hazel brows!

My hope, in gloomy moments, raise; (cheer; How quick we credit every oath,

In life's last confiict 't will appear,
And hear her plight the willing troth!

And meet my fond expiring gaze.
Fondly we hope 't will last for aye,
When, lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,

TO LESBIA. “Woman, thy vows are traced in sand."

LESBIA! since far from you I've ranged,

Our souls with fond affection glow not;
TO M. S. G.

You say 't is I, not you, have changed,
THEN I dream that you love me, you 'll surely for-

I'd tell you why,-but yet I know not. Extend not your anger to sleep;

(give; Your polish'd brow no cares have crost; Foz in visions alone your affection can live,- And, Lesbia! we are not much older I rise, and it leaves me to weep.

Since, trembling, first my heart I lost, Then, Morpheus! envelope my faculties fast,

Or told my love, with hope grown bolder. Shed o'er me your languor benign;

Sixteen was then our utmost age, Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last,

Two years have lingering pass'd away, love! What rapture celestial is mine!

And now new thoughts our minds engage,

At least I feel disposed to stray, love!
They tell us that slumber, the sister of death,
Mortality's emblem is given;

'Tis I that am alone to blame, To fate how I long to resign my frail breath,

I, that am guilty of love's treason; If this be a foretaste of heaven!

Since your sweet breast is still the same,

Caprice must be my only reason.
Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft brow,
Nor deem me too happy in this;

I do not, love! suspect your truth,
If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now,

With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not; Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss.

Warm was the passion of my youth,

One trace of dark deceit it leaves not. Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may No, no, my flame was not pretended;

smile, Oh! think not my penance deficient!

For, oh! I loved you most sincerely;
When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile, And—though our dream at last is ended
To awake will be torture sufficient.

My bosom still esteems you dearly.
No more we meet in yonder bowers;

Absence has made me prone to roving;

But older, firmer hearts than ours,

Have found monotony in loving.
TEIS faint resemblance of thy charms,

Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd, Though strong as mortal art could give,

New beauties still are daily brightning, My constant heart of fear disarms,

Your eye for conquest beams prepared, Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

The forge of love's resistless lightning.

Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed,

Still Hope, breathing peace through the griefMany will throng to sigh like me, love!

swollen breast, More constant they may prove, indeed ;

Will whisper,“Our meeting we yet may renew:" Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be, love!

With this dream of deceit half our sorrow's represt,

Nor taste we the poison of love's last adieu !

Oh! mark you yon pair: in the sunshine of youth LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.

Love twined round their childhood his flowers as (As the author was discharging his pistols in a garden,

they grew; two ladies passing near the spot were alarmed by the They flourish awhile in the season of truth, sound of a bullet hissing near them; to one of whom the Till chill'd by the winter of love's last adieu! following stanzas were addressed the next morning.)

Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way DOUBTLESS, sweet girl! the hissing lead,

Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue? Wafting destruction o'er thy charms,

Yet why do I ask ?--to distraction a prey, And hurtling o'er thy lovely head,

Thy reason has perish'd with love's last adieu! Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms.

Oh! who is yon misanthrope, shunning mankind? Surely some envious demon's force,

From cities to caves of the forest he flew : Vex'd to behold such beauty here,

There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;

The mountains reverberate love's last adieu ! Impell'd the bullet's viewless course, Diverted from its first career.

Now hate rules a heart which in love's easy chains Yes! in that nearly fatal hour

Once passion's tumultuous blandishments knew; The ball obey'd some hell-born guide;

Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins; But Heaven, with interposing power,

He ponders in frenzy on love's last adieu ! In pity turn'd the death aside.

How he envies the wretch with a soul wrapt in steel! Yet, as perchance one trembling tear

His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few, Upon that thrilling bosom fell;

Who laughs at the pang which he never can feel, Which I, th' unconscious cause of fear,

And dreads not the anguish of love's last adieu! Extracted from its glistening cell:

Youth fiies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast;

No more with love's former devotion we sue: Say, what dire penance can atone For such an outrage done to thee?

He spreads his young wing, he retires with the

blast; Arraign'd before thy beauty's throne,

The shroud of affection is love's last adieu ! What punishment wilt thou decree?

In this life of probation for rapture divine, Might I perform the judge's part,

Astrea declares that some penance is due; The sentence I should scarce deplore;

From him who has worshipp'd at love's gentle It only would restore a heart

shrine, Which but belong'd to thee before.

The atonement is ample in love's last adieu! The least atonement I can make

Who kneels to the god, on his altar of light Is to become no longer free;

Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew: Henceforth I breathe but for thy sake,

His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight; Thou shalt be all in all to me.

His cypress, the garland of love's last adieu ! But thou, perhaps, may'st now reject

Such expiation of my guilt ; Come then, some other mode elect;

DAMÆTAS. Let it be death, or what thou wilt.

IN law an infant, and in years a boy, Choose then, relentless! and I swear

In mind a slave to every vicious joy; Nought shall thy dread decree prevent;

From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd; Yet hold-one little word forbear!

In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;
Let it be aught but banishment.

Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a child;
Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;

Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool;

Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school;

Damatas ran through all the maze of sin,
Αει δ' αει με φευγει.-ANACHEON.

And found the goal when others just begin:
THE roses of love glad the garden of life,

Even still conflicting passions shake his soul, Though nurtured 'inid weeds dropping pestilent And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl; dew,

But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain, Till time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife, And what was once his bliss appears his bane.

Or prunes them for ever, in love's last adieu !
In vain with endearments we soothe the sad heart,
In vain do we vow for an age to be true;

The chance of an hour may command us to part, MARION! why that pensive brow?
Or death disunite us in love's last adieu !

What disgust to life hast thou?

Change that discontented air;
Frowns become not one so fair.
'Tis not love disturbs thy rest,
Love's a stranger to thy breast;
He in dimpling smiles appears,
Or mourns in sweetly timid tears,
Or bends the languid eyelid down,
But shuns the cold forbidding frown.
Then resume thy former fire,
Some will love, and all admire;
While that icy aspect chills us,
Nought but cool indifference thrills us.
Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile,
Smile at least, or seem to smile.
Eyes like thine were never meant
To hide their orbs in dark restraint.
Spite of all thou fain wouldst say,
Still in truant beams they play.
Thy lips—but here my modest Muse
Her impulse chaste must needs refuse:
She blushes, curt'sies, frowns,-in short she
Dreads lest the subject should transport me;
And flying off in search of reason,
Brings prudence back in proper season.
All I shall therefore say (whate'er
I think, is neither here nor there)
Is, that such lips, of looks endearing,
Were form'd for better things than sneering:
Of soothing compliments divested,
Advice at least's disinterested;
Such is my artless song to thee,
From all the flow of flattery free;
Counsel like mine is like a brother's,
My heart is given to some others;
That is to say, unskill'd to cozen,
It shares itself among a dozen.

Marion, adieu! oh, prythee slight not
This warning, though it may delight not;
And, lest my precepts be displeasing
To those who think remonstrance teasing,
At once I 'll tell thee our opinion
Concerning woman's soft dominion :
Howe'er we gaze with admiration
On eyes of blue or lips carnation,
Howe'er the flowing locks attract us,
Howe'er those beauties may distract us,
Still fickle, we are prone to rove,
These cannot fix our souls to love;
It is not too severe a stricture
To say they form a pretty picture;
But wouldst thou see the secret chain
Which binds us in your humble train,
To hail you queens of all creation,
Know, in a word, 'tis ANIMATION.

Than all th' unmeaning protestations
Which swell with nonsense love orations.
Our love is fix'd, I think we've proved it;
Nor time, nor place, nor art have moved it;
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine,
With groundless jealousy repine,
With silly whims and fancies frantic,
Merely to make our love romantic?
Why should you weep like Lydia Languish,
And fret with self-created anguish?
Or doom the lover you have chosen,
On winter nights to sigh half frozen;
In leafless shades to sue for pardon,
Only because the scene's a garden?
For gardens secm, by one consent,
Since Shakspeare set the precedent,
Since Juliet first declared her passion,
To form the place of assignation.
Oh! would some modern muse inspire,
And seat her by a sea-coal fire;
Or had the bard at Christmas written,
And laid the scene of love in Britain,
He surely, in commiseration,
Had changed the place of declaration.
In Italy I've no objection;
Warm nights are proper for reflection;
But here our climate is so rigid,
That love itself is rather frigid:
Think on our chilly situation,
And curb this rage for imitation;
Then let us meet, as oft we've done,
Beneath the influence of the sun;
Or, if at midnight I must meet you
Within your mansion let me greet you:
There we can love for hours together,
Much better, in such snowy weather,
Than placed in all th' Arcadian groves
That ever witness'd rural loves;
Then, if my passion fail to please,
Next night I'll be content to freeze;
No more I'll give a loose to laughter,
But curse my fate for ever after.



HOW sweetly shines through azure skies,

The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore; Where Alva's hoary turrets rise,

And hear the din of arms no more ! But often has yon rolling moon

On Alva's casques of silver play'd. And view'd, at midnight's silent noon,

Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd: And on the crimson'd rocks beneath,

Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow, Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death,

She saw the gasping warrior low; While many an eye which ne'er again

Could mark the rising orb of day, Turn 'd feebly from the gory plain,

Beheld in death her fading ray.


THESE locks, which fondly thus entwine,
In firmer chains our hearts confine,

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