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 THE SHIPWRECK; 
 
 A TALE OF ARABIA : / 
 
 ;-V _ ... . 1 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 By A. E. P. 
 
 ' I came to the place of ray birth ; and cried, ' The friends of my youth, 
 where are they V and an echo answered, * Where are they V " 
 
 Arabic MS. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED FOR HAMILTON & ADAMS, PATERNOSTER ROW ; 
 AND E. FRY, HOUNDSDITCH. 
 
 1827. 
 
^^rfsfi^scs^ 
 
 ^^OB 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 \ 
 
 Page 
 
 Land where the conquering robber dwells . . .1 
 
 Hail ! thou brightest, fairest gem . . . .34 
 
 If e'er the initialed name beneath . . . .37 
 
 Thy hand, cruel Autumn ! is spoiling the tree . .39 
 
 Fly, gentle bark ! to Anna fly 42 
 
 Dear music ! though often the spell is thy own . . 45 
 
 Lovely fount of the twofold feeling . . . .47 
 
 This, this is nature ; these the enchanting scenes . .49 
 
 Yes ! though on pleasure's smiling heights may grow . 51 
 
 How sweet is memory's lengthened strain . . .52 
 
 Hail, loved retirement ! ever sweet to me . . .53 
 
 The glimpse of the light bark is lost to my view . . 54 
 
 And now the breeze sighs mournful ; and the train . 56 
 
 Long 'tis since last the outward eye . . . .58 
 
 Oh ! doubt not, love, though absence shades . .60 
 
 Bright pledge of love ! to earth in mercy given r .62 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 This comes from the green-distant land mid the sea . 63 
 Twas night, and fancy bade the soul . . . .65 
 Have you marked, dearest Ann ! on a wild changing day 67 
 
 On the rock a moonbeam shone 
 
 A moonbeam glittered on a rock 
 
 Lead, son of Alpin ! the bard to his wood 
 
 Lead, son of Alpin ! lead the aged . 
 
 From Heaven's height majestic truth descend 
 
 Farewell ! perchance the hand of time 
 
 The orb of day with brightest beams 
 
 Oh ! it is painful to outlive 
 
 Flowers of the mead ! ye emblems are 
 
 It was a radiant hour, when first 
 
 Night ! thou art lovely ! but the heart 
 
 How beautiful the teint that summer leaves 
 
 Speak once again, my mourning lyre 
 
 Ah ! charming rose .... 
 
 Though stormy the waves that surround me may 
 
 Yes ! I have borne thine altered eye . 
 
 Tis not that unremembered long 
 
 In tearful anguish sate we down 
 
 I met thee once at midnight, glowing 
 
 be 
 
 69 
 
 , 72 
 
 75 
 
 77 
 
 79 
 
 80 
 
 82 
 
 84 
 
 85 
 
 87 
 
 89 
 
 91 
 
 93 
 
 95 
 
 96 
 
 98 
 
 100 
 
 102 
 
 104 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 Page 
 
 Remembrance wakes thy name again . . . 108 
 
 Oh ! sweet it is — oh ! sweet it is . . . .114 
 
 Urge me no more ! the chords refuse to ring . .116 
 
 Farewell, where the roses are sweetest . . .118 
 
 Concealed beneath the glowing shrine . . .120 
 
 Still on her couch she slept : her languid head . .123 
 
 There's a land of unbounded enduring delight . .128 
 
 'Twas Mary's ring ! what spells refined . . .130 
 
 If sorrow's voice alone may suit thy strain . .133 
 
 The day-smile of friendship is lovely and fair . .134 
 
 When first those smiling eyes I knew . .136 
 
 When earthly hope denies to thee her beam . .139 
 Oh! come, dearest Anna! and talk with the flower . 140 
 
 Still dost thou mourn? what fleeting care of earth . 142 
 Full many an hour has passed away . . * . 145 
 
 Youth ! thou art like a tree of deepest shade . .147 
 
 Rest, shade beloved ! where Rocknabad . . .148 
 
 Friendship shall bless thee, sweet remembrancer . 151 
 
 Her voice had lost its sprightly tone . . . .153 
 
 When clouds overcast the light of day . . .155 
 
 Avon ! thy rocks no longer I behold . . .156 
 
 Thou art, O love ! the morning ray . . .157 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Again, lovely scene of enchantment ! for me . .160 
 From the silver cloud of the shining west . . .162 
 Come, bring the harp ! its music try . • .164 
 
 I saw the silver star of night 166 
 
 What most I value is my friend's esteem . . .167 
 
 Dear Rosa ! if by fancy led 168 
 
 Around me hung the shroud of care . . .170 
 
 Believe not, though absence has stolen the flowers . 172 
 O Memory, cease thy bitter sorrow . . . .177 
 Wilt thou still delight to linger . . . .178 
 
 Oh, could I tempt the changing gale . . . . 1 79 
 
 Forgive me, lovely poesy 181 
 
 Fragrant spices scent the gales 183 
 
 A brighter rose ne'er graced its tree . . . .185 
 Oh ! dwell no more in this land of the west . .187 
 When sparkling on Matilda's hand . . . .189 
 Is there a Spring, whose rose may wear . . .191 
 Soft, favouring gales my bark attend . . .193 
 
 Think not, though the landscape in beauty be drest . 195 
 Earth's woes were past, was thy belief . . .197 
 Secure in the vale blooms the fair rose of Spring . 199 
 What, though an adverse hour divide . . . 201 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The vesper bell is chiming far 202 
 
 That hour by the Ash Tree ! oh ! can I forget . . 208 
 Like the tender green of Spring . . . .211 
 Wild rose of sweetest fragrance ! smiling fair . .215 
 We met, met once again — her soft blue eyes . .216 
 Though we part not in distance we'll whisper farewell 219 
 Take the pledge I give to thee .... 221 
 
 Yes ! thou art gone ! to genius dear . . .223 
 
 Bring me some bright flower to twine . . . 225 
 Nor unremembered be the captive's walls . . 228 
 
 The rose is withering in the hand . . . .231 
 Thrice has stern winter worn his wreaths of snow . 233 
 Agnes ! while oft, when far away . . . .235 
 Sweetest blessing poured on earth . 236 
 
 Remembrance, wake ! and with thee bring . .239 
 
 Oh ! he had loved her well and long . . . 241 
 
 Well did the painter's skill define . . ; .243 
 Oh ! had my pen some blameless art ... 245 
 
 Ah ! hope is oft a waking dream .... 247 
 
THE SHIPWRECK; 
 
 A TALE OF ARABIA. 
 
 Land, where the conquering robber dwells ; 
 
 Whose terrors many a pilgrim knows ; 
 Where pagan darkness spreads her spells, 
 
 Or Mecca's seer a creed bestows : — 
 Thine are Petrea's barren hills ; 
 
 Deserta's sandy plains are thine ; 
 And Felix' southern vales, whose rills 
 
 Amid her land of plenty shine : 
 Thrice happy land! all, but for thee, 
 
 Were barren waste in Araby. 
 
THE SHIPWRECK ; 
 
 Who, that hath wandered, wearied, o'er 
 
 Petrea's drear and burning clime, 
 Or doomed, Deserta ! to explore 
 
 Thy awful wastes in tempest-time ; 
 Thy sands unwatered, days of heat, 
 
 And nights, whose air intensely chills, 1 
 Where nothing animate may meet 
 
 The eye that scans thy barren hills, 
 But turns with wakening smile to bless 
 
 The lovelier land of happiness — 
 Her Felix, justly named — since here 
 
 Sweet Nature strews with lavish hand, 
 Her store of myriad charms, to cheer 
 
 The wanderers of thy kindred land ; 
 And bids her spicy odours rise, 
 
 And fairest fruits, beneath thy skies. 
 
 And sweet flowers too — and one was there, 
 Of all, the fairest and the best, 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 
 
 That owned the names of bright, and rare. 
 And loved, in Araby the blest. 
 
 Oh ! such a form of grace ! 'twere much 
 
 For bard to image thing so bright ; 
 Or e'en for 2 Mani's hand to touch 
 
 Resemblance of a shape so light. 
 Aerial, pensive, beautiful — 
 Flower for Death's early hand to cull. 
 Ah ! so we learn to deem, when soul 
 
 Puts on in youth the perfectness 
 That constitutes the bright, the whole 
 
 Adorning of its heavenly dress. 
 Her eyes — but why should poet name 
 
 The mortal grace of heavenly ones ?— 
 The mind's bright excellence should claim 
 
 The fulness of the minstrel's tones : 
 Yet wayward song loves to express 
 The charm of outward loveliness : 
 b2 
 
THE SHIPWRECK ; 
 
 And most the eloquent eye, which tells 
 The grace that in the spirit dwells. 
 Her's boasted not the darkness given 
 To all they dream of eyes in heaven : 
 The paleness of their hazel stole 
 The azure's love, the dark one's soul : 
 Warmed pleasant, as the summer's noon, 
 
 Soft slumbering, with a shade o'erthrown ; 
 Looked gently, as the silent moon, 
 
 And like her beams of silver shone. 
 
 She was her father's joy — his pride : 
 
 Ambition was his guiding star ; 
 And shewed his name, through her, allied 
 
 With one of birth, wealth, loftier far 
 Than her's — young Heber's hoped-for bride. 
 Ali had all that pride could ask ; 
 
 With many a virtue which might claim 
 In friendship's purest light to bask, 
 
 And ask for love in virtue's name. 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 
 
 Twas not that perfect beauty threw 
 
 O'er him her bright, her mighty charm ; 
 But who could Ali's features view, 
 
 Nor feel his heart to goodness warm ; 
 So amiably that face exprest 
 The dweller of his peaceful breast. 
 An eye that eloquently broke 
 Silence, and in souPs language spoke : 
 A mouthy of placid sweetness, taught 
 Those serious smiles, " expression fraught ;" 
 And that expansive forehead, whence 
 We judge of fair intelligence ; 
 While e'er with these the tranquil mood 
 Of unembarrassed rectitude. 
 
 Leila had marked them all— desire 
 
 Of gentlest duty to her sire 
 Taught her to search those graces meek, 
 
 That she alone had need to seek. 
 
THE SHIPWRECK ; 
 
 His name, with blessings mingled, hung 
 On many a lonely sufferer's tongue : 
 On those that told of friendship flown, 
 Supplied more dearly by his own : 
 Of vice suppressed, that quickly leant 
 To virtue, by encouragement. 
 She saw — with latent feeling strove, 
 And gave esteem, but could not love. 
 
 Yet, Ali ! 'twas no slight to thee 
 
 That gentle love denied thy plea. 
 
 Pity, affection casts aside 
 
 So oft, fair reason for her guide : 
 
 Pity, that rainbow fancy's beam 
 
 Veils thy mild influence, sweet esteem ! 
 
 The strongest, surest tie, that binds 
 
 In constant bond the purest minds 
 
 Howbeit, mean we not to say 
 
 Leila was led by Folly's ray. 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 
 
 He, for whom Ali was denied, 
 Was one with Virtue's band allied ; 
 In fewest words his worth to blend, 
 Had been his earliest, chosen friend : 
 Soon Ali guessed ; delayed he nought ; 
 Her father and his friend he sought. 
 " Be bliss, be fortune theirs — be mine 
 " To bless the heart I thus resign. 
 " Whatever pang it cost to part, 
 " If power of such a gift be mine, 
 " And thou hast won her gentle heart, 
 " Then, Heber ! Leila's hand is thine. " 
 He said — upon each arm he spanned 
 A matchless jewel ; of a price 
 To suit the loftiest heart's demand- 
 But friendship knows no sacrifice. 
 Even her sire wept — and trembling waken 
 Of tender thoughts unnumbered stores ; 
 Like flights of sweet remembrance, taken 
 By wanderers over distant shores. 
 
THE SHIPWRECK \ 
 
 His was a heart, which gentle bliss, 
 Or tears, had tried in vain to melt ; 
 He smiled alone on deeds like this, 
 That sunlike shine, and will be felt — 
 Those lofty deeds of soul, that touch 
 The fancy and the heart so much. 
 Even Leila deemed that eye more bright, 
 Those features more than ever fair ; 
 And wept that sorrow's early blight 
 Should shed its withering influence there. 
 But ah ! the tear that pity gives 
 To love that unrequited lives, 
 Is like the coldly falling shower, 
 That weeps, to crush the tender flower. 
 
 The old man wept awhile — and then, 
 (As if those tears had shamed his power,) 
 Called back the recreant calm again, 
 That rebel strayed in feeling's hour : 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 
 
 And said, (while he on Heber smiled, 
 With Leila's hand held tremblingly,) 
 " My heart and I are reconciled ; 
 " Ali has won this gift for thee." 
 
 Sweet resignation ! that hast power 
 Rightly to act, and leave the rest ; 
 
 Nobly to rise in trial's hour, 
 And need but virtue to be blest. 
 
 We weep — grief heightened, thus bewailed ; 
 
 Each gloom by Fancy gloomier made ; 
 And, is the sun a moment veiled, 
 
 Plunge murmuring into deeper shade. 
 
 But could we view the radiant whole, 
 Now clouded, 'midst its scattered light, 
 b3 
 
10 THE SHIPWRECK ; 
 
 How should we blush to find the soul 
 Murmuring at sorrow's passing night. 
 
 Then would our most unlightened hour 
 Blest through its darkest doom be found, 
 
 Like the still, gloomy thunder shower, 
 That scatters latent beauty round. 
 
 Oh ! ye, who deem that perfect bliss 
 Is love's, in troubled world like this, 
 Say, can ye dream of aught denied 
 To Heber, and so loved a bride ? 
 
 Those days of youth ! those days of youth ! 
 
 Of bliss, that blossoms only then, 
 When thought is hope, and language truth. 
 
 And memory bliss enjoyed again. 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 11 
 
 Those days of light — of transient night, 
 Of feeling's mingled smiles and tears ; 
 
 Time's sun is ne'er so wildly bright, 
 As 'mid the shades of early years. 
 
 But soon 'tis past ! it cannot last ! 
 
 The heart that hopes, and dreams no ill, 
 When every bright illusion past 
 
 Has left it hoping, vacant still ; 
 
 Must deign to learn, how soon to learn, 
 
 Life's joys to ruin ever run ; 
 And, though awhile may hope return, 
 
 'Twill shine not as it once has done. 
 
 Then why amid this land of care, 
 
 Whose many woes have power to bless, 
 
 Seek we so oft, in vain, to wear 
 Unfading flowers^of happiness ? 
 
12 
 
 THE SHIPWRECK ; 
 
 Yet still we seek — though others speak 
 Of joy, as fleeting ; care, as sure ; 
 
 As life for us its laws should break, 
 And spare the pangs that they endure. 
 
 Ah ! how had Leila learnt to dream 
 
 Of care, amid so much to bless ! 
 Fortune, and friends, and love's bright beam. 
 
 And hope's sweet bud of happiness. 
 It were too much, too much to ask — 
 
 For life's young heart too great a task, 
 To heed what age has learnt to prove, 
 
 And change for doubt the dream of love. 
 She would not give the spell, I ween, 
 
 That pictured life a fairy scene, 
 That bade the visions hope supplies 
 
 In bright perspective endless rise, 
 For all her fancy has defined 
 
 Of wisdom, in a sage's mind. 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 13 
 
 Yet, e'en for her, life's fairy flower 
 
 Shall blossom soon in trial's hour : 
 Sickness lay waste the tranquil scene, 
 
 Where rapture seems an evergreen : 
 Yes ! always 'mid the waste it blooms, 
 
 Whose dreary blast the flower consumes : 
 Oh ! when has bliss the heart employed, 
 
 Nor seared at last, nor left it void ! 
 
 The hour of trial came — the hour 
 
 When even love pleads lessened power ; 
 When weak expression fails to give 
 
 The thoughts that in the bosom live ; 
 When even affection's self seems changed, 
 
 A moment from the heart estranged, 
 To spend in words the sense of pain, 
 
 That comes so soon — so oft, again. 
 Yet it is sweeter far to share 
 
 The ills which those we love must bear ; 
 
14 THE SHIPWRECK ; 
 
 Dearer to struggle with the sigh 
 That rises at some harsh reply, 
 From suffering wrung, but ne'er designed 
 To pain the tender, patient mind, 
 Than smile, where mirth's delights abound, 
 And none but summer friends are found. 
 So Leila thought ; and patient gave 
 Whate'er disease could ask and have : 
 So Heber deemed she thought ; and tried 
 The waywardness of pain to hide ; 
 Soothed to believe that one would feel 
 For what he could not all conceal. 
 
 Sickness had spent itself : — at length 
 Came symptoms of returning strength ; 
 And Heber longed, one gentle hour, 
 To roam beyond his wonted bower ; 
 And try if yet the wave and breeze 
 Could boast their former harmonies. 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 15 
 
 But first that chosen one he sought, 
 Who absent, Nature's self were nought. 
 
 " Come, ever sweetest, ever best ! 
 " Where all is love the loveliest ; 
 " In spite of what our creeds declare, 
 " Wherever thou art, soul is there. 
 
 / " Oh ! who can paint the joys that wait 
 
 l 
 
 " " On feelings, thoughts, reciprocate ! 
 
 " Who, in his dream of bliss dispense 
 
 " With that blest charm, intelligence ! 
 
 " And is thy light, best, gentlest friend ! 
 
 " Like meteors that to darkness tend ? 
 
 " Like lightnings, glancing o'er the plain, 
 
 " That vanish into gloom again ? — 
 
 " No ! 3 Azrael, when he calls thee home, 
 
 " No more from heaven's bright bowers to roam, 
 
 " And smiles so luminously fair 
 
 " Thy welcome from this world of care ? 
 
16 THE SHIPWRECK ; 
 
 " Shall bid thy radiant form appear 
 
 " With those, the best, the perfect here. ,, 
 
 ************** 
 
 Twas sunset — and the mantling cloud 
 Spread gorgeous o'er the regal west ; 
 The waves in golden beauty glowed, 
 Hymning their vesper songs of rest : 
 And they, as on the shore they stood, 
 The waters shone so bright and fair, 
 Had almost deemed that 4 Meinam's flood 
 Had waved its stores of splendour there. 
 Much I remember, now, said he, 
 That Hindustanee melody, 
 Which, through fell tyranny, made mute 
 The treasures of a minstrel's lute. 5 
 Oh! tell, said she, impatiently, 
 Thy tale of that sweet lute to me. 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 
 
 it is a story, Heber said, 
 
 Of woe, of shame, of horrors dread ; 
 
 Fit not for timid maid to hear — 
 
 'T would blanch thy glowing cheek with fear. 
 
 The music, (dost thou wish to listen ?) 
 
 Would make thine eyes delighted glisten ; 
 
 Some few sweet notes I know, 
 Were taught me by a sprite, whose spell 
 Could wake the soul of music well, 
 
 Nor reck of mortal woe. 
 
 Thou sing in danger, and for me ! 
 No ! heavenly were its minstrelsy, 
 Better should song ne'er meet mine ear, 
 Than buy its melodies so dear. 
 
 One hour of bliss — ah! scarce an hour 
 Had 'mid the fairy scene been spent, 
 And he, a sufferer late, the power 
 Of Nature felt, since banishment; 
 
5 THE SHIPWRECK; 
 
 When came a harbinger of pain, 
 
 A messenger of grief again. 
 
 Sickness, scarce parted thence, had flown 
 
 To pain another cherished one ; 
 Who longed a daughter's hand should share 
 
 In every deed of love and care. 
 The blue wave severed — for the morn 
 Had seen him from sweet Aden borne, 
 To trace the fair variety 
 Of nature, 'neath a summer's sky„ 
 
 But ..are and sickness will intrude, 
 E'en on the bosom's cheeriest mood ; 
 Heed not that pleasure waits to bless, 
 Nor reck affection's happiness. 
 How didst thou urge each tender plea, 
 Heber ! to tempt the shaft from thee : 
 Still to retain that dearest one, 
 So long beloved, so late thy own, 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 19 
 
 " We cannot part! or I, bereft 
 
 " Of all of joy when thou hast left, 
 
 " Shall waken with the blissful past 
 
 " The pain thy cares had overcast. 
 
 " Why dicTst thou teach my heart to prove 
 
 " How well thou hast deserved my love; 
 
 " Watching me with that tearful eye, 
 
 " Lest one so dear, so frail should die. 
 
 " Thou hast been all in all to me, 
 
 " When none were left to love — but thee. 
 
 " How shall I list thy stifled sigh ! 
 
 " Thy voice, alas ! no longer nigh. 
 
 " Yes! thou must go — and I will own 
 
 " Thanks to some less beloved one ; 
 
 " Nor ask thy stay, nor doubt thy faith, 
 
 " Nor aught that smile of sorrow saith. 
 
 " It speaks of feelings soft suppressed, 
 
 " Yet waking inmost in the breast ; 
 
20 the shipwreck; 
 
 " The animate resolve of youth, 
 
 " And woman's firm, untiring truth/' 
 
 Man's thoughts are ever prone to range — - 
 
 If woman wills, oh ! what shall change ? 
 
 Though sometimes timid to decide, 
 
 'Tis hers unwavering to abide. 
 
 And what can heighten blissful things, 
 
 Like woman's bright imaginings ? — 
 
 Oh ! yes — we own her wayward — wild — 
 
 Sorrow's, as well as pleasure's child : 
 
 Full well we know what fearful fates 
 
 Timid, she oft anticipates : 
 
 Full well we know how weak her heart, 
 
 When comes the hour to part — to part. 
 
 But at the couch, where tearless sleep 
 
 Scorns the dimmed eye that wakes to weep, 
 
 But at the restless bed of pain, 
 
 That woos the recreant charm in vain, 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 21 
 
 In sickness, or in grief, whene'er, 
 
 Oh ! when — did woman shrink to share. 
 
 But he, in faith, in friendship frail, 
 
 Fair-seeming, skilful to assail, 
 
 Pleads with an angel's graces drest, 
 
 To her he deems the loveliest : 
 
 Worships the smiling beauty, set 
 
 Where fortune, and where friends are met ; 
 
 But see her desolate, distressed, 
 
 His friendship leaves her thus unblessed ; 
 
 To mourn, aye ! even to die alone, 
 
 Nor shames a faith like this to own. 
 
 Such was not Heber's love — the spring 
 
 Ever in one course murmuring, 
 
 Is not more constant, pure, or free, 
 
 Leila ! than Heber's love for thee. 
 
 They parted — and a mother's smile, 
 The sweet companion of her way, 
 
22 THE SHIPWRECK J 
 
 Wore its best radiance, to beguile 
 
 The thoughts that would to sorrow stray. 
 And Leila's heart was soothed (though sad,) 
 With many a gentle dream it had, 
 Of power to soothe a father's pain, 
 And win departed health again. 
 Nor was her hope the airy scheme, 
 Child but of restless fancy's dream ; 
 With gentle act in purpose free, 
 That wearies on reality. 
 No ! hers was steady, patient love, 
 That nought could alter, nought remove ; 
 Pain's strange imaginings perplex, 
 Nor even words of harshness vex. 
 
 And Hassan felt her love — and tried 
 To combat with his heart of pride ; 
 And softened his stern brow awhile, 
 Upon her gentle cares to smile. 
 
A TALE OP ARABIA. 23 
 
 So simple in her tenderness, 
 That spoke with all the heart's excess ; 
 That marked upon his cheek the stealth 
 Of thy first glow, returning health ; 
 And joyed his hasty tones to greet, 
 The wakeners of a hope so sweet ; 
 Nor doomed to grief again — each day 
 Bore some trace of disease away, 
 Or gave some latent vigour play. 
 
 And now care's clouds seem parting — were 
 One dear one present, all were fair : 
 And he, perchance, not distant; guest 
 On the bright wave's unruffled breast, 
 Is counting o'er the lessening hours, 
 Beguiled by fancy's fairy powers. 
 
 Tis morn! a morn to which is given 
 
 The charm of summer's earth and heaven : 
 
24 THE SHIPWRECK ; 
 
 A gently-waking morn ; impressing 
 
 The eye with joy, the heart with blessing. 
 
 Smiling with light, far-breaking, tender; 
 
 The promise of a noon of splendour. 
 
 Sweet are her tears of trembling dew, 
 
 And heaven's blue eyes, soft beaming through, 
 
 And nature in her emeralds blazing, 
 
 Bride of the day ! from Heaven gazing. 
 
 His, of whose radiant grace bereft, 
 
 She were indeed to darkness left ; 
 
 A darkness, such as thine would be, 
 
 Leila ! were Heber lost to thee. 
 
 There is a fair speck on the sea, 
 Like pleasure smiling distantly : 
 A snowy sail, that seems to rest 
 Swanlike, upon the water's breast : 
 Brightening, as every instant nearer, 
 It wakens dreams of transport dearer. 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 25 
 
 Oh! wildering moment! just when hope 
 
 First struggles with uncertainty; 
 And doomed with ceaseless fears to cope, 
 
 Wearies the heart, and cheats the eye. 
 And one is watching, waiting — weary 
 
 Of viewing o'er that waste of sea, 
 The bark that looks as distant nearly, 
 
 As at first sight it seemed to be. 
 Yet wafts it onward : fancy's power ! 
 
 So wayward, able much to bless, 
 Oh ! why so oft, in hope's wild hour. 
 
 The spoiler of our happiness ! 
 But, ah! so many ills between 
 
 Hope and enjoyment intervene, 
 That ne'er expected bliss advances, 
 
 And scapes, dark fear ! thy jealous glances. 
 
 Oh ! had' st thou, in thy gloomiest mood, 
 Dared on that dream of hope intrude, 
 
26 the shipwreck; 
 
 And painted in the deepest dye 
 That suits thy own unlightened eye, 
 All that the future held concealed, 
 In gentle airs and sunlight veiled, 
 Thou had'st not overcharged the view 
 Of sea, and that late heaven of blue. 
 
 Oh! who could trace the same ! big clouds, 
 
 (As heaven were dressed in sable shrouds,) 
 
 Rent horribly, as though afar 
 
 The very heavens had learned to war, 
 
 And looks of gloomy darkness sent 
 
 Along the sullen firmament, 
 
 An awful stillness kept — till broke 
 
 Silence, and thunder's loudest spoke. 
 
 The waves rose answering — curled, and then 
 
 Sunk fearful to their depths again ; 
 
 But momently — as if to take 
 
 Strength full renewed, and wilder break. 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 27 
 
 The lightnings rapidly glanced o'er 
 The barks their ruffled surface bore ; 
 Just light enough to shew to many 
 Their loss of all ; hope scarce to any. 
 Yet still one white sail gleamed — the same 
 At morn sweet hope was heard to blame ; 
 So gently, halcyon-like that came. 
 
 And one, mid'st many, watched the flood — 
 On the extremest crag she stood. 
 Well might she watch; a husband's fate 
 Seemed each advancing surge to wait. 
 Yes, it is Heber's self they view, 
 And Heber sees his Leila too. 
 Dim float before his wildered eye 
 The folds of snowy drapery, 
 Whitening against each ebon tress, 
 That falls in waving loveliness. 
 At length the vessel strikes: the storm 
 Still wears its most infuriate form : 
 c 2 
 
28 the shipwreck; 
 
 One still is seen with strong arm cast, 
 (Yet hoping,) round the central mast. 
 The last, of every aid bereft, 
 Vainly to brave the billows left ; 
 Not long alone — a hideous wave 
 Swells from the wild, unsated grave ; 
 Severs his lingering hold, and sweeps 
 Him headlong to the yawning deeps. 
 She sees — and terror, madness mixed, 
 With one convulsive power transfixed; 
 On, onward, from that crag's frail branch, 
 Like fragment of an avalanche. 
 Is there no arm, not one, to save 
 Faith, virtue, from the reckless grave ? 
 Yes, one would every danger dare, 
 Such form from such a fate to spare. 
 And where is he ? with yonder billow 
 Borne onward to her rocky pillow. 
 Yet, yet again he rises — strength 
 Puts on again her uttermost ; 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 29 
 
 Wars with the waters ; till, at length, 
 A moment might have gained that coast, 
 Where hope her baseless anchor cast. 
 Yes, she has reached her rest at last ; 
 The doubtful hour is overpast. 
 Doubtful ! ah ! when did mortal strive 
 In such unequal strife — and live ! 
 Oh ! she is dead — he sees her only 
 To tell that she has left him lonely : 
 Sees, at that scarcely parted view, 
 That mocks the chance of sight untrue ; 
 That gives the nerveless looks of death, 
 The stillness of exhausted breath ; 
 That icy look, still cold, though spread 
 Each moment, scenes of deeper dread. 
 Oh ! could her eyes indeed unclose 
 On this, the last, her worst of woes, 
 'Twere but to waken life, and then 
 To end it in severer pain. 
 
30 THE SHIPWRECK ; 
 
 For where shall state like his be found ? 
 Life scarcely life, and horrors round 
 Were that lone sufferer's — hardly less 
 Than hers, the dead, his iciness. 
 Each pulse beat fainter than the last, 
 Each look a deadlier glare o'ercast. 
 His life-blood ebbs ; his senses sleep ; 
 Strength fails — he sinks him in the deep. 
 For hope is gone — and, with it, life 
 Loosens its hold on that frail form, 
 Bearing so late, in fearful strife, 
 For her, the terrors of the storm. 
 He sinks to rise no more — one wave 
 Has given to both one viewless grave. 
 
 Near it a rocky tablet bears 
 The transcript of the tale of tears ; 
 And many a gentle Arab weeps 
 Above the grave where Leila sleeps. 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 31 
 
 For one is here, who can impart 
 That tale, to melt the stoniest heart ; 
 And e'en the coldest teach to glow, 
 As erst his own was wont to do. 
 A reverend man, with silvered hair, 
 And smile, though sad, benignly fair ; 
 Who deems the wilds of sorrow here, 
 Than mirth's most festive halls more dear. 
 And who is he that haunts the spot 
 Of friends, of feelings, unforgot? 
 Who, but that soul of love and truth. 
 The same that lighten'd Ali's youth ? 
 Yet ne'er was indolence a guest 
 Within his lonely place of rest. 
 By him the suffering poor were fed, 
 The virtuous mourner comforted, 
 Youth watched, as with a parent's eye, 
 And warned with kind sincerity. 
 And often, at the dead of night 
 Is seen the hermit's beacon light, 
 
32 THE SHIPWRECK ; 
 
 Gleaming above that scene of death, 
 To tell that danger lurks beneath. 
 That fatal rock, when the moon-beam shines, 
 And the wave from its rugged height de- 
 clines, 
 May be marked, as the nighted seaman roves 
 Near, while he seeks the home he loves. 
 
 Lost 6 Aden ! thy deserted halls, 
 Lone-sounding sea, and mouldering walls, 
 The scenes, long since, of busy life, 
 In human wealth no longer rife, 
 Well may the pensive story suit, 
 That strikes the harp of gladness mute. 
 It is in ruined scene, like this, 
 We love to muse on vanished bliss ; 
 Feel kindliest for the mourner's grief, 
 And shed the tear of sweet relief 
 That brightly trembles to the eye, 
 In gentle sorrow's sympathy. 
 
A TALE OF ARABIA. 33 
 
 But in the crowd of human things, 
 Fettering the tameless spirit's wings, 
 Dooming to death the free-born thought, 
 To art-discipled children nought ; 
 Oh, Nature ! hope not tears in them, 
 Nor ask sweet pity's requiem. 
 
 c 3 
 
34 
 
 TO POESY. 
 
 Hail ! thou brightest, fairest gem 
 On Fancy's sparkling diadem. 
 Torn from Feeling's rugged mine, 
 Tis Feeling's voice that bids thee shine : 
 Thy charms to her alone belong ; 
 Her power alone inspires the song. 
 
 There are, who rudely mock its tone, 
 
 And fain would make the lyre their own ; 
 
 But only to the Poet's spell 
 
 Its strains of sweetness deign to swell; 
 
 And only to the Poet's breast 
 
 Are all the charms of song confest. 
 
TO POESY. 35 
 
 Oh ! who, when Music binds his soul, 
 But trembles at her sweet control! 
 Who can resist her potent sway, 
 That steals his wildered soul away ! 
 But soul and mind are bound by thee, 
 Sublime, entrancing Poesy ! 
 
 And what, though wildest griefs are known 
 To every heart thou deign'st to own ; 
 Though e'en this heart be doomed to feel 
 Through thee, the stamp of sorrow's seal, 
 Yet well thy lightning gleams repay 
 The gloom of many a stormy day. 
 
 My thorny rose ! my clouded beam ! 
 My bark upon the ruffled stream ! 
 Whatever of grief and beauty meet 
 In Fancy's dream, to song is sweet : 
 The lyre accords her dearest tone 
 To claims she deems so much her own. 
 
36 TO POESY. 
 
 Oh! where may clouded planets gleam, 
 As on the poet's darkened dream ; 
 Or wandering bark a welcome find 
 As in the poet's stormy mind ; 
 Or thorny roses love to rest, 
 As wildly on the poet's breast. 
 
 Come, pensive grace ! to fancy known, 
 And make the lyre's soft strains thy own. 
 Come, wildered grief! in tones of woe 
 The trembling chords delight to flow ; 
 Come, every feeling wild and free, 
 And wake its warbling notes for me. 
 
 Ah ! hear — the lyre has found a tongue 
 In Feeling's friend, romantic song ! 
 The chords that only breathed before 
 Can charm by speechless strains no more. 
 Oh ! haste, my soul, to make thy choice 
 The lyre that speaks with Feeling's voice. 
 
37 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 If e'er the initialed name beneath 
 
 May chance to meet thy wandering eye, 
 
 Oh ! think of her, who loves the wreath 
 Of flowers that bloom in poesy. 
 
 Nor thou the unlettered lay despise, 
 Though all devoid of fancy's wile ; 
 
 Thou know'st those sweets the muse supplies 
 No hand may pluck, except she smile. 
 
 Think, if my fancy knew to choose 
 A flower from every blemish free, 
 
 How bright a charm the wayward muse 
 Should gaily cull to bloom for thee. 
 
38 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 And, oh ! whene'er the name beneath 
 May chance to meet thy wandering eye, 
 
 Remember her, who loves the wreath 
 Of flowers that bloom in poesy. 
 
 1823. 
 
39 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 Thy hand, cruel Autumn! is spoiling the tree, 
 Whose charms wear the robe of enchantment for me : 
 And thou, rapid streamlet ! art bearing away 
 The leaves that the spoiler has doomed to decay. 
 
 And wilt thou, ungrateful ! their beauties convey, 
 
 To wither, mid far-distant waters, away ; 
 
 Where the sighs of their parent, now poured on the 
 
 air, 
 Seek vainly to waft the sad tale of despair : 
 
 Where no blossoms e'er shine, where no pine-tree 
 
 may wave 
 Its branches of sadness to mantle their grave ; 
 
40 AUTUMN. 
 
 Which rapt*H?e and carnage have marked for their 
 own; 
 
 Where the songs of the forest and hills are un- 
 known. 
 
 Yes ! bear them away ! for the Spring shall renew, 
 Sad mourner ! the days of enchantment for you : 
 Again, in the robe of fresh greenness arrayed, 
 May your branches rejoice in their beautiful shade. 
 
 And thou, my sad heart! yet the language believe 
 Of the future's fair angel, that knows to deceive : 
 Bid thy pulses to thrill at the light of her smile, 
 And thy landscape of time beam with brightness 
 the while. 
 
 Let the joys of the future and present unite, 
 And fill with their sweetness this hour of delight ; 
 Let my spirit and fancy yet dream, (if they may,) 
 They have nothing to dread from despair and decay. 
 
AUTUMN. 41 
 
 Be lost in its brightness, ye mountains of care ! 
 Unseen in its splendours, ye fiends of despair ! 
 I know that the spirit of anguish is near ; 
 But I will not believe her ; she shall not appear. 
 
 Oh ! moments like these, will ye leave as ye fly, 
 Some spell to recal you, some charm to supply ? 
 Ye powers of delight ! will ye grant to the mind 
 To dwell in the beam that yet lingers behind ? 
 
 Yes ! yes — 'tis enchantment to cherish that ray, 
 Shedding kindly a charm o'er the cares of to-day : 
 Still, Memory, light thou the joys that are o'er, 
 Like twilight's soft smiling, when day is no more. 
 
42 
 
 THOUGH ABSENT, NOT FORGOTTEN". 
 
 Fly, gentle bark ! to Anna fly ! 
 
 And court the western breezes' sigh ; 
 
 Nor sail be furled, nor bark delayed, 
 
 Nor yet those western breezes stayed, 
 
 Till anchored safe, by Friendship's spell, 
 
 Amid the scenes she loves so well. 
 
 Oh ! tell my friend, though beauty reigns 
 
 Triumphant o'er these sylvan plains, 
 
 And woos my heart to dream awhile 
 
 Of all that lives in Pleasure's smile, 
 
 That when the star of evening, bright 
 
 With her fair, lucid, tranquil light, 
 
 Brings in her train the sober shade 
 
 We deem for calm reflection made; 
 
 That shade, which, though it serves to hide 
 
 The splendid pomp of Nature's pride, 
 
THOUGH ABSENT, NOT FORGOTTEN. 43 
 
 Yet lends to all the softened scene 
 A charm more blissfully serene, 
 And bids the dying sun decay 
 In Fancy's warmer, dearer ray, 
 Tis then my heart delights to rove 
 Far, to the friends, the scenes I love ; 
 Tis then Remembrance brings to view 
 A mind like hers — so fair, so true. 
 
 And when the sun, with kingly grace, 
 Gleams bright from his meridian place, 
 And bids with proudest splendour glow, 
 And fairest smiles, these scenes below, 
 Then too, Remembrance turns to find 
 Earth's dearest features, left behind : 
 Where, Anna, in youth's cherished day, 
 The fairy moments passed away ; 
 And every object bright and fair, 
 Seemed brighter still, when thou wast there. 
 
44 THOUGH ABSENT, NOT FORGOTTEN. 
 
 Those fairy hours, those scenes, and thee — 
 To seek them, where shall Memory flee ? 
 1 Not mid those numbers vainly gay, 
 Who bow to Fashion's tyrant sway ; 
 Where smiles unfelt, devoid of grace, 
 Furrow the mute, unmeaning face ; 
 Where sorrows, told by words alone, 
 Kind Friendship's soothing power disown ; 
 Where all is tasteless, all is feigned, 
 And Nature's language all restrained. 
 Not here shall sweet Affection flee, 
 To dwell on Memory's page, and thee — 
 But in those records calm impressed, 
 And dearly cherished in my breast ; 
 Which, though the hand of Time has traced 
 Those records fair, are not effaced : 
 Mid all that Feeling guards for me, 
 Shall Memory hold a place for thee. 
 Clapton, 1823. 
 
45 
 
 MUSIC ON THE WATER. 
 
 Dear Music ! though often the spell is thy own, 
 That wakens a gentle, a tender emotion, 
 
 Yet when is that power so enchantingly known, 
 As when joined with the deep-bounding voice of 
 the Ocean. 
 
 Oh, Memory, now let the scene be renewed, 
 So dear to thyself, so delightful to me ; 
 
 With thee, I will talk of the bard of the flood ; 
 With thee I will visit the land of the sea. 
 
 I see the light skiff, and her delicate sail, 
 
 As she gracefully followed the slow-rolling wave ; 
 
 Sweet harmony seemed o'er her course to prevail, 
 While, in fancy, she moved to the numbers he gave. 
 
46 MUSIC ON THE WATER. 
 
 Oh ! whither are flown those fair days of delight, 
 That have left us, of darkness so long to complain ; 
 
 My soul would return through these regions .of night, 
 To behold the bright beams of their glory again. 
 
 They are lost in the fathomless ocean of Time ! 
 
 Yet, Memory ! their semblance, as pictured by thee, 
 May gleam on my soul through Futurity's clime, 
 
 And renew every joy that shone dearly for me. 
 
47 
 
 TO THE EYE. 
 
 Lovely fount of the twofold feeling 
 
 That brightens or shades the hues of time ; 
 
 With pleasure's light now gaily beaming, 
 
 Now dimmed with the clouds of sorrow's clime. 
 
 Fountain of Joy ! who bids thee beam 
 
 With the light on her own pure altar burning ; 
 
 Fountain of Sorrow ! who bids thee stream 
 
 O'er the relics of pleasures, whose loss she is 
 mourning. 
 
 In the winter of Sorrow, silently flowing, 
 
 How bright were the tear-drops that fell from the 
 eye; 
 
 But now is the sunshine of happiness glowing, 
 And the streamlet of Sorrow's sad Winter is dry. 
 
48 TO THE EYE. 
 
 Fair orb ! thou art like to that stream of the 7 cave, 
 
 That in Summer's bright season refuses to flow ; 
 For the rude hand of Winter may burst its wild wave, 
 ' And disturb the still waters that slumber below. 
 
 Whitley. 
 
49 
 
 WRITTEN NEAR BRISTOL. 
 
 This, this is Nature; these the enchanting scenes 
 Where Fancy loves to rove : these are the shades 
 Fancy has painted, and the Poets sung. 
 Thou verdant plain, whose cooling breezes rise, 
 And breathe new joy and vigour through the soul ; 
 Thou distant tower, where in childhood's days 
 I often wandered, and ye craggy rocks, 
 Whose towering heights o'ershadow Avon's banks, 
 Romantic scenes, all hail ! my wildered eye 
 Turns swift from wood to plain, and from the plain 
 Towards the deep liquid vale. On either side 
 New beauties rise, that chain my willing feet. 
 Where is the stoic that can gaze on these, 
 Nor feel his bosom glow with rapture's fires ? 
 
 D 
 
50 WRITTEN NEAR BRISTOL. 
 
 Poor senseless one ! for thee my bosom bleeds. 
 Dead to the finest feelings of the soul ; 
 Viewing the charms of Nature, while his heart 
 Remains untouched ; although she may appear 
 In her most winning form to court his praise. 
 Who, that would change the raptures she inspires, 
 For all the riches of Peruvia's mines ? 
 
51 
 
 THERE IS A " JOY IN GRIEF." 
 
 Yes ! though on Pleasure's smiling heights may grow, 
 The brightest, fairest flowers that bloom below, 
 Yet keen Adversity is known to rear 
 A plant of fame, that seldom blossoms here. 
 There are, who prove in dark Affliction's hour, 
 The plant of virtue blooms in Sorrow's bower. 
 
 Whitley, 1821. 
 
 d2 
 
52 
 
 MEMORY— ECHO. 
 
 How sweet is Memory's lengthened strain ! 
 
 Still sounding, while our joys take wing ; 
 Like Echo, breathing o'er again 
 
 The music of the trembling string. 
 
 Alas ! how sad is Memory's tone ; 
 
 Since joy that's past is present ill, 
 And of the past it breathes alone ; 
 
 It is- —like lingering Echo still. 
 
 Clapton. 
 
53 
 
 TO RETIREMENT. 
 
 Hail ! loved Retirement ! ever sweet to me. — 
 
 My soul would seek not pleasure's scorching ray ; 
 
 I envy not who prize her gaudy day, 
 
 If thine await me, fair tranquillity ! 
 
 Sublimer solitude ! 'tis not for thee, 
 
 Though beauty grace thy haunt, I wake the lay ; 
 
 Friendship for me must chase thy gloom away, 
 
 And sorrows soothe by kindest sympathy. 
 
 That sympathy by Heaven itself inspired ; 
 
 That friendship, Virtue only knows to feel ; 
 
 Firm, pure, in fair Sincerity attired ; 
 
 That dares the needful wound, yet loves to heal ; 
 
 That midst the assailing storm still closer clings, 
 
 And Against the tempest spreads her guarding wings. 
 
54 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 The glimpse of the light bark is lost to my view, 
 Whose course is directed, dear Rosa ! to you ; 
 Yet the bright eye of fancy still follows the sail, 
 And the pinions of thought fan the easterly gale. 
 
 Oh ! say, when that bark is about to return, 
 
 Will one thought of your soul on its light sail be 
 
 borne ? 
 Will one sigh from your heart o'er the billows pursue, 
 The heart that is faithful to friendship and you ? 
 
 Oh ! yes — and your spirit and mine shall delight 
 In fancy, on Ocean's dark wave to unite; 
 Every light-bounding pulse shall in unison beat, 
 Each feeling, the feeling of sympathy meet. 
 
TO ROSA. 55 
 
 Delightful the thought ! but the pencil of truth 
 Too often o'ershades the fair pictures of youth ; 
 And the joys that we fancied too bright to decay, 
 Like the smiles of the evening, vanish away. 
 
 If such be the fate of the feelings we cherish, 
 If the joys of our youth should be destined to perish, 
 May the flowers that wither in life's chilling even, 
 More brightly rebloom in the garden of Heaven. 
 
56 
 
 TRIBUTARY LINES. 
 
 And now the breeze sighs mournful, and the train 
 Of solemn Night in silent pomp attends, 
 And stillest shadows bend o'er Mary's urn. — 
 Where rests the once-loved form ? where gentlest gales 
 Awake the breathing sweets of summer stores ; 
 Where groves of fragrance shade their golden wealth, 
 And Nature's self in varied beauty reigns. 
 
 Veiled in some pensive form, proud Genius ! here 
 Awhile thy boast forget, and silent mourn. 
 The dust inanimate that fades beneath, 
 
 Once owned a soul sublime, a mind 
 
 That grasped thy trophies as her own, and showed, 
 With native dignity, how just her claim. 
 
TRIBUTARY LINES. 57 
 
 Come, taste refined ! for Mary owned thee too. 
 Witness her tuneful lyre ; — the mimic shades 
 That from her pencil rose, to nature true. 
 And thou, fair sentiment, that from her lip, 
 And in that converse absent friendship taught, 
 Alike in beauty flowed : with graceful ease, 
 And fancy, pictured fair, expressive fraught. 
 
 Nor you, ye social powers ! (if such there be ;) 
 
 Deny the pensive tear. The valued friend, 
 
 The loved companion, and the dearer wife, 
 
 With tempered sorrow mourn. 'Tis not the sigh 
 
 Of humble pity her remembrance claims ; 
 
 But friendship's softened plaint, that weeps her loss 
 
 With nature's tear, by hope divinely dried. 
 
 Come then, who, parted, mourn her ; let us seek, 
 
 With hopes eternal ; heaven-awakened eye, 
 
 The soul, immortal-raised ; Heaven's inmate now I 
 
 The living only claim the mourner's tear. 
 
 d 3 
 
58 
 TO — 
 
 Long 'tis, since last the outward eye 
 Gazed, lingering, on thy distant sky ; 
 Long, since my footsteps ceased to roam 
 Mid scenes, where smiles thy blissful home ; 
 And long, perchance, since thought of thine 
 Has sweetly sought to blend with mine. 
 Yet, ah ! how oft, when seeks the mind 
 For treasures, ne'er by will resigned, 
 Remembrance sweet, and feeling free 
 Have dearly turned, and dwelt with thee ; 
 How dearly turned ! how fondly dwelt ! 
 How sadly, sweetly, strongly felt ! — 
 Thy graceful mien, thy angel mind, 
 Thy manners simple, pure, refined, 
 How formed by gentlest spells to brave 
 Through absence, time's oblivious wave. 
 There are, who boast a transient light ; 
 Who, dazzling, catch the wandering sight ; 
 
to . 59 
 
 But, parted from the outward eye, 
 
 No longer shine in Memory. 
 
 But well it suits her tender rays, 
 
 Soft beaming o'er departed days, 
 
 To guard from dim oblivion's waste 
 
 Each smiling spirit of the past; 
 
 To bid her choicest flowrets bloom, 
 
 And shed new charms o'er memory's gloom. 
 
 Thus in her airy train I see 
 
 A form that looks, that speaks of thee ; 
 
 That claims the fairest flower that blows, 
 
 And points to Virtue's thornless rose. 
 
 Go, living flower ! thy charms impart 
 
 To grace the Eden of her heart ; 
 
 And bid thy tints unfading glow ; 
 
 Where Nature's mental lilies blow. 
 
 Still, holy consorts ! let me find 
 
 A home within so fair a mind ; 
 
 And thus while love our souls shall blend, 
 
 Be mine the wreath that binds my friend. 
 
60 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Oh ! doubt not, love, though absence shades, 
 That memory's eye can pierce her veil ; 
 
 Nor deem the glow of friendship fades, 
 When wakes no more her parting wail. 
 
 'Tis when her tears no longer flow, 
 But pensive thought the spirit proves, 
 
 That feeling bids the bosom know 
 How truly, and how well she loves. 
 
 Oh, Parting ! wildering moments thine ! 
 
 Whose heart deciphers what they tell ? 
 Who shall the mingled thoughts define, 
 
 That prompt the lingering word — Farewell. 
 
TO THE SAME. 61 
 
 But once pronounced, but deeply sealed ; 
 
 In fancy's regions echoing still ; 
 Where pensive memory loves to yield 
 
 Her soul to thy rewakened thrill. 
 
 How sweetly, softly wakened ! breathed 
 By Time's command with gentlest sound ; 
 
 Her form with friendship's promise wreathed, 
 Her brow with hope's bright circlet crowned. 
 
 Tis thus the wing of Time for me 
 
 Has wafted parting's pain away, 
 And bade the tears of memory 
 
 Gleam bright in hope's expansive ray. 
 
 And thus by grief in absence known, 
 By all that Hope has waked for me, 
 
 By pleasures proved in moments flown, 
 I know the love I feel for thee. 
 
 1824. 
 
62 
 
 THE RAINBOW. 
 
 Bright pledge of love! to Earth in mercy given ! 
 Whose hues, superbly blended, shine in tears, 
 Nor, save when Nature mourns, whose form appears; 
 Stay, while I hail thee, pageant fair of Heaven ! 
 Yes— beauteous vision ! ere thy clouds be riven, 
 Fain would I mark the charms thy crescent bears ; 
 Fain would I mark thee, mid thy kindred tears, 
 Type of those joys to man mid sorrow given. 
 So fleeting, various ; — no moment wears 
 The dress another boasts ; thy glories, even 
 Each chasing raindrop varies ; and, as Heaven 
 From different points surveyed, displays thee new, 
 How changed the self-same scene to mental view. 
 
63 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 This comes from the green-distant land mid the sea, 
 As a pledge of remembrance from Anna to thee ; 
 With respects and good wishes to happy Papa ; 
 A kiss to her baby, and love to Mamma. 
 
 Dear Rosa ! as oft you recal to your mind 
 The days, and the scenes, and the friends left behind ; 
 Say, does not the picture in memory seem 
 Like a tale of romance, or the views of a dream ? 
 Like the visions of Fancy, swift gliding away, 
 And leaving nought real but the scenes of to-day. 
 Yet your friend on the easterly side of the deep, 
 That loves the wild shores of your island to steep, 
 When she pictures the husband and Father, beside 
 His infant of Hope, and his fondly-loved bride ; 
 And remembers that long, in past moments, she knew 
 A sister, now glimpsed but in Fancy's wild view ; 
 
64 TO ROSA. 
 
 Sees as present the past, while realities seem 
 Like the visions that rise in a fanciful dream. 
 Ah ! such the deceptions so often we find 
 Opposed to the search of the eye and the mind. 
 Yet, sometimes, sweet Fancy ! so bright is thy hue, 
 While veiling reality's teints from the view, 
 We scarce can forbid the dim prospect to wear 
 A form so engaging, an aspect so fair. 
 
 And Fancy and Feeling have wakened to-day, 
 And these wishes have wafted o'er Ocean away : 
 That your green groves of brightness in fancy may be 
 Still greener, and brighter, and sweeter to thee; 
 That Memory may soothe thee with dreams of the 
 
 past, 
 While Hope tells of fairer and dearer at last ; 
 And the visions of parting, remembered with pain, 
 Be chased by the prospect of meeting again. 
 
 Clapton, 
 
65 
 
 A NIGHT SCENE. 
 
 Twas night! and Fancy bade the soul 
 
 To own fair Nature's mild control, 
 
 And led her willing captive through 
 
 Moonlight regions, gemmed with dew; 
 
 Nor stayed, till through the spangled shade, 
 
 In all the charms of night arrayed, 
 
 Burst on the view a scene so fair, 
 
 It chained the wanderers' footsteps there. — 
 
 The shadows of the waving grove, 
 Like restless spirits seemed to move : 
 Amid the leaves the moonbeams played, 
 And gave the darkness added shade : 
 The drops by Evening's finger sprinkled 
 Like stars upon the herbage twinkled : 
 
66 A NIGHT SCENE. 
 
 The branches danced around the trees, 
 And gave their music to the breeze ; 
 The impetuous torrent, rushing near, . 
 Poured its full murmur on the ear ; 
 The proud rocks bent to catch the sound, 
 And bade the sullen caves resound ; 
 Delighted Echo seized the strain, 
 And charmed the listening rocks again. 
 And every scene, and every sound 
 That swam in air, or smiled around, 
 A feeling woke, so calm, so sweet, 
 They dared not leave the dear retreat. 
 But blushing Morning comes — on wings 
 Of paler shadow darkness springs ; 
 And leaves the mourning pair to tell 
 The wonders of the midnight spell. — 
 
67 
 
 TO A. H. 
 
 Have you marked, dearest Ann ! on a wild changing 
 day, 
 
 As a smile from above chased the tears of the sky, 
 How bright was the landscape that basked in its ray, 
 
 How the murmuring breeze has forgotten to sigh ? 
 
 Like this is the smile of sweet hope to the heart, 
 When mourning the visions of happiness flown ; 
 
 From the prospect of time she bids sorrow depart, 
 And lends charms to the view that are never its own. 
 
 Has the cuckoo's sweet voice, when the summer is 
 nigh, 
 
 Mid the shades of the grove ever stolen to thine ear ? 
 But the wings of the summer are ready to fly, 
 
 Ere she ceases to sing that the summer is near. 
 
68 TO A. H. 
 
 Just so is the syren of hope to the mind — 
 While she whispers " the days of delight are in view," 
 
 While she paints the fair pictures by fancy designed, 
 The syren is fleeting, and happiness too. 
 
 Shall we blame the deceiver, dear Anna ? oh no ! 
 
 What heart can withstand a deception so dear ? 
 Ere the tear that she raises is ready to flow, 
 
 Her smile of delight is preparing to cheer. 
 
 Then, since hope can pourtray a similitude dear 
 Of all that the heart has to happiness given, 
 
 Let us dwell with delight on the picture, whilst here, 
 And seek the reality only in Heaven. 
 
 Whitley, 1821. 
 
69 
 FINGAL at the CAVE of CONBAN CARGLA, 
 
 VERSIFIED FROM OSSIAN's CATHLODA. 
 
 On the rock a moonbeam shone : 
 A stately form is there alone. 
 Unequal are her steps, and slow ; 
 At times she throws her arms of snow. — 
 Where art thou now, my sire ? she cried : 
 Are now thy steps by Lulan's side? 
 I've seen thy dusky form on high, 
 When clouds of darkness veiled the sky. 
 Thy bright shield hid the queen of night: 
 Thy locks shone like a meteor's light. 
 Look on thy lonely child, and save — 
 Ah ! why forget me in my cave ? 
 
 Fingal appears. 
 " Who art thou, voice of midnight ? say !" 
 Trembling, she turned herself away. 
 
70 FINGAL AT THE CAVE 
 
 " Who art thou in thy darkness? — tell !" 
 Starting, she shrunk within the cell. 
 The king unloosed her fettered hand ; 
 And asked her of her father's land : 
 " He dwelt by Lulan's foamy wave; 
 " And found in Loda's hall a grave. 
 " Lochlin's monarch, dark-eyed Storno, 
 " Slew the fair-haired Torcul-torno. 
 " My hand had pierced the bounding roe, 
 " When echo rang with sounds of woe. 
 " I heard a voice, I raised my eye, 
 " And thought to see my father nigh. 
 " Twas red-eyed Storno, dreadful foe ! 
 " Smiles lurked beneath his gloomy brow. 
 " Where is my sire? I faintly said — 
 " He took my hand — ' Thy sire is dead.' — 
 " The sail was raised ; he crossed the wave, 
 " And placed me in this gloomy cave : 
 " At times he comes in shadows veiled, 
 " And lifts on high my Father's shield. 
 
OF COBBAN CARGLA. 71 
 
 u But ah ! far distant oft appears 
 " A lovely beam of vanished years ; 
 " The son of Storno haunts these cells, 
 " And lonely with my spirit dwells." 
 
 Fingal. 
 " Daughter of griefs ! thy sorrows roll 
 " A fiery cloud around my soul: 
 " View not that dark-robed queen of night ; 
 " Turn thee from those stars of light : 
 " My gleaming steel is o'er thy head ; 
 " The steel thy foes have learned to dread. 
 " No dark of soul, fair Lulan's maid ! 
 " No feeble warrior owns this blade : 
 " No white arms toss amid our cells, 
 u For there no mourning maiden dwells ; 
 " No desarts with their songs complain, 
 " For well we love the tuneful strain ; 
 " The locks of every forehead fair 
 " Float on the harps of Selma there." 
 
72 
 
 ORIGINAL 
 
 OF THE PRECEDING. 
 
 A moonbeam glittered on a rock : in the midst 
 stood a stately form . . . Unequal are her steps, and 
 short ... At times she tosses her white arms . . . 
 Torcul-Torno, of aged locks ! she said, where are 
 now thy steps, by Lulan? . . But I behold thee, chief 
 of Lulan! sporting by Loda's hall, when the dark- 
 skirted night is rolled along the sky. Thou some- 
 times hidest the moon with thy shield . . . Thou 
 kindlest thy hair into meteors . . . Why am I forgot 
 in my cave? . . Look from the hall of Loda on thy 
 lonely daughter. 
 
 " Who art thou," said Fingal, " voice of night ?" 
 She, trembling, turned away. " Who art thou in thy 
 
ORIGINAL OF THE PRECEDING. 73 
 
 darkness ?" She shrunk into the cave : The king 
 loosed the thong from her hands. He asked about 
 her father. 
 
 " Torcul-torno," she^said, " once dwelt at Lulan's 
 foamy stream : he dwelt — but now, in Loda's hall, 
 he shakes the sounding shell. He met Starno of 
 Lochlin in war : long fought the dark-eyed kings. 
 My father fell, in his blood; blue-shielded Torcul- 
 torno! By a rock, at Lulan's stream, I had pierced 
 the bounding roe ... I heard a noise, Mine eyes 
 were up. My step was forward at Lulan, to meet 
 thee, Torcul-torno ! It was Starno, dreadful king. 
 Dark waved his shaggy brow above his gathered 
 smile. Where is my father, I said; he that was 
 mighty in war ? Thou art left alone among foes, O 
 daughter of Torcul-torno ! He took my hand. He 
 raised the sail. In this cave he placed me dark. At 
 1 times he comes in a gathered mist. He lifts before 
 me my father's shield. But often passes a beam of 
 youth, far distant from my cave. The son of Starno 
 
 E 
 
74 ORIGINAL OF THE PRECEDING. 
 
 moves in my sight. He dwells lonely in my soul." 
 Maid of Lulan ! said Fingal, white-handed daughter 
 of grief! a cloud, marked with streaks of fire, is rolled 
 along my soul. Look not to that dark robed moon ; 
 look not to those meteors of heaven. My gleaming 
 steel is around thee, the terror of thy foes ! It is not 
 the steel of the feeble, nor of the dark in soul. The 
 maids are not shut in our caves of streams. They 
 toss not their white arms alone. They bend fair 
 within their locks, above the harps of Selma. Their 
 voice is not in the desert wild. We melt along the 
 pleasing sound. — 
 
75 
 
 THE DEATH OF OSSIAN. 
 
 FROM BERRATHON. 
 
 Lead, son of Alpin, the bard to his wood ! 
 The zephyrs disturb the dark, waves of the flood. 
 Bend not from Mora the leafless branched trees ? 
 Son of Alpin ! they bend to the sigh of the breeze. 
 My wild harp is hung on a withering bough ; 
 Its music is mournful ; its numbers are slow. 
 Art thou wakened, oh harp ! by some ghost's trem- 
 bling finger ? 
 Does the zephyr delight near thy soft notes to linger? 
 'Tis the hand of Malvina awakens the tone, 
 It shall waken again at the touch of my, own. 
 In their halls shall my fathers attend to the strain ; 
 And descend from the clouds to embrace me again. 
 
76 THE DEATH OF OSSIAN. 
 
 The oak with its moss shades the stream that is there ; 
 The withered fern sports with the bard's silver hair. 
 Strike the harp ! all ye loud winds, be near at my call ; 
 On your wings bear the strains to my fathers' light 
 
 hall. 
 Let Fingal remember the voice of his son ; 
 The voice of the deeds that the mighty have done. 
 Hark ! murmurs invite me to flee from the wild ; 
 The monarch of desarts is calling his child. 
 Oh, Fingal ! my soul shall depart in the sound ; 
 The light robe of shadows encircles me round. 
 Through my grey locks the loud blast breathes 
 
 stormy and chill ; 
 But the sleep of the bard is unbroken and still. 
 
77 
 ORIGINAL 
 
 OF THE PRECEDING. 
 
 Lead, son of Alpin, lead the aged to his woods. 
 The winds begin to rise. The dark wave of the lake 
 resounds. Bends there not a tree from Mora with its 
 branches bare ? It bends, son of Alpin, in the rustling 
 blast. My harp hangs on a blasted bough. The sound 
 of its strings is mournful. Does the wind touch thee, 
 O harp ; or is it some passing ghost ? It is the 
 hand of Malvina ! Bring me the harp, son of Alpin. 
 Another song shall rise. My soul shall depart in the 
 sound. My fathers shall hear it in their airy hall. 
 Their dim faces shall hang, with joy from their 
 clouds ; and their hands receive their son. The 
 aged oak bends over the stream. It sighs with all its 
 moss. The withered fern whistles near; and mixes, 
 as it waves, with Ossian's hair. 
 
78 ORIGINAL OF THE PRECEDING. 
 
 Strike the harp ; and raise the song : be near 
 with all your wings, ye winds. Bear the mournful 
 sound to Fingal's airy hall. Bear it to Fingal's hall, 
 that he may hear the voice of his son : the voice of 
 him that praised the mighty. 
 
 There is a murmur on the heath. I hear the voice 
 of Fingal. Come, Ossian, come away, he says: 
 come, fly with thy fathers on clouds. I come, I come, 
 thou king of men. The life of Ossian fails. The 
 winds whistling in my grey hair shall not awaken me; 
 Depart on thy wings, O wind! thou canst not disturb 
 the rest of the bard. The night is long ; but his eyes 
 are heavy. 
 
79 
 
 INVOCATION TO TRUTH. 
 
 translated from the first canto of 
 voltaire's henriade. 
 
 From Heaven's height majestic Truth descend ! 
 To grace my theme thy force and brightness lend : 
 Let listening kings to thee alone incline ; 
 And be the lips that teach them only thine. 
 Tis thine to shew to hostile nations' eyes 
 The direful ills that from their feuds arise. 
 Oh ! tell how discord in our states arose ; 
 The faults of prindfes, and a nation's woes. 
 Speak — and if fancy with thy haughty tone 
 May blend the dulcet softness of her own : 
 If her light hand may deck thy lofty brow, 
 And o'er thy head her veil transparent throw ; 
 With her I fain would wander by thy side, 
 And grace the heavenly charms I scorn to hide. 
 
80 
 
 TO ANNA. 
 
 Farewell ! perchance the hand of time 
 May strew thy path of life with flowers ; 
 
 And swift through pleasure's mazy clime 
 May pass, unmarked, thy blissful hours. 
 
 Yet, yet, the flowers of time may fade : 
 The rose of pleasure cease to bloom ; 
 
 Or, darkened by misfortune's shade, 
 Dwell but in memory, pleasure's tomb. 
 
 Oh ! when the cloud of sorrow lours, 
 And darkens o'er thy smiling day ; 
 
 When time shall blight thy fairest flowers, 
 And bear their fragrance far away ; 
 
TO ANNA. 81 
 
 Then sweet, perchance, the thought may be, 
 (Forgotten long at pleasure's shrine ;) 
 
 There's still one pulse that beats for thee ; 
 One heart, whose dearest thoughts are thine. 
 
 e 3 
 
82 
 
 FLIGHT OF FANCY. 
 
 The orb of day with brightest beams 
 
 At noonday shone where Fancy drew me ; 
 
 And Pleasure seemed, in sweetest dreams, 
 With eager footsteps to pursue me. 
 
 A woody grove of structure fair 
 
 Was raised by Fancy's magic power ; 
 
 Methought that Hafiz rested there, 
 And sang the beauties of the bower. 
 
 The murmur of the summer breeze 
 Was music to my raptured ear ; 
 
 The noisy rill, the nodding trees 
 
 Declared my presence welcome there. 
 
FLIGHT OF FANCY. 
 
 And while my thoughts, by fancy clad, 
 Had strayed to regions far away, 
 
 I called the streamlet Rocknabad ; 8 
 And named the bower Mosellay. 8 
 
 Whitley, 1821. 
 
 83 
 
84 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Oh ! it is painful to outlive 
 
 The flowers that bloom in youth's sweet clime 
 To find the weary heart survive, 
 
 When all is gone that brightened time. 
 
 Yet it is sweet to know that fair 
 
 Delights await us in the sky; 
 That streams of gladness brighten there ; 
 
 And flowers that never, never die. 
 
 1826. 
 
85 
 THE IMMORTAL FLOWER. 
 
 (FROM THE FRENCH.) 
 
 Flowers of the mead ! ye emblems are 
 Of smiling youth and spring-tide fair : 
 Flowers of delight and beauty rare, 
 Why do ye fade so soon ? 
 
 The humble violet in the morn 
 Beneath the grassy turf is born : 
 At eve, the maiden has to mourn 
 
 The flower that bloomed at noon. 
 
 At morn again the maiden goes : — 
 " Fll gather thee at noon, sweet rose f 
 She comes! the flowret overblows, 
 And withers in her hand. 
 
86 THE IMMORTAL FLOWER. 
 
 But there is one amid the flowers, 
 (And happy when we call it ours !) 
 That ever shines when darkness lours, 
 And can each blast withstand. 
 
 Tis neither violet nor rose, 
 Nor in the field nor garden grows ; 
 But in the mind its charms unclose — 
 'Tis always in its morn. 
 
87 
 
 TO A SKIFF. 
 
 It was a radiant hour, when first 
 The cradling main thy beauties nurst. 
 But now the clouds are dark — the sea 
 Is rude, thou simple bark ! for thee. 
 How many a wild wave must be past, 
 Ere thou hast toiled and sailed thy last. 
 Ah ! would that gentler gales were thine, 
 That summer's sun for thee might shine ; 
 Fragile and smiling wanderer ; fleeting 
 Where Rosa's glance and waves are meeting. 
 Oh ! how would Rosa turn to thee, 
 If told that thou wast bound from me. 
 Then, if in some delightful hour, 
 She marks thee from her airy tower ; 
 
TO A SKIFF. 
 
 And joys, a form so fair and frail 
 
 Wafts onward in a softened gale ; 
 
 And sighs that e'er an angry hour 
 
 In storms, o'er such a bark should lour, 
 
 Remind my gentlest friend that thus 
 
 Is life's uncertain course to us : 
 
 That many a beauteous spot, like thee, 
 
 Rises upon a stormy sea ; 
 
 And many a bark from darkness driven, 
 
 Finds anchor in the ports of Heaven. 
 
 1826. 
 
NIGHT, 
 
 Night ! thou art lovely ! but the heart 
 That knows the taste of sorrow's spring 
 
 Alone can tell how dear thou art ; 
 
 How blest the hours thy shadows bring. 
 
 How dear, how exquisite it is, 
 
 When not an eye of earth is near, 
 
 To dash the fleeting smile of bliss, 
 Or rudely stem the cherished tear. 
 
 Ye scenes that ring with pleasure's song, 
 What are your glittering charms to me? 
 
 To me the rocks stern heights belong ; 
 And the rude billows' melody. 
 
90 NIGHT. 
 
 Roll, gloomy waves ; and, sullen, roar ! 
 
 Ye rude rocks ! stand in darkened pride ! 
 I court your sun-lit smiles no more, 
 
 Nor would I still the stormy tide. 
 
 There are, who deem night loveliest, 
 When moonlight softens o'er the sky : 
 
 I love its sable graces best, 
 
 When clouds o'ershade her radiant eye. 
 
 Chase not, fair moon ! the envious shroud 
 That mantles o'er thy lovely form ; 
 
 But coldly gleam amidst thy cloud, 
 Like Silence smiling on the storm. 
 
 Silence, and storms, and night's deep gloom ! 
 
 Well do ye suit my thoughts of care : 
 Oh ! for the joys beyond the tomb ; 
 
 Since nothing shines illusive there. 
 
91 
 
 ELEGIAC STANZAS. 
 
 How beautiful the teint that summer leaves, 
 To blend with autumn's fair, but faded hue : 
 
 Decay's rude hand the parting gift receives, 
 And blights its beauties in my mournful view. 
 
 Thus dwelt, my sister ! on that cheek of thine, 
 The hues of youth, that seemed to mock decay ; 
 
 But death espied the cherished flower of mine, 
 And stole the bloom of youth, and thee, away. 
 
 Spirit of bliss ! if yet thou lov'st me, tell — 
 What star of light illumes thy trackless way ? 
 
 Oh ! that my wandering mind could meet thee still, 
 In the fair light of Heaven's eternal day. 
 
92 ELEGIAC STANZAS. 
 
 No ! 'tis denied that e'er the eye of time 
 The brightness of eternity should view : 
 
 Oh ! when my soul shall quit this changeful clime, 
 That thy bright sphere may be thy sister's too, 
 
 1822. 
 
93 
 
 TO THE LYRE. 
 
 Speak once again, my mourning lyre ! 
 
 I love the notes that tell of woe ; 
 To strains that sorrow's spells inspire 
 
 My warmest, purest tears shall flow. 
 
 A language in those strains I hear, 
 Responding sweetly to my own ; 
 
 Oh ! do not cease a theme so dear, 
 For ever breathe that blissful tone. 
 
 Blissful it is — though only known 
 
 To hearts, where sorrow loves to dwell ; 
 
 Give me again that wildering tone, 
 My lips refuse to speak farewell. 
 
94 TO THE LYRE. 
 
 Yet # we must part — for, ah ! my soul 
 Would sink beneath thy mighty sway ; 
 
 I dare not trust thy wild control ; 
 Syren of song ! my lyre, away ! 
 
95 
 
 TO A ROSE. 
 
 Ah ! charming rose ! 
 This morning's brightly beaming eye 
 
 Saw thy fair leaves unclose ; 
 But now, their blush of crimson dye 
 Untimely fades — and faintly breathes their sigh. 
 
 Hope ! life's bright flower S 
 'Twas thus, in youth's enchanting morn, 
 
 Ere sorrow's blighting power 
 Stole the fair bloom thy buds had worn ; 
 Their beauties spread, where thought may ne'er return, 
 
 Yet, relics fair 
 Of parted grace, and joys long fled ; 
 
 Your faded charms may share 
 The tear by sad remembrance shed, 
 To soothe the restless shade of pleasures dead. 
 
 1823. 
 
96 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Though stormy the waves that surround me may be, 
 
 My bark shall rejoice on its turbulent sea ; 
 
 And my heart may exult through the tempests of 
 
 time, 
 If they bear me away to a happier clime. 
 
 While sometimes the brightness of joy may illume, 
 With its heart - cheering presence, this season of 
 
 gloom ; 
 While the spirit of hope shall yet smile on my way. 
 As she whispers of joys that can never decay ; 
 
 While Conscience, the beacon, the guide of the heart, 
 Bids the fiends of remorse and despair to depart, 
 And leads me from waters that smile as they flow, 
 While the rocks of destruction lie hidden below ; 
 
STANZAS. 97 
 
 While yet in reflection a refuge is found, 
 From the billows of care, that encompass me round ; 
 My heart shall rejoice through the tempests of time, 
 Since they bear me away to a happier clime. 
 
98 
 
 TO ANNA IN ILLNESS 
 
 Yes ! I have borne thine altered eye ; 
 
 Thy scorn, indignant gleaming there ; 
 But oh ! thy spirit's languid sigh, 
 
 What spells could teach my heart to bear? 
 
 Give sportive joy those eyes again ; 
 
 Bid pride for me thy smiles deny i 
 Paint me thy friendship light and vain, 
 
 Nor doubt my bosom's proud reply. 
 
 Yet, no — even then, I trust my heart 
 The spirit to forgive would own ; 
 
 In silent sadness learn to part, 
 
 And weep — that we must weep alone. 
 
TO ANNA IN ILLNESS. 99 
 
 And can I then in milder hours, 
 
 (For oh ! I trust that wrath is dead ;) 
 
 When varying time the softening showers 
 Of kind regret perchance has shed, 
 
 Can I the tendering dream refuse, 
 
 Which whispers yet of friendship's claim ? 
 
 Or say, canst thou indignant choose 
 To banish still affection's name ? 
 
 No — I will dream, and love to dream, 
 (Though, haply, still apart we rove ;) 
 
 That love denies not friendship's beam, 
 Since friendship needs not lessen love 
 
 1825. 
 
 f 2 
 
100 
 
 TO 
 
 Tis not, that, unremembered long, 
 
 Silence has, more than distance, severed 
 
 Nor has the erring child of song 
 
 To greet the absent ne'er endeavoured. 
 
 There is a cloud my soul o'ershades, 
 And sinks it, when it seeks to soar ; 
 
 A weariness of heart pervades, 
 
 That turns from raptures, felt no more. 
 
 Hope smiles not ; — nor has fancy roved 
 O'er memory's scenes, as once, so free ; 
 
 And e'en the lyre, the lyre I loved, 
 
 Has seemed less sweet, less dear to me. 
 
TO . 101 
 
 My mind is silent — this is why 
 
 Nor thought, nor tale my lips impart : — 
 What is it ?— say, can'st thou reply — 
 
 Whose magic can unlock the heart ? 
 
102 
 
 PSALM 137th, PARAPHRASED. 
 
 In tearful anguish sate we down, 
 
 Beside thy waters, Babylon ! 
 
 Nor music woke, nor anthem sung ; 
 
 Our harps were on the willows hung ; 
 
 And they that spoiled us mocked our wrongs, 
 
 And asked for Zion's holy songs. 
 
 How could we sing, at their command, 
 
 Jehovah's songs in heathen land ! 
 
 If e'er my soul, enslaved by them, 
 Forget thee, Jerusalem ! 
 Let my right hand forget her skill — 
 And bid my nerveless tongue be still, 
 If e'er this rebel heart of mine 
 Prefer its dearest joys to thine. 
 
psalm 137th, paraphrased. 103 
 
 Remember, Lord ! thy foes, who said, 
 Be Salem's walls demolished. 
 While, Babylon's proud daughter ! thou, 
 When one day spoiled, as we are now, 
 Thy infants shall the stranger take, 
 And stone them, for their fathers' sake. 
 
104 
 THE ROSE WREATH. 
 
 TO . 
 
 I met thee once at midnight, glowing ; 
 
 A wreath of roses graced thy brow ; 
 Some bright, in rubied clusters blowing ; 
 
 And some all pale, as thou art now. 
 
 Yet then I know I termed them smiling, 
 Like that fair, radiant face of thine ; 
 
 But pleasure's light is e'er beguiling ; 
 Her roses e'er with thorns entwine. 
 
 At morn, thy smile was light no longer; 
 
 Thy rose-wreath, too, had bloomed to fade.- 
 Alas ! are pleasure's charms no stronger ? — 
 
 Then, why in such delights arrayed ? 
 
THE ROSE WREATH. 105 
 
 How many a dark and painful vision 
 
 Since then, thy lot has been to know : — 
 
 How rare are moments quite elysian, 
 Amid our lengthened years of woe ! 
 
 Oh ! often, in these distant days, 
 
 To thee my mingled thought returning, 
 
 Back to that night of pleasure strays, 
 
 Through days of dulness, days of mourning. 
 
 I seldom see a rose-tiara, 
 
 Nor think upon that wreath of thine ; 
 Nor meet the laughing eyes of Clara, 
 
 Forgetting those that beamed on mine. 
 
 Bright lamps shone round thy father's hall, 
 And forms of fairy grace were there, 
 
 And music's voice most musical, 
 Forbade the very thought of care 
 
 f 3 
 
106 THE ROSE WREATH. 
 
 But 'tis not always when we chase 
 
 The thoughts that shade the festive smile, 
 
 That those we cherish in their place, 
 The spirit of its load beguile. 
 
 Oh ! there are smiles that gloomier are 
 Than e'en the clouds on virtue's brow ; 
 
 And pleasure's shades are deeper far 
 Than her most sunless moments know. 
 
 Wild mirth ! thou art a wasting power, 
 Enlivening but to make more lonely ; 
 
 That is indeed a fatal hour, 
 To pleasure given, and pleasure only. 
 
 Charmer of moments, haste away ! 
 
 Unworthy guest in minds eternal ! 
 Be ours the joys that ever stay ; 
 
 The buds of promise, ever vernaL 
 
THE ROSE WREATH. 107 
 
 The germ that calmly waits to flower, 
 Until the expanding soul be free ; 
 Content to bud its little hour, 
 And blossom in Eternity. 
 
 
108 
 
 TO 
 
 'A DEAR LOVED, DISTANT FRIEND. 
 
 Moore. 
 
 Remembrance wakes thy name again. — 
 Peace to thy heart, and health, and gladness ! 
 
 1 would not teach thy bosom pain ; 
 
 I would not tinge thy thoughts with sadness. 
 
 Yet, I would, Anna, once, from thee, 
 
 Ask for myself one tearful token ; 
 Name not the Lethean stream to me, 
 
 Its strength is gone, its charm is broken- 
 
 Forget thee ! oh ! remembrance lingers 
 Too fondly o'er that form of thine : 
 
 Too promptly frame wild fancy's fingers 
 Thy semblance, to this heart of mine, 
 
to -. 109 
 
 A year hath passed — how singly, sadly ! 
 
 With only once or twice a meeting : 
 And we, that used to meet so gladly, 
 
 How changed our smile ! how sad our greeting ! 
 
 Yet dwelt not anger in thine eye ; 
 
 Thy tenderest, softest smile received me : 
 Alas ! the days so long gone by ; 
 
 Alas ! the joys that thus deceived me. 
 
 Who could have thought, while bright they beamed, 
 That all their charms to woe were hasting? 
 
 So long possessed, what heart had deemed 
 They were but for a season lasting. 
 
 But yet they passed— and thus has flown 
 The all of earth I loved and cherished : 
 
 While wanders pleasure's shade alone, 
 To tell — her syren self has perished. 
 
no to — . 
 
 Yet 'tis not pleasure I deplore, 
 
 If laughing lips and eyes speak pleasure ; 
 I love the sweet enchantress more, 
 
 That wakens notes of pensive measure. 
 
 I love the voice that speaks of thee ; 
 
 Of friendship, much too fond for changing ; 
 A theme of gentlest memory, 
 
 That suits the mind's unwearied ranging. 
 
 I love to mimic o'er, in thought, 
 
 That voice, thy own, so full of sweetness ; 
 To trace the face, expressive fraught, 
 
 The bright idea's witching fleetness. 
 
 But dearest, loveliest, best of all, 
 
 I love the hours thy friendship brightened ; 
 
 When musing where the waters fall, 
 
 Or where the day in splendour lightened ; 
 
TO . Ill 
 
 Or where the grove's sweet, deepened shade 
 Safe from his dazzling radiance slumbered ; 
 
 Or where the smile of day delayed, 
 
 Till evening's pensive train were numbered ; 
 
 Or where — but ah ! what mattered where ? 
 
 'Twas thou the simple scene made smiling ; 
 With silence sweet, or converse rare 
 
 The tiny-footed hours beguiling. 
 
 Yes — 'twas thy presence framed the charm 
 That made me deem those vistas lonely, 
 
 While twining on thy friendly arm, 
 Were Earth's Elysium— they— they only. 
 
 And now 'tis past— and I no more 
 
 May see the sun of friendship beaming ; 
 
 Nor thou, perchance, canst number o'er 
 Delights so sweet, except in dreaming* 
 
112 TO . 
 
 There are sweet feelings of the mind. 
 That, once disturbed, are gone for ever : 
 
 No charm can match, howe'er refined, 
 The heart's first link, that joined to sever. 
 
 That first, bright link — more strong than any; 
 
 When that is broken — ties are vain — 
 Who loves the tie that links with many ? 
 
 What heart regards a slender chain ? 
 
 To me 'tis nought — 'tis scarcely feeling 
 
 That thus can flow from one to numbers : — 
 
 Give me the times of soft revealing ; 
 
 The hours that sink in friendship's slumbers. 
 
 Yes ! there are hours of blest delight ; 
 
 Those, when sweet Friendship's days rewaken : 
 Who would not woo the visioned night ? 
 
 Who would awake to be mistaken ? 
 
TO . 113 
 
 Dear, lost companion of my thought 1 
 
 In painful truth or happier dreaming, 
 I would our thoughts of ill were not ; 
 
 I would thine eyes, as once, were beaming. 
 
 Oh ! fare thee well— -nor e'er forget ;— 
 
 I would not thee, if thought would let me — 
 
 When shall the weeping sunbeam set ? 
 When shall I muse, and not regret thee ? 
 
 Bristol. 
 
114 
 
 EARLY DAYS. 
 
 Oh ! sweet it is — oh ! sweet it is — 
 Mid the dim hours of twilight tide, 
 
 To range the bowers of early bliss, 
 Of early bliss, that early died. 
 
 To offer tears — to offer tears, 
 
 That flow, reviving all that's loved ; 
 
 That wake the tones of former years, 
 All present still, though all removed. 
 
 How dull they seem ! how dull they seem, 
 The flowers that haste to blossom now, 
 
 Compared with those of which we dream, 
 So sweet, on Memory's pensive brow. 
 
EARLY DAYS. 115 
 
 Though changed so much — though changed so much, 
 Since when we hailed their bright'ning bloom. — 
 
 Oh ! who would take ten thousand such, 
 For these, whose fragrance haunts their tomb. 
 
 Tell me no more — oh ! tell no more 
 
 Of myriad pleasures yet to come ; 
 My heart still clings to bliss that's o'er, 
 
 Still calls its scenes my bosom's home : 
 
 My bosom's home — and such a home, 
 
 A dearer one is only given, 
 When, loosing earth, we cease to roam, 
 
 And seek the rest, the home of heaven. 
 
 1825. 
 
116 
 
 TO 
 
 Urge me no more! the chords refuse to ring; 
 
 When Fancy sleeps, mute must the lyre remain ; 
 Else had not Anna's harp a tuneless string, 
 
 Nor Elda's voice of music asked in vain. 
 
 Trust me, sweet Elda ! all undoubting too, 
 
 Not sorrow's self from thee would hold the boon ; 
 
 How oft would I the lyre's wild notes renew, 
 But ah ! they die resisting — and how soon ! 
 
 Thou know'st the trembling chords I love too well, 
 Then why suppose I would refuse thy plea ? 
 
 How fain would I in sweetest numbers tell 
 
 The heart's bright tales, and tell them all to thee. 
 
TO . 117 
 
 Farewell ! e'en now the chords refuse to ring ; 
 
 If Fancy wakes, thou shalt not ask again ; 
 For Anna's harp has lost each echoing string, 
 
 If Elda's voice of song has asked in vain. 
 
118 
 
 FAREWELL TO GLENARBIN. 
 
 Farewell, where the roses are sweetest; 
 
 Where the soft springing harebells are lightest : 
 Where the footsteps of Time were the fleetest, 
 
 And the sun of enjoyment shone brightest. 
 
 Farewell to the bosoms who loved it — 
 Who loved it in vain, for they parted ; 
 
 Nor the bright scene reviewed, till they proved it 
 The home of the desolate hearted. 
 
 How poignant, how bitter the sorrow, 
 
 That waits on a lonely returning — 
 Makes to-day's smiling Eden, to-morrow 
 
 The scene of unsympathized mourning. 
 
FAREWELL TO GLENARBIN. 119 
 
 Oh ! give me my friends but to mingle 
 
 The tones of remembrance or fear ; 
 Tis the grief that is silent and single, 
 
 That wrings out the bitterest tear. 
 
 There's a brilliance in waters united ; 
 
 The billows, though stormy, are bright ; 
 And the sorrows that have not been slighted 
 
 Still borrow a tinge from delight. 
 
 Oh ! ne'er may my anguish be lonely, 
 
 Nor lonely my friends in their pain ; 
 I heed not my tear-drops, if only 
 
 I know that they fall not in vain. ■ 
 
 1825. 
 
120 
 
 THE VIOLET. 
 
 FOR AN A.LBUM. 
 
 Concealed beneath the glowing shrine 
 Which taste and love are raising here, 
 
 I choose a pensive gift for mine, 
 Nor sullied with too sad a tear. 
 
 Tis the meek flower of heavenly hue, 
 
 Whose charms seem breathing all of Heaven ; 
 
 Of Morning's rays, of Evening's dew, 
 Alternate joy and pity given. 
 
 Joy, that to vulgar search unknown, 
 
 Whose hand might rudely pluck the flower, 
 
 Nature may boast thee all her own, 
 Secluded in thy leafy bower. 
 
THE VIOLET. 121 
 
 Pity, that thus thy charms should be 
 Concealed from many a pensive eye, 
 
 That, haply, else might find in thee 
 A charm for Sorrow's softer sigh. 
 
 For, oh ! who loves sweet Nature well, 
 i Nor knows, that e'en her humblest charm 
 Has oft awaked some fairy spell, 
 
 The soul to soothe, the heart to warm. 
 
 Come then ! — when Morning's eyes unclose, 
 
 Thy fragrance may awaken me; 
 For thee I'll pass the blushing rose, 
 
 Its odours will not tempt from thee. 
 
 And thine are yet still softer hours, 
 
 Which grief will love, yet weep the while ; 
 
 When night-dews kiss the drooping flowers, 
 And moonbeams melancholy smile. 
 
122 THE VIOLET. 
 
 Come then, fair daughter of the Spring ! 
 
 I love thy bright and tearful eye ; 
 Nor seek the child of mirth to bring, 
 
 Whose charms might chase thy fragrant sigh. 
 
 Shining beneath a moon-lit tear, 
 Like ghost of some departed bliss ; 
 
 My soul would ask, (should'st thou appear,) 
 Was ever flower so sweet as this ? 
 
 1825. 
 
123 
 
 THE ESTRANGED FRIEND. 
 
 Still on her couch she slept : — her languid head 
 Upon her wan hand rested. Feeble stem 
 It seemed ; even for a flower so delicate, 
 So frail. The dimpling smile, the rubied lip, 
 And eye of violet-blue, carnationed cheek, 
 With lilied teint united, fade in one, 
 One hueless charm, the pensive lily's own. 
 O'er it her locks waved, shading — lifted oft 
 With gentlest movement by the noiseless air ; 
 And giving to her face a grace so soft, 
 So touching soft, it seemed to grief akin. 
 Sweet is the silence of the sleeping eye ! 
 Thine was too much : my soul in softness flowed ; 
 In tears— unspeakable. Thought wandered o'er 
 The long-past days thy tenderness endeared, 
 Thy gentle virtues charmed ; thy converse made 
 g2 
 
124 THE ESTRANGED FRIEND. 
 
 All animate. Spoke not the woods, the hills, 
 
 All Nature, where thy form was visible, 
 
 Thy mind delighted— language doubly fair! 
 
 Pure, as was erst sweet Nature's — pure, like thine — 
 
 Nature's sweet tones— by Friendship sweeter made. 
 
 Affection wakens elegance of thought, 
 
 And language all responsive ; pictures bright, 
 
 In Nature's landscape latent : melody 
 
 Unheard, perchance, by thousand ears beside, 
 
 Mid raptured stillness wakes — and wakes, to wake 
 
 An answering melody — 
 
 A blended music, in the spirit heard. — 
 
 Witness, ye rocks of Abson ! guardians proud 
 
 Of fair Medither's wild and winding stream ; 
 
 Sublime in Nature's majesty ! o'er thought, 
 
 O'er wandering fancy resting your strong spells. 
 
 Nor thou, sweet stream ! regardless ; stealing slow 
 
 In serious gloom beneath the mighty shade; 
 
 Green-wood and crags impending; in the proud, 
 
THE ESTRANGED FRIEND. 125 
 
 O'erpowering landscape (viewed at distance,) lost. 
 
 Oh ! there were those, who loved in pensive thought 
 
 To steal within the covert ; there to muse 
 
 In nearer sight upon the blissful whole ; 
 
 Thee not forgotten. There was with thy wave 
 
 Music of softest bliss, wild elegance, 
 
 Feeling imposing — more imposing still, 
 
 Because not lonely. Gh ! 'twas ours to feel 
 
 That heightened pleasure, never felt alone ; 
 
 Whose image solitude renews, to charm 
 
 To soft delight, enliven interest, 
 
 And lead in brightening vision mid the shades, 
 
 The mind's perpetual guests : blest Fancy first, 
 
 With airy step untiring ; casting oft 
 
 On Memory's charms retreating, smiles of light ;" 
 
 On Hope, sweet dreams of some untasted hour, 
 
 With bliss, all painless, filled. Such joys were ours, 
 
 With friendship ceaseless twined. Ye who have felt, 
 
 In courtly language tell — if such ye knew. 
 
126 THE ESTRANGED FRIEND. 
 
 I looked, and turned to weep, fearful, lest aught 
 
 Her rest should break, and mine disturbed, betray. 
 
 Twas not a state, a scene for long repose ; 
 
 The rest which unexhausted health enjoys. 
 
 I dreaded when a moment's strength should wake, 
 
 And trembled at her infant's feeble cry. 
 
 Close to my heart I pressed the babe, and hushed ; 
 
 And gave to its sweet cheek what pride repressed ; 
 
 Though feeling prompted to bestow on hers. 
 
 Yes ! 'twas the kiss of friendship ; wild impressed 
 
 With all affection's fervour ; heightened still, 
 
 As 'twere the mother and the child I kissed. 
 
 I stilled my heart with tears ; and, musing, viewed 
 
 In sad perspective, moments yet unborn : 
 
 And painted them unheeded, unreproved. 
 
 Sweet bud of bitter life ! thy peaceful hours 
 Soon, soon with pain muse mingle : soon those smiles 
 Exchange their light serene, for those that beam, 
 
THE ESTRANGED FRIEND. 127 
 
 Like the fair rainbow, radiant on the storm. 
 Soon thy pure spirit lose its innocence, 
 Thy heart its faith in others : nor, perhaps, 
 Its own unbroken. Wilt thou friendship feign ? 
 Or,, friendship fancying, seek reciprocal, 
 To waste its sweets unheeding ? painful thought ! 
 That e'en a spirit pure as thine should fall ! 
 Yet was thy Mother's less so ? oh ! I deemed 
 That in her soul no sordid feeling dwelt ; 
 That hers was gentlest love, confiding faith. 
 And all her faithfulness my bosom's own. 
 Then does resentment live ? this hour, this scene 
 Shall ever bid it die. Oh ! when I paint 
 Thy friendship wavering, and thy bosom cold, 
 And my heart lonely from thy fickle change, 
 Then will I turn to what I view thee now ; 
 In Nature's weakness stronger than myself. 
 For, oh ! when pain or sorrow wounds the breast 
 That once we loved, though now no more our own, 
 How quelled is pride ! how prone the heart to feel 
 All love's resemblance — save the bliss of love. 
 1825. 
 
128 
 
 HEAVEN. 
 
 There's a land of unbounded, enduring delight, 
 Unshadowed by aught that is dark to us here ; 
 
 More blest than e'er beamed upon Fancy's wild sight. 
 Than the visions she cherished more blissful and 
 dear. 
 
 Earth ! why dost thou tell of enjoyments so gay ? 
 
 Why, Hope, deck thy temples with triumphs 
 unborn ? 
 The spring flower of Fancy has faded away ; 
 
 It lasts but to bloom on the chaplet of morn. 
 
 And there lives not a hope, but is destined to end, 
 There springs not a joy but shall mingle with care, 
 
 Save those in Eternity's circle that blend, 
 Where every thing brightens immortally fair. 
 
HEAVEN. 129 
 
 I have sighed while I gazed on a soul-speaking eye, 
 While I loved the wild rapture that made it her 
 sphere ; 
 
 For I felt that its triumphs were brightening to die, 
 That nothing delightful was permanent here. 
 
 Yet we will not lament: — every sweet link that 
 breaks 
 
 But slackens the fetters that bound us awhile ; 
 The hope that illudes not more ardently wakes, 
 
 And meets every care with serenity's smile. 
 
 Nor mourn, though no longer to soothe us may stay 
 The faithful in friendship, benignantly given ; 
 
 They wing us from earthly allurements away, 
 And brighten the hopes that are centered in 
 Heaven. 
 
 1825. 
 
 g 3 
 
130 
 
 MARYS RING. 
 
 'Twas Mary's ring ! — what spells refined, 
 
 iUike beloved and painful too, 
 With Memory's cherished thoughts are twined. 
 
 When some fond relic meets the view. 
 
 And this, of thee, is doubly dear ; — 
 Emblem, memento — both in one : 
 
 How prized the pledge that brightens here, 
 Since thou, who owned it once, art gone. 
 
 How often when the social band 
 
 Has sought to make my heart its own, 
 
 'Gainst Memory's siege too weak to stand, 
 My heart has sought its central stone. 
 
mary's ring. 131 
 
 And when I lost the hope to greet 
 
 Once more, the soul so tuned to mine, 
 
 And sought some other heart to meet, 
 My fancy circled still to thine. 
 
 Thy wit refined, thy thoughts, that knew 
 To deck themselves in language fair, 
 
 Still beamed resistless on my view, 
 
 And spread in mournful radiance there. 
 
 There are, who seldom find the breast 
 With thoughts responding to their own ; 
 
 Whose souls, should Death one spirit wrest 7 
 Must learn to think, to feel alone. 
 
 And when a kindred spirit flies, 
 
 It opes for others stores a grave : 
 Say, what the charm of thought supplies. 
 
 Like that which Jdndred feeling gave ? 
 
132 mary's ring. 
 
 Delightful interchange of mind ! 
 
 Tis thine to wake each latent charm ; 
 To gild the stores of thought refined, 
 
 And all the echoing fancy warm. 
 
 Mary, farewell ! — farewell my strain ! 
 
 Lifeless alike — since nought inspires 
 For me thy radiant mind again, 
 
 Ask not my song for " rapture's fires. " 
 
 1825. 
 
133 
 
 TO . 
 
 " Dwells there no joy in Song ? — Why art thou sad ? v 
 
 If Sorrow's voice alone may suit thy strain, 
 If but for her thy lyre responsive swell, 
 
 Let Memory only touch the chords of pain, 
 And only Fancy on its numbers dwell. 
 
 When present sorrow fain would mourn in song, 
 Then may her tone renew the trembling tear ; 
 
 But when to past regrets the strains belong, 
 
 Though pensive still, how soothing, and how dear ! 
 
 Then give thy griefs to Poesy alone; 
 
 Let Fancy dwell on cares, on anguish o'er ; 
 And if thou only lov'st her plaintive tone, 
 
 " Paint sorrow well/'— but trust her sway no more. 
 
134 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 The day smile of friendship is lovely and fair ; 
 *Tis sweet to unbosom the thought free from care : 
 For the bliss that we feast on, and learn to impart, 
 Sheds reflected delight on the sensitive heart. 
 
 Yet oft does some ill lie in wail to destroy 
 The exquisite bloom of the flowrets of joy ; 
 Some turbulent word in the heart's wild excess, 
 That teaches the mingling of soul to be less. 
 
 Some silence, or look, that unheeding may seem 
 Of the pictures that shine in our beautiful dream ; 
 Enjoyment is selfish, when filling the breast ; 
 And smiles, how they torture a bosom distressed ? 
 
STANZAS. 135 
 
 There's a union of spirit more sacred than this ; 
 In promise less proud, but less fragile in bliss ; 
 More delicate, tender, and truer by far, 
 Too oft — than the bonds of prosperity are. 
 
 The friend that has stood in the hour of distress, 
 With sympathy's magic to soothe and t© bless ; 
 To stem the rude current that swells to the eye, 
 Or gently replenish the fountain when dry ; 
 
 To bridle the lip, lest the tongue should offend, 
 By thought wrongly spoken, the heart of a friend ; 
 Oh ! say, can the deadliest foe to our bliss, 
 Dissever affections united like this ? 
 
 1826, 
 
136 
 
 TO THYRZA. 
 
 When first those smiling eyes I knew, 
 Domestic bliss and love were thine; 
 
 Fair Taste illumed the unclouded view, 
 And fondly made thy friendship mine. 
 
 Yes ; so I deemed — but Time alarms 
 Each radiant bliss that life confers ; 
 
 Love drew a veil o'er Friendship's charms, 
 And promised joys more bright than hers. 
 
 Could Thyrza love, and not believe? 
 
 May friendship's lip of truth prevail ; 
 Or guiltless seek to undeceive 
 
 The heart that trusts so dear a tale ? 
 
TO THYRZA. 137 
 
 Fair charm of summer ! lovely Rose ! 
 
 Entwined in many a fragrant wreath, 
 Whose verdant circlet thorns inclose — 
 
 Who gaze on thee and seek beneath ? 
 
 Or who, though warned, will heedless throw 
 From his rapt view the beauteous flower ; 
 
 Nor rather risk a latent foe, 
 
 Than spurn the empress of the bower ? 
 
 Yet, when the obtruding thorns betray 
 
 Perfection only seemed to be, 
 Doubtless he casts thy sweets away, 
 
 And seeks a charm less false than thee, 
 
 Thyrza ! my lip would ask of thine 
 
 If yet thou own'st mild friendship's spell, 
 
 If yet thou doubt' st this heart of mine, 
 Or know'st its love unchangeable. 
 
138 TO THYRZA. 
 
 The harsh reproach unkind, untrue — 
 Has soft regret yet shewn to thee, 
 
 In feeling's retrospective view, 
 
 If such reproach were due to me ? 
 
 I own I sought not to conceal. 
 
 When first I marked the shining snare : 
 But could my heart thy danger feel, 
 
 And idly paint the prospect fair ? 
 
 Thyrza ! I seek not to renew 
 
 The wildering dreams of hope betrayed ; 
 But beaming o'er thy darkened view, 
 
 Bid friendship cheer the deepening shade. 
 
 Yes I tenderly beloved so long, 
 
 In pleasure's hour, in grief the same ; 
 
 I would my thoughts of thee were wrong, 
 Nor friendship but an angel name. 
 
 1825. 
 
139 
 TO . 
 
 On reading his Sonnet to the river Charente. 
 
 When earthly hope denies to thee her beam, 
 In the dark close of rapture's transient day, 
 When every light, save memory's wildering ray, 
 Shall on thy path of life refuse to gleam, 
 Turn to that Spirit, who, from Charente's wave, 
 Bade heavenly hopes and resignation rise ; 
 Told thee of bliss beyond the changeful skies, 
 And smiled at joys that bloom but for the grave. 
 Oh ! in this saddened scene, 'tis sweet to know 
 That, rising fair from virtue's peaceful tomb, 
 For her, bright flowers of bliss for ever bloom, 
 Free from the thorns that circle these below. — 
 Ah ! e'en the troubled hours of life are dear, 
 Viewed as the dawn of bliss that meets us there. 
 Clapton, 1822. 
 
140 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 Oh ! come, dearest Anna ! and talk with the flower 
 I have gathered for thee from my favourite bower ; 
 And though void of expression to many they be, 
 Its blossoms and leaves shall be vocal for thee. 
 
 In the embryo flowrets yet veiled in their green, 
 Let the promise of hope be enchantingly seen ; 
 And smile, when the full-blooming flowers appear, 
 To behold the fair blossoms of happiness there. 
 
 Oh ! pity the heart of the being who sees 
 No cause of delight in such objects as these ; 
 Who lends to sweet Nature the voice of despair, 
 And views all her charms as the emblems of care. 
 
THE ROSE. 141 
 
 For me, every beauty that smiles or that glows, 
 From the snows of the Alps to the blush of the rose, 
 Such feelings of transport awakes in my breast, 
 So lulls every troubled emotion to rest ; 
 
 That my soul, by thy magic, dear Fancy ! set free, 
 To wander through scenes of enchantment with thee, 
 Beholds, while she muses on objects so fair, 
 A ray of the glories of Paradise there. 
 
 1821. 
 
142 
 
 TO . 
 
 Still dost thou mourn? — what fleeting care of 
 
 earth 
 Should give the tear of ceaseless sorrow birth ? — 
 Still dost thou deem some secret yet unsought 
 Hides the bright boon of bliss ! — delusive thought ! 
 Bright are the views of joy to mortals given, 
 At distance seen, but only proved in Heaven. 
 What, though the stream of joy may oft descend, 
 And lend its light with life's dark waves to blend, 
 Shall we forget the source is fixed on high, 
 And seek below for endless ecstacy ? 
 Ah ! fruitless search ! since e'en these grateful hours 
 Are tinged with boding fears or cloudy showers. 
 Where is the raptured moment, wholly free 
 From future dread, or saddened memory ? 
 
to . 143 
 
 Where is the heart that feeds on joys to-day, 
 
 Nor fears the next shall bear their charms away ? 
 
 Or lives there, who, with stoic smile, can boast 
 
 Thoughts ever smooth, nor mourn enchantment lost ? 
 
 And if perchance there be, would feeling sigh 
 
 To own their calm, but never varied sky? 
 
 Say, would thy bosom all its cares resign, 
 
 If feeling's joys were then no longer thine ? 
 
 Give to dull apathy unbounded sway, 
 
 And quench the light of mind's celestial ray ? 
 
 Ah ! envy not the vulgar crowd, who steel 
 
 Their vacant hearts against the power to feel ; 
 
 Who sunk in ease lethargic, never rise 
 
 To taste the sweets that feeling's hand supplies ; 
 
 Own not the gifts to sorrow's heart so dear, 
 
 The sigh that pity breathes, the soothing tear ! 
 
 Thy mind I deem, in nobler mould was formed 
 
 By thought exalted, and by feeling warmed ; 
 
144 to ■". 
 
 Then, happier thou, than they who care repel, 
 And 'gainst the unerring laws of heaven rebel, 
 Which long have destined to the sons of earth 
 Solace 'mid sighs, and sighs to silence mirth , 
 Chase every murmuring thought, nor deem again 
 One pang unneedful, or one tear in vain. 
 
145 
 
 TO CASTLE. 
 
 Full many an hour has passed away, 
 Since last I saw thy turrets grey ; 
 And many an eye that then was bright 
 Now fades in death's unvarying night. 
 
 Full many an hour of woe is gone, 
 And many a hope for ever flown, 
 And many a friend to distance banished, 
 And many a joy for ever vanished. 
 
 And can thy towers unpitying gaze 
 Upon the wreck of happier days ; 
 Nor call the wandering gale to sigh 
 Through thee, a dirge to joys gone by ? 
 
 H 
 
146 TO CASTLE. 
 
 No — no — unfeeling stand those towers, 
 To mock the fate of happier hours ; 
 And sigh through Fancy's voice to me, 
 Soon may we stand in vain for thee. 
 
 1822. 
 
147 
 
 TO YOUTH. 
 
 Youth ! thou art like a tree of deepest shade. 
 
 Its foliage, darkly tinted, brings to view 
 
 Thy features, stained with sorrow's pensive dew. 
 
 For though, in griefs unseemly garb arrayed, 
 
 The feeling mind is sometimes doomed to mourn, 
 
 Yet, like the sun, through deepest foliage showing 
 
 His golden beams, 'mid gloom triumphant glowing, 
 
 Through grief, bright dreams of rapture oft return. 
 
 The tree of deepest shade is loveliest, 
 
 For fairest through its gloom the light appears ; 
 
 The eye where pleasure's beams the brightest shine 
 
 Is that, whose light is oftenest dimmed with tears ; 
 
 And oh ! the eye which rapture loves the best, 
 
 Though sorrow loves it too, — that eye be mine ! 
 
 Clapton, 1822. 
 
 h 2 
 
148 
 
 THE GRAVE OF HAFIZ. 
 
 Rest, shade beloved ! where Rocknabad 
 Glides soft near bowering Mosellay ; 9 
 
 Sweet minstrel of the spring, be sad ! 
 Thy fairest Rose is borne away. 
 
 Oh ! ye who love the wildering strain 
 That swells to soothe the poet's heart, 
 
 Awake your slumbering harps again; 
 Again their magic tones impart. 
 
 Fain would I seek the cypress gloom, 
 That waves, where cold his relics sleep ; 
 
 And, pensive, watch the poet's tomb, 
 
 While round, the mourning night-dews weep. 
 
THE GRAVE OF HAFIZ. 149 
 
 Evening, lend thy wildest sigh, 
 To join my soul's regretful wail ; 
 
 And be thy cloudiest canopy 
 
 For Night's fair queen a dusky veil. 
 
 1 cannot bear that aught of mirth 
 Should triumph o'er so dark a scene ; 
 
 That smiles should haunt a place of earth, 
 Which speak of " joys that but have been." 
 
 Much less, Night's pensive orb ! that thou 
 Whose clouded pomp mute sorrow loves, 
 
 Should'st rend thy veil of shadows now, 
 And lighten gaily o'er the groves ; 
 
 That thou should'st bid sweet Nature sleep, 
 And tranquil peace and rest prevail ; 
 
 The faithful dews alone to weep, 
 And Evening's self deny her wail. 
 
150 THE GRAVE OF HAFIZ. 
 
 Then veil thy brightness, heavenly beam ! 
 
 And be the clouds of sorrow thine ; 
 In shaded grace approach the stream, 
 
 And view the bard of Iran's shrine. 
 
 Ye sons of song, of Persia's race ! 
 
 'Mid Night's deep stillness seek the sod : 
 His form 'mid Fancy's visions trace, 
 
 And mourn, where once his footsteps trod. 
 
 And bid her dark eyed daughters weep ; 
 
 (Those eyes how bright in pity's tear !) 
 And rise to deck, (while cold ones sleep,) 
 
 The grave of him who slumbers here. 
 
 And when o'er you the cypress glooms, 
 When Earth no longer courts your view, 
 
 May forms as lovely watch your tombs, 
 And hearts as faithful mourn for you. 
 
151 
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 
 
 Friendship shall bless thee, sweet Remembrancer! 
 
 Shall bless the silent lips, where art has hung 
 
 The fair expression of reality. 
 
 Those lips which, Fancy deems, essay to speak 
 
 Of all that fills the heart where feeling dwells : 
 
 Of thought sublime, inspired by soul refined ; 
 
 Of sentiment, best language of the soul. 
 
 Yes ! she shall bless thee — though thy mimic power 
 
 Fails to pourtray the blended graces met 
 
 In those fair orbs, that eloquently show, 
 
 (Where thousand tongues would fail,) what rests 
 
 within : 
 Though only one expression fills the scene 
 Of every feeling that pervades a breast 
 
152 THE PORTRAIT. 
 
 Where many a nobler virtue loves to dwell. 
 Oh ! when the friend we love is distant far ; 
 When, 'mid the crowd, in mental solitude, 
 We seek for something dear ; when the lone heart 
 Sighs o'er remembrance of departed bliss, 
 The bliss that Friendship gives, how sweet to turn 
 Affection's pledge ! to thee; sweet soother ! thou 
 Whose lips, though silent, breathe on Fancy's ear 
 Those accents mild, to musing memory dear. 
 
153 
 
 SORROW WASTES THE MOURNFUL. 
 
 OSSIAN. 
 
 Her voice had lost its sprightly tone, 
 
 And the blooming hue of her cheek was gone ; 
 
 For the wasting, pitiless hand of Care 
 
 Had faded the rose that blossomed there ; 
 
 And her mild and silently speaking eye 
 
 Mourned o'er the days of ecstacy, 
 
 And spoke of a grief that waked no sigh. — 
 
 Joy had been hers that she knew no more ; 
 She deeply felt, but she nobly bore : 
 On her lip was a sweet, but languid smile, 
 For sorrow faded its light the while ; 
 And the tear that trembled, but scorned to flow, 
 Denied, yet told the tale of woe, 
 h 3 
 
/ 
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
 154 SORROW WASTES THE MOURNFUL. 
 
 I mourned o'er a mind so dear, so fair, 
 
 And sighed that sorrow should rankle there, 
 
 And darken its beams with the veil of care. 
 
 But when was ever a soul refined, 
 
 That sorrow's spells forbore to bind ? 
 
 And where was ever a smile of earth, 
 
 That gave not the pensive tear-drop birth ? — 
 
 Alas ! that so blooming, so lovely a flower 
 
 Should be spoiled by the touch of a wintry hour ! 
 
 That the hopes which promise so fair to-day, 
 
 Must be borne by the tears of to-morrow away ! 
 
 But the fairest flowers of mind and glade 
 
 On earth are often the first betrayed 
 
 To the mildew's touch, and to sorrow's shade. 
 
 Clapton. 
 
155 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 When clouds o'ercast the light of day, 
 Say, will the landscape shine the while ? 
 Then Rosa ! may the heart be gay, 
 When friendship's light has ceased to smile. 
 
 Can Nature bid the branches live, 
 When severed from their parent tree ? 
 Then may this withering heart survive, 
 When time shall bid it part from thee. 
 
156 
 
 TO THE AVON. 
 
 Avon ! thy rocks no longer I behold ; 
 
 No more thy winding waters shine for me ; 
 
 And whether lingers Summer's teint with thee, 
 
 Or Autumn decks thy woods with nature's gold, 
 
 The eye discerns no longer : — Distance smiles 
 
 At Feeling's struggle to be near thee still, 
 
 And triumphs proudly o'er my powerless will. 
 
 Yet Memory's charm my saddened heart beguiles ; 
 
 Her bright reflections sweetly beam for me 
 
 With all thy beauties ; Fancy's magic touch 
 
 Has added charms concealed from outward sight ; 
 
 Seldom reality has painted such. — 
 
 Oh, Fancy ! heavenly fair ! I owe to thee 
 
 The mental ray that gleams on Sorrow's night. 
 
 Clapton. 
 
157 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Thou art, O Love! the morning ray, 
 O'er future hours its lustre beaming ; 
 
 But time shall bear that morn away, 
 
 With joy and hope and promise gleaming. 
 
 Yes ! there are clouds that will o'ershade ; 
 
 Tears, that must dim thy sun of gladness ; 
 Hours that shall see thy glories fade, 
 
 And turn thy smiles to pensive sadness. 
 
 Away vain power ! nor think to find 
 
 In Anna's heart one spot to shrine thee; 
 
 Thy vows might suit a gentler mind, 
 Prompt to believe as to resign thee. 
 
158 LOVE. 
 
 Light Fancy's fool ! capricious elf ! 
 
 Whose wish obtained must wake some other ; 
 Whose office is to plague thyself, 
 
 Whose highest hope, to plague another. 
 
 I see thee now — I see the smile 
 
 That lights thy cheek, with triumph glowing ; 
 But, half concealed, I mark the while 
 
 The hand of Care her thorn bestowing. 
 
 For know, the spell that framed the wreath 
 Has doomed its brightest charms to wither ; 
 
 Has fixed a crown of thorns beneath, 
 And stolen the rose and Love together. 
 
 Oh ! who would trust, though e'er so bright, 
 The meteors over darkness playing ; 
 
 Nor view with dread the wildering light, 
 So sweetly mid the twilight straying ? 
 
LOVE. 159 
 
 And who would trust thee, treacherous power ! 
 
 Whose mazes lead to darkness surely, 
 While soft, mid Life's sad twilight hour, 
 
 Gleam other lights so kind and purely. 
 
 Some milder prize shall deck my brow, 
 Fair Friendship's pensive flower of Even ; 
 
 And Hope, a bud of promise now, 
 
 That smiles a world of bliss in Heaven. 
 
 1824. 
 
160 
 
 A RECOLLECTION. 
 
 Again, lovely scene of enchantment ! for me 
 Remembrance has painted her picture of thee. 
 Not touched with those charms which had power to 
 
 control 
 In days that are past, both my fancy and soul ; 
 But with charms that to Fancy still lovely appear, 
 And Reason must own they deserve to be dear. 
 
 Ah ! Reason ! time was, when I asked not of thee 
 Thy sanction, if aught was delightful to me ; 
 When nought, save of feelings extatic I knew, 
 And when pictures of joy seemed for ever in view. 
 Those days are no more, and no longer I see, 
 Wild Fancy! thy sun, beaming rapture for me; 
 
A RECOLLECTION. 161 
 
 But bright as they were, yet I would not again 
 Live over those days of enchantment and pain. 
 Let Reflection make sweet the decline of each day, 
 As, Conscience ! thy voice chases anguish away : 
 Be my light the fair hope that makes lovely the tomb, 
 And would guide me to joys that immortally bloom. 
 
162 
 
 TO A LADY 
 
 Who asked, How long does the kiss of friendship linger? 
 
 From the silver cloud of the shining west 
 
 Came the Spirit of Song to me, 
 In the glittering robe of Fancy drest, 
 
 And she spoke to my soul of thee. 
 
 And she bade me tell thee — though Friendship's seal 
 
 From the lip sincere be broken, 
 Yet its impress long in the heart may dwell, 
 
 Affection's dearest token. 
 
 " It is not the breath of the gale/' she sighed, 
 " With its hidden wings of fleetness, 
 
 " Nor the lucid wave of the crystal tide, 
 " That can steal away its sweetness." 
 
TO A LADY. 163 
 
 Ah ! blame me not, if the Syren's tone 
 
 Be lost in a voice like mine : 
 Though she leaves me the words of her song alone, 
 
 She may breathe them with sweetness through 
 thine. 
 
 And fancy not that the mystic spell, 
 
 The vow of the soul — unspoken ; 
 The pledge sincere that the heart loves well, 
 
 Can by earthly charm be broken. 
 
 Whitley. 
 
164 
 
 THE HARP DESTROYED. 
 
 Come, bring the harp ! its music try ! 
 For here of old 'twas wont to sigh. 
 Methinks this rosy-perfumed air 
 Its sweetest, softest notes might bear. 
 
 No — the Zephyr's gentle spell 
 Vainly seeks the strain to swell. 
 Is it that some stranger gale 
 Wanders through the tranquil vale ? 
 Does the harp accord her tone 
 To one favoured breeze alone ? 
 Haply now it hovers nigh, 
 To court thy numbers with its sigh : 
 Shall the chords its breath may wake 
 Their former tone of sweetness take ? 
 
THE HARP DESTROYED. 165 
 
 No — they lost their wonted power, 
 Vanquished in one tuneful hour. 
 We thought it was the zephyr's wing 
 That fanned with music every string; 
 But from the harp those strains it bore, 
 Detroyed it, and it breathes no more. 
 
 Fabled Sorrow ! yet, to me, 
 
 Emblem of Reality ! 
 
 How like this harp the lonely mind, 
 
 To deep and silent grief resigned. 
 
 What, though remain to outward sight 
 
 The scenes, once dear, of past delight ; 
 
 Can scenes of bliss that bliss supply, 
 
 Or wake the soul to ecstacy ? 
 
 Or, if the power to feel be gone, 
 
 Can pleasure make the mind her own? — 
 
 No — Happiness within must reign, 
 
 Or pleasures seek to charm in vain. 
 
 Clapton. 
 
166 
 
 THE STAR. 
 
 I saw the silver star of Night, 
 
 Whose brightness gemmed its clouded way ; 
 Still sweetly gleamed its gentle light, 
 
 And faded in the smiles of Day. 
 
 Fair star of Hope i thy gentle beam 
 Thus shines upon Life's stormy even : 
 
 Thus may I mark thee cease to gleam, 
 Lost brightly in the light of Heaven. 
 
 Whitley. 
 
167 
 ESTEEM. 
 
 What most I value is my friend's Esteem. 
 Oh ! what is Love ? — A wild, delusive power, 
 That makes most lovely seem whate'er it marks, 
 And even cheats itself by that it paints ; 
 A picture bright, that mocks reality ! 
 Deem not, ye fair ! your lovers worship you ; 
 The shrine they bow before has Fancy raised, 
 A frail creation of the active mind ; 
 Oft quickly framed, and oft as soon destroyed. 
 Esteem is founded on Reality : 
 On steady virtue it must fix its base ; 
 A base the shocks of Time can ne'er remove. 
 Oh ! here alone Affection is secure, 
 With such support the flower may ever bloom ; 
 Nor heeds the fickle gale thatrweeps so oft 
 The blossom Fancy's power no longer guards. 
 Clapton. 
 
 
168 
 
 TO 
 
 Dear Rosa ! if, by Fancy led, 
 Again the woods of Leigh you tread, 
 Or if your willing footsteps roam 
 Across the hills that shade your home. 
 Will Memory then the hours renew 
 I lingered in those scenes with you ? 
 
 Yes — Memory suffers not to die 
 
 The sweets that Friendship's hands supply ; 
 
 And Fancy adds, with magic power 
 
 A brighter teint to Pleasure's flower ; 
 
 And objects fair, yet fairer seem, 
 
 When Friendship's voice has blessed the scene. 
 
to . 169 
 
 Ye mystic powers ! my captive soul 
 
 Delights to own your sweet control. 
 
 Though Memory bids the bosom mourn 
 
 Those joys that never can return ; 
 
 Though Sorrow's poignard wounds the heart 
 
 Of faithful friends, when doomed to part ; 
 
 Yet Fancy's fairy hand supplies 
 
 What cold Reality denies ; 
 
 And paints in fairest hues for me 
 
 The rocks of Wick, the woods of Leigh. 
 
 Whitley. 
 
170 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 Around me hung the shroud of Care, 
 My heart in silent sorrow bled ; 
 
 No smile of Hope to cheer was there, 
 But Music comforted. 
 
 Not with unfeeling, sprightly tone, 
 Attuned to please the careless mind, 
 
 Bade she the clouds of thought begone, 
 Nor leave their trace behind. 
 
 Not with inspiring promise fraught, 
 Spoke of enchanting hours to be ; 
 
 Nor by delusive fancy wrought 
 Hope's fairy wreath for me. 
 
MUSIC. 171 
 
 Oh, no ! she sweetly deigned to mourn ; 
 
 Inly, unseen, to weep with me ; 
 My saddened feelings to return 
 
 With saddest melody. 
 
 Enchanting Friend ! she seemed to know 
 That joy is dead to sorrow's eye ; 
 
 Nor deemed the gloomy shades of woe 
 At Fancy's touch would fly. 
 
 She bade my wearied soul be free, 
 Its faithless dreams of joy be o'er ; 
 
 She whispered, " Peace and bliss may be ; 
 " But trust in earth no more." 
 
 j 2 
 
172 
 To C. S. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MARY S- 
 
 Believe not, though absence has stolen the flowers 
 That bloomed, while together we blessed the glad hours, 
 Those flowrets of bliss, that but last while we stay, 
 And in parting s sad moments fade ever away ; 
 That the dim scenes of distance may own not the 
 
 charm 
 That keeps the deep roots of affection from harm : 
 Still less be the thought, so reproachful in thee, 
 That her buds of fair promise were slighted by me. 
 
 No — Friendship is ever unchangeably dear, 
 Enrobed with delight, or embalmed with a tear : 
 'Tis brightest, perchance, when her smiles may prevail, 
 But dearest, 'tis certain, when sorrows assail. 
 
to c. s. 173 
 
 While Sympathy's spirit soft floats on the eye, 
 Responsively true to the half-silenced sigh ; 
 Though our hearts a new sorrow, reflective, may own, 
 What speaks, like a tear, that we feel not alone ? 
 
 Then her moments of parting — oh ! who can dispute 
 There are feelings of joy, though their language be 
 
 mute, 
 Which blissfully rise with the tremulous swell 
 That heralds and follows kind Friendship's farewell. 
 
 Yes ! these pictures of parting present to the view 
 Those visions of bliss which may blossom anew ; 
 As we bid them in Hope to extend the bright chain 
 To the sun that may beam on our meeting again. 
 
 Ah ! see how each link takes the hue of delight, 
 Through distance received from a moment so bright ; 
 Thus gleaming in absence, resplendently fair, 
 An earnest of all the dim future may wear, 
 
174 to c. s. 
 
 Let Remembrance and Hope thus unceasingly twine 
 
 Their garland, to circle thy spirit and mine. 
 
 Let the beams that in days of remembrance have 
 
 shone 
 Be lost in their hour of renewal alone ; 
 And our planet of bliss — ne'er may Friendship forget 
 To smile as it rises, or weep when 'tis set ! 
 
 One beam of its glory united we mourn ; 
 One light we have lost, that shall never return ; 
 Yet its pensive reflection is destined to prove 
 More fair to Remembrance, and dearer to Love. 
 
 There's a magic that touches the souls that have fled ; 
 There's a feeling of love that unites with the dead ; 
 'Tis all that in presence Affection has known, 
 More strongly revived, when we feel it alone. 
 
 But this orb of delight — in its fair smiling ray 
 Expanded a flowret, yet spared from decay ; 
 
to c. s. 175 
 
 Tis the bright little Rose you endearingly own, 
 In earth r s briary garden so recently blown. 
 
 Ah ! little I thought, when for Mary I strove 
 
 To paint the fair dreams which were wakened by love, 
 
 That the infant we hoped for would linger alone, 
 
 To bid us lament that the giver was gone. 
 
 Bright scheme of domestic enjoyment! in vain 
 
 Thy vision may float on our fancy again : 
 
 In vain shall we picture the Mother's employ, 
 
 Her smiles of endearment saluting her boy : 
 
 In vain shall we deem how a mind like her own, 
 
 In beauty reflected, through his might have shone. 
 
 Farewell — gentle babe ! though in distance, like me, 
 
 There are many united in feeling for thee ; 
 
 Who, with sorrow impressed, need not reason, to 
 
 prove 
 Though the eye has not seen, yet the spirit may love. 
 
176 to c. s. 
 
 But 'tis time, busy Fancy ! to silence thy strain, 
 Nor load my frail tablet with language in vain. 
 The hours departed reprove my delay, 
 And thy light winged visions must haste them away ; 
 And leave me one bright little moment, to send 
 Every wish that may flow from the heart of a friend. 
 
 Bristol, 1824. 
 
177 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Oh ! Memory ! cease thy bitter sorrow 
 For days of joy, returning never ; 
 
 For smiling Hope has decked to-morrrow 
 With blossoms fair and bright as ever. 
 
 Though oft she proves a sad deceiver, 
 
 For once I must — I will believe her. 
 
 The bud of Hope — thy fading Rose 
 I mark upon the tree of Time ; 
 
 Sad are the teints thy flowers disclose, 
 I choose the bud of Hope for mine, 
 
 Whose spells can charm, with hues so gay, 
 Thy wilderness of thought away. 
 
 Clapton. 
 
 i 3 
 
178 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 Wilt thou still delight to linger 
 
 O'er these pensive strains of sadness ? 
 
 Rosa ! let thy fairy finger 
 
 Wake again the notes of gladness. 
 
 If, a call like thine inviting, 
 
 Charms appear in Sorrow's guise, 
 
 How, the touch of joy exciting, 
 Would the soul of Music rise ! 
 
 Bid thy fingers, lightly stealing 
 O'er thy lyre, then, sweetly play ; 
 
 Wake for me the raptured feeling 
 That charms the sighs of care away. 
 
 Though Enchantment loves to linger 
 O'er those pensive strains of sadness, 
 
 Rosa ! let thy fairy finger 
 
 Wake for me the notes of gladness. 
 
179 
 
 TO ROSA. 
 
 Oh ! could I tempt the changing gale 
 That gently swells this vessel's sail, 
 To bear my thoughts beyond the sea, 
 And breathe awhile its sweets for thee ; 
 How dear a tale that breeze should tell 
 To one my bosom loves so well. 
 By Friendship's power 'twould seem to be 
 A sigh that swelled my heart for thee. 
 And could some spell a power impart 
 To steal one sigh from Rosa's heart, 
 And kindly bear it warm to mine, 
 As when it left that heart of thine ; 
 How should I greet the truant gale, 
 Returned to swell my drooping sail ! 
 My Fancy, bearing Friendship's tear 
 From Feeling's fountain, warm and clear! 
 
180 TO ROSA. 
 
 Sweet Memory, with her varied store. 
 
 Her train of cares and pleasures o'er, 
 
 And every feeling dear to me 
 
 Should mingle with that sigh from thee. 
 
 And though the light of beauty's smile 
 
 May beam upon my lonely isle, 
 
 And though a bosom true as thine 
 
 May blend its joys and griefs with mine. 
 
 Remembrance Friendship's pledge will send 
 
 To thee my dear, my distant friend ! 
 
 Rosa, farewell ! — the blush of light 
 
 Is fading from the face of Night : 
 
 Thus faded from my parting view 
 
 The sorrowing smile I gained from you. 
 
 Fair as that light shall beam again, 
 
 When rising from the Eastern main, 
 
 Will joy illume the hour for me, 
 
 That turns my fragile bark to thee. 
 
181 
 
 TO POESY. 
 
 Forgive me, lovely Poesy ! 
 If e'er my hand 
 Too rudely touched thy gentle lyre ; 
 Forgive — if e'er my thoughts aspire 
 
 In thy sweet language to command 
 A thought unworthy thee. 
 
 Bid Fancy speak no more, 
 If e'er thy tones 
 With Reason's voice refuse to blend ; 
 Or, if a sigh deep Feeling send 
 
 Her thought refined and true disowns, 
 Oh ! bid that sigh be o'er. 
 
182 TO POESY. 
 
 Let Feeling exquisite and tree 
 Awake the lay ; 
 That Taste may lend expression grace, 
 Nor Reason e'er a line efface, 
 
 Nor wish one cherished thought away, 
 If worthy her and thee. 
 
183 
 
 AVON. 
 
 Fragrant spices scent the gales 
 Where the eastern fountains play ; 
 
 Tis not these my fancy hails ; 
 
 Tis not there my soul would stray. 
 
 Give me Avon's rocks and woods, 
 Guardians of her waves to be ; 
 
 Dearer far her winding floods, 
 Than your tides of gold to me 
 
 Gentle Avon ! beauty loves thee ; 
 
 Clothes thee in her fair array ; 
 Tis the spell of beauty moves thee ; 
 
 She — that bears thy waves away. 
 
184 AVON. 
 
 Stream of wild enchantment, stay ! 
 
 Kindly, ere thy waves retire, 
 All that Feeling's tongue would say, 
 
 Bid the soul of song inspire. 
 
 Wilt thou Feeling's boon deny ? 
 
 Raptured silence then be mine ! 
 She shall bid my gazing eye 
 
 Steal away those charms of thine. 
 
185 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 A brighter Rose ne'er graced its tree, 
 Than that which blossoms here for me : 
 Ne'er linger'd Joy's delighted eye 
 Upon a milder evening sky : 
 Nor e'er seemed beauty more serene 
 Than dwells on this enchanting scene. 
 
 Yet, fairer than the fairest Rose, 
 Than every flower that Summer shows, 
 And milder than the pensive light 
 That lingers on the brow of Night, 
 Than all Earth's dearest scenes more dear ; 
 Exists a charm I find not here. 
 
186 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Oh ! sweeter far is Friendship's sigh 
 
 Than, Rose, thy breath of purity. 
 
 Thy dew-drops, shining mid the ray 
 
 That hails the Summer's fervid day ; 
 
 Than these there dwells a charm more bright, 
 
 In Feeling's eye of weeping light. 
 
 Then, wonder not the wing of thought 
 That brighter, dearer charm has sought : 
 Though oft I gaze, delighted gaze 
 On all the stores that Earth displays, 
 There lives not one so sweet and dear, 
 As Friendship's smile, and Friendship's tear. 
 
 Clapton, 1823. 
 
187 
 
 SELIM'S INVITATION. 
 
 Oh ! dwell no more in this land of the West ; 
 
 Away to the East with me, Mary ! 
 Dear is the land that Fancy loves best, 
 
 And dearer still with thee, Mary ! 
 
 The light of the western star is fair, 
 As it beams on the brow of Even ; 
 
 But the orbs of the East the loveliest are, 
 That spangle the robe of Heaven. 
 
 Brightly the western waters beam, 
 As the sun descends to meet them ; 
 
 But ours are waves that richly gleam 
 With the gold that shines beneath them. 
 
188 selim's invitation. 
 
 Weep not to leave the rose of thy home, 
 For that which blossoms in mine, Mary ! 
 
 The Eastern roses as brightly bloom 
 
 As the rose on that cheek of thine, Mary ! 
 
 If beauty and fancy have charms for thee, 
 
 No longer here delay, Mary ! 
 To the scenes of the East away with me ; 
 
 To the scenes of the East away, Mary. 
 
189 
 
 THE GARNET. 
 
 When, sparkling on Matilda's hand, 
 The crimsoned Garnet met my view, 
 
 Swift to the shores of Eastern land 
 My restless thought and fancy flew. 
 
 And while T mused upon the charm 
 
 Tis said those circling gems contain ; 10 
 I felt my heart with friendship warm, 
 
 And memory turned to her again. 
 
 p 
 
 Oh ! could my power the boon bestow 
 That Fancy's spells to you assign, 
 
 Her gentle heart should never know 
 The ceaseless cares that torture mine. 
 
190 THE GARNET. 
 
 But, in your fabled charm is found 
 What Friendship really can bestow ; 
 
 Whose guarding shields the heart surround, 
 And kindly blunt the shafts of woe. 
 
 Whitley. 
 
191 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Is there a Spring whose rose may wear 
 A blush that ne'er will fade ? 
 
 To steal its hues so bright and fair, 
 Have partial suns delayed ? 
 
 Is there — to Sorrow's glance unknown, 
 Whose heart, in Youth's bright day, 
 
 Has called the rose of bliss its own, 
 Nor seen it fade away ? 
 
 Ah, no ! around the youthful brow 
 Bliss loves not long to bloom ; 
 
 It shall but last that blossoms now, 
 In Memory— Pleasure's tomb ! 
 
192 STANZAS. 
 
 Give me the Rose of Hope — whose hues 
 Are fair, and bright, and frail ; 
 
 Her magic touch the rose renews, 
 Whene'er its beauties fail. 
 
 What, though each time her flowers decay, 
 
 Although they bloom again, 
 Yet wear a teint less bright and gay, 
 
 And still the thorn retain ; 
 
 The blossoms touched by Sorrow's hand, 
 With milder charms arrayed, 
 
 In forms of less delight expand ; 
 But ah ! less apt to fade. 
 
193 
 
 PARTING. 
 
 Soft favouring gales my bark attend ; 
 
 Her shining sails impatient swell ; 
 Once more we part, my much-loved friend ! 
 
 Once more repeat the sad farewell. 
 
 Farewell ! no, never ! 
 Where'er thy bark of hope may glide, 
 
 Whate'er the tales of Time may tell, 
 Love follows still the changing tide, 
 Refuses still the long farewell. 
 Farewell ! No — never ! 
 
 But death and danger follow too, 
 
 Unheeding Friendship's watchful spell ; 
 
 Relentless still the scene pursue, 
 That wakes the sad, the last farewell. 
 
 K 
 
194 PARTING. 
 
 Farewell ! No, never ! 
 Nor dangers dread, nor Death's cold hand 
 Can reach where Virtue longs to dwell ; 
 Firmly our souls their boast withstand, 
 While Hope re-echoes — No farewell ! 
 Farewell ! No, never ! 
 
195 
 STANZAS 
 
 TO « 
 
 Think not, though the landscape in beauty be drest, 
 Though the eye on a scene of delight may repose, 
 
 That the sigh of regret may not live in the breast, 
 That no longer the sad tear of bitterness flows. 
 
 Nor think, though to scenes of wild horror betrayed, 
 The rock's lonely height, or the forest's deep gloom, 
 
 That the moonbeam of peace may not lighten the 
 shade, 
 Or the warm sun of joy the wild mountain illume. 
 
 Ah ! sorrow can steal the bright tints of the grove, 
 Can bid it an aspect of pensiveness wear ; 
 
 While joy on the heights of the lone cliff may rove, 
 And make e'en the waste of the desart seem fair. 
 k 2 
 
196 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Oh ! not to the grove or the desart confined, 
 
 Spring the fountains of happiness, brightly serene ! 
 
 Their source is eternally fixed in the mind ; 
 
 Tis the mind that illumines or darkens the scene. 
 
197 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Earth's woes were past, was thy belief — 
 
 But, foolish thought ! thou wast mistaken : 
 The tear that flows to present grief 
 
 Has bade the slumberer, Memory, waken. 
 
 To rouse the torturer, Pain, again ; 
 
 To water every plant of sorrow ; 
 To prove thy dreams of pleasure vain, 
 
 And fade Hope's sun, that gilds to-morrow. 
 
 Ah ! tell me not of Earth's bright flowers ; 
 
 Her bud of spring-tide promise glowing, 
 Her blooming wreath of blissful hours, 
 
 A bright and lasting charm bestowing : 
 
198 STANZAS. 
 
 Or shew me too one charm of Earth, 
 That dearly shone, and never faded ; 
 
 And prove it of terrestrial birth, 
 And ne'er by pensive feeling shaded. 
 
 She knows no charm — she owns no flower, 
 But dreads the bitter blast of sorrow ; 
 
 For doubt o'ershades her brightest hour, 
 And glooms her fair her hopeful morrow. 
 
 Then, then no more to themes of Earth 
 Let all our dearest thoughts be given ; 
 
 Be ours the plant of matchless worth, 
 That buds, expands, and lasts in Heaven. 
 
 I 
 
199 
 
 TO HANNAH 
 
 ON HER BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 Secure in the vale blooms the fair rose of spring 
 From the blast of the north, that flies harmlessly by ; 
 
 Secure from the southerly sun's scorching wing, 
 And ruffled by nought, save the zephyr's soft sigh . 
 
 In the spring-time of life, in Retirement's calm vale, 
 The fair rose of innocence blooms in thy mind : 
 
 Ah ! watch, when the blasts of temptation assail, 
 Lest so lovely a blossom be haply resigned. 
 
 Bloom on, simple flowret ! and brightly unfold 
 O'er thy fostering stem, what its care shall repay ; 
 
 The fragrance of gratitude do not withhold ; 
 
 And the buds of improvement, oh ! haste to display. 
 
200 TO HANNAH. 
 
 Remember thy parents' approvals await thee, 
 If such be the course thou shalt wisely pursue; 
 
 Nor let idle pleasures too highly elate thee, 
 
 But strive that such praise shall indeed be thy due. 
 
 Oh ! this will enliven the eve of their day, 
 
 When the sweetness of former delights shall be 
 o'er ; 
 Their love and their care it will sweetly repay, 
 When thou, dearest Hannah, shalt need them no 
 more. 
 
 Farewell then, beloved ! nor forget thou the friend 
 Who has thus on a birthday presumed to intrude : 
 
 May blessings unnumbered upon thee descend ; 
 And remember that bliss is the lot of the good. 
 
201 
 
 WHAT THOUGH AN ADVERSE 
 HOUR DIVIDE. 
 
 What, though an adverse hour divide 
 Hearts by affection's ties allied ; 
 What, though by fickle fancy moved 
 Those hearts disclaim what once they loved, 
 And each through years may live alone, 
 Far from the once beloved one ; 
 Yet, like those Alpine streams, 11 whose flow, 
 Nature designed one course should know, 
 And yet, whose waters darkly glide 
 Distinct, alone, though side by side, 
 Till, by some strange, unknown decree, 
 They blend in closest unity ; 
 Yes ! like those streams, those hearts may own 
 The sacred ties that name them one, 
 k3 
 
202 
 
 BLUE ROLL THE WATERS. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 The vesper bell is chiming far, 
 And eve has lit the western star, 
 And I have stolen to think of thee, 
 And view this ocean scenery. 
 Tis such a view as thou would'st gaze 
 With rapture on ; and memory strays 
 Regretful back to paint the bliss, 
 The only charm denied to this. 
 Oh ! could the scene that smiles on me 
 But claim one raptured look from thee, 
 Could I but know each pulse of thine 
 From kindred feeling thrilled with mine, 
 
BLUE ROLL THE WATERS. 203 
 
 And mark thy look though mild, intense ; 
 And love thy silent eloquence; 
 It were indeed no common bliss 
 To gaze on such a scene as this. 
 
 Methinks it is a lovelier night 
 Than fancy's visions ever gave ; 
 And such a flood of lunar light 
 Is streaming o'er the azure wave, 
 That I could deem that orb above 
 Looked down admiringly to love ; 
 And touch our sphere with her pure light 
 To hide the gloomy looks of night. 
 Oh ! hast thou never felt her power 
 Steal o'er thee, in some lonely hour, 
 When fancy to the past has strayed, 
 And on the soul sad thought has preyed, 
 As broken friendships, one by one, 
 And loved and faithful spirits gone 
 
204 BLUE ROLL THE WATERS. 
 
 Came wandering back to cheat the mind, 
 And leave again a blank behind. 
 Oh ! what has day, though e'er so bright, 
 Compared with her serener light ! 
 Hers is the hour of sweet relief, 
 When nature owns the joy of grief; 
 When hearts too full for words, overflow, 
 And lessen, while they cherish woe. 
 And dreams of thee, my distant friend ! 
 May well with such emotions blend : 
 For all that smiles and tears impart, 
 Beyond the eloquence of art, 
 The silent language feelings teach 
 To paint whate'er surpasses speech, 
 Tis sweet to fancy shared by thee, 
 My bosom's chosen treasury ! 
 
 Ah ! tell me, thou who can'st so well 
 Whate'er affection teaches, tell, 
 
BLUE ROLL THE WATERS. 205 
 
 When fond anticipation flies 
 For bliss the present hour denies, 
 Why, as the scenes of time we view, 
 Its links of past and future too, 
 And feel we drag a lengthening chain, 
 And turn to gaze before again, 
 The links that reached our hoped delight 
 Scarce seem to lessen in our sight. 
 
 O hope ! the mourner's comfort ! given 
 To bless each thought that leads to heaven ; 
 Tis thus alone thy herald ray 
 Gives promise sure of brighter day. 
 Then, O beloved ! should time no more 
 Give back the joys we knew before, 
 How sweet to know there is a scene 
 Where barriers never intervene ; 
 Where nought to bless us is denied, 
 Nor lessened, though for ever tried. 
 
206 BLUE ROLL THE WATERS. 
 
 We know not if our friends are given 
 To mingle with our thoughts in heaven ; 
 If when our souls from earth depart, 
 Each heart shall greet its kindred heart ; 
 But there we know the blest shall be 
 Companions through Eternity ! 
 No soul but harmonizes there ; 
 No heart that knows a thought of care ; 
 No moment but so richly blest 
 It needs not hope to paint the rest. 
 
 Tis vain to dream of constant bliss 
 In such a changing world as this ; 
 To deem ourselves from care may hide, 
 Though not a bosom 'scape beside. 
 But could my wish a gift impart, 
 To bless, my friend ! thy gentle heart, 
 Oh ! thou should'st know a treasure there, 
 An antidote to every care : 
 
BLUE ROLL THE WATERS. 207 
 
 A beacon o'er the rocks of life, 
 To guard from all the waves of strife ; 
 To light the shades of earth for thee, 
 And brighten through Eternity. 
 
 1827. 
 
208 
 
 THAT HOUR BY THE ASH TREE. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO THYRZA. 
 
 That hour by the Ash Tree ! oh can I forget. 
 As its branches hung pensile to kiss the blue wave, 
 
 As its softened reflection my raptured eye met, 
 Whose image beside it those blue waters gave. 
 
 But why paint the semblance, though ever so fair ? 
 
 Beside me the dearer reality stood : 
 Did'st not thou hear her warblings, thou scarc< 
 breathing air ! 
 
 And bear her wild notes to the echoing wood I 
 
 Ye long-sleeping echoes ! repeat them for me ; 
 Ye waters ! be silent, be silent awhile : 
 
THAT HOUR BY THE ASH TREE. 209 
 
 Now wave, as. before her, thou beautiful tree ! 
 And teach, if thou canst, her resemblance to 
 smile. 
 
 In my heart thou hast wakened her image, as when 
 She lent every grace to embellish the scene : 
 
 But 'tis not in thee to restore me again 
 
 The bliss, the enchantment of days that have been. 
 
 Oh ! silence, ye waters ! ye echoes ! I know 
 
 Ye have wakened those tones ye shall waken no 
 more : — 
 Yet, perhaps, you are mourning that Thyrza should 
 
 How could I desire that regret should be o'er. 
 
 Sweet Nature ! thou, thou hast been often my friend, 
 And mourned, when all others were tearless, but 
 thee : 
 
210 THAT HOUR BY THE ASH TREE. 
 
 Thy pictures of truth and of sympathy lend ; 
 Thou canst not be other than soothing to me. 
 
 Oh ! whisper that Thyrza, though distant, is still 
 In soul as refined, in affection the same, 
 
 As when in thy presence, thou musical rill ! 
 
 She wept as we parted, and murmured my name. 
 
211 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 Like the tender green of Spring, 
 Ere its hour of blossoming : 
 Some shall burst with wealth delayed, 
 Much shall turn to deeper shade : 
 Lurks the canker-worm below ? 
 All is bright and lovely now. 
 
 Like some swiftly-falling stream, 
 Smiled on by a summer beam ; 
 Hasting to that snowy wreath, 
 Foaming on the wave beneath : — 
 Tis but on the naiad's brow ; 
 Gloom is all they find below. 
 
212 HOPE. 
 
 Like the rainbow o'er the deep, 
 'Ere the clouds have ceased to weep ; 
 Like a passing light, whose ray 
 Shines upon a winter's day, 
 Painting, in a moment fair, 
 Summer's smiling aspect there. 
 
 Like the varied tints that deck 
 Gorgeously, the peacock's neck ; 
 Ever, while the eye is ranging, 
 With the moving sunbeam changing ; 
 Like them, fading with the light 
 Borrowed in a moment bright. 
 
 Like the lovely blush of morn, 
 Of the fervid summer born, 
 Telling of its shining hours 
 Reigning o'er a world of flowers : — 
 Darkness will not fail to hide ; 
 Reckless of the summer's pride. 
 
HOPE. 213 
 
 Such is worldly hope ! more fair, 
 More undying hopes there are. 
 Like the early, tender green, 
 Promising delights unseen ; 
 Unlike aught of earth that's fair, 
 Springing where no dangers are. 
 
 To this view of certain good 
 Turn we our similitude. 
 Like a fount we upward force, 
 Turning from its wonted course, 
 Rising from the gloom of night, 
 Sparkling in unshadowed light. 
 
 Like a winter s sunshine, given, 
 Promise of a brighter heaven : 
 Like the rainbow, pledge of love, 
 All its glory from above. 
 Like the peacock's colours bright, 
 Heavenly hope shines e^er in lightr; 
 
214 HOPE. 
 
 In the loveliest teints arrayed, 
 But unlike his charm to fade. 
 Like the spirit's early bloom, 
 Borrowed from beyond the tomb. 
 
215 
 
 TO . 
 
 Wild Rose of sweetest fragrance ! smiling fair I 
 Of life's deep-hidden woes unconscious all — 
 Still smile unheedingly ! soon Care's stern call 
 Shall rouse thee from thy sunny resting there ; 
 Where youth's sweet spring is spent in visions rare, 
 Where Memory's glances but on childhood fall, 
 And Hope's sweet voice is heard, most musical ! 
 Ye after-days of life ! that seek to wear 
 Spring flowers in summer's sleepiness ; that dare 
 Her breezy charms to bind on fevered brows, 
 Hope not the wreath will ever blossom there ; 
 Your hands have withered it. Bliss only knows 
 To burst a morning flower, to close on care, 
 To wake in heaven, and bloom for ever there. 
 1826. 
 
216 
 
 THE ESTRANGED FRIEND. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 We met — met once again ! her soft blue eyes 
 Upon me rested, as in those sweet days, 
 When rapture trembled there. Oh ! I had yet 
 The power to waken her ; to touch that heart, 
 Feeling's soft dwelling place. The living tear 
 Sprung still to greet me, and to steal with mine. 
 
 Thy wasted form, my Anna ! beauty yet, 
 In her full glory, never owned such charm ; 
 Ne'er reached the grace so perfected in thee. 
 Take, ye that will, the buoyant pride of youth, 
 That dwells with radiant eyes, and glowing cheeks, 
 And rubied lips, that but with pleasure ring. 
 
THE ESTRANGED FRIEND. 217 
 
 But, oh ! be mine the look that interests, 
 
 More than the spirit images that speaks, 
 
 Each moment's grace a history in itself : 
 
 Touching unwilled, that asks not to admire, 
 
 But steals the soul, and seems of spirit all. 
 
 And thine were these; and once I deemed thee mine. 
 
 And lasts the tie no longer ? Oh ! the hour 
 
 That broke sweet intercourse, but strengthened love : 
 
 Softened each thought to gentlest tenderness, 
 
 Threw every error into shadows back, 
 
 Brightened each charm with smiles that shone in 
 
 tears, 
 And gave love's pictures an unearthly light. 
 
 Sweet, sweetest friend! I may not ask thee now 
 Of all so dear to dream ; to hear from thee ; 
 But thus may draw thee closely to myself, 
 And breathe my soul in transport still to thine. 
 Fear'st thou forgetfulness ? too dear to me 
 
 L 
 
218 THE ESTRANGED FRIEND. 
 
 Affection's memory ; purest, calmest source 
 Of heart's sweet happiness ! transport's repose ! 
 Rapture's full cup so richly overflows, 
 It almost baffles when we would enjoy. 
 Memory is mind's beloved, untiring home : 
 The gift is her's to analyze delight ; 
 Giving to every part a separate charm, 
 And making nought a blest reality. 
 
219 
 
 FAREWELL TO 
 
 Though we part not in distance, we'll whisper 
 farewell : 
 
 A word for the voice of affection designed ; 
 A sound that can boast of the tenderest spell, 
 
 That speaks in the tenderest tone of the mind. 
 
 The world may have deemed us too gay to be wise ; 
 
 For the loftiest laurel too foolish to sigh ; 
 Yet the lips of a sage may forget to advise, 
 
 And smiles love to beam from an eloquent eye. 
 
 Let us smile while we may — there are moments of care, 
 
 Which will come, when our bidding would chase 
 
 them away; 
 
 l2 
 
220 FAREWELL TO 
 
 Tis these mild philosophy teaches to bear, 
 
 When beneath them the dreams of enchantment 
 decay. 
 
 The knowledge that brightens, that betters the mind, 
 The wisdom that happiness scorns not to own, 
 
 That points to enjoyments, enlightened, refined, 
 And frowns on the features of folly alone ; 
 
 Let these be our knowledge, and wisdom, and joy ; 
 
 The earnest of pleasures more lasting than they ; 
 That live, where no sorrows can mingle alloy, 
 
 Where pleasures are perfect, and fade not away. 
 
 1825. 
 
221 
 THE LAST JASMINE. 
 
 (TO LEILA.) 
 
 Take the pledge I give to thee, 
 The sweet flower of the jasmine tree : 
 Many bloomed in moments past ; 
 Thine the lonely and the last. 
 
 Sister to the leafy rose ! 
 Thou, that long unfading blows ! 
 Lives the flower, whose fragrant sigh 
 Charms like thine — Gul Razeki ! 12 
 
 Haste away ! thy charms impart, 
 When thou smil'st on Leila's heart ; 
 Bid her friendship thus, for me, 
 Sweet, and long unfading be. 
 
222 THE LAST JASMINE. 
 
 Bid her paint the heart bereft, 
 Which thy fairy form has left ; 
 Should her sweetness, thus, like thee, 
 Still endure, but fade from me. 
 
 1825. 
 
223 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 Yes ! thou art gone — to genius dear ! 
 
 Let Albion long thy loss bemoan ; 
 Give to thy faults her saddest tear, 
 
 And love thy virtues as her own. 
 
 Spirit of feeling too intense, 
 
 Too exquisite for aught of earth ; 
 
 Who gave the strain of manly sense, 
 To raise the germ of fancy's birth : 
 
 Who owned the chords to sorrow dear, 
 Of music's mourning melody ; 
 
 Who touched the wild and burning tear, 
 With poesy's reality. 
 
224 BYRON. 
 
 Whose soul, (to self how sadly blind !) 
 With sweet benevolence impressed ; 
 
 Bade pure religion's truths refined 
 
 Gleam brightly o'er the heathen breast. 13 
 
 Shrined with the sons of distant time, 
 Perchance where none more great may be, 
 
 Of hearts melodious and sublime, 
 Who claimed the wreaths of poesy. 
 
 Mid statues, urns, and lettered scrolls, 
 Mouldering, entombed, thy ashes lie : 
 
 But thou shalt haunt the place of souls, 
 In memory's immortality. 
 
 1825. 
 
225 
 
 THE EMBLEM FLOWER. 
 
 Bring me some bright flower to twine 
 Amid those shady locks of thine ; 
 And let the fragrant charmer be 
 A flowret fit to emblem thee. 
 
 Oh ! not the rose ! its folding dress 
 Might well thy modest grace express ; 
 But scarce an emblem thorn is set 
 Among thy flowers of promise yet. 
 
 Go, cull the starry jessamine, 
 To wreathe within those locks of thine : 
 That fragile, yet aspiring tree 
 They tell me is a type of thee. 
 l 3 
 
226 THE EMBLEM FLOWER. 
 
 But, oh ! its marked, obtruding flower, 
 Though scenting sweet the woodland bower, 
 Has not the grace, the charm I view 
 In that mild eye's receding blue. 
 
 In vain I seek its witchery 
 In many a flower of heavenly dye : — 
 Ah ! say, can less than soul express 
 The soul's reflected loveliness ? 
 
 There is a flower, scarce one beside, 
 That shines a grove or garden bride, 
 Fair beyond all the flowers I see, 
 I well might deem had mimicked thee. 
 
 Go, view the lily of the vale, 
 That charms unseen the hovering gale ; 
 That owns the purest fairest dress 
 In Nature's stores of loveliness. 
 
THE EMBLEM FLOWER. 227 
 
 Is there in look, or aught beside, 
 A charm the heart could ask, denied? 
 If none there be, in this I see 
 An emblem truly meet for thee. 
 
228 
 
 CONTINUATION OF A MONODY 
 ON THE DEATH OF BYRON. 14 
 
 Nor unremembered be the captive's walls, 
 
 Beneath fair Chillon's many-towered halls : 
 
 He, with " his mother's brows," and eyes of heaven, 
 
 And helpless state, to wake affection given. 
 
 Ah ! see a brother frantic o'er his tomb, 
 
 Clasping his hands, bemoans his lonely doom : 
 
 Last of his race, and of that captive three, 
 
 Who owned but love to soothe captivity. 
 
 Mark the sweet azure bird, that stayed his race, 
 
 To charm within that solitary place, 
 
 Spreading again his wings to greet the day, 
 
 And fluttering farewells to the dungeon ray. 
 
MONODY ON BYRON. 229 
 
 Oh ! who could speak the wretched captive's mood, 
 
 When came the doom of second solitude ! 
 
 Oh ! who, save him that raised his steps to view 
 
 u The wide, long lake below," the Rhone's sweet blue ; 
 
 " The trees," the " eagle," and the " small green isle," 
 
 " That lonely one, which in his face did smile : " 
 
 The bard, who loved e'en sorrow should be free, 
 
 And changed his captive's fate to liberty. 
 
 Sweet bard ! sweet painter " of the chainless mind!" 
 
 Thy pictures to no single trait confined ; 
 
 How I have loved thv maniac's soul to trace, 
 
 Admiring, pitying, feeling's tameless grace. 
 
 Seen her wild " look, which is not of the earth ; " 
 
 Marked her disjointed thoughts of fancy's birth ; 
 
 Drawn " forms impalpable " like hers, and prest 
 
 The phantom sister wildly to my breast. 
 
 Byron ! lost Byron ! dear, lamented shade ! 
 
 If sorrow's self may dare thy rest invade, 
 
 If she may touch thee with her gentlest sigh, 
 
 And whisper aught, and claim a shade's reply, 
 
230 MONODY ON BYRON. 
 
 List the sweet language of thy wild harp's thrill- 
 Though " all be changed," one heart deplores thee 
 
 still. 
 So gently breathed, the tear so softly shed, 
 Lest that her cares disturb the slumbering dead. 
 Ah! see— " her looks are wan, her eyes are wet/' 
 As once were his who counselled to forget. 
 
 Yet, ye severe ! think not the sullying shade 
 
 That must remembrance mournfully pervade, 
 
 Sorrowing admirers heedless cast aside, 
 
 And with perfection deem the bard allied. 
 
 Ah, no ! the tarnish of a mind so stored, 
 
 Those who have loved him most, have most deplored. 
 
231 
 IN THE ORIENTAL STYLE. 
 
 (TO LEILA.) 
 
 The rose is withering in the hand. 
 That bade it scent the bower no more ; 
 
 No more its fragrant leaves expand, 
 Soon will its hour of bloom be o'er. 
 
 And shall the bulbul mourn in vain 
 
 The flower that graced his favourite tree ? 
 
 And must my bosom feel the pain 
 It only knows — apart from thee. 
 
 Come, Leila, come ! no longer stay ! 
 
 For thee the jasmine wreath is twined ; 
 To scenes of gladness haste away, 
 
 And leave these thoughts of care behind. 
 
232 T0 leila. 
 
 Let Selim deck thy clouded brow, 
 And bid thy lip of roses smile ; 
 
 He heeds not fortune's frown, if thou 
 Canst taste the cup of bliss the while. 
 
233 
 
 TO THYRZA. 
 
 Thrice has stern Winter worn his wreaths of snow, 
 Spring's breezes wakened, Summer's sunshine 
 warmed, 
 
 Thrice Autumn gloried in his golden glow, 
 
 Nor friendship's landscape nor her aspect charmed. 
 
 Thyrza ! we part indeed- — can'st thou forget 
 How many a joy we taught the vagrant hours ? 
 
 Enchantment touched each scene in which we met, 
 And waked the fragrance of life's sweetest flowers. 
 
 How should I greet thee now? The struggling tear 
 Rebellious stealing o'er the smiling cheek, 
 
 Would eloquently paint those moments dear, 
 When lips are silent that the heart may speak. 
 
234 TO THYRZA. 
 
 Friend of my youth ! we meet not. Hours and days, 
 (Mocking, O heart ! thy transports,) glide along. 
 
 When shall grief cease to wear her sorrowing bays, 
 And friendship's raptures brighten into song ? 
 
235 
 
 THE KEEPSAKE. 
 
 Agnes ! while oft, when far away, 
 To thee my thoughts of friendship stray, 
 This simple pledge may rest with thee, 
 To wake the thought of love for me. 
 
 Delightful dream ! how sweet to know, 
 When far from those we hold so dear, 
 For us, warm hearts with friendship glow ; 
 For us descends affection's tear. 
 
 But, oh ! should time and distance prove 
 That false were all thy words of love ; 
 Then act no more affection's part, 
 But tear that relic from thy heart. 
 
236 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 Sweetest blessing poured on earth, 
 
 On the sinner's sacrifice ; 
 Who shall feel, and doubt its birth, 
 
 Where our purest thoughts arise ! 
 Gift of thee, of thee alone ! 
 Only thee, Eternal One ! 
 
 Transport, rapture ! transient things ! 
 
 Wildly blissful while they stay ; 
 Have they not a thousand stings, 
 
 Wasting what was sweet away ! 
 Making, where they seemed to bless, 
 Many a dreary wilderness. 
 
PEACE. 237 
 
 Oh ! 'twas never given to thee 
 Earth ! to fill the soul sublime ; 
 
 Thou wast never meant to be 
 Anchor in its tempest time : 
 
 Nothing lasts to soothe or charm ; 
 
 Nothing shields the soul from harm. 
 
 Giver of the gift of peace ! 
 
 Strengthener of the mind in ill ! 
 Thou, who bidst the tempest cease, 
 
 Or canst stain the world at will ; 
 Cloud its glories in our sight ! 
 Be our sole, unerring light ! 
 
 Make us feel what well we know ; 
 
 That its charms are pictures all, 
 Only lovely while they glow 
 
 Distantly, to tempt our fall : 
 False, as is the rose's grace, 
 Blooming o'er the withered face. 
 
238 PEACE. 
 
 Grant us in temptation dread 
 Nobly to withstand the wrong : 
 
 While the wings of faith are spread, 
 To repose in heaven ere long, 
 
 Bid each wayward passion cease, 
 
 Dying on the breast of peace. 
 
 1826. 
 
239 
 
 "toujours brillante, toujours belle; 
 On ne la voit pas se fletrir." 
 
 Remembrance, wake ! and with thee bring 
 The pictured rose of life's sweet spring, 
 Still in thy chaplet blossoming : 
 
 Too dear to sever. 
 
 And bring, but oh ! not long to stay, 
 The tear that dimmed that smiling day ; 
 That stole its bloom, and passed away, 
 Returning never. 
 
 Yet may the lovely semblance bless.— 
 When in life's thorny wilderness 
 We teach the heart to fancy less, 
 
 From hope to sever ; 
 
240 REMEMBRANCE, WAKE ! 
 
 It still is sweet to view the flowers 
 We called in days of transport ours : 
 To know that if their glowing powers 
 Are gone for ever ; 
 
 Life hath no thorns like those that grew 
 On them. Ah ! soon the bosom knew 
 Their wounds were deep, though bright their hue, 
 And asked to sever. 
 
 Yet, ere she parted, pictures drew 
 Of every flower she ever knew, 
 Whose thornless charms and chastened hue 
 Might bless for ever. 
 
 And often do they bear we find, 
 (Those ills we deem the most unkind,) 
 The fairest moral to the mind ; 
 
 Forgotten never. 
 
241 
 
 THE SWISS BRIDE. 15 
 
 Oh! he had loved her well and long ; 
 
 Near and in distance still the same ; 
 And came his native Alps among, 
 
 To claim from her a husband's name : 
 To see his gem of promise set, 
 In joy's completed coronet. 
 
 Sweet is affection's memory, 
 
 Unspoiled, like theirs, by thoughts of ill : 
 The love we once have proved to be, 
 
 Oh ! is it not affection still ? 
 And can it be that time will cast 
 A shadow o'er the blissful past ? 
 
242 THE SWISS BRIDE. 
 
 Ask not, who marked her lucid eye, 
 That cheek that seemed the rose's own : 
 
 And knew the mask of beauty's dye 
 Bloomed for the jealous grave alone: 
 
 Knew that consumption's lustre lent 
 
 The heart's wild hopes encouragement. 
 
 The bridal day was named — its morn 
 Beheld the lover's bosom lorn : 
 
 Disease had burst its frail disguise, 
 And claimed of love its sacrifice ; 
 
 And she, almost her lover's own, 
 
 Shall she, O grave ! be thine alone ? 
 
 No ! though no more she waits to give 
 Life charms to him who still must live, 
 
 She hastens to perform the vow 
 
 Plighted so long, so dearly — now : 
 
 And death just reaches to divide 
 
 The husband from his faithful bride. 
 
 1826. 
 
243 
 
 THE WAVING LINE. 
 
 Well did the painter's skill define. 
 For rule of grace, the waving line. 
 There's beauty in the knotted oak, 
 Torn, blasted, by the tempest stroke : 
 In mountain's awful, craggy height ; 
 In the forked lightning's vivid light ; 
 In roaring torrent ; ocean's storm ; 
 And in the mighty glacier's form. 
 But not in these the o'erwhelmed glance 
 Will seek the line of elegance. 
 It bends the willow o'er the wave ; 
 The flowers o'er many an humble grave ; 
 Winds varying round the blossomed rose ; 
 Chains o'er laburnum graceful throws ; 
 m 2 
 
244 THE WAVING LINE. 
 
 The ash's pliant stem ascends, 
 And with its topmost branch it bends. 
 Arches the proud swan's breast of snow ; 
 The movements of the bounding roe ; 
 Traces the vessel's shining sail, 
 Swelled by a gentle summer gale ; 
 Or, where meandering waters glide, 
 Steals softly by their verdant side. 
 
245 
 
 TO . 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, 
 
 Oh ! had my pen some blameless art 
 To picture all that charms the heart, 
 How free from every shade should be 
 The tribute I inscribe to thee. 
 
 But can the wave reflect a ray, 
 When sunlight steals itself away ? 
 Or gloomy winter learn to bless 
 With summer's looks of loveliness ? 
 
 Ah ! blame not, if the cypress -be 
 Amid the flowers that bloom for thee : 
 If song that should of pleasure speak 
 In strains of sadder feeling break. 
 m 3 
 
246 to — . 
 
 For sorrow's garland will entwine 
 With many a votive gift of mine : 
 Tangling in pleasure's greenest bower ; 
 And closing fancy's opening flower. 
 
 
247 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Ah ! hope is oft a waking dream ; 
 A false, misguiding, dazzling beam ; 
 That leads the heart by her betrayed 
 Still deeper, through affliction's shade. 
 
 Yet, still remains fair memory's ray, 
 To cheer, nor lead the mind astray ; 
 With gentle spells to bind the past, 
 And bid its fading glories last. 
 
 As through the o'ershading clouds of night 
 The moon withdraws her gentle light, 
 But soon again appears to view, 
 And smiles those clouds of darkness through. 
 
248 STANZAS. 
 
 So memory shrouds the soul in gloom, 
 When thought revisits pleasure's tomb ; 
 And thus unveils her placid light, 
 And smiles again through sorrow's night. 
 
 How fair, when, in the glowing west, 
 Another day has sunk to rest, 
 Is that mild light its glories leave, 
 To mingle with the shades of eve. 
 
 As fair, as mild is memory's beam, 
 That loves on pleasure's night to gleam : 
 But like that smile must memory fade. 
 Lost in oblivion's deepening shade. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 1. — The intenseness of the cold in the night is almost 
 equal to that of the heat in the day-time. — Encyclopedia 
 Londinensis. 
 
 2. — Manes, called by the Persians Mani, was the cele- 
 brated heresiarch, who founded a religious sect of the third 
 century. They describe him as a painter of such admirable 
 skill, that he exhibited his works as sent from Heaven. — 
 Ouseleys Oriental Collections. 
 
 3. — Azrael, the angel of death, is supposed by the 
 Moslems to appear with a beautiful and luminous coun- 
 tenance to the just and virtuous : but to the wicked and to 
 the infidel with a dark and frightful visage. 
 
 4. — A river of the Birman empire, the trees on the banks 
 of which are finely illuminated with fire-flies. 
 
 5. — There is a tradition, that whoever shall attempt to 
 sing the raug Dhee puck, (an Hindustanee melody,) shall 
 be destroyed by fire. The emperor Akber ordered Naik 
 Gopaul, a celebrated musician, to sing that raug. He en- 
 
250 NOTES. 
 
 deavoured to excuse himself; but in vain. The emperor 
 insisted on obedience. He therefore requested permission to 
 go home, and bid farewell to his family and friends. It was 
 winter when he returned, after an absence of six months. 
 Before he began to sing, he placed himself in the waters of 
 the Jumna, till they reached his neck. As soon as he had 
 performed a strain or two, the river gradually became hot ; 
 at length began to boil, and the agonies of the unhappy 
 musician were nearly insupportable. Suspending for a 
 moment the melody thus cruelly extorted, he sued for mercy 
 from the monarch ; but he sued in vain. — Akber wished to 
 prove more strongly the powers of this raug. Naik Gopaul 
 renewed the fatal song. Flames burst from his body ; 
 which, though immersed in the waters of the Jumna, was 
 consumed to ashes. — Ouseleys Oriental Collections, 
 
 6. — The greater part of the materials employed in the 
 building of Mocha was obtained from Aden, a town that was 
 formerly opulent. It is situated outside the strait, in one of 
 the finest bays in the world. Its position is so excellent, that 
 Alexander, it is said, would have made it the centre of the 
 commerce which he purposed to establish with India. The 
 iman of Sana, desirous of attracting vessels to his dominions, 
 fixed, however, upon the little bay of Mocha, to which he 
 
NOTES. 251 
 
 annexed so many^ privileges and encouragements, that 
 Aden, notwithstanding the superiority of its harbour, and 
 the impossibility of getting through the straits from the 
 other, (excepting during the particular monsoon,) was 
 abandoned, and all the commerce transferred to the new 
 establishment; so that Aden exhibited shortly a picture 
 only of ruins. — See De Grand Pre's Voyage in the Indian 
 Ocean, and to Bengal. 
 
 7. — At Besancon is a cave about 300 feet under ground, 
 in the bottom of which is a small river, said to be flowing in 
 winter, and frozen in summer. — Walker. 
 
 &. — A stream and bower celebrated by the Persian poet 
 Hafiz. 
 
 9. — Hafiz is buried in a garden, under beautiful cypress 
 trees. Close by the garden runs the stream Rocknabad. 
 Hither the Persians come to read the works of their favourite 
 poet. 
 
 10.— It is asserted that the Orientals have a notion that 
 the garnet possesses the singular property, when worn as a 
 ring, of dispelling sorrow. — See Asiatic Miscellanies, vol. 1 . 
 
 11. — The Rhone and the Arve, which, for some distance, 
 flow side by side in the same hollow, without mingling their 
 waters; and afterwards unite. 
 
252 NOTES. 
 
 12. — Many beautiful species and varieties of the jasmine 
 are natives of Persia; yellow, blue, and white. Of the 
 latter there is a sort that grows plentifully about Obolla, and 
 in various parts of Bahrein, which is called Gul Razeki. It 
 resembles the buds of the hundred -leaved rose, continues 
 long unfaded, and is said to surpass in fragrance every other 
 Asiatic flower : hence it is often called, Giti arai, adorning 
 the world. 
 
 13. — Lord Byron is said to have been active in the dis- 
 tribution of Bibles. 
 
 14. — The monody of which these lines are a continuation, 
 contains allusions to many of Byron's works. Some of his 
 poems, however, being unnoticed, suggested the present. 
 
 15. — These lines are founded on a narrative in which a 
 similar circumstance is related. 
 
 : Bagster and Thorns, Pri 
 
 Printers, 14, Bartholomew Close. 
 3* TJSJB 
 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 Page 167, line 15, for " weeps," read " sweeps." 
 
 172, title, for " On the death of Mary S." read " In allusion to," &c. 
 233, line 4, for " landscape" read " language." 
 
OCT 5 - 1950 
 

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