~P*fLp 
 
/ 
 
 )' 1 
 

 
 
 
 PERKINS LIBRARY 
 
 Duke University 
 Kare books 
 
 
 
 
 
POEMS. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 Duke University Libraries 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/poemsbyfrederickOOcarl 
 
POEMS 
 
 // 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERICK EARL OF CARLISLE, 
 
 KNIGHT OF THE GARTER, 
 
 SfC. SfC. Spc. 
 
 A NEW EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM BULMER AND CO, 
 CLEVELAND-ROW. 
 
 1807. 
 
X.&.R. 
 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 Page 
 Soliloquy in a Fit of Sickness 5 
 
 Ode on the Death of Gray - - 11 
 
 Verses on a Spring of Water at - 21 
 
 The Italian Merchant, a Tale - - 27 
 
 Verses written upon reading a Passage in Russell's 
 
 History of Aleppo - - - 39 
 
 On the Archbishop of York's repairing the Tomb 
 
 of Archbishop Grey - 43 
 
 To Lady Louisa Leveson Gower, with a Necklace 
 
 and Ear-rings of Gold 47 
 
 On the Fall of a Mountain in Switzerland, which 
 
 overwhelmed a large Tract of Country, and by 
 
 which Six or Seven Hundred Persons are stated 
 
 to have been destroyed - - 53 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 On the Marchioness of Stafford's Voyage to the 
 
 Orkneys 59 
 
 Helmsdale Castle ... 65 
 
 Inscription for an Altar, found in the Temple at 
 
 Delphi, and brought to England by Lord Nelson; 
 
 and now placed in the Museum at Castle Howard 75 
 Verses on the Death of Lord Nelson - 79 
 
 On the Death of the Duchess of Devonshire 87 
 
 Translation from Dante, Canto XXXIII. - 93 
 To a Lady, with a present of Flowers from the 
 
 Cape of Good Hope - - 103 
 
 To Mrs. Isabella Pitt - - 107 
 
 To Sir Joshua Reynolds, on his Resignation of the 
 
 President's Chair of the Royal Academy, 
 
 mdccxc - - - 113 
 
 Prologue to the Father's Revenge - - 123 
 Song - 131 
 
 On Occasion of a Friend's contending for Beauty, 
 
 and Beauty alone - - - 135 
 
CONTENTS. vii 
 
 Page 
 Naworth Castle ; a Fragment - - 141 
 
 Lines found written upon a Window at Calais 147 
 
 Translation of the above ... 148 
 
POEMS 
 
SOLILOQUY 
 
 IN 
 
 A FIT OF SICKNESS. 
 
POEMS 
 
 SOLILOQUY 
 
 IN A FIT OF SICKNESS. 
 
 Again that sigh ! again the unmanly groan I 
 
 For shame, suppress them : at the gate of heaven, 
 
 No pitying angel bends to griefs like thine. 
 
 Reflect, tho' sharp thy pains, — still, in the midst 
 
 Of ready servants and consoling friends, 
 
 Pressing a bed of down, — all aid is thine 
 
 That med'cine has in store ; while o'er the heath 
 
SOLILOQUY IN 
 
 Journeying with feeble steps, sunk on the ground 
 
 Thy fellow-sufferer lies, in sad disease 
 
 Thy wretched rival ; but, alas ! in comforts 
 
 No equal there. For him, the northern wind 
 
 Doubles Distemper's shiverings ; there, no witness 
 
 Of all his torments, save the ragged kine, 
 
 Who start aside; from fear, and not from pity, 
 
 Avoid him with their hoofs. Think on the wretch, 
 
 With amputated limb (lost, nobly lost, 
 
 In his loved country's cause) jerk'd to and fro, 
 
 As the storm'd vessel rolls ; with every wave. 
 
 The operator's knife again seems diving 
 
 Into his mangled flesh. Look on the wards 
 
 Of yonder hospital ; approach that range, 
 
 Long avenue of beds, each bed a region 
 
 Of varied torment. Hark ! from those, a chorus 
 
A FIT OF SICKNESS. 
 
 Of such imperious wailings as must drown 
 
 All cries like thine ; for such will find no place 
 
 In heaven's just register of human woes. 
 
 For thee then patience ; and, whate'er thy sufferings, 
 
 Reflect, a roof expands above thy head, 
 
 Officious friendship sits beside thy couch ; 
 
 And if from nature's stores, by learned art 
 
 One pang can be allay'd, that pang is soften'd. 
 
 Reflect on this, and for thy partial lot, 
 
 Send up thy thanks to heaven, without the alloy 
 
 Of peevish and unjust complaint. 
 
ODE 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF GRAY. 
 
 1771. 
 
[ 11 ] 
 
 ODE, &c. 
 i. 
 
 What Spirit's that which mounts on high, 
 Borne on the arms of every tuneful Muse ? 
 His white robes flutter to the gale : 
 They wing their way to yonder opening sky ; 
 In glorious state, through yielding clouds they sail, 
 And scents of hearenly flowers on earth diffuse. 
 
 II. 
 
 What avails the Poet's art ? 
 
 What avails his magic hand ? 
 Can He arrest Death's pointed dart, 
 
 Or charm to sleep his murderous band ? 
 
12 ODE ON THE 
 
 Well I know thee, gentle shade, 
 
 That tuneful voice, that eagle eye. 
 
 Quick bring me flowers that ne'er shall fade, 
 The laurel wreath that ne'er shall die ; 
 With every honour deck his funeral bier, 
 For He to every Grace, and every Muse was dear ! 
 
 III. 
 
 The listening Dryad, with attention still, 
 
 On tiptoe oft would near the Poet steal, 
 To hear him sing, upon the lonely hill, 
 
 Of all the wonders of the expanded vale; 
 The distant hamlet, and the winding stream, 
 
 The steeple shaded by the friendly yew, 
 Sunk in the wood the sun's departing gleam, 
 
 The gray-robed landscape stealing from the view. 
 
DEATH OF GRAY. 13 
 
 Or, wrapt in solemn thought, and pleasing woe,* 
 O'er each low tomb he breathed his pious strain, 
 A lesson to the village swain, 
 
 And taught the tear of rustic grief to flow ! 
 
 But soon, with bolder note, and wilder flight, + 
 O'er the loud strings his rapid hand would run ; — 
 
 Mars hath lit his torch of war, 
 Ranks of heroes fill the sight ! 
 Hark, the carnage is begun ! 
 And see the Furies through the fiery air, 
 O'er Cambria's frighten'd land, the screams of horror 
 bear. 
 
 * Elegy written in a Country Church-yard, 
 t The Bard, a Pindaric Ode. 
 
14 ODE ON THE 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now, led by playful Fancy's hand,* 
 O'er the white surge he treads with printless feet, 
 
 To magic shores he flies, and Fairy-land, 
 Imagination's bless'd retreat. 
 
 Here roses paint the crimson way, 
 No setting sun, eternal May, 
 Wild as the priestess of the Thracian fane, 
 When Bacchus leads the maddening train, 
 His bosom glowing with celestial fire, 
 To harmony he struck the golden lyre ; 
 To harmony each hill and valley rung ! 
 The bird of Jore, as when Apollo sung, 
 
 * The Progress of Poetry, a Pindaric Ode. 
 
DEATH OF GRAY. 15 
 
 To melting bliss resign'd his furious soul : 
 With milder rage his eyes began to roll, 
 The heaving down his thrilling joys confess'd, 
 Till, by a mortal's hand subdued, he sunk to rest. 
 
 V. 
 
 O guardian angel of our early day,* 
 
 Henry, thy darling plant must bloom no more ! 
 By thee attended, pensive would he stray, 
 
 Where Thames, soft murmuring, laves his winding 
 shore. 
 Thou bad'st him raise the moralizing song, 
 
 Through life's new seas the little bark to steer ; 
 The winds are rude and high, the sailor young, 
 
 Thoughtless he spies no furious tempest near; 
 
 * Ode on a distant Prospect of Eton College. 
 
16 ODE ON THE 
 
 Till to the Poet's hand the helm you gave, 
 From hidden rocks an infant crew to save ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ye fiends who rankle in the human heart,* 
 Delight in woe, and triumph in our tears, 
 Resume again 
 Your dreadful reign ; 
 Prepare the iron scourge, prepare the venom'd dart. 
 Adversity no more with lenient air appears ; 
 The snakes that twine around her head, 
 Again their frothy poison shed, 
 For who can now her whirlwind flight control. 
 
 Her threatning rage beguile ? 
 He, who could still the tempest of her soul, 
 
 * Hymn to Adversity. 
 
DEATH OF GRAY. 17 
 
 And force her livid lips to smile, 
 To happier seats is fled ! 
 
 Now, seated by his Thracian sire, 
 At the full feast of mighty Jove, 
 
 To heavenly themes attunes his lyre, 
 And fills with harmony the realms above ! 
 
VERSES 
 
 ON 
 
 A SPRING OF WATER, 
 
 AT 
 
[21 ] 
 
 VERSES, &c. 
 
 Emblem of varying life, translucent stream ! i 
 Still as the sunbeams on thy bosom play, 
 
 Why not indulge the dear, fallacious dream, 
 That paints the morrow brilliant as to-day ! 
 
 Will not the nymph that keeps the silver key 
 Of all thy wat'ry wealth protect the flower, 
 
 That o'er thy brink delighted bends with me, 
 And on our bliss bestow another hour ! 
 
22 VERSES ON 
 
 Another hour !— Already the loud wind 
 
 Sweeps o'er the plain, and thunders thro' the grove 
 
 In what rude hovel can we shelter find, 
 
 What bank, what cavern, will a refuge prove. 
 
 Thus we pass on thro' life's perplex'd career, 
 Now led by frolic joy, now slaves to woe, 
 
 No hovel thought of in the sunny year, 
 
 To hide our heads when wint'ry tempests blow. 
 
 Ah, see the dried leaves o'er thy surface spread, 
 Veiling thy twinkling beauties from our eyes, 
 
 And earth-stain'd juices tinge thy crystal bed, 
 
 While the scared doe but stoops to taste, and flies. 
 
A SPRING OF WATER. 23 
 
 Such is thy bitter juice, malignant Hate, 
 Thus Envy veils fair merit from our view, 
 
 Affection thus alive and warm so late, 
 
 Scarce breaks its pace to mutter an adieu. — 
 
 And yet must I, soon as the struggling sun 
 
 Rides o'er the landscape with his wonted power, 
 
 Chasten'd so ill by change, here idly run, 
 And woo the cheat that cheated me before. 
 
 Spite of the past, within the spangled cave, 
 
 Still must I dream that change can never dwell, 
 
 No leaves of bitter envy choke thy wave, 
 No other spiteful rills thy fountain swell. 
 
THE 
 
 ITALIAN MERCHANT, 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 The foundation of the following Tale is to be found in a note of 
 Dr. Drake's Essays, vol. ii. p. 269. 
 
[27] 
 
 THE 
 
 ITALIAN MERCHANT. 
 
 A Merchant journeying on a summer's morn, 
 (The dew drops hanging still on every thorn,) 
 Thro' the thick woods, to Lucca bends his way ; 
 Oft chides his mule, impatient of delay; 
 For ships at sea possess his anxious mind, 
 So that each breeze forebodes a boisterous wind. 
 The little birds seem all at strife with song, 
 Which most shall please him as he mores along : 
 The wild fowl flitting o'er the sea-green lake, 
 With their loud gambols the crisp sedges shake : 
 
28 THE ITALIAN MERCHANT, 
 
 With burnish'd mail the lizard tribe appear, 
 And roes and stags their slender necks uprear: 
 Small gushing streamlets from the hillock glide, 
 Like molten silver sparkling down its side ; 
 All nature smiles — the Merchant takes no heed 
 Of the thick forest, or the flow'ry mead: 
 Fawns unobserved might in his pathway sport, 
 And Fairy Queen unnoticed hold her court ; 
 While bales of goods before his half-closed eyes, 
 And visionary heaps of gold arise. 
 Yet not with avarice swells his eager breast, 
 To hoard the wealth by labour he possest; 
 But like another Cosmo raise a name, 
 And on commercial wings ascend to fame. 
 Founder of cities, Learning's fostering friend, 
 To infant arts a warm protection lend ; 
 
A TALE. 29 
 
 Monarchs his debtors ; as his golden ball 
 Stops or advances, nations rise or fall : 
 What bliss to see his palaces display 
 Their gilded turrets to the wondering day ! 
 Hear from the velvet of his rich alcove, 
 A thousand voices tuned to mirth and love ; 
 His hospitable hall —But here the mule 
 Seem'd much inclined to cross the merchant's rule; 
 With nose thrust out, and with a hideous bray, 
 Stops short, and drives the vision quite away. 
 Scared from his dream, he sees before him stand, 
 The very castle which that dream had plann'd; 
 Quick from the gateway o'er the draw-bridge pour 
 A joyous, clamorous troop, at early hour 
 To chase the felon wolf, or rouse the tough. 
 The lovely dames, their coursers skilful guide, 
 While amorous youths prance graceful by their side ; 
 
 — 7 
 
 ;e pour "} 
 
 [boar. \. 
 
 t-skin'dj 
 
30 THE ITALIAN MERCHANT, 
 
 Horns rend the air — the Merchant full of glee 
 Forgets his projects and his ships at sea, 
 And joins the throng. — He and his solemn beast 
 Much food supply for the loud laugh and jest, 
 The chase now done, and far advanc'd the day, 
 Homeward the joyous band direct their way. 
 With gentle speech, the Lord of the domain 
 Invites the Merchant, nor invites in vain, 
 To share the feast prepared — the courteous Lord 
 Places the stranger next him at the board : 
 And near to him, fraught with majestic grace, 
 The Lady of the castle takes her place. 
 The Merchant, from his seat of honour, eyes 
 The length of golden dishes with surprise ; 
 Pages with heavenly forms the benches line, 
 And ply each willing guest with rosy wine, 
 
A TALE. 31 
 
 Wine with such magic power as soon to free 
 The Merchant of all fears for ships at sea. 
 '* Thus will I live, here happiness must dwell, 
 u Removed from cities ; here I found her cell : 
 " Mirth, joy, and exercise, with bounteous cheer, 
 " Shall ope the spring, and close my fading year." 
 The Merchant murmurs low — but looking round, 
 He meets a sight that does his sense confound. 
 Dejection o'er her face, in silent mood, 
 This beauteous hostess sits, and takes no food ; 
 He marvels much, and longs to see her eat, 
 Now offers this, now that alluring meat : 
 All she rejects, till thundering o'er the floor, 
 A ruffian knave, with visage grim and sour, 
 A portion brings; a vase with viands full: 
 But horrible ! that vase a human skull ! 
 
32 THE ITALIAN MERCHANT, 
 
 To see her taste, the Merchant sits aghast, 
 From such a charger, such a foul repast, 
 She, as one famish'd, scrapes the polish'd bone, 
 Then leaves the table with a haughty frown. 
 No pitying eye pursues her down the room, 
 Attended only by that ruffian groom. 
 All seem accustom'd to this dreadful sight, 
 The Merchant only views it with affright ; 
 Trembling and pale he sits, with strong desire 
 To learn, but still too cautious to enquire. 
 And now the banquet o'er, each drowsy guest 
 Flies to his chamber for his wonted rest. 
 To a high tower remote the Merchant's led ; 
 A glimmering lamp directs him to his bed ; 
 But to a bed that sleep must ever fly 
 Nor shed one poppy o'er the straining eye. 
 
A TALE. 33 
 
 The Lady and the skull the live-long night 
 Are ever present to his aching sight, 
 Till thro' the casement darts the morning light. 
 Dull are its beams, and add but to the gloom, 
 Flinging a double horror round the room ; 
 To the tall figures on the arras spread, 
 Give seeming life and motion : while the bed 
 Shakes its white plumes above his trembling head. 
 Quick all around he sends his piercing eyes, 
 And in a deep recess with terror spies 
 The bodies of two youths, O piteous sight! 
 Depending lifeless from the ceiling's height. 
 He can endure no more, but seeks to fly 
 This terrible abode of death and misery. 
 Bent on his quick escape, he meets below 
 The courteous host slow pacing to and fro; 
 
 D 
 
34 THE ITALIAN MERCHANT, 
 
 Who sees our Merchant all convulsed with fear, 
 
 Prevents his haste, and bids him calmly hear. 
 
 " Know then," he weeping, says, " those lovely boyi 
 
 e c Were the first pledges of my marriage joys; 
 
 " Their mother moans not their untimely doom, 
 
 " Cold she reposes in the happy tomb. 
 
 " My adverse stars, and unpropitious fate, 
 
 " Led me to try again the marriage state. 
 
 " The Dame, whose execrable meal you view'd, 
 
 " The skull to which I saw your eye-balls glued, 
 
 u Solace a vengeance that must never cease, 
 
 u But daily swell, and ever know increase. 
 
 u O how I loveJ ! but she no love return'd, 
 
 " Forced to my arms, she all my fondness spurn'd, 
 
 " E'en in the nuptial chamber for another burn'd. - 
 
 " My sons, attempting to avenge their sire, 
 
 u Beneath a hated rival's sword expire. 
 
 1 
 
A TALE. 35 
 
 " As in her presence found the caitiff stood, 
 
 u This friendly dagger drank his murderous blood. 
 
 " You saw the bason which contained her meal, 
 
 " 'Twas his cursed head ; — may vengeance ever steel 
 
 " My injured breast, and know no weaken'd sway ; 
 
 " But lest it might decline, each sadden'd day, 
 
 u To those stiff corses, harden'd by the air, 
 
 " Keeping alive that vengeance, I repair ; 
 
 " Then bathing them with tears, repeat my vow, 
 
 Ci Ne'er to that worthless woman mercy show. 
 
 " To them I haste." — The Merchant quits the place, 
 
 And answers not, but speeds with quicken'd pace ; 
 
 Begins to know that, to such cloud-capt walls, 
 
 Such shining turrets, and such festive halls, 
 
 True bliss and happiness may not resort, 
 
 But Death and Crime maintain their sable court. 
 

 VERSES 
 
 WRITTEN UPON READING THE FOLLOWING PASSAGE IN 
 
 RUSSEL'S HISTORY OF ALEPPO; 
 
 " In crossing the Burial-grounds, a disconsolate father is frequently 
 seen sitting solitarily by the recent grave of an only son." 
 
[ 39] 
 
 VERSES, $c. 
 
 O wty that Parent, see his aspect how wild, 
 
 All the time that he washes the earth with his tears, 
 No intruding approach of the passenger hears, 
 
 The whole night has he sat by the grave of his child. 
 
 One flower still is grasp'd in his grief-wither'd hand, 
 Can that hand let it drop ! Alas, no, says his heart, 
 'Tis the signal he's made with himself to depart, 
 
 And long o'er the gra?e undecided he'll stand. 
 
40 VERSES, &c. 
 
 But anon he must hie to his comfortless home, 
 
 Where all things recall scenes of fondness and joy, 
 Of the looks, and the innocent smiles of his boy; 
 
 But at night he'll again to this sepulchre come. 
 
 Ye who slumber secure in felicity's shade, 
 Whose infants play round you, reflect on this scene, 
 Clasp them close while they're yours ;— like a serpent 
 unseen, 
 Death to seize on the victims in ambush is laid. 
 
 For like that wretched man from the comfortless home, 
 (So late that of bliss, now the seat of despair) 
 To such a sad spot your slow limbs shall you bear, 
 
 And to weep o'er a grave shall you silently come. 
 
ON THE 
 
 ARCHBISHOP OF YORK'S 
 
 REPAIRING THE TOMB OF 
 
 ARCHBISHOP GREY, 
 
 A GREAT BENEFACTOR TO THE MINSTER OF YORK, AND 
 INCLOSING IT WITH A BEAUTIFUL IRON RAILING. 
 
[ 43 ] 
 
 ON THE 
 
 ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, #c. 
 
 From rude approach, and from the touch profane, 
 
 Thus liberal Markham guards this crumbling fane; 
 
 To Grey just praise restores, and thus makes known 
 
 A course of generous actions like his own. 
 
 And should a baser age unmoved survey 
 
 Our much-loved Prelate's mouldering tomb decay; 
 
 View Time's coarse hand each grateful line deface, 
 
 Nor the broad Tablet to his worth replace ; 
 
 Yet on the spot where once was fix'd his urn, 
 
 Shall true Religion ever weep and mourn; 
 
 A reverential awe around shall spread, 
 
 And Learning point where rests his holy head. 
 
TO 
 
 LADY LOUISA LEVESON GOWER, 
 
 WITH 
 
 A NECKLACE AND EAR-RINGS OF GOLD. 
 
 
[ 47 ] 
 
 
 TO 
 
 LADY LOUISA LEVESON GOWER. 
 
 Pure as thy heart, and solid as thy mind ; 
 
 Plain as thy manners, modest as thy air ; 
 Accept the gift, fit emblem to remind 
 
 A youthful breast of all that's good and fair. 
 
 Let all thy thoughts in mild succession roll, 
 As round and even as these golden beads, 
 
 Far be th' aspiring wish that swells the soul, 
 Far the desponding sigh that soon succeeds. 
 
48 TO LADY LOUISA GOWER. 
 
 Thus link'd together, may thy friendships grow, 
 Hymen his chains as light as these shall weave, 
 
 Bright as thy morning shines, with equal glow 
 May nuptial love and friendship, gild thy eve. 
 
 O may these drops like charms thy ears defend 
 From Flattery's voice, from false deluding love ; 
 
 May they, when e'er such dangers shall impend, 
 With tingling smart the guilty nerves reprove. 
 
 Tho' gems outshine the rising God of day, 
 
 Beauteous they oft their beauteous form belie, 
 
 When they in borrow'd light their charms display, 
 They fly the touch, and shun the curious eye. 
 
TO LADY LOUISA GOWER. 49 
 
 »Tis gold alone the glowing fire defies, 
 
 Starts undiminish'd from the raging flame ; 
 
 So shall thy virtue and fair fame arise, 
 
 From every fiery test, unsullied and the same. 
 
ON THE 
 
 FALL OF A MOUNTAIN IN SWITZERLAND, 
 
 WHICH OVERWHELMED A LARGE TRACT OF COUNTRY, AND 
 
 BY WHICH SIX OR SEVEN HUNDRED PERSONS 
 
 ARE STATED TO HAVE BEEN DESTROYED. 
 
t 53] 
 
 ON THE 
 
 FALL OF A MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Mark, o'er Helvetia's lands how ruin spreads, 
 On Nature's proudest works in envy treads. 
 'Twas the Fiend screaming from his throne of snow, 
 Who roused his vassals in their caves below ; 
 Gave the dark warrant to their vengeful flight, 
 And bade them level each assuming height. 
 Prompt they obey their savage master's call, 
 And on his Alpine realms destructive fall : 
 
54 ON THE FALL OF A MOUNTAIN 
 
 One Giant Mountain with his latest breath, 
 Struggles with Fate, nor tamely yields to death. 
 Grasp'd in his agonized hands, whole woods 
 Are plunged beneath the fresh-created floods ; 
 For, from his wounded flanks new waters gush, 
 New lakes are form'd where'er the torrents rush. 
 Fair towns and villages, and fruitful farms, 
 Perish encircled in his dying arms : 
 While spires like masts of foundering ships appear 
 But just above the earth their vanes to rear. 
 So Death pursues his course : at all that's great 
 Aims his prime arrow of peculiar hate. 
 What has He spared that's eminent and high ? 
 * Parts, Beauty, Valour, all must prostrate lie. 
 
 * Mr. Pitt, the Dutchess of Devonshire, and Lord Nelson. 
 
IN SWITZERLAND. 55 
 
 For how much worth laid cold in one short year, 
 Has he bade flow the universal tear ! 
 Insatiate still, tho' by such victims fed, 
 Last, Fox is number'd midst his mightiest dead. 
 
ON THE 
 
 MARCHIONESS OF STAFFORD'S 
 
 VOYAGE TO THE ORKNEYS. 
 
 
[59] 
 
 
 
 ON THE 
 
 MARCHIONESS OF STAFFORD'S 
 VOYAGE TO THE ORKNEYS. 
 
 S)ay, gentle Lady, while you plough these seas. 
 Does not a noble pride, a generous heat, 
 
 Play round thy bosom when the clearing breeze 
 Displays that land, in times of yore, the seat 
 
 Of feud and war : where oft yon roaring flood 
 
 Ran crimson'd with thy warlike kindred's blood ? 
 
60 ON THE MARCHIONESS OF STAFFORD'S 
 
 'Twill please yon tribe of warrior ghosts to view 
 A generous daughter of their princely race 
 
 A pilgrim here, with pious care pursue 
 
 Their march of glory : midst their halls retrace 
 
 Their feasts and tournaments, and royal cheer, 
 
 Or oe'r their tombs let fall the pitying tear. 
 
 And as you passed the main with flowing sail, 
 Oh did you not high towers and walls descry 
 
 That frown'd so sternly o'er the darken'd Yale ? 
 That fatal spot by instinct you should fly — 
 
 There treacherous Murder, with his poison'd bowl, 
 
 As history tells, once harrow'd up the soul. 
 
VOYAGE TO THE ORKNEYS. 6l 
 
 A parent chief there found an early tomb, 
 
 With all his house condemn'd to endless night: 
 One blooming infant yet escaped his doom, 
 
 Or thou hadst never seen the morning light ; 
 Ne'er on these waves thy dauntless sails unfurl'd, 
 Nor breathed to charm and bless a milder world. — 
 
HELMSDALE-CASTLE. 
 
[65] 
 
 HELMSDALE-CASTLE. 
 
 This was proud Gordon's castle — this the seat 
 
 Where treacherous Murder prowPd— -the mountain hind 
 Still at a distance skirts with coward feet, 
 Still hears the screams of pain in every wind. 
 
 Amidst the music's noise, the banquet's roar, 
 In the free intercourse of soul and soul, 
 
 Tho' no steel'd gauntlet plunged the blade in gore, 
 Yet perjured friendship stain'd the proffer'd bowl. 
 
 
66 HELMSDALE-CASTLE. 
 
 Does fierce Ambition fire the guilty breast, 
 
 What are all Honour's ties ? Affection's bands ? 
 
 With Avarice leagued, it knows, nor pause, nor rest 
 But first in power of hellish fiends commands. 
 
 A kindred Chieftain with his lovely dame, 
 
 To share the annual feast, and princely cheer, 
 
 In health's full blossom unsuspecting came, 
 
 Meaning no ill, they deem'd they'd none to fear. 
 
 Their hostess, prodigal of speech and love, 
 Greets their arrival at the festive hall; 
 
 While deadly passions in her bosom move, 
 She views her rising lineage in their fall. 
 
HELMSDALE-CASTLE. 67 
 
 The morning past, with falcon swift, and hound, 
 Keen hunger won upon the blue-capt hill, 
 
 O'er the drawbridge their coursers hoofs rebound, 
 And all the castle court with numbers fill. 
 
 On a stone bench an aged minstrel sate, 
 
 And at their sight he struck his vocal string, 
 
 Heap'd on the board, the rich repast must wait, 
 While all crowd round him in a listening ring. 
 
 All on the sound in deep attention hung, 
 Thus with a voice of youth the old man sung : 
 Let the clang of war be mute, 
 Strike the harp, and sweep the lute. 
 Mild peace is our's — the battle's o'er, 
 No base Norwegian braves our shore. 
 
68 HELMSDALE-CASTLE. 
 
 For see, those grey stones all around 
 Crown, of his warriors slain, the mound. 
 
 Pass the goblet, fill the bowl, 
 Fear only haunts the guilty soul, 
 The virtuous dread nor craft nor guile, 
 Nor doubt sweet Friendship's open smile. 
 Away suspicion's searching glance, 
 Prepare the banquet, lead the dance. 
 
 Not this the roof of fell Macbeth, 
 Who doom'd his guest, his king, to death, 
 No she-wolf here with bloody fangs, 
 O'er her devoted victim hangs. 
 But here security is found, and bliss, 
 Truth gives the balm to friendship's kiss. 
 
HELMSDALE-CASTLE. 
 
 All flock with praise around the aged Seer, 
 Saving the heart-struck Lady of the place ; 
 
 With pallid cheek, convulsed by rage and fear, 
 She reads like tortures in her husband's face. 
 
 The minstrel left the throng, and soon descried 
 A blooming youth, Earl Sutherland's bright heir, 
 
 Hastening his footsteps down the mountain's side ; 
 Loud cried the Bard, " Of those cursed walls beware.' 
 
 " In time beware, least you should share the doom 
 Of your sad parents, now pursued by fate ; 
 
 Quick fly with me — you rush but on the tomb, 
 If once you pass that foss, and faithless gate." 
 
70 HELMSDALE.CASTLE. 
 
 The youth amaz'd, felt more than mortal force 
 Impell'd his yielding limbs the other way, 
 
 Unable to resist the rapid course, 
 
 He marvell'd much, but could not disobey. 
 
 They to a distance in a moment fled, 
 
 Seem not to press the ground, but ride in air; 
 
 The powd'ry heath-bloom bends not as they tread, 
 Nor quivering mosses feel the weight they bear : 
 
 Like swallows darting from their nests for food, 
 Plunging from high upon the green lake pour, 
 
 Tho' skimming near the surface of the flood, 
 Touch not the impeding fluid, but pass o'er. 
 
HELMSDALE .CASTLE. 7 1 
 
 Thus these are wafted to Dunrobin's height ; 
 
 The Seer then clasp'd the boy, and bade farewell. 
 He ne'er again was marked by mortal sight, 
 
 But lost in clouds, as ancient legends tell. 
 
 Much the dear parents, as the poison spread, 
 And life lay struggling in the arms of death, 
 
 Much they enquired if their loved child had fled, 
 Nor yielded the last gasp of heaving breath, 
 
 Until 'twas known, that safe from Treason's blow, 
 Some wond'rous Power had shielded his poor head, 
 
 Then sinking, worn with agony and woe, 
 
 Soon were they number'd midst the mighty dead. 
 
 *»* It is worthy of remark, that Isabella Sinclair, wife of the 
 Laird of Garthay, was in the year 1507, tried for these murders at 
 
72 HELMSDALE-CASTLE. 
 
 Edinburgh, and was condemned to death, but died in prison before 
 the day appointed for her execution, supposed to have fallen by her 
 own hand. Her son, for whose sake these crimes were committed, 
 inadvertently drank out of the poisoned cup, and immediately pe- 
 rished. History gives no account of the Laird of Garthay subse- 
 quent to these horrid transactions. 
 
INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR, 
 
 FOUND IN THE TEMPLE AT DELPHI, AND 
 
 BROUGHT TO ENGLAND BY LORD NELSON; 
 
 AND NOW PLACED IN THE MUSEUM AT 
 
 CASTLE HOWARD. 
 
[75] 
 
 
 INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR. 
 
 Pass not with careless steps this marble fane, 
 'Twas once in Delphi's sacred temple rear'd ; 
 
 From this the Pythian pour'd her mystic strain ; 
 While Greece its fate in anxious silence heard. 
 
 II. 
 
 What chief, what hero, of the Achaian race, 
 Might not to this, have bow'd with holy awe, 
 
 Have clung in pious reverence round its base, 
 And from the voice inspired, received the law ! 
 
76 INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR, &c. 
 
 III. 
 
 A British Chief as famed for arms as those, 
 Has borne this relic o'er the Italian waves, 
 
 In war, still friend to science ; this bestows, 
 And Nelson gives it to the land he saves. 
 
VERSES 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF LORD NELSON 
 
[79] 
 
 VERSES 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF LORD NELSON. 
 
 Are those the screams of wailing ghosts 
 That hover o'er the Iberian coasts, 
 And starting from the gory main, 
 Rend the shore with howls of pain ? 
 Is that the voice of wild despair 
 For Battle lost, that fills the air? 
 Not these the screams of wailing ghosts 
 That hover o'er the Iberian coasts ; 
 Nor that the voice of rage and woe, 
 For two proud Navies laid so low. 
 
80 VERSES ON THE 
 
 But these the Victor's cries, the Victor's groans, 
 Triumph's deep sigh, and Glory's bitter moans. 
 Let joy be banish'd e'en from Victory's hour, 
 When England tells her Nelson is no more. 
 
 Quick the sad sound astonish'd Nilus hears, 
 
 Then sorrowing turns to Aboukir his eyes ; 
 O'er his vast bosom fall the generous tears, 
 
 For on the blood-stain'd deck the Warrior lies. 
 He late had seen him, from his sedgy car, 
 Drive with volcanic blaze the bolt of war : 
 
 As erst in Actium's bloody fray 
 In arms appear'd the God of day, 
 When 'gainst the faithless Queen he strove, 
 And Egypt's Gods before him drove ; 
 
DEATH OF LORD NELSON. 81 
 
 On Caesar's foes destruction hurl'd, 
 And tore from Antony the world. 
 
 Nelson's no more ! exclaims th' exulting Gaul, 
 And views his future Navy in his fall. 
 O noble meed of worth, of high renown, 
 As bright a Glory round true Valour thrown, 
 As Britain bending o'er her fallen Chief, 
 Forgetting all her Conquests in her grief. 
 
 Short-liv'd vision, fleeting dream, 
 That swells to hope the Despot's scheme ; 
 O'er England's Commerce flings the chain, 
 And claims the Empire of the Main. 
 
 G 
 
82 ELEGY ON THE 
 
 The Merchant still unmov'd the menace hears, 
 Grass springs not yet upon our empty quays ; 
 
 Ruin as yet our pleasant places spares, 
 
 And trading myriads press our busy ways. 
 
 Genius of Britain, clear the Boaster's eye, 
 Bring Trafalgar before his aching sight : 
 
 Bear him to Ocean's deepest caves where lie 
 His shatter'd Castles sent to endless night. 
 
 O blast the hope t () break the flattering charm, 
 That all of Nelson sleeps in earth's cold womb ; 
 
 That soul in thousands is infus'd; that arm 
 
 To point to future Conquests — bursts the tomb. 
 
DEATH OF LORD NELSON. 83 
 
 Almighty Powers ! then grant our Country's prayer, 
 O let her not the lot of others share : 
 Sooner than bid her foreign rule obey, 
 Plunge her white cliffs beneath the roaring sea. 
 
ON THE DEATH 
 
 OF THE 
 
 DUTCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 
 
C 87 ] 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE 
 
 DUTCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 Bright eminence and worth have seem'd of late, 
 For cold extinction to be mark'd by Fate : 
 Soaring with higher flight, Death wings his way, 
 And, like the eagle, strikes the noblest prey. 
 Valour's first-born, lamented Nelson, dies ; 
 Next, o'er Pitt's corse we hang with weeping eyes. 
 Now, at the insatiate Tyrant's savage call, 
 The most attractive of her Sex must fall. 
 
88 OX THE DEATH OF THE 
 
 O ! tenderest Parent! O ! sincerest Friend ! 
 Can it be Thee, o'er whose pale form we bend ? 
 Thee, whom so late on Health's elastic bound, 
 We saw diffusing pleasure all around ! 
 Is that the forehead, where each Grace and Muse 
 Twined their joint garland of a thousand hues ! 
 Are those the eyes which beam'd with vivid sense, 
 And spoke the soul of pure benevolence! 
 That the warm breast where mild Affection chose 
 To graft on Meekness' stem Compassion's rose ! 
 
 Peace to thy fleeting soul ! — Tho' here below, 
 Malice at all direct the assassin blow, 
 Nor even Thee the accursed fiend should spare, 
 Yet where All's justice thou hast least to fear. 
 
DUTCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 89 
 
 For, leagued with mercy at the Almighty's throne, 
 
 Shall Charity unbend the accusing frown, 
 
 Sustain thy trembling head, and claim thee for her own 
 
 j 
 
TRANSLATION 
 
 FROM 
 
 DANTE, 
 
 CANTO XXXIII. 
 
 Dante, being conducted by Virgil into the infernal regions, 
 sees a person devouring a human skull, and, struck by so horrid 
 a sight, enquires into his history, and receives the account 
 contained in the following lines 
 
[ 93 ] 
 
 TRANSLATION 
 
 FROM DANTE. 
 
 N°w from the fell repast, and horrid food, 
 The Sinner* rose; but, first, (tne clotted blood 
 With hair depending from the mangled head) 
 His jaws he wiped, and thus he wildly said — 
 
 * Count Ugolino, a nobleman of Pisa, entered into a conspiracy 
 with the Archbishop Ruggiero, of the Ubaldini family, to depose 
 the governor of Pisa; in which enterprise having succeeded, 
 Ugolino assumed the government of the city ; but the Archbishop, 
 jealous of his power, incited the people against him : and, gain- 
 ing the assistance of the three powerful families of the Gulandi, 
 Lanfranchi, and Sismondi, marched, with the enraged multitude, 
 to attack the house of the unfortunate Ugolino, and mak- 
 ing him their prisoner, confined him in a tower with his four 
 sons : at length refusing them food, and casting the key into the 
 river Arno, he left them, in this horrible situation, to be starved 
 to death. 
 
94 TRANSLATION FROM DANTE. 
 
 Ah ! wilt thou then recall this scene of woe, 
 And teach my scalding tears again to flow ? 
 Thou know'st not how tremendous is the tale, 
 My brain will madden, and my utterance fail. 
 But could my words bring horror and despair 
 To him whose bloody skull you see me tear, 
 Then should the voice of vengeance never sleep, 
 For ever would I talk, and talking weep. 
 
 Mark'd for destruction, I in luckless hour, 
 Drew my first breath on the Etruscan shore, 
 And Ugolino was the name I bore. 
 This skull contain'd a haughty prelate's brain, 
 Cruel Ruggiero's; why his blood I drain, 
 Why to my rage he's yielded here below, 
 Stranger, 'twill cost thee many a tear to know. 
 
TRANSLATION FROM DANTE. 95 
 
 ;,! 
 
 Thou know'st, perhaps, how, trusting to this slave, 
 
 I and my children found an early grave. 
 
 This thou may'st know, the dead alone can tell 
 
 The dead, the tenants of avenging hell, 
 
 How hard our fate, by what inhuman arts we fell 
 
 Through the small opening of the prison's height, 
 
 One moon had almost spent its waneing light ; 
 
 'Twas when short sleep had lull'd my pangs to rest, 
 
 And wearied grief lay dozing in my breast ; 
 
 Futurity aside her curtain drew, 
 
 And thus, the troubled vision rose to view. 
 
 On those high hills, it seem'd, those hills which hide 
 Pisa from Lucca) that, by Sismond's side, 
 Guland and Lanfranc, with discordant cry, 
 Rouse from its den a wolf and young, who fly 
 
96 TRANSLATION FROM DANTE. 
 
 Before their famish'd dogs ; I saw the sire 
 And little trembling young ones, pant and tire ; 
 Saw them become the eager blood hounds' prey. 
 Who soon, with savage rage, their haunches flay. 
 I first awoke, and view'd my slumbering boys, 
 Poor hapless product of my nuptial joys. 
 Scared with their dreams, toss o'er their stony bed, 
 And starting scream, with frightful noise, for bread. 
 
 Hard is thy heart, no tears those eyes can know, 
 If they refuse, for pangs like mine, to flow. 
 My children wake; for now the hour drew near, 
 When we were wont our scanty food to share. 
 A thousand fears our trembling bosoms fill, 
 Each, from his dream, foreboding some new ill. 
 
TRANSLATION FROM DANTE. 97 
 
 With horrid jar, we heard the prison door 
 Close on us all, alas! to ope no more. 
 My senses fail, absorb'd in dumb amaze, 
 Deprived of motion, on my boys I gaze : 
 Benum'd with fear, and harden'd into stone, 
 I could not weep, nor heave one easing groan. 
 My children moan ; my youngest trembling, cried, 
 a What ails my father ?" still my tongue denied 
 To move ; they cling to me with wild affright : 
 That mournful day, and the succeeding night, 
 We all the dreadful horrid silence kept ; 
 Fearful to ask, with silent grief they wept. 
 
 Now, in the gloomy cell, a ray of light 
 New horrors added, by dispelling night ; 
 ii 
 
98 TRANSLATION FROM DANTE. 
 
 When, looking on my boys, in frantic fit 
 
 Of maddening grief, my senseless hands I bit. 
 
 Alas ! for hunger they mistake my rage, 
 
 " Let us," they cried, " our father's pains assuage 
 
 iC 'Twas he, our sire, who call'd us into day, 
 
 " Clad with this painful flesh our mortal clay, 
 
 " That flesh he gave he sure may take away." 
 
 But why should I prolong the horrid tale ? 
 Dismay and silent woe again prevail. 
 No more that day we spoke! — Why, in thy womb, 
 Then, cruel earth, did we not meet our doom ? 
 Now, the fourth morning rose ; my eldest child 
 Fell at his father's feet ; in accent wild, 
 Struggling with pain, with his last fleeting breath, 
 u Help me, my sire," he cried, and sunk in death. 
 
TRANSLATION FROM DANTE. 99 
 
 I saw the others follow, one by one, 
 
 Heard their last scream, and their expiring groan. 
 
 And now arose the last concluding day ; 
 
 As o'er each corpse I groped my stumbling way, 
 
 I call'd ray boys, though now they were no more, 
 
 Yet still I call'd, till, sinking on the floor, 
 
 Pale hunger did what grief essay'd in vain, — 
 
 For ever seal'd my eyes, and closed the scene of pain. 
 
 
TO A LADY, 
 
 WITH A PRESENT OF FLOWERS 
 
 FROM THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE. 
 
[ 103 ] 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 WITH A PRESENT OF FLOWERS. 
 
 r itted to grace imperial Beauty's hand, 
 
 And, at thy bidding, shed our sweets around, 
 We come, wild children of a distant land, 
 
 Where monsters share, with wretched man, the ground. 
 We've seen the buffalo rushing from the wood, 
 
 The march of elephants, the lion's war, 
 The sea-cow starting from the marshy flood, 
 
 Deep in the thicket shine the tiger's glare. 
 
104 TO A LADY, &c. 
 
 'Midst these soft groves though no hyaena lies, 
 
 No fell rhinoceros commands the plain, 
 Yet much we fear, though hidden from our eyes, 
 
 A fiercer monster holds his dreadful reign. 
 Wings on his back, and arm'd with poisonous tongue, 
 
 Quick as our wolf, and cunning as the snake, 
 These scenes he's said to haunt : sweet lady shun 
 
 At twilight hour, the valley and the brake : 
 
 In ambush here he lies ; his easiest prey 
 
 Young Health, and careless Beauty, as they roam ; 
 Sweet lady, fly, gain thy protecting home ; 
 Safer on Atric's burning plains to stray, 
 Less mischiefs there obstruct the dangerous way. 
 
MRS. ISABELLA PITT. 
 
 It appears by the pleadings relative to the will of Charles Mellish, 
 Esq. (1786), that he had made this Lady the offer of succeeding 
 to his estates, in prejudice of his natural heirs. To this offer she 
 instantly returned this firm and dignified answer : " I hope 
 " there is nothing on earth could induce me to accept an estate 
 14 that I certainly have no right to, and which my honour and 
 " conscience tell me belongs to others. Let me, therefore, pre- 
 " vail with you to make a fresh will immediately ; for, I must 
 " acquaint you, were this you mention to take place, I should 
 •' think myself bound, not only by every tie of justice and equity, 
 " but even to secure my own peace of mind, to resign every 
 " advantage I might receive by it, in favour of those who are 
 " much nearer related to you, and are really descendants of the 
 " Mellish family." Finding, however, at this gentleman's de- 
 cease, that, contrary to her remonstrances, he had persisted in 
 bequeathing his estates to her, she immediately resigned them 
 to his niece, the person naturally entitled to the inheritance. 
 
[ 107 ] 
 
 TO MRS. ISABELLA PITT. 
 
 A stranger Bard, turning from pomp and power, 
 Sits at the threshold of thy calm retreat ; 
 
 While, through the windings of thy peaceful bower, 
 Of harmless age,* and innocence the seat, 
 
 By the soft magic of a willing lute 
 
 He leads the stream of harmony along, 
 
 Truth shall the subject to the measure suit, 
 Honour and justice shall inspire the song. 
 
 * In her letter to Mr. Mellish, Mrs. Pitt, declining to become 
 either his executrix or heiress, says, " My true character is that of 
 " a silly, ignorant, old woman (and being harmless is as much as 
 *' can be said in my praise), and not at all fit to be employed in 
 • business." 
 
108 TO MRS. ISABELLA PITT. 
 
 Then shall thy conscious breast, thy generous heart, 
 From pride, from interest, each mean passion free, 
 
 "When steady virtue claims the minstrel's art, 
 Challenge the note, and feel he sings to thee. 
 
 The gifted mansion, and the village cell, 
 
 Where rest the sick, the crippled, and the poor, 
 
 Where Age, by Charity is led to dwell, 
 
 And wear out life, in sunshine, at the door ; 
 
 How often raised to sooth the bed of care, 
 How often plann'd by malady's last breath. 
 
 To force a smile from horrible despair, 
 A cheat for terror, and a bribe for death ! 
 
 
TO MRS. ISABELLA PITT. 109 
 
 Not such thy acts; — nor pains, nor fears, combin'd 
 To bid thee turn the golden stream aside, 
 
 And, where immortal justice had design'd, 
 To its true channel lead the erring tide. 
 
 For virtues less than thine, had Athens raised 
 The letter'd column to thy spreading fame ; 
 
 On Roman altars votive fires had blazed, 
 
 And mix'd with holy rites thy honour'd name. 
 
 If these, a niggard country should deny, 
 
 Something, O Pitt ! the Muse has yet to give, 
 
 When the stone crumbles, and the flame shall die, 
 Such worth as thine in lasting verse may live. 
 

 TO 
 
 SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS, 
 
 ON HIS 
 
 RESIGNATION OF THE PRESIDENT'S CHAIR 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ROYAL ACADEMY, 
 
 MDCCXC. 
 
[ 113 ] 
 
 TO 
 
 SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 
 
 loo wise for contest, and too meek for strife, 
 Like Lear, oppress'd by those you raised to life, 
 Thy scepter broken, thy dominion o'er, 
 The curtain falls, and thou'rt a king no more. 
 Still near the wreck of thy demolish'd state, 
 Truth, and the weeping Muse, with me shall wait ; 
 Science shall teach Britannia's self to moan, 
 And make, O injured Friend ! thy wrongs her own. 
 i 
 
114 TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 
 
 Shall we forget when, with incessant toil, 
 To Thee 'twas given to turn this stubborn soil ; 
 To Thee, with flowers to deck our dreary waste, 
 And kill the poisonous weeds of vicious taste ; 
 To pierce the gloom where England's genius slept, 
 Long of soft love and tenderness bereft ; 
 From his young limbs to tear the bands away, 
 And bid the infant giant run and play ? 
 
 Dark was the hour, the age an age of stone, 
 When Hudson claim'd an empire of his own ; 
 And, from the time, when, darting rival light, 
 Vandyke and Rubens cheer'd our northern night, 
 Those twin stars set, the graces all had fled, 
 Yet paused to hover o'er a Lely's head ; 
 
TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 115 
 
 And sometimes bent, when won with earnest prayer, 
 
 To make the gentle Kneller all their care : 
 
 But ne'er with smiles to gaudy Verrio turn'd ; 
 
 No happy incense on his altars burn'd. 
 
 O witness, Windsor, thy too passive walls, 
 
 Thy tortur'd ceilings, thy insulted halls ! 
 
 Lo ! England's glory, Edward's conquering son, 
 
 Cover'd with spoils from Poictiers bravely won ; 
 
 Yet no white plumes, no arms of sable hue, 
 
 Mark the young hero to our ravish'd view ; 
 
 In buskin trim, and laurell'd helmet bright, 
 
 A well-dress'd Roman meets our puzzled sight. 
 
 And Gallia's captive king, how strange his doom, 
 
 A Roman, too, perceives himself become ! 
 
116 TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 
 
 See, too, the miracles of God profan'd, 
 By the mad daubings of this impious hand. 
 For, while the dumb exult in notes of praise, 
 While the lame walk, the blind in transport gaze, 
 While vanquish'd demons Heaven's high mandateshear, 
 And the pale dead spring from the silent bier ; 
 With laced cravat, long wig, and careless mien, 
 The painter's present at the wond'rous scene ! 
 
 Vanloo and Dahl, these may more justly claim 
 A step still higher on the throne of fame ; 
 Yet to the west their course they seem to run, 
 The last red streaks of a declining sun. 
 
 And must we Jervas name ? so hard and cold, 
 In ermined robes, and perukes, only bold ; 
 
TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 117 
 
 Or, when inspired, his rapturous colours own 
 
 The roll'd-up stocking, and the damask gown, 
 
 Behold a tasteless age in wonder stand, 
 
 And hail him the Apelles of the land ! 
 
 And Denner too ; but yet so void of ease, 
 
 His figures tell you they're forbid to please ; 
 
 Nor in proportion, nor expression nice, 
 
 The strong resemblance is itself a vice. 
 
 As wax-work figures always shock the sight 
 
 Too near to human flesh and shape, affright, 
 
 And when they best are form'd afford the least delig 
 
 lelight. J 
 
 Turn we from such to Thee, whose nobler art 
 Rivets the eye, and penetrates the heart ; 
 To Thee, whom nature, in thy earliest youth, 
 Fed with the honey of eternal truth ; 
 
118 TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 
 
 Then, by her fondling art, in happy hour, 
 Enticed to Learning's more sequester'd bower. 
 There, all thy life of honours first was plann'd, 
 While Nature preach'd, and Science held thy hand. 
 When, but for these, condemn'd, perchance to trace 
 The tiresome vacuum of each senseless face, 
 Thou, in thy living tints, hadst ne'er combined 
 All grace of form, and energy of mind. 
 How, but for these, should we have, trembling, fled 
 The guilty tossings of a Beaufort's bed ; 
 Or let the fountain of our sorrows flow 
 At sight of famish'd Ugolino's woe ? 
 Bent on revenge, should we have pensive stood 
 O'er the pale cherubs of the fatal wood, 
 Caught the last perfume of their rosy breath, 
 And view'd them smiling at the stroke of death ? 
 
TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 119 
 
 Should we have question'd, stung with rage and pain, 
 The spectre line, with the distracted Thane ? 
 Or, with Alcraena's natural terror wild, 
 From the envenom'd serpent torn her child ? 
 
 And must no more thy pure and classic page 
 Unfold its treasures to the rising age ? 
 Nor from thy own Athenian temple pour, 
 On listening youth, of art the copious store ; 
 Hold up to labour independent ease, 
 And teach ambition all the ways to please ; 
 With ready hand neglected genius save, 
 Sickening, o'erlook'd in Misery's hidden cave : 
 And, nobly just, decide the active mind 
 Nither to soil nor climate is confined ? 
 
120 TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 
 
 Desert not then thy sons, those sons who soon 
 AVill mourn with me, and all their error own. 
 Thou must excuse that raging fire, the same 
 Which lights their daily course to endless fame ; 
 Alas ! impels them, thoughtless, far to stray 
 From filial love, and Reason's sober way. 
 Accept again thy power, resume the chair, 
 " Nor leave it, till thou place an Equal there." 
 
PROLOGU E 
 
 TO THE 
 
 FATHER'S REVENGE. 
 
[ 123 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 TO THE FATHER'S REVENGE. 
 
 In ancient times, when Edward's conquering son. 
 O'er prostrate France his glorious course had run ; 
 'Midst clashing arms, and 'midst the din of war, 
 Meek Science follow'd not the Victor's car. 
 Though Gower and Chaucer knelt before her shrine, 
 And woo'd, on British ground, the tuneful Nine, 
 Yet she, to climes congenial to her soul, 
 Fled from our chilling blasts, and northern pole. 
 'Twas there she waved her universal wand, 
 And led, o'er classic fields, her learned band ; 
 
124 PROLOGUE TO 
 
 There, as a model to this distant age, 
 
 With language pure adorn'd Boccacio's page. 
 
 While all around us here was cold and dark, 
 
 While chieftain dunces set their peasant mark, 
 
 The Muse was stringing Dante's sounding shell, -\ 
 
 Bade him, inspired, of things sublime to tell, 
 
 And, to his proud demand, expanded heaven and hell ; s 
 
 O'er the soft lute taught Petrarch's hand to move, 
 
 And give his years to sweetest song, and love. 
 
 Yet here, though late, when milder life began 
 To spread its influence, and to soften man ; 
 When, as the castle sunk, the rampart fell, 
 And struggling reason burst the monkish cell, 
 Young Industry rush'd forth, the desart smiled. 
 And Ceres triumph'd o'er the heathy wild. 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE. 125 
 
 Hither the Muse would sometimes bend her way, 
 Willing to loiter, but afraid to stay ; 
 Until bright spirits of etherial fire 
 Raised the charm'd note, and waked the British lyre, 
 Shakspeare and Milton ! Listening to their lays, 
 How soon unfelt were Albion's clouded days. 
 Pleased, too, she follow'd where her Cowley led, 
 O'er Waller's tongue her choicest honey spread. 
 Nor let that garland fade she wove for Spenser's head*-? 
 
 r led, ^ 
 ead, \ 
 
 r-'c Vioarl* * 
 
 These knew to tempt her stay — from soil she loved, 
 Hither her plants, and favourite flowers removed ; 
 Taught the sweet sounds that roll'd o'er Arno's wave, 
 Again to vibrate in their Thames's cave. 
 
126 PROLOGUE TO 
 
 Such sacred labours to pursue with care, 
 Dryden, to all their skill and science heir, 
 Caught from their mighty hands the magic power, 
 And fix'd her empire on Britannia's shore. 
 He, from Italia's fount, would frequent bring 
 The dismal tale, the tender heart to wring : 
 Each stormy passion of the breast to move, 
 By Guiscard's fate, and Sigismonda's love. 
 If, following him, a Bard should dare explore, 
 And search that mine which had been pierced before 
 If, on the Stage, he now presumes so shew, 
 By such great masters touch'd, dark crimes and woe ; 
 The bold attempt forgive, the Poet spare, 
 Nor, though you wept before, deny the tear. 
 
THE FATHER'S REVENGE. 127 
 
 And if, in varied form, and order new, 
 He brings again the wretched to your view, 
 'Tis to those masters but fresh worship paid, 
 And added incense on their altars laid. 
 
SONG, 
 
[ 131 ] 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Oh fling away that foolish flower, 
 Spoiling the perfume of a breast 
 
 That wants no scent of meaner power, 
 To make its sweetness be confess'd. 
 
 From the Spice Isles, delicious gales 
 (Long after land is lost to view) 
 
 With odours fill the swelling sails, 
 And many a league the bark pursue. 
 
132 SONG. 
 
 Thy fragrance, thus, when from thee torn, 
 On magic wing pursues my way ; 
 
 Still, in each gale, thy breath is born, 
 And absence steals not all away. 
 
 Thy form still glides before my eyes, 
 I almost press thee to my heart, 
 
 If I entreat, thy voice replies 
 
 Fancy, such joys can still impart. 
 
 'Tis thus you cheer my melancholy way ; 
 And cruel absence steals not all away. 
 
ON OCCASION OF 
 
 A FRIEND'S CONTENDING FOR BEAUTY, 
 
 AND 
 
 BEAUTY ALONE. 
 
[ 135 ] 
 
 ON OCCASION OF A 
 
 FRIEND'S CONTENDING FOR BEAUTY, 
 AND BEAUTY ALONE. 
 
 A noisy, laughing Cupid, I detest; 
 Give me the Boy with look intent, 
 Big with grave care, as though he meant 
 
 Some mighty work, when he besieged my breast. 
 
 Not, that a whining love has charms for me ; 
 Yet there's a tenderness that wears 
 A serious robe, and drinks the tears 
 Soft gushing from the eye of Sympathy. 
 
136 ON OCCASION OF A FRIEND'S 
 
 The charitable gift, the pitying hand, 
 The soul that melts at sight of woe, 
 Strike on the breast the hardest blow, 
 
 And join esteem to Passion's looser band. 
 
 Hence true affection, hence refined desire 
 Feel their full right to nobler joy, 
 To bliss that is too dear to cloy, 
 
 For it is purified by Reason's fire. 
 
 Lovely thy nymph ! but will she e'er incline 
 O'er the sick bed, or sorrow's chair ? 
 O ! light and giddy, would she bear 
 
 One sober flower in Pleasure's wreath to twine ! 
 
CONTENDING FOR BEAUTY, &c. 137 
 
 If, by the moon, through silent groves ye go. 
 Midst scenes which Nature forms for love, 
 Where does her restless fancy rove ? 
 
 To riot, fashion, and the public show. 
 
 If, on the roaring beach ye take your way, 
 Fears she, for foundering barks, the storm ? 
 O no ! she sighs, so fair a form 
 
 Is not reflected in so rude a sea. 
 
 But is there one, would joy with thee to seek 
 The widow's shed, the labourer's door, 
 Forget her lover for the poor, 
 
 Nor know thou'rt near, when age and sickness speak I 
 
138 ON OCCASION OF, &c. 
 
 Should'st thou officious point the lucky aid, 
 Quick draw thee to her generous breast 
 With firmer clasp ; then, if possess'd 
 
 Of worlds, — those worlds should at her feet be laid. 
 
 Such is the Fair that claims my friend's pursuit : 
 Leave perfect charms to others' choice, 
 Attend no more to Passion's voice, 
 
 But gather thus from love its sweetest fruit. 
 
NA WORTH CASTLE; 
 
 A 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
[ 141 ] 
 
 NA WORTH CASTLE ;* 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 O Naworth, monument of rudest times, 
 When Science slept intomb'd, and o'er the waste, 
 The heath-grown crag, and quivering moss, of old 
 Stalk'd unremitted war ! The call for blood 
 A herd purloin'd, perchance a ravaged flock ; 
 For this, how often have thy dungeons, caves 
 Of sad despair, been fed with those, whose hands, 
 More fit to wield the scythe or spade, uprear'd 
 
 * In Cumberland. 
 
142 NAWORTH CASTLE; 
 
 The enormous pike. While all, in iron clad, 
 As plunder tempted or their chieftain led, 
 Join'd the fierce rout of predatory force, 
 Making our border tremble. Ah, how oft 
 These oaks, that fling their leafless arms so high, 
 And warn the traveller erring from his way, 
 (Best office of their age) have pitying heard 
 The veteran's dying groan ; beheld him dragg'd 
 To an unworthy death, and mark'd the voice 
 That, to a long descent, and distant time, 
 Left the dire legacy of deep revenge. 
 If, on yon mountain's slippery ridge, where once, 
 From man's annoyance safe, the wild stag browsed, 
 Lord of this heathy world ; and where the eagle 
 Defied the invader of his rocky bed ; 
 Now, the plantation, gay with different tints, 
 
A FRAGMENT. 143 
 
 Drives its new shadow o'er the wondering lake ; 
 If now, the waving corn has dared to hide 
 Within its yellow breast, the proud remains 
 Of Roman toil, magnificence, and power ;* 
 If now, the peasant, scared no more at eve 
 By distant beacons, and compell'd to house 
 His trembling flocks, his children, and his all, 
 Beneath one crazy roof, securely sleeps ; 
 Yet all around thee is not changed : thy towers, 
 Unmodernized by tasteless Art, remain 
 Still unsubdued by Time 
 
 * The Roman wall. 
 
LINES 
 
 FOUND WRITTEN UPON A WINDOW 
 
 AT CALAIS. 
 
[147 ] 
 
 LINES 
 
 FOUND WRITTEN UPON A WINDOW 
 
 AT CALAIS. 
 
 xLure veni, tua jamdudum exoptata morantur 
 Flamina : te poscit votis prccibusque Viator 
 Impatiens, qui longa morae fastidia sentit. 
 Interea ad curvas descendens saepius oras, 
 Prospicit in patriam, atque avidis exhaurit ocellis. 
 Illic Dubrenses ad caelum ascendere colles 
 Aspicit, excclsasque arces, grandesque ruinas, 
 Et late ingentes scopulorum albescere tractus ; 
 Nequicquam videt haec, nee fas attingere visa, 
 Obstat Hyems inimica, et vis contraria venti. 
 
[ 148 ] 
 
 TRANSLATION 
 OF THE FOREGOING LINES. 
 
 Come, Eurus, come ; long, long hast thou delayed 
 
 Thy friendly succour, and propitious aid. 
 
 The impatient Traveller at thy altar bows, 
 
 Sick with delay, pours fourth his ceaseless vows; 
 
 Who, here detain'd, oft seeks the winding shore, 
 
 With straining eyes his country to devour ; 
 
 Sees Dover's height the dashing waves defy, 
 
 Rear its broad breast, and meet the neighbouring sky ; 
 
 Its mighty bastions to his view expand, 
 
 Long length of walls, and towers, and chalky land. 
 
TRANSLATION, &c. 149 
 
 In vain on these he casts his longing eyes, 
 Fierce Winter howls, and adverse winds arise. 
 
 Printed by W. Bulmer and Co. 
 Cleveland-row, St. Jame's.