EPISTLE TO THE LADY CHARLOTTE R-WD-N.
Nor many months have now been dream'd away Since yonder sun (beneath whose evening ray We rest our boat among these Indian Isles) Saw me, where mazy Trent serenely smiles Through many an oak, as sacred as the groves Beneath whose shade the pious Persian roves, And hears the soul of father or of chief, Or loved mistress, sigh in every leaf!
There listening, lady! while thy lip hath sung My own unpolish'd lays, how proud I've hung On every mellow'd number! proud to feel That notes like mine should have the fate to steal, As o'er thy hallowing lip they sigh'd along, Such breath of passion and such soul of song. Oh! I have wonder'd, like the peasant boy Who sings at eve his Sabbath strains of joy, And when he hears the rude, luxuriant note Back to his ear on softening echoes float, Believes it still some answering spirit's tone, And thinks it all too sweet to be his own! I dream'd not then that, ere the rolling year Had fill'd its circle, I should wander here In musing awe; should tread this wondrous world, See all its store of inland water's hurl'd In one vast volume down Niagara's steep, Or calm behold them, in transparent sleep, Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed Their evening shadows o'er Ontario's bed! Should trace the grand Cadaraqui, and glide Down the white rapids of his lordly tide Through massy woods, through islets flowering fair, Through shades of bloom, where the first sinful pair For consolation might have weeping trod, When banish'd from the garden of their God! Oh, lady! these are miracles, which man, Caged in the bounds of Europe's pigmy plan, Can scarcely dream of; which his eye must see, To know how beautiful this world can be!
To all that breathe the airs of heaven, Some boon of strength has nature given. When the majestic bull was born,
She fenced his brow with wreathed horn. She arm'd the courser's foot of air, And wing'd with speed the panting hare. She gave the lion fangs of terror, And, on the ocean's crystal mirror, Taught the unnumber'd scaly throng To trace their liquid path along; While for the umbrage of the grove, She plumed the warbling world of love. To man she gave the flame refined, The spark of Heaven—a thinking mind; And had she no surpassing treasure For thee, oh woman! child of pleasure? She gave thee beauty; shaft of eyes, That every shaft of war outflies! She gave thee beauty; blush of fire, That bids the flames of war retire! Woman! be fair, we must adore thee; Smile, and a world is weak before thee?
TO A BOY, WITH A WATCH.
Is it not sweet, beloved youth, To rove through erudition's bowers, And cull the golden fruits of truth, And gather fancy's brilliant flowers?
And is it not more sweet than this To feel thy parents' hearts approving, And pay them back, in sums of bliss,
The dear, the endless debt of loving?
It must be so to thee, my youth; With this idea toil is lighter;
This sweetens all the fruits of truth, And makes the flowers of fancy brighter!
The little gift we send thee, boy,
May sometimes teach thy soul to ponder, If Indolence or siren Joy
Should ever tempt that soul to wander. "Twill tell thee that the winged day
Can ne'er be chain'd by man's endeavour; That life and time shall fade away,
While Heaven and virtue bloom for ever!
A BEAM of tranquillity smiled in the west,
The storms of the morning pursued us no more, And the wave, while it welcomed the moment of rest, Still heaved, as remembering ills that were o'er! Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour,
Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead, And the spirit becalm'd but remember'd their power, As the billow the force of the gale that was fled! I thought of the days when to pleasure alone My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh;
When the saddest emotion my bosom had known Was pity for those who were wiser than I!
I felt how the pure intellectual fire
In luxury loses its heavenly ray;
How soon, in the lavishing cup of desire, The pearl of the soul may be melted away!
And I prayed of that Spirit who lighted the flame, That pleasure no more might its purity dim: And that, sullied but little, or brightly the same, I might give back the gem I had borrow'd from him!
The thought was ecstatic! I felt as if Heaven Had already the wreath of eternity shown; As if, passion all chasten'd and error forgiven, My heart had begun to be purely its own! I look'd to the west, and the beautiful sky
Which morning had clouded was clouded no more: "Oh! thus," I exclaim'd, " can a heavenly eye Shed light on the soul that was darken'd before!"
GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE.
Go where glory waits thee, But, while fame elates thee, Oh! still remember me. When the praise thou meetest To thine ear is sweetest, Oh! then remember me. Other arms may press thee, Dearer friends caress thee, All the joys that bless thee Sweeter far may be;
But when friends are nearest, And when joys are dearest, Oh! then remember me.
When at eve thou rovest By the star thou lovest,
Oh! then remember me. Think, when home returning, Bright we've seen it burning- Oh! then remember me.
Oft as summer closes, When thine eye reposes On its lingering roses,
Once so loved by thee, Think of her who wove them, Her who made thee love them- Oh! then remember me.
When, around thee dying, Autumn leaves are lying, Oh! then remember me. And at night, when gazing On the gay hearth blazing, Oh! still remember me. Then should music, stealing All the soul of feeling, To thy heart appealing, Draw one tear from thee; Then let memory bring thee Strains I used to sing thee- Oh! then remember me.
OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME.
OH! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid: Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed, As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head!
But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
AS A BEAM O'ER THE FACE OF THE WATERS MAY GLOW.
As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow, While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny
Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while.
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