Dire was the act,-May Heaven forgive-
'Twas Madness urged thee to the deed!
May he who caus'd the crime long live,
And misery make his heart-strings bleed.
Damn'd be through life the miscreant vile-
Who peace and virtue can betray;
May mankind on his sufferings smile,
And dead, Heaven's portals bar his way.
may the poet's wood-notes wild
Ascend to him whose power can save;
And Heaven's dread sentence pass as mild
As sweeps the night-wind o'er thy grave.
Oft shall the Poet mourn thy doom
In prayer by Wansbeck's murmuring stream;
At midnight hour when o'er thy tomb
The pale moon casts her glancing beam.
READER! no longer fear the rage of Fate,
On Me it wasted all its shafts of hate;
Through one long round of woes my life it drew,
And my last sigh was the first bliss I knew.
TO SIR WILLIAM ELFORD, BART.
WITH A VOLUME OF POEMS BY THE AUTHOR.
THE sister-arts at Nature's shrine
In generous rivalry combine;
Her charms the Painter's soul inspire,
And wake the Bard's immortal fire.
O doubly blest! to you are given
These varied powers by favouring Heaven!
Taste's cultur'd eye, Art's skilful hand,
The Poet's blissful fairy land,
The charms that wit and sense impart,
And, rarer still, a feeling heart.
Elford! you first with generous praise
Cherish'd these simple rustic lays;
With kindness heard the artless strain
And fed the Poet's pleasing pain.
With bashful fears and love of song,
The timid Maiden struggled long,
Till Hope her radiant wings unfurl'd,
And bore the wild flowers to the world;
Bolder, and bolder still, she grew,
And sent th' imperfect wreath to you.
Bertram House,
May 10, 1810.
THOU, who led my willing way Through the deep grove and pasture gay, In early days, when all was new, And all was Paradise to view, And still adorn'st the lonely wood With all the charms of solitude, Though not to me is given to wear That wreathe to every bard so dear; Though not on me hast thou bestow'd The plaudits of the wondering crowd, Yet ever let my heart rejoice In listening to thy slightest voice! For oft have we together seen The shades of evening on the green; Together mark'd the radiance mild Of dying day on landscapes wild; And oft have twin'd the vernal flowers, That blossom in these peaceful bowers. There are, who view the rising morn With purple ray the hills adorn;
There are, who mark the glow of Heaven,
And all the inchanting gleams of Even;
And yet alas! no transport meet,
No rapture in the scenery sweet:
But thou hast taught me to descry
In every path new ecstasy;
There seems a visionary light
Thrown on each object of my sight;
In every summer breath that blows,
The tide of Inspiration flows;
The flocks and waving pastures fair,
That wanton in the summer air;
The village spire but dimly seen,"
With many a shadowy grove between;
The trembling tints of fading day,
That on the river's bosom play;
The mists of night that slowly sail
Through the damp wood and lowly vale;
All wake for me enchantments new,
That meet no other mortal's view.
ON THE LATE DIVORCES, IN SCOTLAND,
JANUARY, 1811.
To ready Scotland boys and girls are carried
Across the Tweed, impatient to be married;
But wiser grown, the self-same road they run
With eager haste, to get the knot undone.
Th' indulgent Scot, when English law too nice is,
Sanctions our follies first, and then our vices.
JEHOVAH! to thy gracious power,
In grief's humiliating hour,
I lift my supplicating prayer,
For thou art present every where.
Thou! by whose arm this rolling world
Was thro' the waste of ether hurl'd,
And millions, too, of worlds whose light
Streams thro' the boundless void of night,
Canst sec, and shield the smallest fly
That buzzes mid the summer sky,
All-powerful, all-discerning mind,
Art thou like earthly kings confin'd?
Immur'd in pomp and prideful state,
Cannot thy spirit penetrate,
And range the universe, and know
All things above and all below?
Thus powerful, canst thou not, even me,
Lowly and sinful tho' I be,
Discern, and save from threaten'd ill,
And bid my trembling heart be still?
Jehovah! all preserving power,
In grief's humiliating hour,
With holy confidence, even I,
To thee for timely succour cry,
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